Crying Against The Dying Of The Light

This was written after reading evidence statements taken from working
children by the Children's Employment Commissioners at the Loanhead
Colliery, near Edinburgh. I chose Ellison from more than fifty. She
was eleven years old when interviewed in 1842 and had already been
working six days per week for more than three years.

Ellison Jack stood by the ladder and watched as her mother slowly disappeared
into the shaft. It was five o'clock in the morning and the first
light of the day was just beginning to intimidate the chill night
sky. She hesitated, watching as her mother's familiar form sank from
view and she leaned forward to stare down into the abyss as her ma's
fiery red head of hair slowly dipped further down into the depths of
the Loanhead Stair and Ladder Pit.

Ellison was eight years old and terrified as she gripped the ladder and swung
her foot round onto the rung, not daring to look down. She hugged it
tightly and eased herself fully round onto the rungs in readiness for
the descent, more than anxious not to let her mother out of sight.
The arles, the bounty paid when agreeing to work at the colliery,
were already spent on desperately needed boots and today was the day
of reckoning.

She heard her mother's comforting voice drifting up from below, carrying
welcome words of encouragement and began her first tentative descent
of the ladder down into the depths of dying light; the first of nine
that would take them down to the bottom of the main shaft.

Ellison slowly came to terms with her task, gaining in confidence with each
rung, yet persistently unnerved by the feeble lamp light radiating
from the walls of the shaft that barely allowed them to see their own
hands. Her new boots felt secure against the wooden rungs and soon
she stepped down onto the first ladder platform and the welcome
embrace of her waiting mother. Only eight more to go.

Shaft bottom opened out into a larger space where equipment was stored and
where the loaded tubs of coal waited for transit to the surface by
horse drawn winches. Here, they 'liked their creels' ( baskets formed
to the back, not unlike a cockle-shell, flattened towards the neck so
as to allow lumps of coal to rest on the back of the neck and
shoulders) and pursued their journey to the wall-face, or what it is
called there, the room of work. Through the dim, lamp lit, dust laden
atmosphere they finally met up with father and son, the whole family
now united in torturous endeavour.

'She then lays down her basket, into which the coal is rolled and it is
frequently more than one man can do to lift the burden on her back.
The tugs or straps are placed over the forehead and the body bent in
a semicircular form, in order to stiffen the arch. Large lumps of
coal are then placed on the neck and she then commences her journey
with her burden to the pit bottom, first hanging her lamp to the
cloth crossing her head. In this girl's case she has first to travel
about 14 fathoms (84 feet) from wall-face to the first ladder, which
is 18 feet high: leaving the first ladder she proceeds along the main
road, probably 3 feet 6 inches to 4 feet 6 inches high, to the second
ladder, 18 feet high, so on to the third and fourth ladders, till she
reaches the pit-bottom, where she casts her load, varying from 1 cwt.
to 1.5 cwt., into the tub. This one journey is designated a rake; the
height ascended and the distance along the roads added together,
exceed the height of St. Paul's Cathedral, and it not infrequently
happens that the tubs break- and the load falls upon those females
who are following. However incredible it may appear, yet I have taken
the evidence of fathers who have ruptured themselves from straining
to lift coal on their children's backs.

The flame lamp suddenly flickered and died and Ellison was instantly
gripped by panic. She hated the dark above all things, but this was
something way beyond dark. This was enveloping and profound, a
condition where light could not exist and all points of reference
were revoked, where pure, refined blackness goads your remaining
senses into frenzied overdrive.

She could not see her own hands held against her eyes and as the velvet
claustrophobia slowly began to suffocate her, she fell to her knees
and cried softly into the mesmerising silence. Ellison was eight
years old and had just experienced her first taste of life without a
glimmer of light.