episode 86 EMBARASING BEHAVIOUR….ANXIETY ATTACK







EPISODE 86     EMBARASSING BEHAVIOUR….ANXIETY ATTACK

alan skeoch’
July 2020

If you can stand to read this then do so.  If you are queasy at the knees as I can be…then DO NOT READ THIS EPISODE 86




TODAY is Sunday july 26, 2020.  I was released  from hospital an hour ago…thankfully.

“What the hell are you doing in the hospital, Alan?”
“Give  me a  few  minutes and I will tell you.  the
events are not flattering…make me looks deranged.:

START.

Marjorie and I returned to the city  after a delightful meal at the farm
practicing social isolation and distancing with masks. All the goddamn
things we had been doing for the past four months.

“Marjorie  what do you have for an upset stomach”?
“Something  you ate?”
“Don’t know but hurts bad…like a ballon in my gut.”
“Book says ginger is good…I’ll make  ginger tea…”

Cut to the qjuick here.  After the  usual panacea, water…We tried everything including apple vinegar
and honey.   Next comes mint leaves, the BRAT DIET (banana, rice, applesauce,  toast), then Iturned

to the internet…lime, lemon juice, baking soda ,
  even considered  Yarrow leaves from the garden.

My gut hurt really bad…bloated.

I remembered  uncle Norman said  the vets used a big knife for bloated cattle because the choice

was a terrible  choice.  And I remembered him hauling out a dead bloated steer with the help of
the man from the dead wagon.


“Christ, Marjorie  this hurts but the internet says the worst thing
to do is lie down.  So you go to bed and I will pace the floor until
this stuff works its way out my ass or my mouth.”

1.00 a.m.  “Marjorie, wake  up…we  have to go the hospital fast.  I think
it’s the gallstones again.  Pain bad…really bad.  Get up.  Wake  up.:”

  We moved with speed of  summer lightning…Mississauga Trillium Hospital…guards out front.

1.30 a.m.  “Just park anywhere …let me out.  Ignore the guys in
uniform.”
“Hold on sir.”
“Let him go…he’s having an attack.”
“Then you can go no farther. lady.”
(I slipped by…in my pajamas with a spare shirt and my I phone.
Emergency room was empty…no one there.  At other times there were dozens
but no one tonight ( July 25, 1.30 a.m.)  Then a nurse appeared…got all the  data needed
as I fumbled through my wallet.  “I  am in pain…bad”  “how bad on scale 1 to 10?”
It was10…might be 8 now…”
“Here slip on this  wrist band”
“Follow the arrows back there…someone will help ou.”
Alone, I walked,  then heard tapping at a window and there
was Marjorie…thumbs  up…I returned the gesture even
though my pajama bottoms wanted to fall down.  The trail
led me to an assessment centre…
“Room 5,sir”
(Why 5…most distant room….hardly a room …tiny but large enough for terror to unfold)
“Let me take some blood, sir”
“What is your first name.”
“Caister”  (may have  got it wrong)
“There, got the blood, now get ready to give  me  a sample.  I will
be back in a minute.”
(A minute was just to damn long.  I snapped.  Did not expect

to do so but anxiety attacks are almost spontaneous.  They explode.

And this is when things turned UGLY. real Ugly for
everyone concerned.  

“ I started to scream…I can’t breathe!  I CAN’T BREATHE!  help me SOMEONE…FOR
CHRIST’S SAKE, I CAN’T BREATHE!   I SCREAMED AND SCREAMED.

People came running.  From where I do not know.

“HELP ME…HELP ME…NO BREATHE…GOING TO FAINT.”

They tried.  Many people…maybe 6,  maybe 10 all crowded  into
this overgrown telephone booth.  All yelling  as well.  “Give him air.
Calm down, sir.  Sit Down   Stand up.  Stope yelling.  breathe through
you nose not you mouth.”

“CAN NO ONE HELP ME.  I CANNOT BREATHE.”

But you are  breathing.   “NOT ENOUGH AIR.  LET ME OUT OF HERE.
SOMEONE  HELP ME.:’

“QUICK, RUN AND GET THE ECG…FAST…”

“SIT DOWN, SIR.”
“I CAN’T SIT DOWN…CANNOT BREATHE.”
(I Tore off the hospital gown.)
“GOT TO STAND  UP…DYING.”
“SWEATING LIKE A STUCK PIG…WATER POURING OFF.”
(The GUY WITH MY GOWN IS TRYING TO WAVE  IT TO CalM ME DOWN.
BIG GUY, .  HE CLEARS A TINY SPACE
FOR ME TO STAND UP…FANNING ME…I AM NEAR NUDE …SCREAMING LIKE
A MAD MAN.

(…6 to 10 of us…then the
ECG arrive on a trolley…wedged into the room…tottering.)

“I CAN’T BREATHE…HELP ME…SOMEONE HELP ME.”


“Here slap  these patches on his body…anywhere…then we’ll
hook him to the ECG.   Patches and then a forest of wires attached
while I am jumping around  screaming…”I CAN’T BREATHE.  I NEED
AIR..OXYGEN.  AN AIR TANK FOR GOD’S SAKE”

Then the ECG  starts to chatter while showing zig zags of my heart on a screen.  Danger?
 zigs and zags all looks the same.  Cards piling up like an accordion.  No strait line thankfully.

   I glanced  and remembered  hospital shows on TV.  Straight line on an ECG spells death.


“I CAN’T BREATHE.  NEED  AIR.”
“SIT DOWN SIR,”
“CAN’T SIT DOWN”
Some hands pushing me  down,  others helping me up.  Too many hands.
Everybody yelling and the ECG chattering.  Spewing out the last few moments
of  my life.
“I CAN’T BREATHE FOR CHRIST’S SAKE…HELP  ME…I NEED AIR..NEED AIR.”
Then someone wraps a plastic  air pipe around  my neck and  is  fumbling with
the pipe…air tank now in room as well.

Trying to reach my nose…jumping around

“CAN’T BREATHE.   DRY MOUTH…DRY MOUTH…DRY MOUTH”
A hand jams a  capsule in my mouth and something sticks to the inside front
tooth.  “DRY MOUTH…HELP ME…SOMEONE…CAN’T BREATHE.

“BUT YOU ARE BREATHING, SIR.”
“NOT ENOUGH.  ONLY HALF BREATHES…NEED AIR…NEED AIR.”

(ECG machine has paper as long as the room by now.  Someone takes
a look. I must be dying…but machine keeps chattering…no deadline…I am
alive but  ‘I CAN’T BREATHE”

“CALM DOWN, SIR…TRY YOUR NOSE NOT YOUR MOUTH…YOU WILL
GET OVER IT…CLASSIC ANXIETY  ATTACK…HE WILL GET OVER IT.”

THE guy with my gown now  has a little more room.  He starts  to wipe me
down  with the gown…meanwhile I am still yelling  “I CAN’T BREATHE…DRY MOUTH…
WILL SOMEONE HELP ME.”  

Little sticky patches allover my body…multi coloured wires..  “SIR , TRY TO RELAX.”

  Eventually I 

wound down  … slowly …still yelling but without the short staccato yells …I am getting
more oxygen…someone holding the tank behind me…I am breathing…not well…not even

 but I am breathing.


It was pandemonium.   And I was the in the centre.   But I really could not
breathe.   Even though I was gulping air like a goldfish in a tank. Someone switched
off the ECG.   I sat down.  Then  Caistor helped me onto a gurney. Wrapped me
in a new gown…must have been a new gown…my original was soaked.




  INTERJECTION:  TODAY I WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE SIX TO TEN  PEOPLE
THAT CROWDED IN THE ROOM TRYING TO HELP.  GOOD PEOPLE.  PART OF
THE HERO FORCE WE MAY NEED AGAIN.  I WONDER HOW THEY WILL REMEMBER
ME?  UNSTABLE?  MAYBE ANXIETY ATTACKS ARE COMMON.  PLEASE TAKE NOTE THAT ALL

THESE PEOPLE WERE TAKING  RISKS TRYING TO HELP ME.  I AM PARTICULARLY

IN DEBT TO THE TALL BLACK  MAN  WHO I CALL ‘CAISTER’ …I GOT HIS NAME GARBLED
IN ALL THE EXCITEMENT.  HE MADE SURE I COULD STAND AND  HE TRIED TO COOL
ME BY WAVING MY GOWN AS THE SWEAT POURED FORTH. I WAS DAMN CLOSE TO 
NUDE BY THEN.

NEXT STEP


“Taking you down for a CatScan, sir.”

 “Drink these two  tumblers…no rush but drink it all.”


The technicians fiddled around with my hands for a while and
once I was calm enough they fed me into the big donut like you
feed a frozen makerel to a whale.

“Try not of move sir…absolutely still”

I was worn out anyway.  And I was breathing.  The person who got
the  air tank handed to the CatScan technician and disappeared.

What I am trying to describe to you is a classic example of aN Anxiety Attack.

  It happened suddenly without warning.  The source was stress and fear.  I am

  81 years  old.   My 50 year old daughter in law died  last week. Tragic. Everyone in turmoil.
My memory kept  drawing
  up a memory from the even deeper past.  A moment of sheer terror in France.



