The Lost Diaries of John Smith - Part SEVEN
DAIRY / …continued
23 December 2014
Something is up between the cooks and the army. Miranda is very tight lipped about what is going on. Something serious appears to be on the horizon. Miranda and her friends disappear for long periods. Two days to Christmas and work stops tomorrow. Two shifts to go.
I finally met the Army Chaplain, Father Simon Hepworth. He’s a quiet man who lost his family who were living in Germany. He was in Scotland in May. He survived. His family did not. He is a Catholic and when we find out he shares our pain this helps build bridges.
Despite being an army officer he has chosen to sleep with us below ground. Yes, he will be helping the soldiers on the surface too, but says he is here for those of us who have lost our love ones.
Christmas Eve
Final shift. No injuries in ten days. Then again we haven’t worked our socks off for nearly a month. We down tools and head up to the accommodation area. What greeted us stopped us in our tracks. We all fall silent. While we have been working, our living quarters and canteen have been decked with Christmas decorations. And there in the corner is a real Christmas tree with home made decorations. For an eternity we just stand there. Please someone say something, I thought!
I look at Miranda. She smiles. So that’s what she and her mates have been up to. While we worked thousands of feet below, they have been hiding on the surface making Christmas decorations aplenty. The tree is everything to everyone. To some it becomes too much and to others it reinforces the premise that life carries on. The downside is that the tea is late. Not bad. We spend the evening collecting our thoughts or reading or napping or talking.
Midnight Christmas Eve
I didn’t hear anyone mention a midnight mass. I was almost asleep. It just happened and it was moving and right and perhaps too much for some.
On this night on the eve of Christmas day we became one. I was moved by the sight of the soldiers topside and they joined us. No weapons and no aliens. We gathered to remember those we have lost and to celebrate the birth of Christ. Yes, some of us are atheists or have lost our faith, but we gathered to remember and to help ourselves through God, or maybe not. We sang hymns that either lifted our spirits or made things worse.
And up front was Father Simon Hepworth, who through our strength managed to execute his duties. He tried to explain his own loss, but stopped in mid-sentence. Silence. He hadn’t failed us. He is like us - only human and someone who had lost his family. Time stopped for him and for us. Then a soldier started to sing Amazing Grace. The words were strained and but others joined in. Before long others found the hymn in the small blue books that were handed out before the service:
Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
The world shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun refuse to shine;
But God, who called me here below,
Shall be forever mine.
When we've been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we'd first begun.
Simon praised us for helping each other and for helping him. He finished with a prayer, and that should have been it, but we remained standing. We knew that together we were safe from our hellish thoughts. We knew what awaited us when we were alone, and on this night we didn’t want our demons and our flashbacks visiting us, not on this night.
Christmas Day
Up early. I’m told that in the British Army it is traditional for the officers and NCOs to serve breakfast in bed to the junior ranks on Christmas day. This morning we are treated to the same ritual. Bread! None of us have eaten bread since May. Just the smell!!! Pure and unadulterated and mouth-watering FRESH bread. We’re told that it was baked on the surface the night before. Then word spreads across the dining hall, as does the smell of fried eggs and bacon. And there amongst the NCOs are our angels of the catering trade.
Miranda and her mates prepared as much as possible the night before, but still they’ve been up for hours preparing breakfast. Grateful, we all volunteer to help with the washing.
Another religious service, albeit one with less emotion, and we all attend. Today the soldiers joined us. The army decided it was a waste of manpower to have two kitchens running on this day. Our cooks will manage breakfast and Christmas dinner and the army cooks (most of whom are untrained) will manage the evening meal and help out on Boxing Day.
I was going to spend part of the morning on the surface, to tend to the graves of those who didn’t make it, but there isn’t much to do. Since that first casualty we have taken care of our own. The graves are well maintained and I end up sitting with them, writing my diary. Overhead is the cause of all our suffering, yet I can’t or don’t feel angry. Miranda, gorgeous Miranda. She joins me and asks what am I writing? None of her business! I reply with a smile! God, I fancy her something rotten and she knows it, but I also know that love and romance are the last things on our minds. Time to go.
