My imagination, all that I had to keep me company, was racing ahead, down the passage
in search of a place to lurk and catch me out with surprise.
Although my mind kept wandering and playing tricks it would always return to the absence of the
men that used to work here. Their presence was palpable, this was their mine and I was trespassing.
The huge cathedra-sized caverns I kept losing myself in would have been rented and worked on by one
family. Grandfathers, fathers, sons, uncles, cousins, and nephews would have worked side-by-side, day
in day out. These dark passages, steep crevasses and sheer drops would have been their livelihood.
This was their world. They would have spent the majority of their lives down here in the dark with
nothing but a candle to illuminate the slate and their spirits.
An underground labyrinth of tunnels and chambers the Victorian mine at Cwmorthin to this
day retains an unusual hold and control over me.