The reason for my Panic Attack was clear to me as I tried to
explain to others.  Several years ago I had trouble coming
out of an anesthetic at a nice hospital in the south of France.
I had fallen off a cliff while trying to get a better angle picture
of a beautiful lavender field.  Bashed myself up badly and broke
my wrist.  The operation was a success.  Unfortunately I had trouble
coming out of the anesthetic.  I  opened my eyes, saw  Marjorie
across the room…but I could not breathe.  My lungs would not work
correctly as they must have been tuned to some kind of lung
machine.  It took a couple of minutes for me to adjust.  Terrifying
minutes that made  me fear anisthesia.


    So this  anxiety attack was not funny.

It was not funny at the time.  Sounds funny now.  But I know it was
not funny.  I really thought I was going to die…to smother to death 
right there and then.  with 6 to 10 people watching and an ECG machine
chattering and Caistor with my gown fanning me.


  A few weeks earlier I had arrived here in emergency with

 a gall stone lodged in the neck of my gall bladder.  Pain that
I had no wish to ever meet again.  pain that lasted 5 days…no sleep
…three of those days in a hospital bed. Then the moment the surgeon
was about to cut, the pain ended.  The stone slipped off.  No pain.
I told the  surgeon in plain terms “If  it ain;t busted, don’tfix it.”
Get me out of here.  I was released.   What a relief.  a  bunch
of men were out in the lot building an emergency hospital for
the expected rush of Covid 19 patients.  I did not want to be around for that.
The surgeon knew an  operation was the best choice but he also knew
what was coming  with the Pandemic.  “I will get it removed in a couple
of weeks when the pandemic dies down.  That idea was wrong. We  are
now nearly at the end of July.  The Pandemic is still here

No delay…no smart ass comment like “If it  ain;t busted, don’t fix it.”


So I kept my mouth shut while Dr.  Zilbert pushed on my stomach.

“Where does it hurt?”
“Right there, Dr.”

He seemed to already know about my case.   Maybe the fuss down in  the 
Emergency room had reached his ears.  Maybe the CatSkan was clear.  
Bottom  line I was admitted and wheeled into a ward passing through
long empty hallways with no one visible.  The Mississauga Trillim hospital
like hospitals across Canada was half empty as the nation waited
to see what Covid19 was going to do..I was in the middle of noman’s, nowoman’s lamd.

I was in the midst of the care workers I had been reading about

just a day earlier…nurses, doctors, orderlies, sweepers, cooks,…many people.


And I was afraid.


Fear.  Pure and simple. Fear. That is one reason for panic attacks
like  mine.  There can be other  reasons but for me it was the fear

I would wake up and not be able to breathe.


An orderly took over the gurney  from the CatsSkan operator
and landed me in Room 213 at the Mississauga Trillium Hospital.’

“Would you like the window, sir?”
“Sure would.  Last time I was here  Got a window.”
“When was that ?”
“First week of March…same time you were emptying the hospital expectng
Covid19 infested patients by the hundreds.:
“Why were you admitted?”
“Terrible pain….Gall stone lodged in my Gall Bladder….stomach
blown up like a dead pig in a farm field.  Scale of 10 over 10
for pain.  Did not sleep for 5 days…three of those days here
in Trillium.”
“How did we  reduce the pain?”
“Morphine and lots of it.   Have you ever had a morphine trip?
“I had three days and nights on Morphine…right outside my window
I had morphine trips that  were great.  One  night a circus  arrived
with a big brown  bear up a telephone tree that slowly turned into
an oak or maple tree  as the bear looked at me in friendly way. Not
a hungry bear  There was a little white Jack Russel dog that tipped
me off that a trip was about to happen.  Cute little dog. Then some

big sailing ships flooded by with people aboard…silent people.

And on the  shore a bunch of men were trying to pull down
a big tree by hand. My room moved closer….a young woman
sitting cross legged idly plucking rose petals from a huge silver
bowl.  Others standing on high poles as a building was
lowered from the sky for the  men and women to bolt in place..”

“No morphine on the orders today.”
“No, the pain has eased…down to a 5…tolerable…If it skyrocketed
you will turn to morphine.”
“Let’s hope that does not happen.”

Dr.Zilbert  and  others arrived at my bedside and did a little probing
and said the magic word…”Surgery soon”  And away  they went.

 A bubbly Filipino nurse  arrived with a  tub of soapy water. Big smile.

“Would you like  a bath, sir?”

 “Bath?”

“Here you wash your face, I will do the rest of you.”
And she did…swiftly…even the underparts.  She was fast and
cheerflull but no debate invited.  She had two little toddlers of her own…so

risky situation for her.


I had two  nurses…my day nurse  was Agnes, my night 
nurse  was Maria.  Two people who took charge  of people
like me every two or three days.  They just took charge
of my every movement. They checked my  heart and  temperature
every two hours.  Agnes jabbed me  with needles that sucked
my blood and another needle  to prevent blood clotting.They put me
to bed  and got me up.  They were always just a buzzer away.

“Agnes, can you get a message to Dr. Zilbert?”
“I can try…he is a busy man.” 

AGNES…MY DAY SHIFT NURSE




Agnes and Maria and others seemed  to like collecting my blood.  I was beyond caring by  then.


“I am terrified of the  anisthetic. I fear a 
repeat of an experience  in France where
my breathing was compromised.   Tell him
I am scared.


“When  is the operation planned.?”
“We never know.  First we must get you ready.
No  food today.  just cups of tiny ice cubes that
you can eat one at time.”


MY WASHER, BATHER, BED MAKER….DRESSER (NEW GOWNS)  BENEATH THAT MASK  IS A BIG SMILE.  AS  YOU CAN SEE.


MARIA….MY NIGHT SHIFT NURSE

And Maria, my night nurse followed the same routines.

  MARIA would like everyone to appreciate FRONT LINERS like her and so many others.  That is  one reason I am writing this  story


“When will they operate, MARIA?”
“We never know…operations go on here night and day.”
“Today?”
“Best you just suck on ice cubes and sleep.”

On that I fell asleep… only to be gently awakened
at 1 a.m. IN the morning.  The night was dark and hot..




THE SURGERY

“Wake up, Alam/“
“Not more blood…have I any remaining””
“Getting you ready for surgery.”
“At 1 a.m….middle  of the night?”
“Surgery goes 24/7.”

So I rolled myself  onto another gurney and was wheeled through the dark and

largely empty hospital.  Somewhere ahead was the Operation Theatre but first
we had to thread a maize of silent machines.

What could I do to reduce  anxiety?  I could  play SCRABBLE.  I began counting  letters
in words.   H O S P I T A L…8 letters, no good.  C A L M, 4 letters, easy to find…M A R J O R I E . 8 letters, too hard to find, …etc.etc.
This was great.  Totally relaxing.  G A L L B L A D D ER,  10 letters, soon to be removed.



“There you are, sir.”

The orderly slid my gurney into a dark corner where I could see no one at first and then

the surgical team arrived, checked charts.   Eventually someone  came over to talk to me.
It might have been Dr. Zilbert.   Chatty kind of  talk.  Easing  my trepidation.  Others arrived.
I was wheeled into the surgical  room.  One door had air rushing out.  Some kind of pressure
room  to ensure no contaminated air rushed  in I assumed.  I was a bit nervous  but not as much
as I expected.   

One person slipped off my mask and instantly  pressed to my face a rubber mask with a hose  attached.
This  must be the anesthetist.

“Talke your breath…slowly….calmly.”

And that is all I remember.

Hours later I awoke in the same place.  There was someone with me but I know not whom.
No  problem.  A seamless return to breathing.  No fear I would smother to death.  Amazingly calm
feeling.  No pain.

RECOVERY

I was wheeled back  through the empty halls to Room 213 and  gently, with my help, eased  back
into my bed.   There was a  hint of daybreak out the window.  Perhaps around  4 a.m.  I actually
fell back to sleep. 


Some  time later Agnes awoke me…around  6.30 a.m. 

And a whole bunch  of  people began to assess me.   Heart.  Temperature.  Blood, of course.

Then in came my surgeon, Dr. Zilbert with a group of attendants.  He did not say much.
Took a look at my chest where he had poked  holes.   Assured himself  that recovery  was beginning.
I  said nothing really.  Only spoke as  hist team left .

“Please thank the anaesthetist.   Breathing was seamless”
What a dumb thing to say to the man who  had  done the big job
of  removing my Gall Bladder.   He should have been thanked first.
Maybe I did thank  him  first.  Yes.  The visit was fast and super efficient.
Notes were made by one attendant.

I wondered if  they knew about the fool  I  had made of  myself down in Emergency.

Then  breakfast arrived.   liquid mostly.

Then came bath time.  Now that you might find amusing.  How can a bath be amusing?
Flash back to the anxiety  attack when  I was  jumping  around like a Jack in The Box and
many people were trying to hook me up  to the ECG.   They slapped the little stickers around
my upper body mostly but one  sticker wound up on my balls.  I did not know that until Agnes
arrived.

“These stickers have to come off, Alan.”
“Good”
( did not know one was attached to my balls.)
“This one may  be a little tricky.”
(And she yanked it off…wow!  Not because it hurt as much as
because it was embarrassing.)”
“Is  that sticker common?”
“Not  at all.   You  must have  been jumping around  a lot at the time.”
“Not proud of myself…but yes  I was jumping around.”

Then my bath.
“You wash  your face,I will do the rest of you.”
As I washed my face my cheerful  nurse washed the  rest of  my body…all
of it…it was done quickly…all  body parts,

AGNES … AND THE CRUCIAL TEST

“Have  you passed gas yet?”
“Yes.”   By Then I knew  that all body functions  had
to be operational before  recovery was  complete.
Farting  is important.

