‘And if you don’t persuade them, what will happen then?’
He thought for a few minutes, as though he had not considered the idea before that moment. ‘I can’t rightly say, Dai,’ he shook his shaggy head slowly. ‘The villagers don’t have much faith in courts either. They reckon they’re rich men’s tools, letting them get away with blue murder if it suits them. Even if the owners agree there’s no telling if we could keep our promises. It’s all very difficult. The men are talking about strikes and pickets.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I can remember the last time and it wasn’t very pleasant, I can tell you. Nobody won. We went hungry and the mines lost a lot of money. That’s all I seem to remember about it. I think it was in the year your Mam and Dad married. It wasn’t nice at all,’ his eyes became hooded as he thought of the past. ‘We almost had the militia here. ‘Twas lucky we went back when we did. The day after, we heard the militia turned out and cleared the men from the mine in Bedwas, killed a few, too. Mind you, the miners had been trying to damage the owners’ property at the time. Still, I don’t reckon the militia should have done what they did. There’d been talk that they were to come here but we’d gone back by then. Six weeks, Dai. Six weeks of hunger, trying to find food where we could. Even eating rotten potatoes and cabbage heads if we could get them. The parents starved so the children could eat. It was a bad time and I don’t want to see it happen again.’
‘Grandad,’ I hesitated, not sure how to go on. He waited patiently. ‘Grandad,’ I began again, ‘it’s not like you, I mean you don’t, I mean . . .’ I trailed off in confusion.
‘Dai, Dai, Dai,’ he shook his head sadly, ‘of course they’d be worth fighting for, even dying for, if it would have saved them. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what we’re trying to achieve. If the courts decide in our favour, all well and good; if they don’t, then I’ll be sadder than anybody in the villages. But if we fight in the way the men are talking about, what then? Hunger at least, possibly deaths? For a monument to the dead?’ He shook his head again. ‘Don’t get me wrong. Let’s use the union funds if they’ll let us and do this thing properly, through the courts. It probably won’t come to that anyway, if we can persuade the owners to give a large contribution to the new school and persuade them the act will not be looked on as an admission of guilt. I know a few of the hotheads are demanding that the owners must admit it’s their fault, particularly blaming Sir Clifford. If the owners realise how deep those feelings are then they’ll agree to our terms, I’m sure. After all, they aren’t daft are they?’
I shook my head, dubious about the point.
Grandad cheered up. ‘Look you, that’s not what I’m here for. It’s about the get together next week. We’ve got a few small things for them but is there anything Mam and Da need, particular like?’
I pulled a few puzzled faces as I thought, and then shrugged. ‘I dunno Grandad, honest I don’t. I guess they’ve got everything they need.’
He laughed. ‘Everything . . . that’s a good one, Dai, but,’ he added hastily seeing my hurt look, ‘I know what you mean. You, Sion and Si . . . you and Sion think about it and let me or your Gran know. Tell us Wednesday or Thursday, whenever it is we’re coming over. I don’t know,’ he grumbled with good humour, ‘she never tells me what’s going on until the last minute and wonders why I’m not ready. I’ll be off before Gran comes looking.’ He ruffled my hair and stood up.
‘So long, Grandad,’ I smiled at him. He waved and left.
I thought about what I had learned. I hoped Grandad could persuade the owners, the swine, my fists clenched as I thought of them. I hated them irrationally. There was hardly a person in the valleys who felt differently. To hate them was as natural as breathing. They were the haves, we the have-nots.
5
The next day dragged by. I sat at the window watching the clouds, wishing I were as free, able to travel the world. I wanted to see India, the Antarctic, Australia. I shook my head sadly and sighed. Perhaps one day, perhaps never, I thought.
I looked along the sad, depressing street, watching the few people that were around, hurrying about their business. I thought briefly about the workers’ meeting. I hoped it would be successful.
Mam was as concerned as I – more so I suppose. There was a tension to the village; though perhaps it was my imagination, my own tension distorting my view of things. Whatever the reason, the village appeared to brood and wonder.
During the afternoon I tried to settle down to some homework but ended up just staring at my books. Da would be waiting at the mine for Grandad to finish with the owners. They would return with the committee and go to the Wheatsheaf, the local pub, to meet the other men.
I had been to one or two of their earlier meetings. One was the safety meeting, which had ended in bitter denunciation of the committee. It had taken a further two meetings with the owners before the men had been satisfied. Like Grandad said, though, as long as the talking went on then the less likelihood there was of other action being taken, and that was an achievement in itself. It was when the talking stopped that intelligent men worried.
The shadows lengthened as another early night closed in. The sky was overcast and rain was in the air, bringing the darkness with it. Sion was out with friends near the river, building a raft from scraps of wood. I would have helped if I could because it was the sort of thing I enjoyed, but I had to stay in. It was the doctor’s orders. I was fed up and bored.
The evening wore on. Sion was in bed. I was ready to go but Mam let me wait up for Da. I guessed she wanted my company as much as anything else. At last we heard the door open and slow footsteps in the passage. To our surprise Grandad came in with Da.
‘Get us a cuppa, lass, will you?’ asked Grandad. ‘My throat is that parched with all that talking.’
‘Was it that bad?’ asked Mam. ‘You both look sick at something. Shouldn’t you go home to Mam?’ she said to Grandad. ‘She’ll be worrying where you are and wondering what happened.’
‘I’ll be off in a bit, Meg. I told her I’d probably stop off here on the way home. Well then, the meeting was as difficult as we feared and perhaps even more so, see. They wouldn’t admit responsibility for the accident nor talk in terms of compensation of any kind. They will, however,’ Grandad became bitter, ‘contribute towards a monument. They emphasised how generous they were going to be, helping towards a new school by paying for the foundations. The rest we have to get from the Government. They assured us that was more than possible, especially after they drop words in the right ears. Lewis Lewis exploded when he heard them. I had difficulty at one stage calming him down. God, Meg,’ Grandad rubbed his eyes, wearily. ‘You should have heard the arguments.’
