by Paul Henke
Mam placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. ‘I’m glad, Evan. We’ll find some way to live, I know we will. I don’t want you to go into the mines either and I always hoped that one day you’d decide to stop. I don’t want you coughing your lungs out. In America there’ll be something better for you. Aye, and good schools for Dai and Sion too.’
‘I’m not going,’ said Sion defiantly.
Da clouted him across the back of his head. It had never happened before; Mam and I were startled and Sion was too shocked to cry at first. It had not been a hard blow but as Sion lifted his hand to his head he started to sob. Da seemed as surprised as us.
He looked at the palm of his hand. ‘God Almighty, I’m sorry, Sion. I didn’t mean it son. But you’re coming with us whether you want to or not and don’t let me hear another word from you saying otherwise. Understand?’
Sion sniffled, not speaking.
‘Understand?’ Da barked in a harsh voice. Sion nodded and began crying again. ‘Damn! First of all it’s my brothers and now I’ve hit my son. I’m going to the Wheatsheaf Meg,’ he pushed back his chair and stalked out of the room.
Mam closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. ‘Come here, Sion,’ she said after a while. ‘Come on,’ she coaxed him. Sion slid off his seat. She pulled him on to her lap and stroked his hair. ‘I don’t suppose you understand but Da is under a great strain at the moment. Not only with the strike making him worry about feeding and clothing us but also with your Uncles. Uncle Huw and Uncle David are for the strike and bitter at Da for not supporting them. They don’t see things the way Da and Grandad do. The trouble is Da also agrees with them, but he knows it’s pointless to do what they want. That’s what’s tearing Da up. He sees America as a solution for the ones he loves most in the world, us. So you see Sion, you must come with us. Do you remember what the vicar said to you on Sunday? About Sian always being with us because we love her so?’ Sion nodded. ‘Well then, it’s true. As long as she’s in our thoughts she’s with us. And she’s in heaven too of course, with God. Her grave is just a symbol, meaningless in itself, because she’s not in it but up there looking down on us. Do you see?’
‘But how will she know where we’ve gone? She’ll never find us in America,’ he sniffed.
‘Of course she will, silly,’ Mam comforted him. ‘God knows everything and if she did happen to lose us He’d tell her where we are, wouldn’t He? Besides, if you say your prayers every night you can tell her where we are, can’t you? So don’t worry about that. Now,’ she smiled, ‘if I know Da he’ll be back in about ten minutes having walked as far as the pub and back. He’ll be sorry. He’s said he’s sorry. Now you have to tell him too. All right?’
‘Yes, Mam,’ Sion said in a small voice.
As Mam predicted Da came straight back. When he came through the door Sion gave a tremulous smile. Da smiled back, and it was all right again.
Soon afterwards Sion went to bed.
‘Have you seen Mair or Maud?’ asked Da, as he settled into the chair by the fire. He coughed into the flames. ‘Sorry Meg,’ he wiped his mouth in his handkerchief.
‘No, I haven’t. What’s happening at the mine?’
‘At the moment, nothing,’ he replied, stretching his legs in front of the fire. ‘Not a damned thing. Nobody goes in or out. There must be twenty or more there all the time and a lot more close by in the old hall where we were going to have the meeting. They’ve set themselves up in there with the women supplying tea and any food they can spare. There’s a determination about it all that’s frightening. I tried to talk to Huw this afternoon. All he said was that I was a scab and walked away. This was in spite of the fact I was doing my stint at the gate along with the others.’ He sighed heavily, coughed and used his handkerchief. ‘David came and talked to me. Wanted to know if it was true that we’d been around to the men, trying to persuade them the strike was a waste of time. I argued that there was a better way. He stalked away. Now neither of them will speak to me. Although William’s against the strike he’s not for us either, just sitting in the middle as usual. I suppose it’s just as well Albert works for the railways. He’s against the strike, but his opinion doesn’t count for much with the other two. God, Meg, what a lousy stinking mess. It’ll get worse before it gets better.’ He sat staring at the fire for a few moments. ‘I’d better go down to the river tomorrow and find some coal if there’s any left. At least we can try and stay warm even if we do go hungry. I heard number eight shaft was already flooded to about twelve feet. That’ll take some shifting already and each day it gets worse. I reckon the owners will be in with the militia and scabs the day after our meeting if we vote to continue with the strike.’
‘So soon?’ I asked.
‘They’re all ready son, so Grandad told me, and he’s never been wrong yet.’
‘What’ll happen do you think, Evan? Will the men go back?’
He sucked in on his cheeks, a sign of indecision. ‘I just don’t know, Meg. I think it’ll be touch and go. When they got the meeting postponed it was an important victory for them and they know it.’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked.
‘Well, because I suppose the longer the men are out the more determined they become to carry on fighting.’ ‘Will it be very bad if the militia comes?’ I asked.