“Have you had a movement yet?”
Funny word  ‘movement’ but I  knew what she meant.
“No.  Bunged  up I think.”
“It will happen…when it does, do  not flush.  I want to see it.”
“How important?”
“Very important…means  body  is working…call me the
moment you have that movement.”
“It happened  between shifts so both Maria and Agnes arrived when 
I pressed the buzzier and stood saluting at the bathroom door.
“very good, Alan”  And  she flushed.

Many other things happened but this rather disgusting  incident was critical.
All my systems were working.  There was no blockage.  Just the thought of
a  blockage made me a bit queasy.

I was cleared to go home.   Called  Marjorie.  Slumped into the  wheelchair
and  Agness wheeled me to the hospital entrance  where Marjorie waited.

alan akeoch
July 28,2020”




P.S.  Why do I want this rather sorry behaviour  put in print?   Simple  answer.  I  am very

proud of  our hospital and its staff.   I thought maybe some readers  might even like to
see  the mask covered faces of FRONT LINERS  like  Agnes  and  Maria.

EPISODE 85 UNDERGROUND AT ELLIOT LAKE PART 2, MAYH 1960

EPISODE 85      UNDERGROUND  AT ELLIOT LAKE, PART 2, MAY 1960


alan skeoch
July  2020

Note:  My interest in mining ‘Cages’ will be peppered  here and
there in these episodes….seems irrelevant but every mine had
a cage except for Knockmahon, Ireland.   

The uranium mine at Can. Met. Elliot Lake had a cage large enough for
moralized  vehicles.  See  below …the contrast.


MINING CAGES

THIS mining cage in England…Cornwall…was a luxury when compared to the shaky ladders
of Knockmahon.   Even so, this mining cage was dangerous…if the cable  broke, the men were
doomed.  


The  term ‘cage’ will occur  again and again in the next few Episodes.   Mining cages delivered miners
quickly to the ore faces.   At Bunmahon, in Ireland, we discovered
shafts but there never were any cages.  Meaning that the miners had to climb down
800 to 900 metres  on a series of wooden ladders.  And they did so in the dark.

Can.Met.  was a modern mine.  it had all the benefits of  electricity, modern machinery like bull dozers and Scoop
trucks,  power drills, lots of  dynamite…and some union protection.  

  On May 14, 1960,” waiting for us was a ‘Scoop”…sort of  a spliced dump truck and bulldozer. We piled into

the big ore scoop.


“She’s the last vehicle below,” greeted Harry MacGinnis who would be our escort through the
darkness.   Most mechanical aspects of the mine had already been withdrawn including
the electric light system.  The mine was not a  pretty sight below ground as the walls
were dirty and  sticky…black from the dust of blasting and sticky from the black smoke
of vehicles like our Scoop Mobile.

We  did 293 determinations today using the Ronka.  When  our miners lights are turned off
the  darkness is  absolute.  A  blackness that only a miner would understand.   Ventillation 
is a problem as is radiation which stands at 292 when  the normal human toleration is 100.

 We would  only be here a  few  days though.  Regular miners spent years here.


Geologist John Hogan is down  here represents Dennison Mines.  Wh am  I down  here?  Hard
to know.  My job is to get as much information using the Ronka as  possible.  This  information
has  no possible use for the mine can never  be reopened as  the pillars were
pulled when the stopes  were abandoned.   Pillars were made by cutting around natural

rock… pillars then sculpted  Pillars contained.

of high grade ore so were recovered as the last part of a stope.  Occasionally we would  hear a great dull ‘whump’
where part of the mine ceiling collapsed.  No pillars left to hold up the roof.

  At the same  time the roof was collapsing, Can Met mine  was filling with
water.  Sometimes we had  to wade  through low points.  Eventually the whole mine wll be
flooded but right now it is explorable…barely.  So why am I down here?  I have no idea.

For the past 60 years I have wondered why we did this job in an abandoned
and collapsing Uranium mine.  I have no answer.  Were  we  testing the Ronka.

  Or were we testing the instrument man before he went to Ireland.  Not likely the

 answer.   Why then?   Harry  asked the questions often in his  colourful  manner.
“Why the fuck are  we down here, Alan?”
  


Harry loved to tell stories about mining in general and Can. Met. in particular.  Amusing  barely
believable stories perhaps with a kernel of truth or perhaps fully factual.  I remember
his stories to this day.  My journal confirmed my memory.

If I might make  light of the job, I could say we were down there just so Harry MacGinnis
would have  an opportunity to entertain us…otherwise he would be all alone.   The last man out,
as  it were.   Here are some of his  stories…outlandish…maybe true…maybe partly true…maybe
invented through hearsay.  All of them a  bit unsettling.

1) “A lot of dead  men down here…some still  under the rock falls.  We call the big blocks
that fell “Portuguesers” because  some of the men under those boulders were Portuguese
immigrants”   Between  1955 and  1996 when the last mine closed at Elliot Lake more than 130 men were
fatally injured.  As to the truth of Harry’s stories I  am not sure.   He had lots  of stories.


2)  “You know how you can tell that a mine is good…about to open up and hire miners?”
“No idea.”
“Hookers arrive.   If the hookers  arrive then the mine is good for sure.”

3) “To get a job as a waitress with Crawley and McCraken, the girls did  double duty as hookers.”

4)  “That radiation count was  a worry.  The more time underground here, the more radiation
exposure.   What’s the count today…292…almost three times acceptable level.”

  NOTE:

“The conditions in Elliot Lake are not the best conditions to work in to survive a normal life span. If anybody does not like to go to the hospital with lung cancer, he should have a very close look at the Elliot Lake situation before he signs on as an employee of either one of the companies. We believe that the companies should not have the right to expose people to conditions that will cause bodily harm. There has to be a clean-up programme before we can definitely advise people to seek employment in Elliot Lake.” (Paul Falkowski, United Steel Workers of America, Environmental Representative – June 1976)

MINERE JOE ZULJIN:  “I could be healthy, still workin. Now I have dust plus cancer. And the family is all upside down.  Dad’s gonna die maybe today, maybe tomorrow, we don’t know.” His voice broke once again. “And that’s the way it looks like. It’s bad. It’s very bad for a family. Family’s more hurt than me. Cryin’, you know. Disaster.”  (Joe Zuljin, Elliot Lake miner, died 1975, cancer, CBC documentary)



5)  “No one checking roof bolts anymore.  Some are popping loose.  The  pillars were  pulled
when  the stopes were  abandoned.  Damned dangerous for all of us. Knew a shift boss who
got telescoped by chunk from the mine ceiling…”

“Did you say telescoped?
“He was suddenly a much shorter man if you know what I mean.”

6) “Poor old Can Met is filling with water…deeper every day.”

7) “A lot of million dollar machines are not worth taking to the surface.  Emerge like ghosts
in our lamplight beams.”

8) “Stealing  becomes a way of life.”

9) “Men are just walking away from those houses they mortgaged…hoped the bank would let them.”

10) “What the fuck are you doing  down  here anyway?”

ASIDE:  Harry’s use of the F—— word made me do a lot of thinking in 1960.  Thinking that has
popped  into my mind now and then over the last 60 years.   What the fuck was I doing down at
the bottom of an abandoned uranium mine?  Second week of May,1960.   Just a week earlier
I was writing U. of T. exams in Russian History, the philosophy of Emmanuel Kant and  other 
non-engineering courses.  That ended on May 7.   By May  14, I  was cursing and swearing in
the darkness of  Can. Met where low  grade uranium had been extracted, then enriched in some 
way to make Uranium 235  so unstable that a tiny bit of that element could be detonated
producing enough energy to kill  thousands of people and devastate whole  cities like Toronto.

I had the presence of mind to slip a shard of that uranium ore  into my pocket.  The uranium, about 1%
of the shard, is nestled somewhere in the rather pretty pebbly conglomerate.  Every once in a while
I open my desk drawer and there the shard rests.


Somewhere inside this  shard  of Elliot Lake uranium ore there are tiny flecks of  uranium I imagine.   This  is  my only reminder
of  the Elliott Lake adventure.



“How the fuck did I ever find myself 2000 feet deep  in the bowels of the earth?”  Pure chance…good  luck really.  A few years earlier when
I was a student at Humberside Collegiate in West Toronto I wondered what I would do  with my life.  What could  I do?  I was a  middle of the pack
kind of person…not  the top, not the bottom.  Comfortable in the middle.  Homework was always avoided.  So on one spring day I wondered what
I could  make of my life.  What was  I good at?  Dancing, chasing girls, football, camping, hitch hiking, talking, Rover Scouts?   No jobs there.  But there was an answer.  The 
school had  given us barrages of  IQ tests over the years.  Multipole choice things which I took seriously.   Some of  my friends treated those
tests as  jokes  and just marked the little boxes  without reading the questions.  Finished fast. Must have got IQ of rabbits.  I took my time.  Maybe there was  an answer there.

38th Rover Crew”..back row left to right…Big Red Stevenson, Don Strathdee, Alan Skeoch, Ed Hissen
front tow left to right…Doug Mason (drove Marjorie to our wedding), Harvey Scott,  Harry, Jim Garden


This  is  a  picture  of our 38th Scout Rover Crew.  We had  just got our kilts.  In the 1950’s and 1960’s Scouting was  popular.   My first job in mining
exploration happened  because the mining boss, Gus  Schlitt, felt Boy Scouts were ideal  employees.  He asked mom and suddenly

 my brother and I were deep in the Canadian wilderness.  I travelled alone to Chibougamau, northern Quebec. Spoke high 

school French with words  I made up like “Donnez moi un chien chaude!.  Always got an amused look and later discovered
the French Canadian words for ‘hot dog’  are ‘hot dog’.

