by Jack Jones
Yes, there they were, marching, those nonconformist Christian soldiers, to their chapels, ‘marching on to war’, as Glyn was returning home. If the boozers, bouncers, bullies, wife-beaters and children-starvers had had it all their own way the day previous, they certainly did not on the Sabbath, when the nonconformist battalions marched proudly into Nebo, Caersalem, Shiloh, Noddfa, Tabernacle, Beulah, Moriah and scores of other citadels. Even Glyn, son of a stalwart nonconformist though he was, was made to feel unworthy and he wilted as he walked with downcast eyes past his more righteous brethren; so what must ‘them old Irish’ and ‘those old church people’ have felt like as they slunk by on their way to sit at the feet of priests and clergymen who knew not how to preach. Talk, and recite flatly, oh, yes; but as for singing and preaching… no, they didn’t know how to.
Glyn was glad to reach home that morning after having run the gauntlet, as one might say. As he reached the door he met his brother Dai coming out.
‘Hullo, where have you been to?’ asked Dai.
‘Out walking – been up as far as Mary’s. Where do you reckon you’re off to?’
‘Well, if you want to know, I’m going out to get myself a pint.’
‘I thought so; can’t you leave it alone on a Sunday? You know how dad…’
‘Yes, I know; but, indeed to God, Glyn, I’m feeling all to rags. I’m only going to have one. You don’t think I’m off to get drunk, do you?’
‘I’ve known you get drunk twice on a Sunday before now, and then it was only going to be just one pint.’
‘Yes, but I – look here. You come down with me, and if I take more than one, then…’
‘Don’t shout, do you want dad to hear you? Oh, go on, but if you come back here… well, you’ll see.’
‘And you’ll see me back before you can say knife. Hell, I’ve got more respect for dad than to…’
Glyn pushed past him into the house; Dai hurried off to the pub.
‘Has dad asked for me?’ Glyn asked Marged, who was peeling potatoes for the Sunday dinner.
‘Yes; I told him you’d gone up as far as Mary’s.’
‘Then you told him the truth,’ said Glyn as he went upstairs, where he found his dad, with spectacles on, endeavouring to read the heavy old family Bible.
‘Hullo, dad.’
After a bout of coughing his dad said: ‘Trying to read – a little – but this big Bible is so heavy.’
‘You know it’s too much for you to hold on your chest like you do,’ said Glyn, taking the Bible from him.
‘I’m afraid it is, but the print in the little one is too small for me to see. And I like to read a little every day, and especially Sunday.’
‘Shall I read it for you?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Where shall I read from?’
‘The Psalms I was reading – so read anywhere from the Psalms.’
Glyn started to read; he read haltingly at first, for the longer words held him up, but he got better as he went on. He hadn’t been reading long when his brother Dai entered the house and came straight upstairs. ‘Well, I kept my word, didn’t I?’ was what his eyes signalled to Glyn. Aloud he cried: ‘Hullo, dad. Here, our Glyn reads the Bible nearly as good as Thomas, Zoar. He’ll be a preacher if only he’ll stick at it.’
His father smiled up at him fondly and said: ‘What if you read to me for a change? Oh, Glyn. How did you find your sister Mary?’
‘Er… oh, not so bad. She’s coming down with the children to spend the day with you tomorrow. Told me that they’ve got to get out of that house soon.’
‘If they’re not out soon it’ll be buried under the slag-tip, which is getting closer to the houses every day,’ said Dai.
The father sighed. ‘So I’ve been told; though where the people are to go to is hard to say, for there isn’t a house to be had in the district for love or money. Marged was telling me only this morning that people are offering as much as two pounds for the key of a house of any sort. But you were talking about preachers, Dai. Well, if you want to hear the finest preacher in Wales then go to Zoar tonight – you’re too late now for the morning service.’
‘John Thomas, do you mean?’ said Glyn.
‘No, John is preaching away, and Sylvanus Price from Pontypridd is taking our big meetings. Oh, how I wish I was well enough to go to hear him. Why don’t you boys go? You won’t regret it.’
