The Dig

The following Saturday was a beautiful day, specially made for a surface dig: warm, sunny and conducive to lying around watching someone else work. One bang in a 12 inch deep shot hole certainly shifted a lot of rock, burying my stilsons but disclosing a strongly draughting fissure in the downstream side of the shaft.

It was about this time that one Jim Newton (RRCPC) appeared on the scene. "Aar, now, wots all this ?" says Jim, "Wot you diggin' in 'Airy Fissure for?"

"Sod off !" Bill replied, quietly dressing some rocks with his bare hands; "Hairy Fissure's up the Gill."

"It's here and I can prove it." Jim replied, with an evil glint in his eye. "It's got H.Long chiselled on it."

Bill's lass was doing a good job of sitting on the inscription, but eventually, when she got her bum off it, all was revealed.

"Thar, told 'ee so!" smirked Jim. Luckily, we could save face by pointing out that we were chasing this new draught. Jim descended and admitted that it hadn't been noticed before. "Take a lot of banging, that", he said, "I'll come back next year and see how you're getting on." With that he exitted stage left, laughing down his sleeve.

Enter stage right: one Gordon Batty and family. "Come and look at the dig and say that it will 'go', Gordon, so that it will 'go'."

Gordon took one look: "No chance", he said, ruining a good dig; but the direction from which the draught came moved him to go and prod at the spot where the top of a grassy slope joined the base of a cliff.

"Waste of time there", said we of little faith. Out came a few sods and rocks.

"Draughting hole", said Gordon, "It'll go." You could almost hear the joints and fissures opening up in order to fulfil the prophesy ! Bill Pybus was up in a flash.

"Bloody Hell, it's a gale !"

Before long an enormous amount of debris had been shifted and a fissure uncovered, from which issued a very powerful draught. Gordon decided to build a wall, while Bill tried his best to fill up the joint by throwing stones down.

"Bloody Hell, listen to that !" gabbled Bill repeatedly.

The next weekend we continued digging and before long had exposed enough to take stock of the situation. Bill continued throwing stones down and Iain Crossley kept doing an indian war dance to the cries of 'Tee-hee-hee!' "How are you going to get down that little hole ?" quizzed Bill's lass. "We're going to make it bloody bigger!" said Bill, throwing more stones down. Gordon built another wall.

Soon we had a large hole. "Lets blast off that flake", screamed a by now demented Bill, throwing rocks down the hole. "Bloody Hell, listen to that!" we all cried. "Throw some more down. What news for the AGM tonight."
The AGM - time to stop digging until tomorrow.

Sunday was a very nasty day, cold with heavy rain, but it didn't stop thirteen of us gathering early at the dig, labouring in liquid mud. With the aid of Batman's patent 4" Nylon Tape Boulder Sling we quickly had some gert 'Enrys out and the hole enlarged rapidly until it was large enough for a premature entry. "Quick !" said Gordon, pointing at me because I had a lamp on, "get in before Bill fills it up again !" I eased myself gently under a huge loose slab (the entrance was different then) and prodded at some hanging death. Suddenly a whole run in began and I exitted pale-faced, treading air like something from an animated cartoon.

Another hour's work cleared everything down to more or less solid rock. Soon Gordon was 20 feet down gardening the top of a thirty foot pitch and I was behind him to lifeline. At the bottom he was away less than a minute, then he shouted up "Passage, 15 feet by 15 feet."
"It's bloody huge!" I relayed to the top.

In the meantime, Hairy Fissure had been refilled. If anyone ever digs out a collapse in Easegill Bed and finds a pair of rusty eight-inch stilsons at the bottom, please return them to 'yours truly'.

D. Brandon