It was a  tough job in the
bush of Northern Quebec.


(continued):

What was  I good  at?  I dropped in on the guidance counsellor.  Nobody there.   The filing cabinets were not locked so I pulled out the “S”  drawer and
found my name.  There was  one  big Bar Graph that shocked me.  I  had  a great long line under which  it said  ‘abstract reasoning’.  What the
hell is abstract thinking?   I had  no idea.  Most disconcerting was  my low level of mechanical ability when compared to abstract thinking.
Shocked me.  Up to that point I wanted to be some kind of an engineer.  My forest ranger fantasy had ended years earlier.  Low mechanical
ability?  That must mean I  would not be a  good engineer.  Or so I thought.  I must keep  that secret since every summer I did engineering
type work and loved it.  Yet I was not supposed to ge good at it.   The shock made me more diligent believe it or not.  As it turns out all human

beings  use both kinds of reasoning…abstract and concrete.   The engineering door was not closed. I just thought

it was closed.  Lucky really for I fell by chance into a wonderful career.


(Human beings are both concrete reasoners and  abstract reasoners.  But one or the other dominates apparently.  How  would you
know which  you are?  Really I have no idea.  A concrete thinker follows  a recipe while making soup.  An Abstract reasoner says ‘To hell
with the recipe, I can make my  own  soup’ and proceeds to pile in whatever seems available.  Maybe  even an old rubber boot.  Get the
idea?   I wish I had  not looked at that bar graph.)

I only saw that one bar graph.  The guidance teacher arrived back from lunch.   She was  incensed. 

 “Just what are you doing here?”
“Trying to find out my future’”
“Well that is secret information…none of  your business…now get out of here.”

Strange.   A guidance counsellor who had secret files on every student.  But kept them hidden forever.  No matter.   It took some time to get over the shock of
that bar graph.  Changed my life.   I wish abstract thinking had been explained to me.  Then perhaps I would have become some
kind  of engineer.  I  do like to figure things out for myself rather than follow step by  step instructions.   I did manage to puzzle out 
how to use a slice rule when I had to do  so.   I did read  manuals but when necessary..   Concrete thinkers like step by step
instructions.  Abstract thinkers like to figure things out for themselves. That would make me a bad cook.

7 signs you may be an abstract thinker
  1. You spend a lot of time thinking about big questions such as ‘what is the meaning of life?’ or ‘what is the nature of consciousness?’
  2. You are constantly wondering and asking why. As a child, you probably drove others a little crazy with your endless questions.
  3. You don’t like doing things unless you can see a good reason for doing them: ‘just because’ won’t cut it.
  4. You hate to follow step-by-step instructions and would much rather work things out for yourself.
  5. You don’t like routines and get easily bored if you have to do the same task over and over again.
  6. When thinking about something new, you often link it to something you already know, even if they seem to be unrelated ideas.
  7. You are great at coming up with metaphors and analogies and linking ideas together in new ways.
WHAT ARE WE  DOING  2,000 FEET DOWN AN ABANDONED URANIUM MINE”

Let’s get back to Harry’s question.  “What the fuck are you doing down here…2000 feet down in the Can Met mine?”
I have  wondered about that question for a long time.  


SUNDAY  MAY 15, 1960

We used a  machine like this to explore the abandoned
passageways  of Can  Met.  All of us in the bucket except
the driver.  

We are living  in the Senior Staff  House, a kind of  hotel reserved for Can.  Met big shots.   A beautiful ranch house  structure  that has
never been fully used and is now vacant at a cost of $100,000.   Lots  of  other vacant buildings such as the single men’s
bunk house and 22 houses  built for families along with the huge mill and related machinery on top of the two shafts
that descend 2000 feet below surface.

We went underground at 8 a.m.   My crew consisted of Bob  McConnell,  Allan Pegler, Joe  Weber and  Harry MacGinnis…all
employees of Can. Met.  A  motorized  ‘Scoop” was waiting for us and  then we travelled through the main passageway to the eastern border
of the mine. This  Scoop would  be The last vehicle in the mine except for wrecked vehicles.

WERE WE SAFE?

“That’s fresh ‘loose’ you hear falling,” announced  Harry.  ‘Loose’ refers to pieces of  rock falling from
the mine ceiling where roof  bolts  have loosened.   Not a nice thought.

“This is  the spot where our shift bosses  ‘telescoped’ by falling ‘loose”.
“Are there many such accidents?”
“A Cat driver over in the Panel Mine drove right into the grizzly and was mashed to a pulp.

 “What is a ‘grizzly’?”

 “A rock crusher…tears rock apart like a grizzly bear would do with you”

“Why is that Danger Sign pulled aside?
“Special treatment for us … we can go  anywhere we want… likely safe enough.”
“These stopes have been sealed  off as dangerous.”
“Then what are we doing  here?
“We  do what we are told.

Then  we set up the Ronka in a  pattern that looked logical. Difficult
to arrange a grid with right angles but no alternative.  Then we  Sat for lunch
on what Harry called a  ‘Potugueser’ and  had lunch.  The lump of rock
was as big as a half ton truck.   When it fell there was a man underneath.

“He is still there…never saw the rock  moved.”

Many  new  Canadian  immigrants  find work as miners.  In  the 1960’s  many
Portugue immigrated to Canada.  According to Harry the body was never
removed.  True or false?  No idea.

MONDAY MY 16,  1960

A new  motor was scheduled to arrive in Sprague this morning.  We spent time plotting what data
we had.  Harry  kept  us entertained with his library of mining fiascos.  

“Can Met invested $36,000 in an air conditioning system that never worked.
“There are Jumbo vehicles down here that cost $50,000 but never worked.
“The haulage ways and stopes are filled with abandoned  equipment…it’s like
travelling through a graveyard.

He actually never spoke these words.  To speak  like Harry try adding

the word fuck wherever you can.  Becomes kind of  lyrical.  Go back
and try doing that with Harry’s comments…how many F words  can
be put in one sentence?

This  huge machine could drive roof  bolts into the ceiling of Can Met.
The bolts combined with heavy metal  netting helped prevent mine collapse.
They needed constant attention.


Meanwhile, we  set up the motor generator and  laid out our spread  wire through this part
of the mine.  In some places we had to crawl through ceiling rubble.

Joe Weber, an  ex-Nazi,  said he ‘was released  from his war crimes in 1953.’  Joe had
no kind words for Csn. Met. which he said  was  a company founded  on greed.
Uranium mining is not the best kind of  mining because the market is saturated
quickly.  Rush to market can cause safety problems.  Joe was an unhappy man.

Harry MacGinis kept referring to ‘the whorehouse’. a metaphor  which confused  me a bit.

“What whorehouse, Harry?
“The Company warehouse…each time we go there we get fucked.

Then Joe piped in.

“Can Met lost $1,500 worth of gas each month…stolen.
“There was  $50,000 worth of spare parts ordered  for a  nonexistent truck.

My crew loved telling these stories.  Sounded  true but who really knows. Theft
is common among miners. (*Remember the Yukon story?)  High  graders in the gold

mines are quite famous in Timmins, Ontario.  Books are written about them.  Where

could  you hide a chunk of  gold ore…in your uneaten lunch sandwich?
in your thermos bottle, in the shift bosses pocket, in a crevice in your
own body?


TUESDAY  MAY 17, 1960

How did  machines as big as this  ever get 2,000 feet down the shafts at Can  Met?   The ‘Cage’ had to be large even  if the
machines  were taken down in pieces.   This was  brought back up when the mine was abandoned.  many others  were just abandoned
in the stopes and passageways far below.  These wrecks startled me as they suddenly appeared in our cones of light from our helmet lamps.



Today Harry MacGinnis came into the cook house reeling drunk after spending the
night at what he calls the Legion which is ‘just a shack  built in the woods by
the boys’   Seems drinking binges are common…at least according to Harry.

 By 8.30 a.m. we were down in the mine finishing up our resistivity
work and then began hauling in our base line cable.   Just walking alone in
the dark with a cone of light from my mining helmet was an experience…combination
of mystery, fear ad curiosity.   Often large objects  would suddenly burst upon
the cone of  light…startling.   Silence and  blackness.  Back at the Scoop
I took a picture of the boys but my flash bulb exploded . The  Sound was like a cannon
as it echoed down the dark passageway.

Today  Harry decided to take the Pope apart then shifted back to is
favourite target…his mother in law.  “She is  harder than a whore’s heart.

Job complete.  Contrast between my two worlds…the sophistication of the
University of Toronto and the earthiness at the bottom of  Can Met uranium mine.
Which do you find more interesting?

WENESDAY  MAY  18, 1960   

Train heading home.  Phoned Marjorie as soon as I reached Sudbury from Elliot Lake.  So 
nice to hear her voice.   I wonder how she would have liked the mine experience. Then on 
to Toronto where Eric met me at West Toronto Station.   Drove Eric to his post
as lifeguard on Toronto’s notorious Cherry beach then on to the company HQ.on O’Connor Drive.

