Summary: By Dave Schofield projects Read by Jane Osborn A gripping tale of from the mines of north England in the 1800s. At five thirty I hear the back-gate creak and his heavy boots. The stones laid in our yard are not bedded properly and they scrape and bang like slammed doors. The hair on my neck stands up. ‘I’ve put you water and soap out,’ I shout through the window, my voice cracking, I’ve spoke to no one all day. The colliers stand in yards along our street all half or fully naked scrubbing the coal off at basins which turn ink-black from the fine dust. Thomas says nothing and begins stripping. Stooped body, long thick bones, his ribs and red raw skin. His awkward shape carved into place by hard surfaces and painful actions.
