Survivors of the Beaconsfield mining accident tell what it's like to be buried alive

The gold lettering on the plaque outside the Beaconsfield mining museum stands as a stark reminder. It was presented just a few weeks after the mining collapse four years ago that saw two men trapped underground for 14 long days and nights. The plaque is dedicated to the "resilience, generosity and spirit of mateship" of the community that endured so much.

Beaconsfield is a small mining town in the north of Tasmania, on the side of a hill about 40km from the city of Launceston. Named after Disraeli, the 1st Earl of Beaconsfield, it was home to the richest gold mine in the world in the 1850s, and its population boomed as a rush of prospectors flooded in, hoping to strike it rich.

Now it's a working-class town of just over a thousand people. Just about everyone who lives here works in the mine or in industries connected with it. It is the heart of the town and in 2006, it put Beaconsfield back on the map for all the wrong reasons. On 25 April, an earthquake measuring 2.2 on the Richter scale triggered an underground rock fall. Three miners were caught in a drama that prefigured the current crisis affecting 33 miners in Chile.

Two days after the earthquake, the body of one trapped miner, Larry Knight, was recovered, but no one knew the fate of the others. "It was assumed fairly quickly that the other two men were gone as well," says Tony Wright, author of Bad Ground, a book about the accident. "But the people wouldn't give up."

In fact, Todd Russell and Brant Webb were 900m (3,000ft) below ground, in a tiny space four and a half feet square. They couldn't stand or sit and had to take turns lying either on their backs or their sides, as sharp rocks cut into them from below. They had a small amount of light, but it was a hot and humid 29C (84F) in their bunker.

To keep their spirits up, Russell and Webb sang songs and told stories to pass the time. Their only food was a muesli bar Webb had with him when the earthquake struck. For six days the town and the rescuers did not know if they were alive or dead. For the relatives on the surface, the wait was excruciating.

"We were trying to keep our hopes up, but the longer it went on, the worse [we thought] it would be," said Russell's mother, Kaye. The two men underground fretted for their families – Webb and Russell realised that no one else knew they were alive. Before long, a massive media pack descended on the sleepy community.

"At the start, the town was enthused by the interest," says Wright. "But as the days went by, frustration grew. Country hospitality turned into hostility. They saw the journalists as ghouls waiting for the inevitable."

On day six, Beaconsfield learned the two men were alive. They had been found by thermal imaging cameras and a microphone. Yet for the rescuers, the discovery only increased their frustration, as Webb recalls from conversations with those searching for him.

"We were struck by the psychological trauma that affected everybody who had contact with us when we were in the hole. One driller told me that it was easier when he thought we were dead and he could convince himself he was just doing a job, breaking rock.

"But once they knew we were alive, they were frightened that any cut they made could trigger another rock fall and kill us and it was a different ballgame. I think they will really feel that in Chile now they know those guys are all alive down there."

At one point the rescuers were able to get close enough to shake Russell by the hand – only to discover that this route to the men was unsafe. As in Chile, the rescuers were able to drill a hole large enough to pass through food and water. They were later sent a camera, a torch, deodorant, toothpaste, magazines and clothes – as well as iPods loaded with music by the Foo Fighters. The men were able to exchange letters with their families.

In Beaconsfield, though, there were just two men trapped, and for two weeks. In Chile, there are 33 men and they face an excruciating three to four months underground.

"It's great that they've got ventilation down there now and they've started to feed them, but that presents a whole new scenario," says Webb. "If you put something into your mouth, something's going to come out the other end. It will be very tough. You only have to have one bloke who gets dysentery or something like that. If anyone should die, you can't get the body out. The psychological trauma for the men – and their families – is going to be massive."

When the townspeople of Beaconsfield discovered the men were alive, the reaction was euphoric. Their suspicion towards journalists began to fade as it became clear that they could be a source of information. "Everyone had been riding a huge emotional rollercoaster," says Webb.

Russell, who now works selling explosives to the mining industry and training people how to use them, seems to have come to terms with his ordeal. "I made the effort to go back underground only a week after we got out," he says. "You fall off a horse, you get back on it. Even now in the job I do, I get quite uncomfortable at times, but I'm not spending 12 hours a day underground. The people I work with now are aware of my previous situation, and if I'm uncomfortable at any stage they take me out of the mine."

But the Beaconsfield mining trauma has left an indelible scar on the town. Once the men were rescued, the mine was closed for a time, putting many people out of work. "We had more real estate for sale three months after the ordeal than in the whole history of Beaconsfield," says Webb, who is now an estate agent. "It was such a high after Todd and I got out of the mine. Then, when things went back to normal and the grind of daily chores had to be done, people went to find something better. The town's never recovered."