What came first, the chicken or the egg? In our case the egg came before the chicken. We had eggs and bacon for breakfast and for Christmas dinner we are having roast chicken. So no more eggs! The wonderful smell wafts through the mine and what a picture to behold. Waiting are 157 - now 158 drooling miners plus army contingent. A chorus of “Why are we waiting” reverberates around the dining hall. Smiles a plenty. The menu - printed in neat hand writing - is a delight:
Tinned Soup with Bread and Butter
Roast Chicken, Roast Potatoes, Sprouts, Carrots and Gravy
Tinned Sponge Pudding and Custard
Cheese and Biscuits
Beer and Wine
We are all seated - soldier and miner side-by-side. The tables are covered in clean bed sheets, glass jugs filled with water and plenty of cutlery and drinking glasses to go round. Someone shouts; “Ladies and Gentleman, dinner is served”. Again the NCOs serve us. First course is gulped down. We are all waiting for the main course.
The main course is served and met with silence. We are all thinking of those who go without, and my thoughts drift to Amy. It’s been over three months and I miss her terribly, but I know her dad will provide. There is plenty to go round and a cheer goes up as the cooks, Miranda included, join us. We clap and cheer. They are the heroes of the hour and of the day.
Any seconds? Yes there is, and there’s a mad rush for the kitchen. We needn’t rush. There is enough food for an army of soldiers and miners. Seconds become thirds and then fourths. We are all stuffed, but wait, we forgot pudding! A choice, either strawberry jam or chocolate sponge pudding. But unlike the roast chicken, which is now possibly an extinct species, supplies are limited and our portions are meagre, but we don’t complain.
The finale, Staff Sergeant Bill Haynes and his merry helpers deposit cans of lager in front of each soldier and each miner, and it’s our turn to become merry. There is also wine, and to keep us going ’til tea there are cheese and biscuits. The young get pissed while the more mature dine on fine cheese and bottles of plonk.
After the meal, and with a myriad of volunteers who are washing up and clearing away the canteen, I find Miranda sitting alone on her bed. She has gone to that sorrowful place that we all have visited today, but for Miranda this is a rare visit that becomes frightfully unbearable. She is clutching a picture of her two boys, both of whom didn’t make it. Miranda has gone through so much pain and anguish, even before the events of 2014. She is only 28 years old and a widow. Her partner was killed in a road accident two or three years ago.
I sit beside her but can do little other than offer a shoulder to cry on. She sobs uncontrollably and no one on God’s earth will ever judge her for that moment of anguish. Her tearful cries fill the kitchen and canteen. Work stops. Poor girl. She worked like the devil to make everything special - not only because she wanted to, but also because this was the only way to block out the impending pain and sorrow that we all feel. I cradled her in my arms and that’s all I could do.
The rest of Christmas day was muted. Not by Miranda‘s tears, it‘s just that other‘s have expended their anguish and expressed their turmoil in other ways, albeit quietly and alone. The evening meal was a rice dish aplenty. Very spicy and full of flavour. By late evening the kitchen was picked clean of grub and booze. Soldiers and miners are playing cards or are talking. And that was Christmas Day 2014.
Boxing day
Same as Christmas Day albeit sans roast chicken and booze. More games and more grub to keep us merry. Miranda is quiet but keeps busy. She looks after my diary so I’m constrained from being too personal in my prose, but I think she knows I’m smitten.
29 December 2014
Back to work. Christmas is over and soon it will be 2015. Good riddance to 2014. Still no idea why we dig or when we will stop. Christmas broke the ice betwixt soldier and miner, but they still carry guns on duty and we are still weary of the aliens and their unforgiving technology.
7 February 2015
There was a security clampdown before the end of December. I was detained and questioned about my diary, which I denied keeping. The accommodation area was searched but they found nothing. I was told by one of our soldier friends that the command structure has changed. Apparently someone wasn’t pleased that we were allowed four days off at Christmas, nor that unarmed soldiers were allowed to “fraternise” with us miners. We were also spending too much time on the surface when all our needs were provided for underground. Now gone the days when we’re left alone on an evening. The army are everywhere. Luckily, while there has been a change in command, the soldiers themselves are as one. They are our friends and rarely do they pull rank or status.
16 February 2015
Our friend the chaplain has returned to offer his services. He spends a few days at each mine offering support and spiritual guidance, and now it’s our turn. We exchange experiences and information. But he, like us, is in the dark. We’ve been digging for months and every other day someone is injured, though no deaths in January nor in the first sixteen days of February.