Flooyd Faulkner is getting married on Saturday.  Floyd has been a real leader
of men with a tricky sense of humour.   He calls me  ‘Fucking Al’ for instance  and
has done that ever since the terrible Groundhog River job back in 1957.  We lived
together in the  wilderness for nearly three months…only contact was an occasional
food drop and the emergency  evacuation of  poor Walter Helstein who had fallen on
an alder picket and pierced his hand with subsequent screaming infection.  That job
was  a test of endurance and  privation.   So I accepted the nickname with good humour.
Roughest job I ever had.  How rough?  We had to cut the blowfly larva off our sides of  bacon for instance.

Floyd had been  a cage operator in Kirkland Lake until  his other shift operator was
mushed  into jelly when the cage cable broke.  Floyd quit that job…resolved to
only work on the surface thereafter.

The day after his marriage he  will fly to Hudson’s Bay for three months on a geophysical job.
This business can be hard on family life.   

  I picked up my passport and health 
certificate today.   Shortly I will fly to New York…then Glasgow….then Dublin.
Our equipment should arrive  by ship  about the time I land.

 KINMOUNT … MADE FAMOUS BY MY FATHER


Gord  Brand said  “Short job for you in Kinmount for two  days…can
you get your car…pay 9 cents  a  mile?”  “Sure”
Dad is mad…hates to lose the car as trip from West Toronto to Whitby
plant is a  nightmare by street car and bus.  The only redeeming factor in that
cross Toronto trip is that the Racetrack is at the mid point.   Whether going 
to work or coming home he could stop to lay a bet or two.  Harder by streetcar.

THURSDAY MAY  19, 1960

The Kinmount site…a known anomaly where E.M. machines  could be tested.   That’s our family 1953 Meteor.  What cannot be
seen  are the clouds  of black flies and mosquitoes…dense clouds  of them sucked blood in May each  year.





The Arizona crew testing their equipment.   Initially I was slated to join this crew but suddenly the Irish  job  materialized.



Left for Kinmount at 6 a.m. travelling north east on largely empty roads.  Saw
two cow  moose that ran beside me for a short distance just east of  Kinmount.
Our test site was  on  a  barely visible grassed ever bush road  where I
met Gord Brand and Paul Head  who  had set up the large new Induced Polarization
unit.  Operatonal .    Lunch consisted of a case of IPA…Ale.   Then I spent the
afternoon laying spread wires through the bush.  Came upon one shack
containing many dead  porcupines.  A mystery.  Porcupines are rare and
supposed to be protected.

Drove to Peterborough in the evening.  Staying at Rock Haven Motel.
Two big turtles on the side of the road…a Snapping Turtle and a Painted Turtle.

Paul Head told stories about the Arizona job where I was supposed to
go until Ireland came along.  The Irish  job  seems to be a bit of a
mystery.

 In Arizona near the Mexican border

 Apparently one of our guys got tangled up in a fast marriage
down there and had to be rescued by the company.  The story was more
earthy than I describe which made me wonder about the truth of the 
matter  As with all stories told.

FRIDAY MAY 20, 1960

After  a great breakfast we drove back to the job site…from triple lane highway to
double lane to single lane  to gravel road to turf road…to the job site  again.
The month of May is the worst month for blood sucking insects…clouds of
black flies trying to bite lumps of  flesh and burrowing their way along tight brltlines 
or squirrelling into ears…then mosquitoes by the thousands.  The females want
and need human blood…or any other kind of blood.   We managed to only get
1.5 miles of readings done.  This instrument can be dangerous …shock value of 500 volts.
So we were careful.   


SATURDAY MAY 21,  1960

We got a good early start today.  Working fast,  pushed to do so by the clouds
of bloody insects.   We finished the job by 6.30 p.m. and I took off immediately
for Toronto arriving home at 9.30…covered 250 miles in three hours.

Dad spent part of the evening killing black flies that were still trapped
in the car….and  cursing me in his usual hilarious way.  Dad  knew the
Kinmount job site because  I took the family there a year ago.  When
we arrived at the grassed  over end point, I asked:

“Well, Dad,  what do  you think of it?
“Get me out of this goddamned bastardly bush this goddamn minute.
Mom, Eric and I often laugh when we think of that comment by Dad.

This is my Dad, Red Skeoch, who made cursing sound like pop music.


SUNDAY MAY 22,1960

Drove to farm with mom and dad.  Rain and fog but we got a few plants in the
ground then drove up to visit Frank and Lucinda (mom’s brother on the next farm north of ours) ..
 returning to Cherry Beach to pick up Eric from his lifeguard job.  Eric has a lot of great stories
about lifeguarding.   Like the time he held  his binoculars to his  eyes  and announced…”Screwing
match over there!”  “Where?  Where?”  And Eric opened his hand.  “Right here” showing a Screw and
a  match in his hand.   I thought that was hilarious.  He had other stories best not put in  print.

It had been a  grand  day.
Our dog Peter had a great day prancing around in the mud.  Not so good
for the  car though.

MONDAY MAY 23, 1960

Bought some 35 mm film at Honest Ed’s on the way to Cherry Beach  with Eric.
Then  Dad  and  I went to the horse races at Old Woodbine.   Dad  was in
his element.

“We’ll get into the club house unless you bugger things up.”
“What must I do.”
“Nothing.  Just look straight ahead with no expression.  Do not
look at the ticket booth. Act like you own the place.  Follow me.”

Dad knew the guys in the ticket booth.  No problem.  I lost a couple
of dollars but Dad seemed to make a few.   Later we picked up Eric
and  had supper at Bassil’s Restaurant before returning home

TUESDAY MAY  24, 1960

Barry Nichols gave me my flight.tickets along with $300  expense money.

Gord Brand and Paul Head left by Land Rover for the Arizona  job.

I handed  in my expense  account for our car…$49.31…covered 480 miles
in three days.

Dan Bereskin arrived from Saskatoon as  a seismic  assistant and was
immediately shipped off to the gas pipeline job  near Niagara Falls.

WEDNESDAY MAY 25, 1960

Back at office.   Everyone seems a little envious  that I got the Irish job.
All is ready.

WEDNESDAY  MAY  25, 1960

Today  I took several uranium samples to the Rover Scout crew.
Rested.

THURSDAY MAY 26, 1960

I did nothing today except look up my friends checked my bag.

FRIDAY  MAY 29, 1960





Final briefing day.   Dr. Norman Paterson asked me to demonstrate
how the AFMag  worked.   Sort of strange because I thought he knew
everything.  Maybe he was just checking me out…not the AFMag.
Then we had one of the secretaries  type up my  report on the
AFMag.   That was a strange experience for sure because she
called  me ‘Dr. Skeoch’   Seemed strange.  

Then Barrie Nichols took me aside.

“Alan, you must pretend to be a permanent employee with
vast experience running the Turam  E. M. unit.  Can you
do that?”
“Sure…no one else seems to know the machine.”

I picked up the volt meters and  went home.



SATURDAY MAY 28, 160

Shopping day…technical books, rainwear, self-timer, filter for camera,
map case.   Talked  with Marjorie. We get along so well.

Thirty tomato plants for the farm then back to the racetrack
with Dad.   In evening Mom and I  went to see The Man from Havana
with Alex  Guinness.  

SUNDAY MAY 29, 1960

Uncle Art, Uncle Norman and Cousin ‘Long’ John  arrived
at the farm to have a beer with Dad…his brothers and nephew.  I went over to Red Stevenson’s place
for coffee in the evening…always welcome there…nice feeling.

MONDAY MAY 30, 1960

Mrs. Stewart next door wondered if I  would drop in on her Mom
in Glasgow since I had a  bit of a layover.  Promised to do  so.  Mr.
Cook drove me to the airport where Doug and  Harry had  arrived
to wave me off.   TCA stewardess nice.  The airport in New York is
immense.  KLM, Royal Dutch  Airlines had a man sent to meet me
and escort me to the right terminal.  Boarded at 6.25 after a  long rush.
Nine hour flying time.  Dutch are very friendly.

TUESDAY  MAY 31, 1960

Landed Prestwick airport south of  Glasgow.  Had  been  a landing 
point for World War II bombers … at least the planes that survived
the long flight across  the Atlantic Ocean.   Rather depressing place.
Spent much of the day in Glasgow.  Long lines of heavy stone tenements
turned black  from coal  fires.   Visited Mrs. Stewart’s Mom who had prepared
a  special  steak  with a fired  egg on top.  Because  of the blackened tenement building
I expected the residents to be unhappy.  The reverse was true … cheerful place.  I was
introduced to other tenants and taken on  a  tour of Glasgow.   Then back to
Prestwick for the fight to Dublin.

WEDNESDAY JUNE 1, 1960

AT last I arrived in  Dublin, Ireland.  Ready for the job.
But equipment had not arrived  at Arbuckle, Smith and
Company.  No Turam.  I will have to wait in Dublin.  Who knows
how long.  Fell asleep three times today.  Very tired.  Being alone
in a new city is not all that pleasant.

Kevin Behan …wife  and daughters …made my days in Dublin enjoyable.  They did not have to do that.   Irish hospitality.


I phoned Mrs. Behan who some friends had suggested as  a Dublin
contact.  She was full of joy.  “My husband  Kevin will be arriving from Italy shortly,
we want you to come out to the house immediately.”   And
so began my  days  in Dublin’s fair city…”

END EPISODE 85

(THIS EPISODE LINKS BACK  TO THE FIRST IRISH EPISODE)



alan skeoch
July 2020

EPISODE 84 WHAT WERE WE DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF AN ABANDONED URANIUM MINE AT ELLIOT LAKE IN MAY, 1960?



