The idea for this project has been floating around in my mind for a long time.So, this is a first draft of the first 500 words. comments please.
One thing that was missing from his life as an ironstone miner was the dawn, even in the height of summer he was up before the dawn. Sunsets he’d seen a plenty but watching this one as he leaned on the fence smoking his pipe it felt different. It was not just the sun setting on this day but also on a way of life, of the very existence of the world as he’d known it. Even in this quiet corner of North Yorkshire he could feel destiny and fate conspiring together, like two old washerwomen who’s gossiping could change lives.
The beauty of the sunset and the peace of his surroundings were marred by his morbid thoughts, gnawing at him like a beggar at a bone. His family had a history of foretelling doom and gloom, his mother had stopped reading tarot cards as all she could see were the deaths of her nearest and dearest. His grandfather had come up from Oxfordshire, some saying he was chased away because he brought bad luck to everyone who knew him.
All his life he’d had these feelings, hazy premonitions, of bad things due to happen but he’d managed to keep them to himself, bottled up inside him; like a champagne cork resisting the pressure building up inside of him. This time it was different, it was like a cloak wrapped around his shoulders but instead of been warm and comforting it was as cold as a shroud. He wondered if it could be his own doom that he was feeling, or even worse someone close to him, someone he cared for more than himself?
The sun was almost gone, the last rays bringing everything into silhouette and spreading the shadows along the ground like dark tendrils looking for the coming darkness of night. A chill ran through his body, was it the cold of the evening or the result of his dark and cold thoughts? Did it matter? Tomorrow the sun would rise again, by which time he’d be deep underground mining the ironstone that was in plentiful supply underneath the beauty of the purple heather that covered these moors.
It was said that there had once been a great forest here, cut down for the sailing ships that were now getting replaced by ‘steamers’. That had been before his time but if you looked close enough you could still see evidence of the past around you. The churches and priories in the area had been here before the miners, and the railways that had brought them here. In most cases, the villages had been built to house the miners, who were themselves remnants from the land, farm workers looking to better themselves and the lot of their families.
Before becoming a miner, he’d been a farm labourer hiring out at the annual fares, working for board and lodge and getting paid at the end of his years’ service. Most times there was no cash available at the end of the year, so he’d receive payment ‘in kind’; in the form of an animal, a cow or a couple of sheep, that he’d then have to drive to market himself to sell for the best price he could get.