19 February 2015
I’m now writing discreetly and when alone. Another security clamp-down. We are told that anyone found taking notes or making drawings will be sent packing. Someone asks if they could borrow a pen and everyone laughs. Try to escape and your in the clink, but keep a diary and your shown the door. Everyone knows that I’m writing a diary, but my friends are my friends and they remain silent.
22 February 2015
The first death of 2015. Simon Perry is dead. I’m told that he was one of the first to be press-ganged by the army. He helped dig the first ten feet with a spade. He owned a pub and was divorced, but his children were living with their mother near York. Unlike most of us, he was making his way South when he was picked up by the army. He was persuaded that there was little hope of them surviving, so he ended up here. He was a quiet man, but he pulled his weight and was a good listener.
23 February 2015
We have a new folk hero amongst us. A nameless chap spent the night topside in the clink. Around twenty miners attended Simon’s burial. I would have attended myself but my shift had just started. Half way through the service a new face appeared on the scene. Some prick of an army officer remonstrated that it doesn’t take twenty people to bury one dead civilian. One of Simon’s friends quietly walked up to this officer, smiled then head-butted the uniformed twit - knocking him out. Then they carried on with the service. “Yosser Hughes“ almost got away with it, and had returned to the accommodation level when two soldiers caught up with him, but they weren’t aggravated. Rather they were most apologetic as they insisted that he was “under arrest“. He was allowed to have his tea and rest before they escorted him back to the surface. They apologised again when they asked if they could handcuff him “to make it look officious“. Apparently this “cunt of an officer“ was a nightmare to work with and “Yosser“ made a few friends yesterday amongst the common soldiery.
25 February 2015
We’ve all noticed that food has become scarce. Gone the days when curry and chips were on the menu. Some of us knew that hard times were coming, especially those of us who frequent the living quarters of the catering and support staff, where it’s much quieter.
This morning the cooks dished out 83 tins of fruit to be shared amongst 149 miners. The cupboard is now bare and the army sent the cooks to the surface. Not their fault, but there was concern that some of the miners might blame the cooks, and so they were moved for their own safety. The decision is reversed when the common consensus amongst the miners is that the cooks are not to blame. The problem is that the army patrols sent out to scavenged for food have to travel longer distances, and are repeatedly returning empty handed. I’m told that even the army are struggling to feed its troops. The only consolation is that we have a continuous supply of filtered water.
Work has stopped and the aliens are informed that no food equals no work. It’s late afternoon and were are resting. Just been informed that there will be no tea. Miranda feels dejected but we make a real effort to reassure her and her mates that it isn’t their fault.
26 February 2015
We are given a few biscuits for lunch and told that’s it. More patrols are being sent out, but it might be another 48 hours before they return - either with supplies or not. Someone informs me that other mines are having similar problems. No sign of our alien masters. I’m again told that they are aware of our lack of food and that we earthlings will not be working until things improve.
27 February 2015
Manor from heaven. Didn’t eat this morning as the kitchen was closed. Around midday one of the NCOs descended to the accommodation level asking for volunteers to unload supplies, and he’s almost killed in the rush. We arrive topside as an alien shuttle craft comes into land. Another is already being unloaded with food. At first we are told that only the NCOs are allowed inside the shuffle craft. Our job is to carry the food handed to us to a nearby tent, but the rulebook goes out of the window, and soon I’m standing inside an alien shuttle craft. Not very impressive, but I smile at the alien as we remove enough food to keep us going for a month. Within minutes both shuttle craft head off again.
We gathered around one of the NCOs. We’re told that most of yesterday was spent persuading the aliens that we needed their help in collecting food. All local sources (looted shops and warehouses) had been picked clean. Although army patrols could have been sent deep into England, each trip would have taken weeks if not months to recover any supplies. The aliens agreed to help and early this morning two shuttle craft loaded with troops headed south.
That was five hours ago and the final flight of the day has just been unloaded. Tea will be late this evening and we’re all shattered, but the aliens saved the day with 32 flights in total.
ADDITIONAL. Tea was gorgeous and we thank our lucky stars. I’m told that a major food distribution centre had largely survived the firestorm, and although the roof had partially collapsed, the majority of its contents are salvageable. The army have set up a “forward operating base” and while the aliens fly to and fro, the soldiers on the ground prepare each load.