‘It’ll be worse than very bad,’ answered Mam. ‘The militia will force entry for the scabs who will do our men’s work. Any resistance will surely lead to fighting and possibly killing. When the villagers see what’s happening some of the men will go back to work realising there would be nothing to gain by staying out. It’ll earn them the enmity of people they once thought of as friends. Then more will return and the die-hards, the leaders, will be sacked and thrown out of their houses. And for years to come there will be bad feeling between friends and families. And when it comes to a court case, if it ever does, the strike will count against us because judges don’t like strikers.’ Mam paused. ‘That’s the best it’ll be. I’m going to make a cup of tea.’
On the day of the meeting Mam had wanted to go but Da had been adamant she stayed at home in case of trouble. She had protested but finally agreed. It was rare Da insisted she do anything but when he did it was even rarer for her to disagree. This, I supposed, was one of the rarer occasions.
‘Don’t tell Da,’ she said as she left.
‘I won’t need to, he’ll see you anyway, Mam.’
‘Yes, well, never mind that. Just don’t say anything – unless he does, see.’
Mam told me later that Da was the first person she saw. However, he agreed to let her stay and they went into the hall together. It was nearly packed yet there were still many more coming down the hill and from the other villages further up the valley.
‘There’s David and Maud,’ Mam waved and was disconcerted when they pointedly ignored her.
‘Dear God, you did warn me. Is this what we’ve come to?’
‘I’m afraid so, Meg,’ said Da grimly. ‘We’ll get the same from Huw and Mair too, if we see them.’
More and more people crowded in. The hall was a ramshackle place, old and musty, smelling from disuse. It had been a warehouse for the mine but was disused for years. When a group of travelling players had visited the valley years before, a rude stage had been built at the far end.
Many of the villagers wore their best clothes. The men all wore suits and caps and many had white scarves around their necks. The women wore gaily coloured head scarves though a few could afford a hat.
More people pushed their way in. The noise, heat and closeness was getting worse. A few men climbed onto the stage, Grandad amongst them. Slowly but surely silence descended until finally you could have heard a pin drop.
Peter Lloyd stepped forward. ‘You all know me and I know most if not all of you. I’m a plain speaker. Always been for looking after the men, women and children in my village and those around us. You all know that. You all know I’ll stick by you through thick and thin, no matter
what. That’s always been my way and always will be, look you. No doubt many of you have heard stories, rumours about what’s going on. Well now I’m going to give it to you straight. From the horse’s mouth like, as they say. I believe, along with the other men here on this stage that the strike is wrong.’
Someone called from the crowd, too indistinctly to understand. Then someone else yelled and then there were cat calls and booing from all over the hall, calling them silly old buggers, raving fools and other words I would not have understood. After a few minutes Grandad came forward and in his powerful voice yelled for silence. It took a while but the noise subsided. Some of the crowd badgered the louder ones to be quiet and eventually Mam could make out what Grandad was saying.
‘Now we’ll have no more of that. If you have anything to say come up on the stage and say it. That way anybody with anything worth saying can tell all of us. Now, look you, let Peter finish what he was going to say.’
‘All of the committee, your committee, who have worked for the villages for years are against the strike.’ There were more yells. ‘Please let me finish.’ Peter was quietly determined.
‘Yes, shut up,’ said a voice in the crowd, ‘and let him have his say.’ The heckling stopped.
‘I want to tell you why we think it’s wrong. Because we can’t win, that’s why.’
‘Who said we can’t?’ came a familiar voice.
‘Huw,’ said Da to Mam.
‘Because we can’t. We’re fighting a dubious principle. We say the owners are responsible for what happened to our children. They say they’re not. Now they’ll contribute to the memorial we plan and towards the new school. They’re afraid if they do more it’ll be seen as an admission of guilt once the case goes to court and we could easily win the case. They say they are taking a risk giving us so much, but to show good faith are willing to do so. But they will only do that much if we go back to work.’ There was a general booing and hissing from the crowd. Peter Lloyd took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Eventually after another intervention by Grandad there was quiet again.
‘Now, listen to me, please. I know what I’m talking about. Unless we agree to go back to work tomorrow then the owners will bring in the scabs and militia. You all know what that’ll mean.’
The silence showed that the crowd knew what it would mean only too well. They began to fidget and whisper to each other. It looked as if it might be possible that the men would vote to return to work.
The men on stage exchanged glances and Mam wondered if they too sensed victory. As the word came to her mind she realised it was a hollow sort of victory. The winners and the losers came from the same side . . . the people of the village. Grandad stepped forward and held up his hand for quiet.
