ROOM 42: NATIONAL FILLING FACTORY NO 1: Barnbow, Leeds
The fog crept on kitten-cat paws
A comforting grey blanket
Holding a hint Of frost and coal dust
‘Bye Mam. See you later.’
Maggie, 17, might have called
Closing the door
heading for her last shift
at National Filling Factory No 1
Tuesday, 5th December, 1916
The fog, tiger-like
padded around Barnbow
A yellow miasma
engorged with TNT and cordite,
Staining skin entering lungs and livers
tapping sulphurous claws
on doors, windows
Widows Of Filling Factory No 1 watching
Waiting For the inevitable
Then,,10.27 pm
With a monster roar
It came
Earth and ear shattering
with screams
Scattered limbs,
hisses of scalding water running scarlet
Plumes of toxic fumes
and the smell of blood
The fog sucked it in
that scene designed by Dante.
Then satisfied with its carnage,
It turned yellow eyes
towards the city
whilst those remaining
picked up the pieces
Of Room 42
By Susan McCartney
Foot Note: The explosion, in Room 42 of the munitions factory at Barnbow, took the lives of 35 girls and women. Many more died later of shock, their injuries, and TNT poisoning. Some unidentified. They were nicknamed the ‘Canaries’ because of their yellow skin – chemicals having entered their livers. It was a foggy night. A veil of secrecy was drawn over the dreadful event. The full facts remain shrouded. Even now. Maggie Barker, 17, from Kippax. A victim.
(This is original work presented at Writers Assemble who meet fortnightly at The Junction Pub,Castleford,West Yorkshire.The group is a community development project of Destiny Poets)
An evocative and deftly crafted narrative.
A succint narrative of the tragedy.
An excellent read.A cinematic montage of images ushering us towards the unexpected catastrophe.
Hair raising account of a ghastly tragedy , this poem succeeds in conveying the horrors that millions of workers face the world over as capitalism morphs into neoliberalism and the post truth era tales over
The sense of helplessness before an inexorable fate that this Juggernaut has unleashed is palpable in this poem with an Eliotesque style of imagery and narrative
Reminiscent of
“ The Fog crept up …., “ in the Preludes
shattering , heart -wrenching poem. the tragedy depicted with minute details. imagery is great .