A Million Tears (11 page)

“
Suffer the little children to come unto me.”

The engraving was in old-fashioned Welsh. I tried to imagine her lying almost under my feet. Her arms would be crossed, her eyes closed and she would look as though she was sleeping. I felt the tears coming to my eyes. I looked around to see if I could find any flowers, feeling guilty that I had not brought anything now that I was there for the first time. Of course there was nothing to be found in November but I promised her that the next time I returned I would bring a plant.

The hand on my shoulder made me jump.

‘Sorry Dai, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said Da. ‘I was passing and thought I saw you standing here.’ He looked at the grave, silent for a few moments. ‘Just after the accident I couldn’t walk past without stopping for a few minutes, even if it meant leaving for the mine a bit earlier and getting home later,’ he paused and shook his head sadly. ‘Now I come once a day, usually on my way home. Today I’d just persuaded myself to go straight home when I saw you. In a little while I’ll be going every other day, then once a week, on a Sunday because we’ll already be here and it’ll be less inconvenient. Do you know what I’m trying to tell you, son?’

‘I dunno, Da. I’m not sure.’

‘I suppose I’m trying to say that life goes on, see. We have to go on living, eating, breathing, laughing. Time, Mam tells me, is the great healer. We’ll go to America and . . . although we’ll never forget Sian . . . no, that would be impossible, we’ll just remember her less and less.’

I went to bed for a nap and slept until suppertime. The strike was beginning to be felt. For supper that evening we had bread and cheese. The latter was green in places but buried between two pieces of toast (to hide how stale the bread was), it was not too bad.

‘We need to keep our savings for as long as possible,’ explained Mam to Sion and me. ‘So we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got in the allotment and what I’ve got here. Evan, how long is this going to go on? Do you have any idea?’

Da shook his head. ‘We still have to wait for the meeting. If we got a shift back now it could cause more problems than it’s worth. A proper show of hands will do the trick, though God knows what’ll happen now. I thought we’d persuaded them to go back but if the ringleaders got a postponement so easily I don’t know . . . I just don’t know. I tell you, Meg, I’m sick of it, sick of it all,’ he burst out bitterly. ‘Those swine of owners sitting in their big houses, screwing us down like they do. All we want is what’s right. I know, I know, we’re trying to do it the right way, through the courts. And where will that get us? Meg, you know as well as I do . . . nowhere, no damn where. I don’t like it. Something’s wrong, but I can’t place my finger on it.’ He shrugged. ‘We say we ought to go back to work. Then we lose in court. It’ll be impossible to get the same sort of bitter, soul aching anger back into the people – the sort needed to sustain a strike. Something to help them through the cold and hunger. And it’s not their hunger, that’s easy to live with, but the children and babies. I hate those people up there. Meg, I don’t know yet what I’m going to do in America but on one thing I’m certain I won’t go back into the mines. I’ll find something else, anything else, but not the mines.’ He suddenly fell silent.

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.’

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.

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.

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.

‘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.