Annie's Promise by Margaret Graham Page B

though as he had known there would be and he was glad that he was here, proving himself to them, proving that hisfamily had the right to come back into their midst but more importantly, proving something to himself.
    Once inside the entrance they passed the canteen, then clattered into the locker rooms and Frank pointed out the one that would be his from now on. He changed into old clothes, locked up, then walked with the others to the supply room, collecting his helmet, kneepads, steel-capped boots, gloves, belts. It was like the Army again, it was like coming back into the team.
    ‘Come on man, let’s get your lamp.’ Frank shouldered past the other men, leading the way into the lamp room. Tom had shown him this last week but he still felt the same surge, the same sense of being a boy again. He handed in his metal tag to old Jock who exchanged it for a lamp.
    ‘Good to see you, lad. You keep your bleeding head and back down, and your feet up and your wits about you. I don’t want to be left with a spare tag at the end of the shift, your Annie’ll have me guts for garters.’
    Georgie grinned. ‘No she won’t, bra straps perhaps. You’ve not aged at all, you old devil.’
    ‘You have, you were a boy last time, just you remember that, Georgie Armstrong. Reckon you need your head examined, what d’you think, Frank?’
    Georgie was moving along now, being pushed from behind.
    ‘Too right, Jock, but I reckon he thinks it’s good for the soul, or maybe he thinks he can talk us into buying Annie’s bras for ourselves.’
    The men were laughing and Georgie stood at the cage while he was frisked for matches, lighters, cigarettes. He’d left his Kensitas in his trousers and the checker flung them in the bin and growled. Georgie flushed and Frank dug him in the ribs. ‘Nice one, lad. Don’t happen to have a bomb in the other one, do you?’
    There was more laughter but it was good humoured and Georgie relaxed. Bloody fool, don’t do that again, he told himself, knowing he’d have had more to say if it had been one of his bomb team.
    He waited with Frank whilst the miners queued for the cage. There was the low hum of the dynamos running the air pumps, he’d forgotten that, but not the feeling in his stomach as he waited to plunge into the darkness.
    ‘You OK, lad?’ Frank murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to the other waiting for the banksman to get the men in, the wire guard shut. Georgie nodded, his arms hanging loose, emptying his head as he had taught his men to do. They were all in now, the gates were closed, the cage dropped. Jesus Christ, he’d forgotten how your heart lifted, how silence fell, how the faint surface light faded, how quickly you travelled, how the light from the helmet lamps flickered on the surface of the shaft, the cables, the pipes, how your mind persuaded you the earth was closing over you, how the ground bounced beneath you as the cage stopped, how you breathed out as the cage door opened. Jesus Christ, he’d forgotten and now he was grinning, stepping out with the others, their bait tins clanking against one another, their batteries too.
    He breathed in the air, sensing its motion, its warm lifelessness. Yes, it was the same. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes in the brightness of the light. He’d forgotten how like a tube station it was.
    ‘Need a few advertisements, Frank lad,’ he said quietly as they headed for the paddy train.
    ‘None of this comfort when you were down last, eh Georgie? Shanks’s pony then,’ Frank grinned, squashing himself into a seat, pulling Georgie in.
    ‘Shove over, let a tiddler in,’ Bernie Walters grunted, sinking back as the train started. ‘Bloody Ritz for you, isn’t it, Georgie?’ He stuck out his hand, shook Georgie’s. ‘Worked in the old seam with your brothers. Like Nottingham, do they? Good thing you came back down, lad, they’ll open up to you now, would’ve been difficult otherwise.’
    Georgie nodded, smiled. He knew