A Million Tears (The Tears Series)

by Paul Henke

  With an air of finality Grandmother replaced her cup and stood up. ‘I must be going.’ Both Mam and I remained silent. ‘All I can say, Megan, is I hope you know what you’re doing, that’s all. That’s my last words on the subject, see, but mark my words, people won’t like it. They’ll think it not nice. Fetch my coat, Dai,’ she ordered.

  ‘Yes, Grandmother,’ please, I said, under my breath. ‘What did you say?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Nothing Grandmother,’ I rushed to get her coat. I’d heard Da say that she could hear an asthmatic flea cough at fifty paces.

  As I helped her on with her coat she went on: ‘Now you mark my words Megan Griffiths . . .’ I switched off, knowing we would not hear the end of it before, during or for a long time after the event. From Mam’s sigh I guessed she realised it as well.

  After Grandmother left, Mam made me get out my schoolbooks and we went through some arithmetic. I still tired quickly so after an hour I went to bed. I slept until late the next morning.

  Through the curtains, partly drawn, I watched the clouds scudding past and amused myself seeing them as animals and funny faces. My Grandmother Osborne’s voice – she had come back – brought me back to earth and I tried to listen. After a few minutes I realised she was still on about the party and tried to ignore her. She saying, ‘I told you on that day you were marrying below your station’, brought me back to listening to her.

  ‘Now this trouble. I’ve never heard of anything like it. The men holding meetings, talking about striking and for what? Tell me that. For what? Compensation for the children? That won’t bring them back, will it? Nor will it put clothes on your backs or food on your table. I expect your Evan is mixed up in this as usual?’ Her voice had a hint of bitterness as she said Da’s name.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Mam retorted, ‘but not in the way you think.’ Before she could go on Grandmother interrupted.

  ‘I thought so. I knew it,’ she said with a good deal of satisfaction. It was then that I realised how much she disliked Da. I had never liked her very much but knowing how she felt about Da I liked her a lot less. I poked my tongue out at her, safe in the knowledge that a door and ceiling separated us.

  ‘You mark my words. There’s going to be trouble unless someone persuades the men not to be so stupid.’

  ‘Evan is trying to,’ Mam said loudly, immediately bringing her voice back to normal. ‘Sorry, Mam but I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. If you’d listened you’d have heard me try to say that Evan is against it. He agrees with you about the food and clothes, or whatever you said. He doesn’t think any good will come of it but the men, and the women too come to that, are so angry they won’t listen to reason. It’s not as though they’re asking for much . . .’

  Again Grandmother interrupted. ‘What are they asking for then? Do they even know? Or is it the usual sheep-like instinct of the herd? All following without knowing why or where they’re going?’

  ‘No, Mam,’ I could almost hear Mam sigh. By now, intrigued, I climbed out of bed and sat at the top of the stairs. This was all new to me and I wanted to know what was going on. ‘All they want is a new school built over this side of the river and up behind the Powis place,’ I knew where she meant. It was a stretch of waste ground near the chapel and a bit further along. ‘They also want the mine owners to admit it was their fault. I don’t know much more than you so why ask me? We won’t know any more until tomorrow’s meeting. You’ll know then, Mam.’

  ‘Yes, well I just thought you could enlighten me some more, seeing how Evan always knows what’s going on.’ I heard the rattle of cups. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Hullo, Meg, and where’s my boy then? Oh, hullo, Mrs Osborne,’ Grandad said in a stentorian voice, breezing through the front door, as usual.

  ‘Upstairs, Dad,’ Mam replied.

  ‘I must be off, now you’ve got,’ Grandmother paused, ‘other company.’ I could imagine the loud sniff she affected when she was annoyed, and Grandad turning up would certainly annoy her.

  ‘Well, look you, don’t let me keep you,’ Grandad emphasised the “me.”

  ‘You won’t,’ Grandmother stressed the “you” and I heard her close the door, not quite slamming it.

  ‘I don’t know how she had such a lovely daughter,’ said Grandad.

