The blast reportedly rocked the town and shattered nearby windows. Eighty-eight men were rescued, and the mine was closed, not to be reopened until January 19th, 1957, when the remaining bodies were retrieved and identified. Henry and Muriel’s brothers, along with many other miners, continued to work deep underground after the 1956 disaster primarily out of economic necessity. The town’s economy was almost entirely dependent on the coal mining industry.
Whenever Muriel and Henry came to visit, I’m sure there must have been many discussions between them and our parents about the mine explosion, but it was never spoken of within our hearing. In fact, being only 6 years old, we really had no idea just how serious it was. Years later we learned Father had tried to talk Henry out of returning to the mine, offering him the chance to take a meat cutters course, which would have given him a good-paying job. However, even though Henry appreciated the offer, mining was in his blood, and he turned down the opportunity.
I was 8 years old when I first witnessed the profound sorrow and anxiety that engulfed Muriel’s family as they gathered at her home waiting for news of their loved ones. It seemed the tears flowed endlessly. Some prayed while others just cried. No matter where you looked, whether it was in the kitchen or living room, everyone was in total shock but trying to be supportive of one another. The radio droned on in the background, as some family members listened intently to the broadcasts about the tragedy. Neighbours brought in trays of sandwiches and sweets, and to my recollection my brother and I were the only children present. It was one of those times where we were to be seen but not heard, and I imagine Mom and Dad were proud of us those nights.
It all started on Thursday, October 23rd, 1958, at approximately 8:06 pm when the No. 2 Colliery just outside the town of Springhill, Nova Scotia, was struck by an underground shift in the mine. An underground earthquake known as a “bump.” My brother and I sat motionless on Muriel’s chesterfield while Mother tried to be of comfort to the wives of Muriel’s brothers and to Muriel as Henry was also down there underground. Some families and many members of the community gathered at the pithead, waiting for news. Father was one of the volunteers who stood there waiting to identify Muriel’s brothers, Harold, Cyril, and Ralph, and her husband, Henry, if their bodies were brought out of the pit. I can’t remember how many nights we drove to Springhill after Dad got home from work and grabbed a bite of supper before we took off to Springhill, but there were many.
There were 174 men working in the mine at the time of the bump. Those who did not survive were reported to have died almost instantly during the bump or soon after. Many were crushed or buried in the rock, while others were injured and then suffocated because of the gases. Muriel’s three brothers and her husband, Henry Brine, all died, and to my knowledge, their bodies were never recovered. That mine became their eternal resting place.
Because of media reports and miners’ descriptions of the situation in the mine, many families began digging graves for their loved ones. As the deceased miners were brought to the surface, many funerals were held each day. The rescue effort became the first major international event to be covered live on television, and the world watched as some survivors were miraculously pulled out after several days. The community involvement was so significant that Springhill is the only community to have received the Carnegie Medal for Heroism.
Born and raised in Nova Scotia, Marilyn and Bill met and married in 1972. Having raised 3 boys and accumulated a respectable number of grand-children and great-grand-children, she wrote her first book and published it in 2024. A collection of short stories titled The Kendricks of Glasgow Junction. She is contributing short stories about growing up in Nova Scotia to this website and will be publishing a collection of them in the near future.