The Jack Hansard Series: Season One

Episode 4: Coal and Pies

"Whad'you think, gwas?  Tidy pile here, eh? Worth many pies, many pies."

I surveyed the offering with a renewed sense of gloom. I was staring at a heap – a small mountain, really – of coal. Jet black, shiny, dirty coal. The wind picked up and swept dust off the mound and into my throat.

The lead coblyn, whose name was Ang, peered up at me with expectant eyes. I had been mistaken in presuming it to be a 'he' – how can you tell under all that dirt, anyhow? – and I had received a sharp scolding for it. Coblyn women apparently mine right alongside the men, and Ang was in charge of the small troupe that surrounded us now.

"Is it magic coal?" I asked, with a sense of hope.

"What's magic about coal? Ain't fire enough?" said Ang.

"Ah." I slumped back into gloom. "Don't you make things? I thought knockers were good at making things out of iron-"

"Not knockers," said Ang, sternly.

"Nor hobs!"

"Nor gnomes!"

"Nor piskies!"

I raised my hands in placation and waited for the voices to pipe down. Ang nudged me. "We tried changing our trade, gwas. Knockers got it easy-"

"Not knockers!"

"Nor buccas!"

"Nor knackers!"

Ang sighed, and pulled me away from the group. "Difficult subject, 'tis. Fact is, Cornish knockers be good wi' iron. They be good wi' you humans, too. But us coblynau got the best knack for mining, and we miss it sore. When all the mines closed, when your people left, we left too. Some coblynau still down there, o'course. Trying t'keep to the dark. Not a good life, though. Mines be empty. Lonely. Not the same."

"You mean you preferred living around people?" I said in surprise.

The coblyn regarded me solemnly. "Careful, pentwp. People we be."

"Sorry," I said. "Humans, I mean. I thought you'd be glad for us to leave the mines all to yourselves."

"Not the same," murmured Ang. "Less noise. Fewer jokes tole. No pasties. Comrades wi' your lot, we were. Looked out for an'other."

"So you did the knocking on walls thing?"

"Aye. Warned of collapses and other nasties. The big lads left us pies and oggies galore."

"You miss it?"

"Why you think we in this ole' mess?" She waved a skinny hand at the landscape looming before us. A vast array of chimneys belched glutinous black clouds of smoke. "What need has coblynau of furnaces and factories?" she said with scorn. "They make nothing, just burn and burn and burn through all the coal we mine. We dig out th'clay, we fire it in lumps and then dump it back in the ground."

"Why?"

The grizzled features looked embarrassed, and more than a little sad. "Makes it feel more like home. Miss the old days, we do."

Astern voice interrupted us. "Dyn. Gaffer wants to see you." The gruff newcomer prodded me in the leg, lips pressed in a thin, disapproving line.

Ang shook her head. "Brace y'self. This be the worst part o'your day."

***

It was definitely the worst part of my day.

I'm no stranger to life-threatening situations. I will even admit that I often end up in them through fault entirely of my own making. It's not exactly a habit of mine, but you'd be forgiven for thinking it was. In any case, I prefer to only risk my life for something worthwhile – a profit, at the very least.