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: Re: EPISODE 84 WHAT WERE WE DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF AN ABANDONED URANIUM MINE AT ELLIOTT LAKE (MAY 1960)?
Date: July 22, 2020 at 11:41:45 AM EDT
To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@gmail.com>, Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>


EPISODE 84    WHAT WERE WE DOING AT THE BOTTOM OF AN ABANDONED  URANIUM MINE AT ELLIOT LAKE (MAY, 1960)?


alan skeoch
July 2020

Note:  For those of you who read  my Episodes dealing with Bunmahon and mining experiences in Southern Ireland you

might find the days prior to my arrival in Ireland  interesting.  Underground at an abandoned  uranium mine near Elliot Lake

in Northern Ontario.  One of the largest source of uranium for atomic bombs in 1960.  CAN. MET. mine.. A modern mine with electricity 
and  “cages” to drop a whole shift of miners from the surface of the earth down 2000 feet.

I decided to write this Episode and several others after I received  a startling and very welcome email from Dan Dwan whose uncle
Barney Dwan was my right hand man in Ireland.  Dan Dwan  lives  in Knockmahon, County Waterford,  Ireland,  today as do several of the men we  employed.
 Sixty years has  passed yet that summer of  1960 remains alive.

The mine in Ireland  would  be totally  different…see pic below.

For those of you who may find  my language a  little rough in places, all I  can  say is that I am trying
to record the Way  We Were.


I JUST found this picture taken by Barney Dwan as we crawled through the old adits of the Knockmahon
copper mine on the south coast of Ireland.   The picture is not relevant to the story below but should be included
in the Bunmahon  stories.   The contrast between Knockmahon mine (1840 – 1875) and the Can  Met mine
in Elliot Lake (1955 –  1960, below) will be apparent.  In  Elliot Lake the passageways  were big enough to drive large mine
trucks.  In Ireland, the miners had to squeeze through tight places.

MY JOURNAL

MONDAY  MAY 9, 1960

University exams  over on Friday  May 7.  Job started on Monday  May 9.  Each summer  I
hoped  to be re-employed by  Hunting Technical and Explorations Servies  because the jobs
were so exciting even he work was  always exhausting and living conditions far from luxurious  since
most jobs were in some god forsake corner of the world like last summer on the barren lands
of western Alaska about 100 miles inland from the Bering Sea.  From  some points on that treeless
Arctic and sub Arctic shore.  Desolate and infested with every blood sucking fly imaginable.
So remote  that we were armed  with 30 – 06 rifles lest a Kodiak bear felt we were choice bits 
of flesh.   That never happened.  Kodiak bears had lots and dead and dying  salmon to gorge 
upon and, anyway, I was told the bears thought we smelled bad which was believable since
bathing was  not high on our agenda.

Barrie Nichols met me at the office door on 1450 (?) Oconnor Road in East Toronto.

“Alan, you will be going to Arizona on a job near the Mexican border…leaving this week.”
“Snakes in Arizona?”
“I suppose  so…check  out what to do if bitten if you wish.”
“Right…says here that should a rattle snake bite you or a fellow crew member to make
sure the wound is bleeding then suck out the blood  and the venom…spit it out. Do not swallow.”
“What if  I am alone and the snake bites my leg?”
“Could be  tough problem.”
“Might be best to hire Plastic Man (a comic book superhero  in 1960) for the job, Mr. Nichols.”
“Very funny.”

Phoned home at lunch

“Hi Mom, I will be going to Arizona this week…need bush clothes for hot weather.”
“There are snakes in Arizona, Alan…bad snakes.”
“Already prepared for that mom.”   (Did  not mention… blood, snake venom and sucking as a first
aid solution.)
“They have hospitals down  there.”  

Then Barrie Nicholls called me to his office in the afternoon.

“Change  of plans, Alan, you are not going to Arizona…sending  Hilkar and Faulkner.”
“Where am I going then?”
“Southern Ireland.”
“There are no snakes in Ireland…some religious guy drove them out…”
“Very funny, Alan…but your are correct.”
“No need practice blood sucking.”
“What did you say…sorry I was not listening.
“Noting important … When do I leave?”
“Not sure yet…it will take a while to fill out the documents and crate
up the equipment.”
“What instrument will I be using?”
“The Turam with a back up Ronka.”
“Turam…same one we used  in Alaska?”
“Same one.”
“Why me?  Bill Morrison was the Turam expert.”
“We don’t know where he is.”
“And Don Van Every, Ian Rutherford, Mike Chinnery…all the Alaska crew.”
“None of them around…just you.  Do your remember how to use the Turam?”
“Sure.”  (said with a  slight pause)
“Dr. Paterson and  I are counting on  you Alan.  It would be a good  idea
not to mention to our contractor that you are a University student.  Act like
a permanent employee.”
(Under my breath…”In other words be confident”…my interpretation.)
“No worries.”
“Dr. John Stam will be  working with you…Phd. in Geophysics.  Dutchman. He will
do the interpretation.  All  you have to do  is get the raw material…the data…
to him.”
“Do I read you correctly Mr. Nichols…I will be in charge of the instruments
and the field work.”  (Wow, what a responsibility)
“Right.”
“Who will be working with me?”
“Nobody…you will hire and train an Irish crew at Bunmahon…a village
on the south coast of Ireland..  We are counting on you , Alan.”
“I know that…won’t let you down…do not worry.”   (spoken with a  confidence 
I did not really feel.)
“Now start carting up the gear…looks like 11 crates of equipment…get the crates made
somewhere…good strong crates  for the ocean voyage.”
“Do  you mean I am going to Ireland by ship.?”
“No you will fly…but the crates will travel by sea.”




Later in the Afternoon of June 9, 1960

“Hello Mom,  I will not be going to Arizona.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Why?”
“Because, Alan, there are no snakes in Ireland”

Spent  the rest of the afternoon signing documents
and arranging  for my passport.



TUESDAY MAY  10, 1960


By chance I was sent on the Alaska job in 1959. My partner Bill Morrison was an expert who showed  me how to set up the Turam  E. M. unit.  

I never expected to be the sole operator in 1960.  Bill had gone on to other things.  Lucky I made notes.  Suddenly…those notes were crucial.


The Turam method is one of the oldest geophysical electro-magnetic methods used for mineral exploration, devised by Erik Helmer Lars Hedstrom in 1937.[1] Its name is derived from Swedish “TU” (two) and “RAM” (frame), referring to the two receiving coils.

Method[edit]

An insulated cable a few hundred meters to several kilometers long is laid parallel to the geological strike direction. The cable is either grounded at both ends or laid out in a large loop, and energized at low frequencies (less than 1 kHz). Two receiving coils are moved on lines outside of and perpendicular to the long side of the loop or grounded cable and two components of the resultant field are measured. The primary field generated by the large loop or cable interacts with the soil and subsoil and with a conductive body if present which could be a mineral and creates a resultant electromagnetic field. The electromagnetic field is measured according to two values: the Field Strength Ratio and the Phase Difference occurring between the two receiving coils . It is a fixed source horizontal loop method. Separation of the two moving coils is usually from 10 to 30 metres. Using an AC bridge (also called compensator bridge), Field Strength Ratio is measured in percent and Phase Difference in degrees. In-phase (Real) and quadrature (Imaginary) values can be calculated from these data. Observed field strength ratio readings are used to calculate reduced ratios using a formula determined by the loop size and shape or the grounded wire length and the position of the receiving coils relative to the loop or grounded wire. The Turam method is a frequency domain method and in a way is the precursor of the time domain fixed loop methods. It is claimed to have detected large flat lying conductors to a depth of 400 metres.



I will be expected to operate and  set up both the Turam E.M. (electro magnetic) unit
and the Ronka Electricial  resistivity units.   All  the equipment must be ready for shipment
by boat to Ireland tomorrow….must with, measure, label, itemize everything and  pack
in 8 crates.  Crates no good though…need to get new crates built.

Eric (brother) and  I went to a movie in evening after getting Rev. Currie to authenticate
my passport application.

I find  it hard to believe that I will be going to Ireland.  Others in the company
must be more qualified.   Why me?  Only explanation is that I am  the only person
left who knows how to operate the Turam system.




IRELAND…not so many flies to chew at our flesh…but there were lots of  other difficulties.

All the same my job in Ireland in1960 was unforgettable…lots of  good memories




WEDNESDAY MAY 11, 1960

Picked up the Turam from Charley Houston and and new crates made.
Two problems  solved.  

Then Dr. Paterson called  me over.

“Alan, you will leave tomorrow for Blind River then on to Elliot Lake.”
“Tomorrow?”
“yes, a job at the bottom  of a recently abandoned uranium mine called
Can Met.”
“Abandoned?  Uranium”
“Are you are thinking of Atom Bombs,”
“Yes.”
“I  suppose that is the end use of  the uranium”
“End use?”
“Sounds sinister, “
“Rather.”
“Have you ever been deep in a mine before?”
“No.”
“Well,  put this job  down as a first.”

Later I phoned Marjorie in North Bay.  What a great girl.  Then packed my
bag for Elliot Lake after typing out list for Irish customs.   Events are moving
very fast. 

(So on May  12, 1960, the same year I was sent to Ireland I was sent on a short job  at Elliot Lake.
The uranium mined  at Can Met was enriched  and inserted in metal casings
to become the atomic bombs that terrified so  many of us during the long Cold
War between the Soviet Union and the Western World.    By 1960, however,
the need to stockpile atomic nuclear weapons had come to an end.   There were
enough nuclear bombs on both sides by 1960,  enough to destroy human and
animal life on the whole planet.)



