At the Coalface: The memoir of a pit nurse by Veronica Clark, Joan Hart

By Veronica Clark, Joan Hart

A heart-warming tale of a girl who committed her lifestyles to aiding others. this can be the memoir of Joan, who began nursing within the Forties and whose reviews took her into the Yorkshire mining pits and during the tumult of the 1984-85 miners’ strike.

Joan Hart continually knew what she desired to do along with her lifestyles. Born in South Yorkshire in 1932, she begun her nursing education while she used to be sixteen, the youngest age ladies may well accomplish that on the time. She persisted operating after she married and her paintings took her to London and Doncaster, taking good care of kids and miners.

When she took a role as a pit nurse in Doncaster in 1974, she came across that during order to be permitted through the lads below her care, she must develop into one in every of them. more often than not rejecting a conventional nurse’s uniform and wearing a dishevelled miner’s swimsuit, pit boots, a hardhat and a headlamp, Joan resolved continuously to move all the way down to injured miners and produce them out of the pit herself.

Over 15 years Joan grew to grasp the miners not just as a nurse, yet as a confidante and buddy. She tended to injured miners underground, rescued males trapped within the pits, and supplied help for them and their households in the course of the sour miners’ strike which stretched from March 1984 to 1985.

Moving and uplifting, it is a tale of 1 woman’s existence, marriage and paintings; it really is bound to make readers chuckle, cry, and smile.

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I put it in my mouth and was stunned by the sharp sweetness. " I said. "Chew on it, but don't swallow it," the nurse said with a laugh. She smiled real big and brought in other nurses so they could watch me chew my first-ever piece of gum. When she brought me lunch, she told me I had to take out my chewing gum, but she said not to worry because I could have a new stick after eating. If I finished the pack, she would buy me another. That was the thing about the hospital. You never had to worry about running out of stuff like food or ice or even chewing gum.

Mom's gestures were all familiar—the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that she'd hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with childish glee when she found something she liked. Her long hair was streaked with gray, tangled and matted, and her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, but still she reminded me of the mom she'd been when I was a kid, swan-diving off cliffs and painting in the desert and reading Shakespeare aloud.

Dad raised his eyebrows. " he asked. " "You must have seen it. " he asked. "Yes! Yes! " "Better believe I have. " Dad said he had been chasing Demon for years. By now, Dad said, that old Demon had figured out that it had better not mess with Rex Walls. But if that sneaky son of a gun thought it was going to terrorize Rex Walls's little girl, it had by God got another think coming. "Go fetch my hunting knife," Dad said. I got Dad his knife with the carved bone handle and the blade of blue German steel, and he gave me a pipe wrench, and we went looking for Demon.

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