  ‘Now, Dad, she’s not that bad. You know all the trouble she’s been through since my father died. We have to make allowances.’

  ‘Huh,’ he snorted, ‘most of her troubles I reckon she’s brought on herself or else imagined them. Never mind her now, how’s the boy?’

  ‘Not too bad. The doctor says if he rests and we keep him in most of the time he’ll be all right in a month or two. He said we were lucky it was such a mild dose. Go on up and see him. He may be awake by now.’

  I scrambled for my bed as Grandad parted the curtain at the foot of the stairs. When he came in he was grinning.

  ‘Now, Dai, you shouldn’t be listening at keyholes. You might hear something bad about yourself, see, and you won’t like that will you?’

  ‘No, Grandad,’ I grinned back. ‘Only I wasn’t listening at a keyhole but at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘Cheeky monkey,’ he ruffled my hair like Da did. ‘You’re lucky you’re ill, that’s all I can tell you. But don’t go taking advantage of the fact or else I might forget and put you over my knee, by mistake like.’

  ‘Okay, I won’t forget,’ I replied solemnly and then we both laughed.

  ‘I can see there’s very little wrong with you lad and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Grandad,’ I said, suddenly serious, ‘what’s going on in the village? With the mine owners, I mean.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason. I’m just interested that’s all. I heard Mam and Grandmother talking about it earlier. And if anybody knows it’s you, after all.’

  Grandad was one of the most important men in the community. He was one of the mine leaders and sat on the committee that dealt with the owners; and he was a member of the union. He was a big man with a shock of white hair and a seamed face. His nose was hooked where it had been broken in a fight years before, and his eyes were piercing like Da’s. He was heavily built though not fat.

  ‘Aye lad I guess I can tell you, though it’s not much. We’ll know more after the meeting tomorrow. What it comes down to is the people of the three villages want the owners to admit responsibility for what happened. Then they want compensation and a memorial for the . . . the kids,’ he paused.

  ‘That’s reasonable, after all it was their fault. We didn’t ask them to put their rotten slag there, did we?’

  ‘No, Dai, we didn’t. But I remember when the school was built. We picked the site and there was already a slagheap then. Not so high, maybe, but it was there. And again there’s the rain, which was hardly the owners’ fault, was it?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said quietly, wishing I could kill the owners like Sian had been killed.

  ‘But that isn’t all the problem. The owners are worried that if they admit it was their fault we could take them to court. And then we could get a lot more than we’re asking for right now. Do you see, Dai?’

  ‘Aye, Grandad, I see. But,’ I went on bitterly, ‘the courts will side with the owners, they always do.’

  ‘Give me one example of a court case the owners have won against us then, clever clogs,’ Grandad smiled wanly.

  I pulled a face as I thought. ‘I don’t really know one,’ I began slowly, ‘but everybody knows the courts are always on the side of the owners.’

  ‘The reason you can’t think of one is because in my living memory I’ve never known it to happen. That doesn’t mean if we did go to court we’d automatically lose. We’d definitely win but only if they admitted it was their fault and agreed to what we’re asking for. I think with the way things are in this country now, if we’ve got a just grievance the courts will decide fairly.’

  ‘What’s the meeting for, then?’

  ‘Me and the ot
hers are going to try and persuade the owners that if they agree to our demands – that’s the wrong word – I should say requests, then I’ll assure them and so will the rest of the committee that there’ll be no action in court. After all Dai, what do we know about court cases and such like, eh boy?’ He coughed into a big handkerchief. ‘Mustn’t give you my germs, must I?’ He smiled, kidding us both he had a simple cough and not miners “dust”.

  ‘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.

  ‘You mean it’s not like me not to fight the owners. Nor the rest of the committee either.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly. You’ve always said that if something is worth fighting for . . .’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. But this time I don’t think it is.’

  ‘Grandad,’ I said shocked, ‘how can you say that? Sian . . . and the others . . . aren’t they worth fighting for?’

  He winced at Sian’s name, the pain evident and I wished I had kept silent.

  ‘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 i
t 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.’