‘I may go tonight,’ said Glyn half-heartedly.
‘And I’ll stay home to keep you company if Glyn goes,’ said Dai, ‘for I expect Marged’ll be going as usual.’
‘All right, that’s a bargain,’ said Glyn. ‘If you stay and read to dad I’ll go to Zoar and let dad have a report of how things go.’
‘He’s asleep – look,’ said Dai.
Glyn looked, and was not surprised to see that his dad was asleep. He had lately dropped off to sleep whilst talking, in the middle of a sentence sometimes.
‘Weakness, I expect,’ said Glyn. ‘Come on, let’s go down to dinner.’
After tea Glyn got himself ready to go to Zoar. As he was walking down the street in his Sunday best he thought of Saran and decided to go across to where she lived to invite her to accompany him to chapel. As he drew near to where she lived he could hear Harry roaring about something or other, so he stopped and asked one of the boys living in the row to go and ask Saran to come out to see him.
The boy went and returned to where Glyn was standing on the corner. ‘She asks if you’ll wait a minute till she’s ready.’
‘All right,’ said Glyn, giving him a penny.
He must have stood there at least twenty minutes before Saran made her appearance. ‘I’ve been waiting…’
‘I know; come on, I’ll tell you as we go. Our Shoni again…’
‘What’s he been up to again?’
‘Plenty. Oh, he’ll be the death of mam and dad, I’m sure he will. He… p’raps you heard that Harry fought Tim Flannery this morning?’
‘I was… yes, I heard about it.’
‘Well, Harry got three golden sovereigns for beating Flannery from them as backed him to win. He came home all covered with blood and took off his coat and waistcoat in the house before going out to the tap to wash himself. The three golden sovereigns was in his waistcoat pocket, but they wasn’t there when he came back in after washing…’
‘Shoni took ’em.’
‘Who told you?’
‘Nobody; but I seen Shoni this morning in the old works playing pitch-and-toss, at which he lost at least two pounds on one toss as I was passing.’
‘So that’s where he went, was it? Harry was searching the town for him. Oh,’ she sighed, ‘but that isn’t all. The police have been to the house after him.’
‘What for, name of God?’
‘For stealing a new overcoat from Seidle’s pawnshop, where he went to pawn his shirt. And after he stole it he took and pawned it with Cohen’s down the bottom of High Street.’
‘Well of all…’
‘I’d rather the police get hold of him than Harry, for if Harry… what chapel are we going to?’
‘Zoar, dad asked me to go to Zoar tonight. Some grand preacher there, he reckons.’
Saran was scanning with anxious eyes the groups then gathering near the pubs in readiness for the evening drinking session, hoping to see Shoni so as to warn him to keep out of sight of the police and out of Harry’s way. ‘I expect Shoni’s far enough away by this time,’ she murmured. ‘P’raps gone on tramp to work at that waterworks up England way same as he did before that time. Well, well, here are we going to chapel whilst all them there are waiting for the pubs to open.’
‘Well, they’d better make the most of it, for they’ve only got two more Sundays before Sunday closing starts.’
‘I expect they’ll get beer somehow even then. Here we are.’
‘Yes, and here we’ll be by the look of things,’ growled Glyn after he had been informed that there wasn’t even standing room.
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‘Wait,’ said Saran as he was turning away. ‘Look, they’re carrying forms and chairs from the vestry.’ Saran intercepted old Evan Matthews as he was puffing his way from the vestry into the chapel with a chair in each hand. ‘Let me have them, Mr Matthews,’ she said, taking them from him and handing one to Glyn. ‘There, now you can go and get two more, can’t you? Zoar will have to have overflows tonight by the look of things, Mr Matthews. Come on, Glyn.’
