The Box Flat Mining Disaster 1972
Posted: Mon Mar 31, 2014 3:36 pm
I wrote this poem last year for the Ipswich Poetry Fest. I knew it was never going to be a contender because, well, it is simply put, a historical narrative. I researched the subject thoroughly and I am confident about the accuracy of the events, the personnel and the timeline. I put it away and forgot about it until just recently. Black and white cabs have an account with Queensland Rail. Sitting in my cab at the Royal Brisbane Hospital rank I received a job over the on board computer to pick up a driver and a guard from the depot at Bowen Hills and transport them to Box Flat balloon loop, Swanbank via Ipswich and return a driver and guard to the depot. I ended up a mere stones throw from the memorial to the 18 miners who lost their lives in 1972. A huge coincidence.
In memory of the miners and their families.
The Box Flat Mine Disaster 1972.
© MM ( Mal ) Beveridge 28/6/13.
It was seventy-two and the mine was still new
the day Lawrie went down number five;
what he found underground was the sight and the sound
of a fire set deep in the drive.
An Inspector of Mines was then told of the signs
and Reg Hardie went down deep below;
the small burn in the wall was now grown hot and tall
though the air was much cut in its flow.
As the burn had got loose there was no further use
for the water that pumped to the glow,
and Pat Farrell was grim when he called down to him
that the smoke was recycling below.
So at twenty past ten and with all of his men
Mister Hardie returned safe and sound,
and a scheme was devised and the men were apprised;
they would close off the doors underground.
At eleven fifteen, into dangers unseen,
they descended to battle that flare;
they drew close to the door breathing air that they wore
and with prospects that must have seemed fair.
And though twice then they rose and attempted to close
off the doors that would seal off the course,
the great smoke and the heat forced them all to retreat
from the smouldering core at the source.
At a quarter past twelve they decided to shelve
the attempt and return to the head,
and to cut off the air from the face, with great care,
they would bring down the tunnel instead.
It was well after one when logistics were done
and fifteen of the men were assigned.
With his foot on the rake Mister Hardie would make
a decision to be left behind.
A small doubt that he had or a detail to add
gave him thought he should recheck the plan;
not a small thing at all he might later recall
for the saving of life of this man.
The advice they had stalled came when Johnny Roach called
that the fire still burned underground;
on the ‘man and supply’ they’d return by and by
and the fourteen were all surface bound.
But at two forty five in a hell come alive
a great suck back occurred at the head.
An explosion and flare then erupted through air
for some hundreds of feet it was said.
What was seen and was heard ‘twas soon after averred
that the men who were down there were dead,
and four others nearby who were caught in that fly
lost their lives from the blast at the head.
When the dawn came around with the men underground
and extent of the damage revealed,
William Roach made the call there were none left at all,
and he ordered the mine to be sealed.
The old words were then said near the billowing head
as the smoke marked the tomb of the lost,
and the gathering throng lifted voices in song
knowing no-one could measure the cost.
And where men will go down for the black coal or brown
and must work with the ghosts of the cleft,
they must think of as well as that fate worse than hell
for the wives and the children they’ve left.
In memory of the miners and their families.
The Box Flat Mine Disaster 1972.
© MM ( Mal ) Beveridge 28/6/13.
It was seventy-two and the mine was still new
the day Lawrie went down number five;
what he found underground was the sight and the sound
of a fire set deep in the drive.
An Inspector of Mines was then told of the signs
and Reg Hardie went down deep below;
the small burn in the wall was now grown hot and tall
though the air was much cut in its flow.
As the burn had got loose there was no further use
for the water that pumped to the glow,
and Pat Farrell was grim when he called down to him
that the smoke was recycling below.
So at twenty past ten and with all of his men
Mister Hardie returned safe and sound,
and a scheme was devised and the men were apprised;
they would close off the doors underground.
At eleven fifteen, into dangers unseen,
they descended to battle that flare;
they drew close to the door breathing air that they wore
and with prospects that must have seemed fair.
And though twice then they rose and attempted to close
off the doors that would seal off the course,
the great smoke and the heat forced them all to retreat
from the smouldering core at the source.
At a quarter past twelve they decided to shelve
the attempt and return to the head,
and to cut off the air from the face, with great care,
they would bring down the tunnel instead.
It was well after one when logistics were done
and fifteen of the men were assigned.
With his foot on the rake Mister Hardie would make
a decision to be left behind.
A small doubt that he had or a detail to add
gave him thought he should recheck the plan;
not a small thing at all he might later recall
for the saving of life of this man.
The advice they had stalled came when Johnny Roach called
that the fire still burned underground;
on the ‘man and supply’ they’d return by and by
and the fourteen were all surface bound.
But at two forty five in a hell come alive
a great suck back occurred at the head.
An explosion and flare then erupted through air
for some hundreds of feet it was said.
What was seen and was heard ‘twas soon after averred
that the men who were down there were dead,
and four others nearby who were caught in that fly
lost their lives from the blast at the head.
When the dawn came around with the men underground
and extent of the damage revealed,
William Roach made the call there were none left at all,
and he ordered the mine to be sealed.
The old words were then said near the billowing head
as the smoke marked the tomb of the lost,
and the gathering throng lifted voices in song
knowing no-one could measure the cost.
And where men will go down for the black coal or brown
and must work with the ghosts of the cleft,
they must think of as well as that fate worse than hell
for the wives and the children they’ve left.
