A dozen or so people stood motionless in the semidarkness, reflecting on what they had just seen and heard. And then, as the recorded music faded away leaving only the ambient sound of trickling water, a few bright lights came up a few metres away, lighting the path to the next stop on the self-guided tour of the Llyn Du mine. As the unofficial leaders of the group shuffled forward, ducking their heads as they entered the low, narrow tunnel that led to the next stop on the tour, treading carefully and slowly along the damp, uneven ground, the lights behind them where the group had just been dimmed and died.
A few minutes later the group emerged into a cavernous room, a cathedral of slate. They gazed up in wonder at the vast, soaring ceiling, many metres above them, and marvelled at the men and boys who had created this space, by candlelight, using only manual tools, over a century ago. And then their attention was drawn to the small lake, lit in alternating red and green lights, the national colours of Wales, and fed by a waterfall that cascaded down the rear of the chamber. The surface of the lake was still and the lake itself surprisingly deep and clear. The group stood in awed silence that bordered on reverence, taking it all in. It was this lake that the mine was named after. Llyn Du. “Black Lake.”
After a few more minutes they walked on, and found themselves back at the starting point of the tour where the little yellow train was waiting to return them to the surface. With happy anticipation that they were only moments away from being deposited safely aboveground, they clambered into the train. The doors clanged shut and a few minutes later, after a noisy ascent, the train juddered to a stop in the winch house. The passengers disembarked, and exchanging smiles of relief, spilled out into the reassuring, cold brightness of a late January afternoon. They dropped the red, green, or yellow hard hats mine visitors were required to wear in the large box, and chattering as they went, made their way toward the exit.
As the last visitors of the day filed past him, Bevan Jones turned to his colleague stationed beside the box of hard hats and raised an eyebrow. “All right?” he asked.
His colleague shook his head. “No. Not all right. We’re two short.”
“Two! Well, one of them is that fellow who panicked and we had to bring him up early. So he’s accounted for. As for the other one … sure you got the count right? No one could have slipped past you?” When the colleague shook his head to indicate the count was accurate, Bevan called out to the operations team to let them know the train had to make one more descent.
When the group of mine workers reached the starting point of the tour, several hundred feet below ground, Bevan spoke. “We’ll go this way.” He switched on a powerful torch. “The missus is making shepherd’s pie tonight. I hope this won’t take too long.”
The men set off, raking the ground with the bright beams from their torches, occasionally pointing them down the chained-off side tunnels that were not part of the tour.
One of them stopped to pick up a gum wrapper and a little further on, a business card and then a glove.
Suddenly, Bevan stopped and held up his right hand. “What’s that?” he asked in a low voice. A silence fell over them.
“I don’t hear anything, said one of the men. Bevan pushed his hand forward in an impatient, halting gesture and then slowly lowered it. “Wait. Listen,” he whispered. A faint, eerily moaning sound drifted down the tunnel toward them. “The lake,” said Bevan. “It’s coming from the lake chamber. Come on.” They hurried down the uneven passage and entered the large chamber. The silence was broken only by the gentle, pleasing splash of the waterfall. Bevan used his torch to slowly scan the floor of the chamber and as its bright beam reached the steps near the lake, a crumpled splash of red was revealed.
The men raced toward it. As they got closer the splash of red came into focus as the still form of a woman wearing a red coat.
When they reached her, one of the younger workers kneeled down and gingerly touched her shoulder.
“Are you all right, lady?” he asked.
He rolled her over slightly; her silvery hair fell to one side, revealing her face.
“Hey, isn’t that…?” said one of the men.
When the woman did not respond, the crouching worker looked up at the others, his face a mask of shock and fear.
“Fetch the box!” yelled Bevan Jones.