Inside The Quarry

December 8th, 2008 at 9:34 am (A Bugle For The New Day, Chapter Two)

Best to leave him to his own thoughts, Geriant decided as they came to the arch of rock marking the entrance to the access tunnel. They entered quickly without a word and the memory of the rugged quarryman flew back to the time when he himself had gone underground for the first time. He knew what must be going through his son’s mind and he saw the need to avoid fuss or encouragement.

They progressed though the tunnel on the hard walk beside the tramway, the daylight petering out and the niched candles set in the walls taking over, throwing grotesque shadows that danced to the clatter of their heavy boots, echoing and bouncing and vibrating all about them.

If Glyn felt any apprehension it was unnoticeable and he kept it well hidden, considering he had dreaded this moment for so long. He matched his father stride for stride, had the same unwavering look fixed to the same distant object, and he hoped his father would glance down with approval.

The tunnel led them into a cavern which opened out and reached up into a darkness that hid it’s height, with a glistening wall of rock facing them across a chasm that yawned almost at their feet, and here men were dangling on chains as they hacked and hammered at the rock in the spluttering light from a multitude of candles.

Instructions, profanities, insults floated down from suspended rockmen, rolling around the hollows, coming back at them in a succession of sound.

Glyn saw it all with first a feeling of wonder and astonishment at the toil and skill employed by men like his father and his brothers, and then, as he stared at the plight of the hanging rockmen, saw the danger and the degradation. a choking sensation of horror seized him and his blood ran cold. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes from the grim spectacle, while Geriant called out in reply to the shouts directed at him from the rock face.

Geriant gave a final shout and wave and took a turning on their right, leading to a smaller chamber, where they found Rhys and Ifor perched on a ledge above them. They were working on a slab, preparing it for shot firing by drilling holes with a long rod. This was called a jumper and the operation of it required as much patience as vigour. They were now satisfied, straightened up and signalled to Geriant, who took off his coat and climbed up to them with an agility belying his years.

Glyn watched from below and saw for the first time evidence of his father’s affinity with the rock, the strange mystical union he had with the earth. His father’s hands were light upon the rock, almost caressing, it seemed his brothers standing back, looking on impassively, accustomed as they were to their father’s behaviour, something they tolerated but never understood or questioned.

When Geriant tore himself away, he issued gruff instructions to his sons, bringing Glyn into the proceedings, for there was fetching and carrying to be done and the newcomer was to become skilled in that direction. Above them the wall of rock glistened in the candlelight, underground seepage mustering tears for the sacrifice now dressed and ready.