Present: Al Cook, Ian Walker, John Redhead, +4
Mild drunkenness, plese excuse poor speeling/grammar.
Al decided it would be a good idea to take his workmates and bosses on a trip underground. He arraned with the group to borrow Dusa lights and helmets. Ralph, having previously agreed to the suggestion, held back the Dusa lights and helmets under his stairs and ran off to York for a rowers’ bumfest. Al then picked up John and Ian and proceeded to fitfully race around Durham in the race against being sacked. The total number of lights/helmets was six; the number of lights/helmetsneeded was seven. Oh dear. Still, Al has a site helmet and a cheapo knock-off Tikka which should do…. In the end, we left Durham around 50mins late, but not to worry, that diesel engine has some go in it! Cue racing boy racers and ignoring ‘SLOW DOWN NOW’ signs. Villages and towns sped past, and we were soon at Nenthead (peculiarly in the valley of the South Tyne, despite being WSW of Duham).
Having apologised to his superiors and so on, Al handed out the kit , making sure to give Ian the site helmet (which doesn’t stay on head) and the cheapo knock-off Tika (which doesn’t stay on helmet). The seven of us fairly well stomped up the path, ready for allsorts. Thus we went underground. The holes we travelled through are abandoned lead mines, and have many fascinating wagonways/shafts/industrial artefacts in them. We enjoyed a few squeezes and signed the guestbook in the ballroom flats a large, flat space dug out by miners – apparently they held a proper tweed dinner down there back in t’day). Al lead us down a certain route, flooded to the waist, only to find that it was blocked by rockfall and wa impassable. Oh well, back we go! Ian enjoyed the wet bit, it cooled him down; most of the mines were quite warm – certainly not a three layer job. We tried three more passages, all blocked, and decided to head out. At one point we had to edge around a sizable shaft, so Al decided to have a photo taken of us all stood on the brink. Further along this passage, there was a place where the floor dropped away; to continue you had to balance on the old rails and walk across the gap, seven or eight feet in length. Al whipped his camera out again to photograph us crossing it. Everyone was enjoying themselves, but pretty quickly we felt the cooling draught of fesh air and we were back outside. Back at the carpark, we enjoyed our own snacks and gagged on Al’s “tea” (actually a sweet tannin syrup of such strength it ought to be a classified as a controlled substance). Our feet got cold and it felt as though somebody might give in, but they didn’t and we went off to find the next mine. This one was much closer, easier and prettier, and we admired many fine formations on the cave walls. Again, Al took photographs. Despite the caving trip having been a very clean one, on the way back out Ian found a patch of squelchy, splodgy mud and ,whilst no-one was about, thought it best to stamp and jump in it. Just as John and Al rounded the corner, Ian lost balance and toppled sideways into the mire, with helmet and light (site and cheapo respectively) falling into the mess. We retuned to the outdoors, took another couple of photographs as Ian sploshed Al with sock/wellywater, and as Al extracted his revenge.
It didn’t take us long to change, though, and so two of Al’s bosses and workmates returned home. The remaining five of us crossed the road and entered the Miners’ Arms for a pint quite generously bought for us by one of the chaps whose name I never knew. To Al’s relief, Ian washed his face in the (unlit, unheated) toilets before sitting down. Much banter ensued and so our drinks finished and we left for the cars again. Al took it a bit steadier on the way home, and Ian lent out of the window
for the last fifteen miles of so for a laugh. We left our homes at about 9.30 and were all back by 6ish having had an excellent days’ trip out.
Thanks to Al for arranging the trip/making it happen/driving us about/not demanding coinage for it etc.
Ian