In June 1949, The Forest of Dean’s Waterloo Colliery was engulfed by a massive inrush of water into the pit as old workings were breached.
‘So under "D" we got "drowned out". What do you understand by that?’
‘Well that was, that was, that’da be describing when a mine’s workings was completely flooded with water.’
‘And did you have any experience of this?’
‘Oh oy, I was in the Pludds Colliery when Waterloo flooded. I done boring underground there you see. I’da have to scrobble over the bloody cutters' waste to bore sometimes, mind.’
There was a click of a lighter as the old collier lit his pipe and the sound of a few short puffs while the tobacco took.
‘Just before the water came in, the old timberman, him said "Boys, if I was you, I’da come on from there".’
The collier was sunk into a chintzy armchair in a front room, spotless despite the age of his wife, who came in with a pot of tea under a knitted cosy, and a plate of fruit cake slices. Her swollen feet shuffled across the carpet inside velvet slippers, and she poured tea into the best-china teacups for her husband and the interviewer. Her slight movements could be heard in the background on the recording.
‘So he knew it was going to flood?’
‘Oy, him could hear the thunder. The thunder of the water coming in. Him said, I’da come on from there if I was you, boys. An soon it was up to me neck, up to me chin, in the time as we got from pit bottom. Six ponies got drownded. An within one day, within one day, after two days, Waterloo was back up an running.’
‘Tell him wot you told me, Bill.’ Her voice was muffled and distant behind the tape hiss. ‘How you got out.’
‘He don’t wunt to hear all that guff, Rene.’
‘Go on, t’were divine intervention, divine intervention was wot saved my Bill.’
‘Please, speak openly. That’s what this is about.’
‘Well –’ The old collier paused and scratched his close-shaven chin. ‘There was this man, you see. An not one of us could place him. He was down there. He was this big bugger. Bloody massive. Not wot you sin back then. Nowadays them boys can be seven foot or more, but people wasn’t big like that back then. An he really was a really big bugger, like none of us had ever sin before. An through all of it, him had this sort of big old smile on his face.
'I was knackered, cause the water had come up right up past me chin an I was treading water, an the timberman, an the other boy I was with. I’da lost my footing on the floor, an the other boy, him couldn’t swim, so he was coughing an spluttering.
'An then there comes this bloke. His chest was well up above the water, mind, an him grabbed this boy. It was Tommy Hale it was, he was married to a cousin of mine. He grabbed him like he was a child an holding the two of um, Tommy an the timberman, one over each shoulder, him started wading out.
'Him started wading out an I called out from where it was that I was treading water. Then him let me climb up on his back. I was clinging on for dear life I was, as this bloody massive bugger dragged us all, all three of us, out from down there.’
‘An little Tommy Hale, if that man hadn’t have come, he’da drownded straight away, cause him couldn’t swim.’ Rene addressed the interviewer directly as she said this. ‘He was a guardian angel I’da be sure on that.’
‘Hark at her. Him wunt no bloody buggering angel. Angel’s chunt going to be under the ground like that. An him didn’t look like no angel to me. His hair was dark as sin, an his eyes – there was sommat bout him anyroad. Him seemed like a funny bugger. Smiling the whole bloody time. His tith was shining white through the black down there, like him’da bin enjoying it thik whole time.’
‘And did you see him afterwards at all? This man?’ the interviewer asked.
‘No. Once he got us winched up on out of there him just disappeared. We called on down to him, mind. I said to Tommy, I said "Cost thou hear anything, o’but?" I was saying, "Cost thou hear anything?" An we was calling an straining our plugholes, an there was nary a peep from him.
'We’da thought him must’ve got washed away an drownded. But they’da got all that water from down there in a day, an we was back down again the following. There wasn’t ern bugger down there. No hide nor hair of him. P’raps him got out some other way, we thought. P’raps him somehow got up through to Waterloo an went out that way. Or they pulled him up out of there from some other shaft.’
‘But you asked about in the pub an all,’ said Rene. ‘An I asked at the church, an around all the neighbours, but no one had never heard of anyone like that. No one like a big bugger like that.’
‘Cept mad old Eric. Kept saying it was Dennis. No one else’d ever heard of no Dennis, though. Anyroad, him could of bin down from Wales or anything. An it were clear within a day, an we couldn’t find hide nor hair of him, so him didn’t drown down there.
'I walked on back to the house an by that time they was pulling all that water on out there, an there was a river down the road, an as I got home it was up to the front gate, like it was trying to see where I’da got to.’
‘It must’ve been scary.’
‘Oh oy, it was very scary. Very scary.’
ROSANNA OGLE works as a self-employed gardener and writes through winter days, rainy days and on her days off. She competes internationally in the Martial Art of Kendo and coaches at two locations. She is currently editing the first draft of her second novel, a folk horror. Her first novel, The Book of Saints, an occult horror based in South Wales, was published last year. @rosanna_ogle_