The coalmine problem (2)

As the sole boatman serving a busy and important archipelago, I have scant time for writing. If I were to write, of course, I would have a thousand or more fascinating tales to tell. I certainly wouldn’t have to waste my time and ink on the goings-on on Happy Island, arguably the least interesting island in the entire archipelago.

 

But Jed Wood, unreliable and lazy as he is, began the first part of this tale several months ago and shows no inclination to finish it, so as a service to the Happy Island completists amongst you I shall take on the duty of recounting the rest of this adventure.

 

I shall take up the story where he left off, with Jed and Alun, the island’s sole inhabitants, both trapped by an apparent rock-fall, in a distant passage of a long-abandoned coal-mine half a mile underground, with no means of contacting the outside world.

 

I knew nothing of this, of course. Happy Island is the first island on my daily schedule, and I am always pleased to leave them behind to carry out their mischief out of my sight and out of my mind (out of their minds most of the time).

 

When Alun wasn’t there to meet the early morning boat one day I was concerned, I have never known him to miss the boat. I had a full day’s schedule ahead of me, though, and decided to do nothing until the next day, as even Alun must get ill occasionally.

 

However, there was no sign of Alun the next day.  Something was clearly wrong, and I had no choice but to leave my boat and seek an explanation. I walked up to Jed’s house and knocked on the back door (his bell having been broken many years’ since). No answer, so I crept in and searched the house. Jed’s bed hadn’t been slept in and there was no sign of him anywhere.

 

I walked to the abandoned coal mine, at the bottom of which Alun resides, and called down. No answer.  I went to descend the shaft down to Alun’s underground lair, but the rope had been cut. If Alun and Jed were down the mine they were trapped.

 

Worried, I returned to the mainland for help. Luckily the archipelago is located near the main mainland Coalmine Rescue Centre. Very lucky, in fact, given that there isn’t a working coal mine within a hundred miles.

 

The Coalmine Rescue Centre team were delighted to be needed. The man I spoke to, Pankhurst, had worked there for forty-five years without entering a single coalmine, let alone carrying out a rescue. “This couldn’t have come at a better time,” he said. “The government have talking of shutting us down. It’s austerity gone mad, just because there aren’t any coalmines doesn’t mean you don’t need a Coalmine Rescue Centre.”

 

I agreed to join the expedition, as the rescue team wanted me as translator. Some of the island residents have rather strong accents that mainlanders find incomprehensible. Living alone at the bottom of a disused coalmine for so long does nothing for your social communication skills.

 

The team quickly descended the mine and located Alun’s underground home, which was empty. “He must have gone down one of the tunnels,” Parkhurst suggested. It’s amazing the insight you can gain from 45 years as a coalmine rescue professional.

 

We set off down one of the tunnels, but we soon came to a fork, and shortly after that the tunnel forked again. It was clear that we would have virtually no chance of stumbling upon Jed and Alun by chance. It would take months, or even years, to search every nook and corner of the mine, and by then it would be too late.

 

However, before we gave up the search as futile, Pankhurst spotted a flickering light in the far distance. We headed towards it, but it moved further away from us. At every fork and junction the light would be there, in the distance, as if guiding us.

 

“Do you think it’s Jed and Alun?” I asked Pankhurst.

“Well, if it is they’ve a queer approach to being rescued, running away from us. Besides, it doesn’t explain that strange flapping sound.”

 

It was true, there was an inexplicable flapping noise accompanying the distant light, as if an owl were flying through the cavern holding a lantern in its beak, though, of course, that is merely a simile, for why would an illuminated owl be flying around at the bottom of a coal mine?

 

We followed the flickering light through the tunnels for mile upon mile, hoping it wasn’t a willo the wisp leading us to our doom.  Then, in the middle of nowhere, for no reason we could gather, the light suddenly disappeared.

 

“Right,” said Pankhurst, “Plan B.” (Assumedly Plan A involved descending into the coalmine and hoping a random light would lead them to the missing islanders).

“What’s Plan B?” I asked.

“This,” he said, and started shouting out Jed and Alun’s names.

 

Amazingly the plan worked.  “Over here,” said a nearby wall. On closer investigation, however, it proved not to be a talking wall, rather it was Alun and Jed.

 

“Someone’s sealed off this passage,” Pankhurst said. “Quick, help me clear this.” The Coalmine Rescue Team sprang into action, and within no time at all a gap had been cleared large enough for the two missing islanders to climb through.

 

We gave the men food and water and they felt immediately better. There were no obvious signs of injury, and as the island’s resident medic, Alun examined himself and Jed and declared both of them fit. Immediate concerns thus addressed, Alun briefly summarised what had happened, viz that they had discovered a seam of coal, but some mysterious person had sealed off the passage, destroyed their light and blocked them in.

 

“At least whoever it was left us food and water every day,” Jed said. “Without out that we might never have made it out.”

 

“We must find who did this?” I said.

“No,” said Alun, “whoever did this knows this mine like the back of their hand, it’ll take years to find them. The urgent thing is to verify the claim, then we can reopen the mine.”

 

“I’ve got a certificate in coal identification, level 1. I can verify the claim,” said Pankhurst, drawing a piece of paper from his pocket.

 

Alun took the certificate from him. “This is an award of merit for drawing a picture of a hippo.”

 

“Oh, it’s printed on the back of that.” Sure enough, on the back of the AOMFDAPOAH was a certificate in coal identification, authorised by the People Who Issue Certificates Relating to Coalmining.

 

“Right, let’s do this,” said Pankhurst. He took out a pad of paper and drew a rather splendid picture of a hippopotamus at play.

 

“How does that help exactly?” asked Jed.

 

“Ah, sorry, I was getting confused.” Pankhurst put the pad down and took out his coal-testing implements. I won’t bore you with the details, suffice it to say within an hour he had verified the claim. It was official, the mine was indeed full of coal.

 

Things moved quickly after that. The coalmine was officially reopened and soon became a major industrial hub, employing hundreds and producing vast quantities of coal. The empty house was turned into an impromptu mining village and my boat was crammed with miners, geologists, engineers and health and safety advisers, making their way to the Happy Island Coalmine.

 

Alun had never been happier. Even though the island was teaming with mainlanders, he was delighted that his beloved coalmine was reopened. He rarely surfaced from the mine, and it was Jed who greeted my morning boat, face permanently blackened.

 

However, though the mine opened successfully, a series of minor accidents continued to mar the mine. Coalcarts would be mysteriously overturned, picks would be hidden, graffiti started to appear: somebody had written the letters ‘UN’ in front of the words Happy Island Coal mine, and the miners ‘Happy is a Coalmine’ T shirts were ripped and torn, as if attacked by an angry owl, although that’s obviously a simile as well, what would an owl be doing at the bottom of a coalmine eating shirts?

 

Alun became more and more convinced that there was someone else living in the mine, sabotaging the mining activities. Eventually he persuaded Jed and I to join him on an expedition into the dark recesses of the mine, where he believe the villain must be hiding.

 

We walked for hours, seemingly to no avail, when suddenly we were disturbed by what seemed like a giant owl swooping down on us.  

 

“Follow that owl,” Alun shouted, and we rushed after the creature, whatever it was. It led us down tunnels and up tunnels and this way and thataway, until all but Alun were hopelessly lost. Then, suddenly, the bird, or whatever it was, disappeared.

 

“Listen,” said Alun. We listened, for we could hear a distant cry for help.

 

Once again the mysterious flying beast had led us to a person in need.