28 February 2015
Spent the morning unloading shuttle craft - approximately one every 20 minutes. We’re all delighted and full of high spirits. Then someone throws me a packet of chocolate biscuits and my thoughts immediately drift towards Amy and I’m standing in another puddle. More good news, the aliens have agreed to assign the two shuttle craft and their pilots to collect food for as long as is required. Then something even more incredible, one of the die-hard locals (who three weeks ago would have killed an alien without hesitating if given the chance) turns to one and says “thank you” and holds out his hand. The alien does likewise and they shake hands. Even the soldier next to me is gobsmacked. Weird day.
8 March 2015
Spent the last eight days working double shift. We dig for eight hours then unload for another eight. The aliens can’t or won’t fly at night so we break down our mining shift through the middle. It takes a bit of explaining, but in the end everyone is happy. In one day we managed to dig over 300m while unloading sixty-seven deliveries of food. We are all shagged out. Still no sign of what we are digging for.
12 March 2015
Another death and the first in weeks. We forget how dangerous things are down here. Don’t know the chap, but we buried him before dark.
13 March 2015
For many the nightmare continues. There are those who sit alone and in silence, and it is the silent types who you have to watch.
We’ve been lucky with only one or two suicides since we started. Trying to befriend one chap. I’m told by a soldier that he lost his entire family, and can I please keep my eye on him? Most of us have suffered personal loss. It was suggested, by the army doctor, that the reason why so many of us share the same trauma is because we know or saw what happened to our families. Those who survived but didn’t make it out of England are those who spent their final days digging and searching for missing loved ones.
There isn’t much you can do after watching your family burn other than try and survive, so most of those around me work hard because they must. And when your shift is over all you can do is drift back to that moment - the moment when you were powerless or trapped, like me.
The doctor on the surface can only do so much. Our priest who helped over Christmas was moved to another mine somewhere to the west and we need him here. And then there are the soldiers. They are in as much pain as ourselves. So we work hard and do anything to keep my minds active and hope that the pain will go away, eventually.
15 March 2015
Alien technology isn’t what it use to be. One of the sonic picks is faulty. One of the aliens came over to have a look and took it away. Parting words from one of the miners: “Hope you’ve kept the receipt?” Wonder how that would have translated? Despite the accidents humour keeps us going. We also play football - miners verses soldiers, and we thrash them. I wonder if the aliens know the off-side-rule? They watch us play and perhaps we are now the aliens.
22 March 2015
The soldiers at the other end who load up the shuttle craft have been rotated. They talk of a massive warehouse near Leeds that is a total wreck. They now reckon that only 40% of the food stored inside is salvageable, and it’s dangerous work. The building is unsafe while most of the shelving inside has collapsed, but they have done us proud, and there is talk of preparing a special meal in their honour. They’ve been away for nearly a month.
24 March 2015
Word comes from the surface that a soldier has killed himself. Surprisingly most of us are upset. Surprisingly because the army are responsible for us being here. We were threatened and coerced and press-ganged into working for the aliens. In all honesty we had no choice, but through time the soldiers have become our friends. They were only following orders and although one of their kind shot and killed one of our kind, we’re all in the same boat. Most of us - miner and soldier alike have lost loved ones and have suffered deprivations in equal measure. We are moved to tears as he was buried with the 94 miners who have so also their lives.
27 March 2015
Work was halted soon after we started our shift. Not sure why but most of the soldiers were returned to the surface. Something serious was going down. Our troops departed mid-morning, along with the army doctor and medical supplies.
Then news filtered down that a massive explosion and fire had ripped through another mine, some four miles away. Early indications suggest that there are no survivors, though the lack of rescue equipment makes it impossible to enter the mine.
Tonight and we’ve just been told that around 138 miners and solders have been killed. The aliens helped make the mine safe to enter. Our troops have returned with vivid accounts of what happened. They are clearly shaken and we do our best to comfort them. They could do little other than help dig the graves. There are some survivors and it is suggested that the mine will reopen. What madness!
Trying to find out if we know any of the casualties, as we often send our chaps to other mines from time to time. If the affected mine is reopened then we will probably loose a few more good men. The problem is that no one wants to leave our tight-knit community.
Me thinks "The Lost Diaries of John Smith" would make an excellent TV series! I'm just saying...
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