At the Coalface: The memoir of a pit nurse. Veronica Clark

furniture, most of it so much nicer than ours. To free up some space, Dad had decided to cut down our old kitchen table and use it as a bench inside his greenhouse, which he’d filled with chrysanthemums and tomato plants. He was so green-fingered he could turn his hand to anything. There were two Anderson air-raid shelters in the back lane, behind the row of terraced houses, but no one used them because there was a much safer and deeper one in the village park. With no takers, Dad saw his chance and filled the shelters with beds of manure and grew crops of mushrooms inside them. Even if anyone had wanted to use the shelters, they wouldn’t because the smell was so pungent that, on a hot day, it carried all the way down the street. Mind you, the shelters were so exposed that they were eventually bombed, so I reckon my father’s mushrooms saved a few lives along the way.

      One day, quite without warning, Emily and Harry decided to leave. I never found out why, but I think the fact that Dad never acted on or picked up on Emily’s many romantic hints was probably the final straw. He was miffed because he knew he’d have to find another housekeeper, but secretly I was relieved that we would have the place back to ourselves again. By this time, I was 15 years old and adept at making a mean Sunday dinner. A few days after Emily had left, taking her last pieces of furniture with her, something struck me – we had no kitchen table. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but then I remembered the one in the greenhouse. I knew it was a big job, but with Dad due home within the hour and the meat almost cooked in the stove, I needed everything to be perfect. I wanted him to think I could cope. Opening up the greenhouse door, I scratched my head as I contemplated the task in hand. The table was wide and heavy, and I wondered how I’d manage to get it down the garden – never mind how I’d lift it into the kitchen.

      Blimey, it’s heavier than it looks, I cursed silently as I dragged it along. If only Emily hadn’t taken her posh furniture with her, then we wouldn’t be in this position.

      It took a bit of brute force but somehow I managed to push the table inside the house. But then I was faced with another problem – it had no legs because Dad had sawn them off to fit it inside the greenhouse! The smell of roast beef filled the kitchen, making my mouth water. I had to think of something – fast. I nipped out into the backyard to look for something suitable to prop it up with. I stumbled upon a load of old house bricks. I collected as many as I could carry, stacked them on top of one another, and lowered the table top down onto them. It was hardly up to Emily’s high standards – I could just imagine her shaking her head in despair – but at least it was a table once more. Moments later I heard the back door slam. We always used the back door – the front was reserved for funerals and weddings only – so I knew it was Dad. His footsteps sounded heavy as he came inside.

      ‘Wash your hands and sit down. I’ve cooked you a lovely dinner,’ I said as I loaded up some meat and vegetables onto a plate.

      ‘Lovely. I’m starving!’ he said as he grinned and wandered over to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. As he turned his head, he did a double take.

      ‘Is that our old kitchen table?’ he asked, pointing at it.

      ‘Yes, I’ve brought it back inside. Now Emily’s gone, we need a table, so I dragged it in. Don’t worry – I’ve given it a good wipe.’

      But he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was looking underneath to see how I’d managed to prop it up.

      ‘I’ve used some house bricks from the backyard so be careful, and whatever you do, don’t cross your legs!’

      ‘Rightio,’ Dad said, chuckling, as he tucked into his meal. ‘Ooh, Joan, tha cooks a great joint – this is lovely.’ He smiled, chewing happily on a piece of meat.

      But my father was enjoying his food so much that he forgot my warning and crossed his legs.

      CRASH!

      Dad was a giant of a man, and within seconds one end of the table had tipped up in the air and come crashing down with an almighty clatter. I watched as his dinner seemed to slide and then tip over in slow motion, landing neatly upside down in the middle of his lap. He glanced down at it and then up at me. He must’ve registered the horror on my face because he immediately burst out laughing. But I was absolutely furious; the dinner had taken me hours to prepare.

      ‘I told you not to cross your legs!’ I screamed like a demented housewife. ‘Now look what you’ve done! There’s gravy everywhere. And look at your trousers – they’re ruined!’

      But my anger tickled him even more and soon he couldn’t speak for laughing. With tears of mirth streaming down his face he helped me clear up the mess from the floor. I was still fuming, so Dad tried his best to win me back around.

      ‘I’ll go and buy us a new table. As for this,’ he said, tapping the old wooden table top, ‘I think I’ll shove it back inside the greenhouse where it belongs.’

      I watched as he sheepishly carried it out through the back door, my arms folded and my foot tapping in annoyance. Eventually I saw the joke, but deep down Dad knew that at 15 years old, and with Emily gone, I was too young to play mother and full-time housewife. I needed to be back at school, but in order to do that he had to employ another housekeeper. The word went out and soon another woman knocked on our door. Her name was Elsie and she had the filthiest hands I’d ever seen. To this day, I still don’t know why he took her on; but he did. Dad was lonely, so within weeks they began a relationship and soon Elsie became the ruin of us all. Even though Dad had given her a generous allowance to buy food, Elsie bought everything on credit or ‘tick’, as we called it. The shopkeeper added our family name to a long list of people who also owed him money. Instead of using Dad’s housekeeping money, Elsie spent it on goodness knows what and landed us in debt, but her deceit didn’t stop there. One day, my favourite brown tweed coat vanished from the house. I was distraught because I’d always looked after my things, but it was nowhere to be seen. I asked Elsie and she just shrugged.

      ‘It’ll be wherever you left it,’ she snapped.

      I hated her but Dad was desperate – he didn’t want me to miss any more time off, nor did he want to lose his job at the pit – so Elsie was the compromise. I didn’t want to rock the boat or make his life harder, so I kept my mouth shut but vowed to leave home as soon as I could. My chance came sooner than I’d anticipated. True to her word, Mrs Hargreaves from St John Ambulance had remembered my request to become a nurse and had already started to make enquiries on my behalf.

      ‘There’s a college in Huddersfield. I’ve put your name forward because they take nursing recruits from the age of 16.’

      My face lit up. Mrs Hargreaves had watched me progress as a young cadet. I’d worked hard to get my certificates in first aid and I’d left school as head girl. She paid my fare and travelled with me, taking two buses and changing at Leeds, so I could attend my interview in Huddersfield. It was such a long journey that it took up half the day, but as soon as we arrived at nursing college I knew I’d done the right thing.

      ‘Tell me, why do you want to be a nurse, Joan?’ the matron asked. She was a shrewd woman in her early fifties, tall and thin – the type you could never hope to fool – and she frightened the life out of me. Her hair was covered in a stiffened white headdress, which she’d wrapped around her head at sharp angles, making her look a bit like a nun.

      I twisted my hands nervously in my lap because I was unsure what to say. I spoke straight from my heart. ‘I want to look after people; it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I just want to make a difference.’

      The matron nodded and glanced down at my application form in her hands. She tried to hide it but I noticed the small flicker of a smile play across her lips, and I knew I’d done well. A few weeks later, a letter confirmed it when I was offered a place on the year-long course. I was excited beyond words as I made plans to move to nursing college. Although I felt a pang of guilt at leaving Dad, Tony and Ann behind with the horrid Elsie, I knew I had to do it because nursing college would be my escape route to a better life, and I was determined to grab it with both hands.

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