Admiring her cheek, Glyn followed her down the centre aisle, at the pulpit end of which she placed her chair and sat down, motioning to Glyn to do likewise. Though it was a little after the usual time for commencing the evening service, there was no sign of the preacher, who was waiting in the little room behind the pulpit until the extra seating accommodation had been provided. Eventually every inch of space was occupied and the congregation waited for the preacher to come out and start the service. There was a lot of whispering going on, but it ceased as Sylvanus, the greatest of the giants of Welsh pulpits, made his appearance.
He entered quickly, with his eyes on the ground, from the little room and ascended the three steps leading to the roomy pulpit – he liked a roomy pulpit and something firm in front of him on which to emphasise his points with two-finger taps and blows of the fist.
‘And so this is the famous Sylvanus,’ murmured Glyn.
‘A fine-looking man,’ murmured Saran.
He was a man – well, a big, powerful man wearing side-whiskers on his pale face. After a word of silent prayer he stood up and announced the first hymn.
‘My, what a weak voice,’ whispered Saran.
Everybody was singing – all kneeling afterwards before God in Zoar – again all sang – then all listened to the reading of God’s most comforting Word – and sang again – Sylvanus bowed his head in prayer as the collection was taken – then:
‘Before I submit for your consideration my interpretation of the message delivered by Isaiah to King Hezekiah, I want to say a word regarding the work of a social character still to be accomplished by nonconformity, which is the only militant religious body of our times. We have won, despite the Established Church, the battle for Sunday closing in Wales, and very soon now there will not be a single drinking-den open on the Sabbath. I said despite the Established Church, which in the fight we have for long waged and, God be thanked, have at last won, displayed indifference most ghastly. And we nonconformists are under the heel of this ally of the brewers, this… but I’ll leave it at that, for soon we shall marshal our forces for the fight to free Wales of the chains that bind it, chains which were forged and clapped on us for the benefit of the Established Church.
‘Wales today, with its great mineral wealth, is the foundation stone of the rapidly growing British Empire, which is expanding amazingly; and the most important factors in this expansion are the coal and steel of South Wales, and the men who produce them, of course. And if the British parliament thinks that it can keep us for ever under the heel of the Established Church, then we shall…’
Things were warming up in the Albion, one of the three pubs practically on the doorstep of Zoar Chapel. Those patronising the Albion on Sundays, and most week nights as well, were able to follow the services almost as well as those in the chapel itself, for not only could they hear the singing, but also what the preacher was saying once he reached peroration point. ‘Being here’s like having one’s drop of beer in the chapel,’ some of the chaps used to say, but there were others, especially the domino-players, who disliked the ‘noise’, as they called it, made by those in chapel when they were considering whether to play the double six or the six-four next. But none of her patrons felt as bitter against the chapel and its membership as did the landlady.
‘Yes, they’re satisfied now,’ she was saying, ‘now that they’ve robbed a poor widow of her living. A working man is not to have his drop of beer on Sunday, and all through them. What if I objected to them kicking up a row every week night and annoying my customers. Yes, every night they’re at it, if it’s not in the chapel it’s in the vestry. And we mustn’t say a word. Oh, no, let them have all the say. Soon we won’t be able to breathe for ’em, the old hypocrites as they are. I know ’em. Don’t I? I do. All day Sunday, then prayer meetings, band of hope and the rest of it all the week. I wonder they don’t make us close altogether.’
‘What are you worrying your guts about?’ said Wat Ward to her. ‘Let ’em close the pubs on Sunday – but there’s back doors to pubs.’
‘Yes, I know, but it’s little I’ll be able to do round the back with the peeping Toms from two chapels looking down on the place from morning to night of a Sunday. No, I think I’ll leave….’
‘A great preacher,’ said Glyn as they left the chapel.
‘Not so bad,’ said Saran, ‘once he began talking from the Bible, but when he was on about the drink I thought little of him. I see no harm in a man having a drop of beer if only he keeps himself tidy.’
Glyn turned on her: ‘Then if that’s the case why did you rush in and make me look such a damned fool in front of all those chaps in the Black Cock yesterday?’
