At 1 pm on Friday, 20th April, the rescuers had cut enough of the barrier so that Abby Dodd could scramble into the black, would-be tomb. Isaac Pride made a bridge of his body so Dodd could pass the men over. First they freed young David Hughes, and the rest soon followed. The 14-year-old's first words to his rescuers were to ask about his brother and father. Don't worry, they told him, though they assumed — correctly — that they had both drowned. The rescuers carried the boy, but Moses Powell and George Jenkins insisted on walking. A few minutes later, the clanking of machinery announced to the crowd that someone was coming up. A tram with three grimy men emerged. One of them, Thomas Ash, called out 'They are all safe. . . . They'll be up soon.'

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The crowd shouted and sang, and the noise spread the word through the valley as the telegraph lines sent the news to a waiting Britain. The people at the pit head stood and waited for nearly two hours for the machinery to clank again, heralding another tram coming up. Abby Dodd and Isaac Pride rose into view, along with a physician bent over the rescued boy. Then the others were brought up by twos as relief spread over the countryside.

John Thomas and David Jenkins, who had tried to swim through the murky water and spent their time in the cold darkness in wet clothes, were incoherent. All the rescued men would suffer through the 'bends,' the condition associated with deep-sea divers who come to the surface too quickly, but they all recovered.

Loss of life was a commonplace component of working in the mines. The year of the Tynewydd disaster, 159 men and boys lost their lives in the South Wales Coalfield. Mining deaths in Britain averaged 1,000 a year into the early 1900s. Though only five lost their lives when Tynewydd was flooded, the disaster captured the public's attention because of the 10 days of suspense, the rescue methods employed, and the incredible courage of the men who kept digging beyond their own endurance, in the face of great danger.

Queen Victoria awarded Albert Medals to four of the five rescuers, the first ever awarded for gallantry on land. The mine owner was also a candidate for a medal — until the Queen learned he was being tried for man-slaughter in connection with the disaster. He was accused of failing to take precautions after earlier reports of water seepage, but a jury acquitted him on the grounds that he believed a geological fault would have sealed off any chance of a leak from the old pit.

Abraham Dodd was not among those cited for the medal-a strange omission. He suffered severe burns in an explosion a few weeks later. When Morien, the Welsh-speaking reporter, visited the injured man, Dodd may have had a few harsh words for mine owners and management. Criticizing those in authority was nearly unheard of, and Dodd may have inadvertently talked himself out of a medal.

The Tynewydd disaster had additional repercussions. Rescue stations formed around the country. Even more importantly, inspectors began making routine inspections to prevent disasters instead of just determining a cause in the aftermath of catastrophe.

The mines are mostly closed now, victims of their own dangers and shifting economies. But the people of the South Wales Coal Field still remember what it was like to risk their lives in the dark and dangerous labyrinths of a coalmine.

This article was written by Judy P. Sopronyi and originally appeared in British Heritage magazine.

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