‘I just want to add what I think about this matter and I hope most of you here will see it my way too. Nearly all of us lost a child. I lost two grandchildren and the thought will haunt me all my days. My heart bleeds not only for my two sons and their wives but for the rest of you. I know the anguish you must be suffering. You heard what Peter had to say will happen if we stay on strike. The hardships will be that much greater. Hunger will feed our sorrow. And it’ll do no good because it won’t bring the children back. Most of you here know we’ll end up going back. We’ll have to. There’s no way we can win. And the next time we want a pay rise or an added safety feature in the mines, and all you coal face workers know we’ve got plenty of ideas, the owners will remember. They’ll know many of us will have spent a lot of our savings, if we have any, and they’ll know we wouldn’t be able to last long the next time. On the other hand if we go back now, with our dignity and savings intact, then next time we’ll stand a better chance of getting what we want.’
‘Why should we get something then and not now?’ a voice asked.
‘That, friend, is a good question. When we say we want increased safety, and say so again and again, they’ll know it’s as much in their interest as ours to see that we get it. Greater safety often leads to greater production which puts more money in our pockets as well as theirs. They know this as well as we do. It just sometimes takes a little bit of persuasion on our part to make them realise it. And you all know they have often come round to our way of thinking. I know and so do the committee who’ve been at the meetings. We can’t win by striking but we have a chance through the courts. Remember the saying, he who fights and runs away,’ he paused. ‘The younger ones are better educated than me, and they know these things.’ The crowd laughed.
Peter Lloyd took over again. ‘I suggest we have a vote to decide whether or not we return to . . .’
‘Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Not so fast.’ A group of men pushed their way to the stage. Amongst them were Uncle Huw and Uncle David. About eight of them clambered onto the stage.
‘Before we have any vote I’ve got a few words to say.’ It was Ivan Thomas. He was a short, bald man who was renowned for his fiery temper.
‘We’ve heard what the old men of the villages have to say. Well, now it’s our turn, see. I’m sick of being told to think with my brain and not my heart. It wasn’t my brain that loved my children, it was my heart. I lost two good boys and even if you didn’t, then you probably lost a nephew, a niece or a grandchild. Remember what is was like. A black sea engulfing them, choking them to death. Our children died horribly. And do you know who’s fault it was? The owners, that’s who. They put the slag there. Sir Clifford and his cronies killed our little ones. I say we hurt them as hard as possible and that means we strike. Force them to acknowledge they were in the wrong and that they are responsible. Only then will we see justice done and get the compensation we deserve. And don’t get me wrong. I don’t want the money. I want to rub their faces in their crime. I want them to wake at night, plagued by their consciences, like I wake and think of my two sons, choking in that slag. That is what I want and the only way we’ll get it is by staying on strike and fighting the bastards every inch of the way.’ He stopped speaking and stepped back.
Immediately Uncle Huw stepped forward. ‘I say we fight to the bitter end. Let them send their militia. Let them send their scabs. We’ll get organised and fight in such a way they won’t be able to see us, never mind hit back. I lost a son that day and I want him to know I’d die avenging him rather than slink back to work with my tail between my legs. I’d rather die a man knowing I’d done what was right. I say strike,’ he screamed the word.
A group of men began to chant the word and more joined in. Almost the whole hall screamed ‘strike, strike, strike.’
There was no point in waiting for a show of hands.
Grandad joined Mam and Da as they made their way home. They were a silent group, full of worry and fear.
8
I was awake in time to see the grey dawn nibbling at the edge of night. I sneaked downstairs, so as not to disturb Sion, sure I was the first up. The fire in the grate proved me wrong. Da must have been up for some time and had gone out already. I stoked the fire with our dwindling coal supply and put the kettle on. While I waited for it to boil I went into the front room and sat in the half light, watching my small part of the world come to life. I could see men coming and going outside. If it had been a normal working day activity would have reached an early morning peak and would die down again, waiting for the wives to send the children to school or out to play. Today, though, was not a normal day.
Late the previous night, after the meeting, we had received word that a gang of scabs, protected by the militia, were already mustered and coming from Cardiff. We expected them to arrive sometime in the afternoon. The committee had been staggered by the speed of the owners’ response. None of the committee had told the owners of the outcome of the meeting but, as Grandad said, it was naı¨ve of the committee not to expect a spy in their midst.
At the window I became more aware of the undercurrents pulling at the village. It showed in the way people rushed about their business as if they were frightened of being caught in the street
s; it showed in the lack of name calling and greetings; it showed in the slight movement of curtains as the occupants watched and waited. After a while the slightest noise, like the meowing of a cat, made me jump. I found myself gripping the curtains tightly with one hand, my toy soldier in the other.
I suddenly started out of my tension and left the vantage point of the window to make tea. I was pouring a second cup when Mam came down and joined me. Her own tension showed in the way she fidgeted with the spoon in her saucer, and turned the cup, round and round.
‘I’m going down to the mine later, Mam,’ I announced. She looked at me steadily for a few minutes before replying: ‘I expected you would. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do or say to stop you. You’re a big boy now, not a child any more. Just keep out of the way, and if any trouble comes, leave. Run home. Hide. I don’t care what you do as long as you get out of there. Understand?’