A great adventure was unfolding … with the speed  of summer lightning.  In a few weeks I would find  myself  underground crawling on my
stomach through an ancient adit on the south coast of Ireland.  What a  contrast between the two mines.  Elliot Lake Uraniium mine
was big  enough for huge  machines to drive down  the passageways.   Knockmahon was so small that sometimes the hole was
barely big enough to squeeze through.  Was  I scared?   Strangely, I never gave that much thought except when I asked  Barney Dwan
to take my picture (above) at Knockmahon later in the summer of 1960.

THURSDAY MAY  12, 1960

I nailed the last crate closed today and then began reading the Ronka manual.    Must know what I am doing when we
get to Ireland and  best place to do  that is the Manual…if I can understand it all.   Sass Casper left for a survey job 
at Niagara.  Eric  and dad drove  me today. This is the third day that I have had no time for lunch or even a  coffee…and I
have  only been working for three  days.

In the evening I went to Scouts and Scouter presented  me with my Ramblers Badge.   The guys in the Rover Crew
presented me with a  rosary for protection in Ireland then mom and  dad  drove me down to Union Staton
to catch the train to Blind River.

FRIDAY MAY 13, 1960

Passed  a wonderful night in my birth on the train just looking out the window watching the world by.  Really exciting…always
an adventure.  Awakened at 8 a.m. for a sumptuous breakfast in the dining car.  In other words bacon, eggs, toast, marmalade
and coffee.   Stopped for a few minutes in Sudbury…city looks depressing.  Just bare stretches rock wiht little vegetation.  Could be 
the face of the moon.  Continued  to read the Ronka manual.  Then we  arrived at Spragge where I got off the train and took
a bus to Elliot Lake.   

Uranium mining has fallen on tough times.  I guess the American have made enough atomic bombs now which means
our uranium market has collapsed.  Very depressing city.   Once it was a  boom town of 10,000 people…the place to be…the place  where
jobs were easy to find  and the money good.  Housing was so hard to get that some miners slept in their cars.   Most were single
men, many of them recent immigrants.  Others were  familiar with the nomadic  life of miners.  At least one man lived
in a tent with his wife and five kids.   Boom town in 1958.  Bust town in 1960. On  May 13,1960, all I could see was abandoned trailer camps,  cars stripped
of anything valuable like tires, and fields here and  there of repossessed vehicles.   Strange how modern buildings with glass
and aluminum fittings looks  so depressing when empty.

Proceeded  with geologist John  Hogan to Can. Met. Uranium mine three miles outside Elliot Lake.   Originally Can Met
employed 1,000 men but today it just has a skeleton staff of 70 to keep the place open.   Maybe even those men are
just here until we complete our underground  survey.   We have our meals  in  a  huge mess hall …big enough for
the huge work force that once ate here with meals cooked and served by Crawley and  McKraken food services as
the sign said..  Not anymore   

Tested  the Ronka and did some map  work.





Take the time  to read the sign.  Stopes in Eliot Lake were huge…300 feet long, 65 feet wide and 8 feet high.
The underground workshop at Can Met looked  the size of football field.  The passageways were high enough
for trucks and wide enough for those trucks to pass each other.



SATURDAY MAY 14, 1960

This rant  style  lodge  was  built for Can  Met executives  but rarely used.  We lived there for our time at Can Met.  See interior below



CAN. MET. uranium mine cost 25 million dollars to open in the late 1950’s and it closed in 1960
having never made a profit.  Investors in mining stocks are often led  by flattering prospects of great
wealth that never ‘pans out’  …a gold mine expression.   In other words greed has a lot to do with
financing  mines.

The mine was shut down when we arrived.   Silent.  Even the huge lumbering ‘cage’  which would
drop us down the shaft for our 8 to 12 hours shifts.  Sad…a bit frightening.


END EPISODE 84

NEXT EPISODE  85…UNDERGROUND AT “CAN MET” URANIUM MINE…AS IT BEGINS TO COLLAPSE

Post Script
 
My original thought was to just do an Episode on Mining Cages like
the one pictured below.  Maybe I will do that as well.  These are not
Eliot Lake miners.  Just miners  in a very dangerous cage.  Sometimes
mining jobs were taken out of desperation.  Good pay on the other
hand.  But a nomadic  lifestyle since all mines have a shelf life…except
it seems for Sudbury, Ontario, Canada.

FORTHCOMING EPISODES…A NOTE

special note July 2020
Shortly I will be sending some episodes on the summer of1960 that might help to make the Irish episodes fit better. The language may be a little rough at times because working at the bottom of an abandoned Elliott Lake uranium mine was rough and dangerous as were the men I worked with. Amusing. Informative. True.
Originally I had planned an Episode dealing with mining Cages…and lack of cages as in Knockmahon. That story will come as well.
The surprising note I received from Dan Dwan whose family still lives in Knockmahon and who knows the men who were part of my 1960 team has kindled my imagination. You will find the stories interesting as well I hope.
We are still in lockdown..isolation due to Covid 19 so my captive audience…you…may need the relief of the stories Things could be worse. You could be down 2,000 feet in a uranium mine where the count was 292 …high radiation. Or, as my assistant Harry expressed it….”What the fuck are we doing down here?”
alan

HOW TO BUILD A GARDEN THAT REALLY PRODUCES FOOD…RUBBER TIRES AND BLACK PLASTIC SHEETING

MID  JULY 2020

SO FAR OUR GARDEN HAS PRODUCED ONE ZUCCHINI AND SOME  VERY SMALL ONIONS BUT ACROSS
THE ROAD….

ANDY’S GARDEN ON THE OTHER HAND  HAS PRODUCED LOADS OF BEETS, GARIC ONIONS,  CORSN IN THE TASSEL
STAGE, SQUASH LUMPS AND  CAULIFLOWERS, ETC…AND
LOTS MORE COMING.  HIS SECRET IS USING OLD RUBBER TIRES TO HOLD DOWN THICK PLASTIC
SHEETING IN WHICH THERE ARE SMALL INCISIONS.   THE WEEDS CANNOT DESTROY THE GARDEN.

WOULD HIS GARDEN  EVER MAKE PHOTOS IN THE HIGH END GARDENERS GLORY BOOK?

alan skeoch
july 16, 2020


EPISODE 83: AT TALE OF TWO GARDENS IN PANDEMIC YEAR…CITY GARDEN AND COUNTRY GARDEN JULY 15, 2020

EPISODE 83   A TALE OF TWO GARDENS IN THE PANDEMIC  YEAR 2020

COVID 19:  THE PANDEMIC  HAS  CHANGED THE WORLD…BUT WE REMAIN LUCKY AND ALONE

WHAT HAVE WE BEEN DOING IN OUR ISOLATION?   WELL WE HAVE BEEN GARDEINING AND
FEEL VERY LUCKY  TO BE ABLE TO DO SO  MARJORIE IS THE BETTER GARDENER AS YOU WILL
NO DOUBT NOTICE.  MY JOB IS TO FIGHT OFF THE WEEDS.   ONE PICTURE SHOWS HOW OUR
WEEDS  CAN OUT COMPETE OUR CORN…SEE IF YOU  CAN  FIND  IT.   WOODY HAS BEEN
INCLUDED  JUST FOR FUN.


1)  OUR COUNTRY GARDEN…JULY 15, 2020

. USING PLASTIC CONTAINERS TO TRY AND DISCOURAGE THE WEEDS…SO FAR
ALL WE HAVE  PRODUCED IS ONE ZUCCHINI.  





THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE WEEDS OUT COMPETE THE CORN AND
PUMPKIN PATCH.   WEEDS USUALLY WIN.  LATER IN THE FALL WE WILL SEE
IF ANY PUMPKINS SURVIVED.   WHY NOT GET IN THERE AND WEED THE PATCH?
MY EXCUSE  IS SIMPLE…MAYBE THERE ARE BLACK LEGGD  TICKS JUST WAITING
FOR MY BARE LEGS.   AN EXCUSE.


THE MILKWEED  PLANTS ARE NOW SIX  FEET HIGH AND HAVE ATTRACTED  TWO MONARCH  BUTTERFLIES.  I HOPE THEY ARE
HUSBAND AND WIFE AND HAVE LEFT THEIR PROGENY TO WOLF  DOWN THE MILKWEED.   


WE HAVE FOUR LARGE PONDS ON MY GRANDFATHER’S FROMER FARM.  HE DRAINED THEM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.
WE HAVE DONE THE  REVERSE.  THANKS TO COVID19 WE HAVE CLEARED SOME OF THE LAND  AROUND
ONE OF OUR PONDS THAT HAS BEEN LOST TO SIGHT FOR A COUPLE  OF  DECADES.  WHEN IT WAS EXCAVATED
OVER 20 YEARS AGO, THE HUGE EXCAVATING MACHINE HIT QUICK SAND  AND SLOWLY SANK.   TO RESCUE
THE EXCAVATOR WAS  AN  IMMENSE TASK.  IMAGINE WHAT THIS  POND  WOULD LOOK LIKE WITH THE WRECK
OF AN EXCAVATOR IN THE MIDDLE…PERHAPS JUST THE NECK REVEALED.

