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Alistair Nelson was an electrician on one of the other shifts. He was called Nellie for obvious reasons. His claim to fame was his mountaineering expertise and rock climbing skill.
I've been second man to his lead on lots of occasions; I've been scared witless on lots of occasions. When we were together on a job we would always end up talking climbing or swinging about doing hand traverses around the rings that made up the roadway supports.
We had some good weekends away together in the Peak, Wales and the Lakes. Getting happy drunk but always out on the rocks, first thing.
It was with Nellie that I nearly didn't make it back home. We were going to do the Snowdon Horseshoe, it was February. It had snowed, thawed, frozen and snowed again. We were climbing up Crib Goch and it was wonderful, in the Alpine type sunshine. There aren't any footpaths up the Crib; you just pick your own way, climbing to the ridge.
Some way off we saw Nellie with a couple of new guys, Charlie and Wayne also from Hucknall pit. They were in some difficulties and Nellie had got his rope and climbing gear out. Dave said, ‘Let's go over and help them down, so we can let Nellie carry on. We were at about 2,000 feet and crossing a snow slope, we picked up Charlie and Wayne and started to cross the snow slope. I was in the lead then I got on the ice under the snow. In a second I was sliding towards the cliff edge and certain death. I can still remember thinking, if it's checkout time I'm going to watch it coming.
With that I turned over, the edge rushed ever closer and right on the edge the instep of my boot caught on a flake of rock. I locked out my leg and stopped dead. I freed my ice axe and firmly planted it on the slope, safe for the moment and I went totally to pieces, shaking uncontrollably and floating above my body looking down. They threw down a rope and I cut steps up the slope safely, rather slower than I went down. The question is, did I aim for the flake of rock or did fate place it there? I have no idea but I'm still here to tell the tale.
What of Nellie? Well he got married in Stockport, to his childhood sweetheart, and emigrated to Canada.
He has been in contact several times since he moved and keeps on about a Trip to Mount McKinley in Alaska. My trips with Nellie are definitely over.
Toilets and hand washing facilities are just not an option underground. Chemical toilets were available but in such a disgusting condition that no one would use them.
They were looked after by a man who styled himself as An Environmental Garbologist - we just called him Shitty Fred. Poor old Fred, he got taken short one day, he ripped his boiler -suit down and squatted, desperate to do the business. Finally, relieved, he pulled up his boiler suit, then, the dreadful truth dawned. In his haste he had messed inside the top of his suit.
When one of us needed to go the toilet you found yourself a quiet place, got yourself a bag of Dolomite Limestone dust, and got out your precious toilet roll. After the business was done you opened the limestone and covered the lot.
We only went when it was absolutely vital, preferring to go like normal people before going underground. Urinating was a different matter entirely; you merely whipped it out, had your wee, shook it dry and whipped it back. Some would turn away but others would do it anywhere, even whilst talking on the phone.
As tobacco was expressly forbidden, substitutes were used. Snuff was used and would certainly clear your head with a pinch, although I was never hooked as some of others were. Chewing tobacco was also widely used, chew and spit out the juice. They always got the youngsters to try it and then laugh as they turned green. I tried it and I turned green that once was enough.
Geordies called it bait, we called it snap, normal people, on the surface, called it a packed lunch. Not being able to wash your hands properly before eating your snap was somewhat a problem. This was got around by holding your sandwich with a piece of paper, eating oranges was an art form all of its own. Snap time was at 10.00am on days, 5.00pm on afternoons and 02.40am on nights, it lasted for 20 minutes.
Being an electrician meant getting it when you could, as we often had work to do when the machinery stopped. It was just a case of making a seat by rearing up something up as a backrest and something as a seat. Once sat down, sandwich in hand, the crack would fly thick and fast.
We worked in a dirty, dark, dangerous place and how we survived is still a mystery to me to this day. But survive we did, the lucky ones!
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