Old Galleries

South of the salt mine the tunnels run on for hours, long abandoned and barely lit. At first the walls are salt-grey; then comes rough sandstone, held up by timber sets gone dark with age. Rusted rails run into the black between them. A tub wagon lies on its side in a recess, wheels seized. Halfway along, the drift opens into a disused lamp station, a lofty chamber with a cage landing, rows of empty brass hooks and a stone water trough that has recently been filled. One lamp burns there. Its beam hangs thick with dust. Beyond the station the long drift stretches past heavy wooden air doors and a side passage choked with fallen rock. Deep scratches score the timber at shoulder height in tidy groups of five, row after row. Toward the far end the air grows warm and close, and the walls darken from grey to the dull gleam of coal.