I INCLUDED  ANGUS MCECHERN’S OLD HAY LOADER TO HELP YOU VISUALIZE WHAT THIS LAND  WAS LIKE  WHEN
IT WAS A FIELD OF TIMOTHY HAY AND  ERIC, RONNIE, ANGUS AND I STOOD ON THE HAY WAGON WHILE THE LOOSE
HAY TUMBLED ONTO US AS WE TRIED TO STOW IT.   ANGUS  PULLED OUR CARAVAN … TRACTOR, HAY WAGON, HAY LOADER …
OVER BESIDE THE WILD CHOKECHERRIES FOR US TO EAT IF  WE GRABBED  THEM FAST.

ALAN SKEOCH
JULY 15, 2020


A FEW YEARS AGO I USED THIS OPEN SPACE TO BURN WOODEN  TRASH.
MARJORIE MADE ME CONVERT THE SPACE TO GRASS.  I AM NOT SURE
THAT WAS A GOOD  IDEA BUT DID IT ANYWAY.  YOU BE THE JUDGE.


2)  OUR CITY GARDEN … PLANTED  AND  NURSED BY MARJORIE      JULY 25, 2020



ALAN SKEOCH’
JULY 15, 2020

P>S>    I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN IRELAND…MORE EPISODES COMING NOW THAT
DAN DWAN HAS REACHED ACROSS THE ATLANTIC TO TOUCH  BASE WITH ME.
BARNEY DWAN IS ALIVE AND WELL…REMEMBER HIM?  MY RIGHT HAND  MAN
IN 1960 WHO I CALLED  BANDY BECAUSE OF THE IRISH  ACCENT.



Sent from my iPhone

EPISODE 82 BUNMAHON 1960 … A STARTLING LETTER RECIEVED JULY 16, 2020

EPISODE 82    BUNMAHON 2960…A STARTLING LETTER RECEIVED JULY 16, 2020



NOTE:  OUT OF THE BLUE…out of the internet I mean,..I just received a letter from Dan Dwan, a relative of my right hand man  Barney Dwan in Ireland in 1960. He
found the Bunmahon stories on the Internet.   Amazing.  wonderful.   Sixty years ago. So  I am sending him a bunch of pictures.  IN addition  one of the stories  I never sent to others…i.e.
my Irish date with Rena Casey.   

There are periods  in our lives that are frozen in our memories…and  once warmed up those memories return ins such graphic  detail
that they must seem to others as fabricated.   That is why the pictures are so important…they establish that my memory has recorded
that summer of  1960 quite accurately.

DAN  DWAN.

HI Dan…here  is a  pile of pics…most of which  I  used.

Maybe you can with help of Barney identify some of the characters in Kirwin’s pub.

Send  pic of yourself  and  Barney…I  will tie them into the final entires

(I called him Bandy for weeks which
made the crew laugh…and then they started to call him Bandy…followed by hoops of
laughter that confused me for a while.  Barney just grinned.  His  Irish accent had confused me.)

One story I have not told  and will do  so now…i.e.  the date I had with Rena Casey…entirely platonic as
she was just a nice person who walked on the cliffs  and  seemed  interested in me.   A replica  of Maureen O’Hara.  I Rented
an old van from Mr.s Kennedy…wreck…drove to Tramore to see a movie and then home. The
car stopped suddenly part way home which i think alarmed Rena…certainly alarmed  me…got the
crank and got it started again.  We were both nervous.  I still remember the spot on the Tramore road
where the breakdown occurred…a dark place in the shadow of the Copper Cliffs of Tankardstown
I think.  What must have been going through her mind?  The car was at fault …not me.

Then a day or so later Mrs. Kennedy said

 “Master Skeoch, the Casey’s bought a new studio couch”
“So?”
“Just informing you there may be expectations.”  (Mrs. Kennedy did not approve)

I never spoke with Rena  again as I feared hurting her feelings…I liked her as a person
not as  a conquest.   And  I was  certainly influenced by the Quiet Man…John Wayne and Maureen
O’Hara romance.  A romantic at heart.  I was more frightened by the ‘studio couch’ than 
crawling through the abandoned mine adits and shafts.  Years later, in 1965, Mrs. Kennedy told
me Rean had moved  to London, married  with three kids.  Good for her.

 My girlfriend in Canada at the time, Marjorie Hughes, later became my wife and  we returned to
Bonmahon with my brother in 1965…and also  later in the century.  Both of our sons and both
of our daughters  in law have been to bunmahon…passing through.  The place lives in many
memories.

 I found the people of Bunmahon fascinating
and loved  our regular pints at Kirwin’s…loved the banter…the stories…the sprays of
Holy Water thrown at me on Sundays.  No  Irish hostility…no nastiness…just good  times.

Hunting Technical and Exploration Services trusted me to do  the job.  That was flattering 
and I worked  hard lest I let them down.  I hoped the project wold help  Bunmahon.  It did
not but the later publicity pushed  by historian Des Cowman certainly did…now called the CopperTrail.

My  company in Canada wondered why I hired  so many people.  They were paid so  little
that I tried my best to get a little money in their hands.   And the Irish cattle herds justified
the extra expense.  So many  cattle chewed  up our lines that I thought the local milk
would be copper coloured.    We needed men to patrol our base line.  Even  then the
cattle got the wire and  regurgitated  it in the fields in balls the size of baseballs.   Many farmers
hated me I think…demanded  compensation.  I do not know if they were ever paid although
they should have been.

 For the life of me I could not
understand how they could afford those pints of  Guinness….dinner in a glass as they say…
We dared not start to buy rounds fearing our employees  at Kirwin’s would feel duty bound
to reciprocate.

As a stupid gesture, I gave each man a pack of cigarettes on paydays…I did  not know that
Wild Woodbine cigarettes… were the cheapest of cheap tobacco.  I think I even gave out chocolate 
bars just for fun.   My company never complained.   My boss will get this letter as well as you.
He once described me as  precocious which I have found  amusing.



alan skeoch
July  2020

P.S.  Send  a couple of pics.











EPISODE 82: Bees



Begin forwarded message:


From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>
Subject: Bees
Date: July 3, 2020 at 9:48:16 PM EDT
To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>


BEES AND  BEEKEEPING…AND THOSE  CLOUDS

alan skeoch

July 4, 2020

There is a long trail winding…lifetime trail.

I was  a  failure as  a beekeeper many years ago.  Decades ago, At the Parker Pettit farm sale I bought all
his old bee hives and then proceeded to learn beekeeping.   The old hives were
contaminated and my days as a beekeeper ended  when I had to set the hives  afire. 
Sad. Guilty.  

Today our son Andrew, now a big man, has taken up beekeeping thanks to the advice
of Russ  Vanstone, my lifetime friend.   New hives, new bees, new place with shelter
and fields of flowers at different stages.   

Some say that certain skills ‘skip a generation’…i..e our children become more
like our parents than like ourselves.   Certain truth there in this case.  Only in this
case the skip went back two generations to his great grandfather, Edward  Freeman, 
who could do  anything he set his mind to do.  Great wealth never fell his way
but happiness did.  He was a contented man.

These are going to be happy bees.  Just wait until you see where they are
living.   And then lose yourself in those ‘Jone Mitchell’ Clouds.

alan skeoch


































“What a  great day for dreaming…;puts 

me in mind that snippet from John Lennon’s

song  Imagine.

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us


















CLOUDS NEVER GET IN MY WAY


The Joni Mitchell lyrics to her song Clouds have a negative thrust 
as  the song unfolds.  I prefer the first four lines….the angel hair, ice
cream  castles, feather canyons.  I spend a lot of time looking at clouds
and interpreting  the shapes on summer days.  I will always  look
at clouds  that way. 

 “Alan, keep your eyes on the road and stop seeing
things that are not there.”  
“But they are there, Marjorie…look at those clouds…they speak to us
of things that only our imagination can  let loose…like those three
puppies at the dining room table over there in the sky.”
“And the old man smoking a pipe.”
“And the full bodied woman over there.”
“And the house lost in a snowstorm.”
“And the huge honey bee loaded with nectar and pollen on tis legs
heading back to the hive.”

“You are better than I am at seeing things that are not really
anyplace other than your mind, Marjorie. “

“Let’s just stop the car…pull off this empty road…
and see what our minds  can see in this wonderful sky
on this wonderful summer day.” 

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way









Do you want something to do?

  Take a load  off your feet and  see what you can

find in these clouds.










alan skeoch

July 4, 2020











Sent from my iPhone


EPISODE 80 CANADA DAY…IS CANADA A CREATION OF LUCK OR GOOD SENSE

EPISODE 80:  CANADA DAY 2020: CREATED BY LUCK OR GOOD SENSE?




HAPPY CANADA DAY

We  are a lucky bunch…we Canadians.  Some would say that I think.   Just sampling conditions
around  the world  in  this global Pandemic underscores our good fortune.  
Even cocooned in isolation Marjorie and I feel positive.

So here is a picture of our front yard.   All the work done by Marjorie except for the cobblestone
walkway to the front door.   Remember  A.Y. Jackson’s Group of Seven painting titled ‘The Tangled Garden’?
Well the play of light and shadow, of red and  white, of yellow and gold,  of shades of  green in our garden puts the  Jackson
painting  in  my mind.

When Marjorie showed me this photograph I did not recognize our own front yard   I had  taken
it all for granted.   Taken for  granted…as we often take our country for granted.

alan skeoch
July 1, 2020

P.S/  Now to get back to Ireland and the mine at Knockmahon…not nearly as cheerful.  coming Episode  81