‘Oh, so you’ve still got that stuck in your gizzard, have you? I thought when you came and asked me to come to chapel with you that you’d forgotten all about that.’ ‘Well, I haven’t, see.’
‘Then the sooner you do the better. I said if a man keeps himself tidy, but he’s not behaving tidy when he goes on guzzling and leaves a body waiting like you left me all that time outside the threeatre. And didn’t you make me look a damned fool standing there?’
Glyn pushed on in silence until they got on to the road leading to Pontsarn, a favourite place with the young couples on Sunday evenings in the summertime. Saran broke the silence.
‘P’raps I oughtn’t to have done it.’
A hundred yards further on he said: ‘You know damned well you oughtn’t to have done it. It would just serve you right if I didn’t take you anywhere tomorrow.’
‘You can please yourself, my boy. Humph, I can enjoy myself as well without you as with you – and p’raps better.’ She stopped. ‘And being as you’re talking that way, you can talk to yourself, see. S’long.’
CHAPTER 3
A HECTIC WEEKEND – MONDAY
August Monday, the greatest holiday of the year, thought the miners, steelworkers and their womenfolk. ‘Yes, Easter Monday’s all right, and so’s Whitsun – and Christmas-time’s jolly, but August Monday’s the day.’
When Glyn and Dai went downstairs that morning they found their sister Mary and her children in the living room, where they were being ‘stuffed’ with the best of everything by Marged.
‘Hullo, Mary,’ cried Dai, ‘you’re down early, ain’t you?’
‘None too early, is she?’ snapped Marged.
‘Not a bit; but where’s Steppwr?’ asked Glyn.
‘Oh, Twm was off early with his concertina,’ replied Mary. ‘He helped me with the children as far as Tom Hall’s corner, then he went on down to the Black Cock, for Mrs Davies begged on him to come and play there for her today. He promised to call for me on his way home tonight.’
‘Yes, but he’ll have been drunk at least twice before then,’ laughed Dai, ‘so…’
‘Don’t think everybody’s like you are,’ said Marged. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Mary. Now, what do you want to eat?’
‘I’ve had plenty, thank you, Marged. Now, let me put breakfast for the boys, I don’t often get the chance.’
After they had breakfasted the brothers, Mary and her three children went upstairs and crowded the little bedroom where the father lay.
‘Now, you’ll be all right today with Mary here, won’t you?’ said Glyn. ‘Me and Dai are off out now.’
‘Yes, I shall be all right this day,’ said the father, smiling up at his daughter whilst his wasted left hand rumpled the hair of the eldest of her three babies. ‘And see that you boys keep yourselves tidy.’
‘We will,’ Glyn assured him, placi
ng his hand over his dad’s for a second. ‘Come on, Dai. S’long, Mary; look after dad, remember.’
‘Yes – and here’s something for the children,’ said Dai, pressing some silver into his sister’s hand.
And off they went to enjoy themselves, feeling as though they had received in advance absolution for whatever the holiday spirit might lead them into. Dad would be happy with Mary and the children, of course he would. Then off down to the town of a hundred delights. All sorts of sport from cockfighting to bare-knuckle fighting in secret places, and foot, cycle and pony racing in the Big Field, where the sports were due to commence at 2.30 sharp, but the gates opened at noon for anyone who wanted to go and have a drink and a snack at either of the four big marquees erected for the day by the man who had the contract for the catering. Still, plenty of time before we go there, thought the brothers.
‘What about a drink?’ said Dai as they neared the Black Cock.
‘Plenty of time for that too,’ Glyn told him. ‘Let’s have a walk round town first.’
So they walked round, first to see the new sensations on the Iron Bridge fairground. Then back through narrow streets crowded with people going here, there and everywhere. To the Eisteddfod which had already started at the Temperance Hall; to singing festivals about to commence in two of the largest chapels; to the fairground; to the registry office to get married, and afterwards into one or other of the numerous pubs to drink the health of the young couples in good beer at twopence a pint.