The Calling Poem by John A'Hern

Born in a village nestled in a Welsh valley
Only work available, follow Fathers underground
No thought of health enters miner's minds,
Wives in control of all around them
Kept their men and children happy,
Recognised when trouble was brewing.

Mateship important when starting a shift
Night or day giving support to one another,
Miner feeling worn out of late
His body just feeling tired and aching.

Frightened wife watching for signs
Never seen her man in this condition,
No diagnosis from the doctor
Just rest and drink plenty of water.
Hearing children's voices
During dreams and waking hours.

Now unable to leave his bed
Wife sits with him and soothes his head,
She squeezes his hand when pain is sensed.
The miner whispers about the children's voices
Wife shakes her head and starts sobbing.

Wife lies beside him holding on tightly
The dreams become more vivid nightly.
The miner now tells a story about that day,
Working the day shift nothing unusual
The mine sirens start blowing the warning sounds,
Nothing untoward happening underground.

Everyone trained to never question
Miners all gathered and up in the cage,
Shift bosses shouting orders, no confusion.
Shovel! Shovels! Came the shouts
Village! Village! Were the next calls.

Miners running towards the Village, overtaking slower movers
Passing Villagers all heading in the same direction.
Knowing the road, headed for the Village School,
Round a bend and School in sight, almost stopped at the scene unfolding
Mud sliding off what had been a mountain,
Engulfing all without question.

Trying to make sense of where were the children
The miners training had them trying to plan a rescue,
This moving monster of mud has buried the children.
Headed for the top of the mountain to stop the sliding monster
Worked as if their own lives were in Danger,
They are, they all realised as they pondered.

Day turned into night meaning little to the miners
The rescue effort joined by manmade machines
Did little to help rescue the children.
The rescue effort finished with little success
Except to carry out Children all at rest.

This dream has plagued him each day of his life
The children's voices becoming louder each day
Calling to join them and help them play.
No blinding lights or ghostly figures visible,
Slowly slipping into a never awaken slumber.

Miners Wife senses this moment has come,
She squeezes his hand to show she understands.
As Villages go, his funeral would be a good one
Who other than these villagers would say that of a funeral?
This village today stands green and proud
Memorials grace that hallowed ground.