‘Didn’t they budge? Didn’t they offer anything more?’ Mam asked, rigid with anger.
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘Not a bloody thing. They were adamant that the accident was nothing to do with them. They said the mine was dumping there before the school was built . . . exactly as we expected. They said they couldn’t be held responsible for too much rain falling. Oh, so it went on, back and forth, back and forth. They did say how terribly sorry they were and all that pious claptrap, but nothing further. They just aren’t prepared to accept responsibility. They had some bigwig law man from London with them who did most of the talking. Christ! Talking to that man was like talking to a brick wall. Lewis Lewis started in on him by asking what he knew about mining community life and he haughtily said that was irr . . . irreverent? Whatever that means.’
‘Irrelevant,’ said Mam absently as she poured tea.
‘Yes, that’s the word. Well anyway, he said he was only concerned with the letter of the law and as far as he and his clients were concerned there was no question in law that they were responsible. I guess that means if we bother going to court we don’t stand a chance of winning.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mam, ‘he’s trying to bluff you, that’s all. How do we know what’ll happen in court unless we try? More importantly, ask a solicitor and let him advise us. Did you threaten to take them to court?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Lewis Lewis did. But Meg, all the man did then was quote other cases that had been taken to court under similar circumstances. He said that all law in this land was based on previous decisions and so the law builds up,’ he finished lamely.
‘Of course, Dad,’ said Mam, pausing to sip her tea. ‘Our law is called Common Law. Once a decision is taken by a High Court Judge it becomes the standard for further decisions. These decisions aren’t irreversible though, just guide lines. That way every case is judged on its own merits. Do you see?’
‘I think so. Anyway Meg, it don’t matter now. We told the men what happened and they’re up in arms about it. Hell, I can’t remember when they were so angry.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ said Da, cutting into the conversation at last, after staring moodily at his cup. ‘I don’t blame them but they’re wrong to do it.’
‘Do what, Da?’ I asked.
‘They’re talking about striking, son. Holding meetings, picketing, preventing mine safety. You name it and they’re talking about doing it.’ He shuddered. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. Especially if they prevent mine safety. It’s not as though we’ve got that much as it is. What we have though is better than nothing.’
‘What’ll happen now, Da?’ I asked.
‘Well, the worst that’ll happen,’ answered Grandad, ‘is the lower shafts will probably flood, because nobody will be checking the water levels and using the pumps when they’re needed. That in itself is daft, I can tell you, because when we do start back we’ll have to clear the shafts and that will mean lost production and more work before we start earning any money worth talking about, let alone bonuses. There’s a greater risk of fire by spont . . . spont . . . bursting into flames.’
‘Spontaneous combustion.’
‘Thank you, Meg,’ said Grandad with a little smile. ‘I’d be tongue tied without your help. Anyway Dai, the fire risk is that much greater. There’s more gas leaking than there should be, and when the time comes for us to go back into the shafts it’ll be all the more dangerous.
The talk became desultory and I was sent to bed. I could not fully understand what it would all mean because I had nothing to measure it against. Like Sian’s death, it was something different. I didn’t want to understand it.
The next day it was Grandmother Osborne who woke me, her voice penetrating my sleep. I lay for a few minutes listening to her going on about the trouble. In some cack-handed, twisted way only she could see, she was trying to put the blame on Da.
‘You mark my words, Megan Griffiths,’ she said loudly, ‘just mark my words. There’s going to be trouble. Before we know it they’ll have the militia up from Cardiff and then what? Somebody will be killed before this is over and for what? Nothing. I know, I’ve seen it all before.’
‘I know you have, Mam. Evan and I dread it as much as you do but what can we do? Evan’s father . . .’
‘Bosh,’ interrupted Grandmother, ‘Evan’s father is no better than your husband is . . .’
Reluctantly, I dressed. With me downstairs Grandmother tended not to say so much and at least that would spare Mam a little bit. I guessed she was sick and tired of hearing her mother going on about Da. It seemed to be getting worse, too, not better.
‘You’ll see my girl. They’ll have more meetings and nothing will come of it. Then they’ll try and persuade the men not to strike and promise more meetings. When one side is fed up then something will happen. Then . . . oh, good morning Dai,’ she broke off as I came through the curtain.
‘Gone to visit Uncle James. He said something about a new type of kite, which I must admit I didn’t fully understand. A boiled egg?’
‘Eh, I don’t think so. I’ve said all I came to say and ought to be on my way. I’ve some shopping to do. Take care of yourself, Dai,’ she added as she left.
‘Well,’ I hesitated, coughed. ‘Er, er, well, nothing really. It’s just I was thinking that’s all. Eh, what Da said to you once. He eh, said eh,’ I paused. ‘He said he’d drown you if you turned out like your mother and you said not to worry because you’d do it yourself. And then he said, I guess this is one time when instead of looking at the mother to see how her daughter will turn out one should look at the father. Something about that being against all the rules or something.’ I ended with another cough to cover my embarrassment.
She laughed. ‘You’ve got an excellent memory. He was only joking but I have to admit that if I did become like your Grandmother I’d think about it.’ She became serious again. ‘She hasn’t been the same since Grandfather died. I suppose we ought to make allowances for her, but after two years the allowances get to be too much. I don’t know, I sometimes think she’s getting worse.’ With a shrug she went back to the kitchen to bake bread and cakes for the get together. I went back to dipping a piece of bread in my egg.