by Brian John
“And do you anticipate that they will be happy with that, sir?”
“They will be very unhappy, Mrs Ravenhill, but I will be even more unhappy if this project fails to come to fruition. I prefer to be happy, so as to deal with the complaints of my tenants in a firm and decisive fashion.”
“And the commoners’ rights?”
“They will be dealt with when our Bill is enacted. Once it is through Parliament, the whole mountain will become enclosed land, where development is allowed and indeed encouraged by our government. That will involve a further Bill, which is currently being drafted. The farmers and tenants who currently have grazing and other rights can shout and scream as much as they like, but they will have no defence against our plans.”
Harry then added that, of course, their Bill would have gone through Parliament on that very day, probably unopposed. The other six gentlemen thought this was all very entertaining, and I was amazed that in their ebullience they seemed to be so blissfully unaware of the fact they they were all involved in a gigantic confidence trick. Harry certainly knew that the scheme was corrupt from top to bottom, but I could not work out whether the others were capable of rational thought. Maybe they thought that ALL business deals were like this.........
I had heard enough. I announced that it was late, and that Abel would collect me at ten o’clock. Then I said: “Your proposals are of interest, gentlemen, although I have concerns about certain aspects of them. I should now like to ask you for a copy of your Business Proposal, so that I can inform myself as to the financing and small details, in advance of tomorrow’s meeting. I wish to show it to my business advisers.”
Harry and the Lord Marcher exchanged glances. “I fear that that will not be possible, Mrs Ravenhill. It is strictly confidential, and might find its way into the hands of competitors.”
“Sir, if, as you say, your Bill has been enacted in Parliament today, there are no competitors. Wilmot Gwynne is already out of the way. And on the matter of confidence, if I am to be your major shareholder, and if I am not allowed to examine your calculations, I might as well bid you good night and be gone.”
“Please don’t be hasty, Mrs Ravenhill! I quite see your point. Of course you may have it until tomorrow. Your advisers are here, in Newport, Madam, and not in London?”
“They are indeed. Messrs Jenkins, Owen and Rhys. Excellent people. You will have heard of them. I like to keep them close to me at all times, sir, so as to facilitate rapid decisions. It’s the only way to operate.”
Then, I said, if I was satisfied, and if my advisors concurred, I would in all probability wish to make an announcement at the meeting on the morrow, allowing the Directors then to confirm that all of the finance was in place and that there were no practical obstacles in the way of the project, whatever the local objections may have been.
Ten minutes later I was on my way home in the chaise, exhausted but elated. I had in my bag a copy of the Stone Company’s Proposal, having ascertained that there was only one other. I read through it by candle light when I got home to Brynglas, and I was amazed. Then I collapsed into bed, knowing that the morrow would be the day of destiny for my landscape, my community, and my alter ego.
rrr
Confrontation
At 11 o’clock on another wonderful June morning, visitors began to arrive at Brynglas. There was no great need for secrecy, since I was not being watched; and even if Harry’s spies had been gazing down at us from the Carningli summit or from Carnedd Meibion Owen, and had seen the arrival at my cottage of a succession of chaises and gigs, and gentlemen on horseback, they would not have been surprised, for had I not committed myself to consultations on the Business Proposal? Shemi came early, and was followed by Ioan and Betsi, George and Daisy, and Wilmot and Delilah. Most of my fellow conspirators came and went as the day went on. Donal came down from Garfeth with Brendan, and I had a long private conversation with them. Throughout the day we all sat in the garden, in animated conversation, as the hot sun rose to its zenith and then slipped down again westwards, with Myfanwy and Merlin running in and out with long drinks of fruit cordial and food as required. What we enjoyed was effectively an extended picnic in the shade of my garden trees, but there was not much laughter, for very serious matters were being debated. There were grim faces on all sides, and I was very worried, for I knew that everything now revolved around me, and I feared that at any moment, in a very public forum, my true identity might be revealed. It needed just one slip of the tongue from one of my friends whose discretion thus far had been exemplary. And how much about me did Harry really know? In the time that had elapsed since our meeting in Paris, his men had had time to do a great deal more research; and if I went onto the offensive, might he then produce his trump card and announce to a packed hall that I was not Mrs Susanna Ravenhill at all, but Mistress Martha Morgan? That would cause such a commotion that all attention might be diverted from the plans of the Carningli Stone Company, allowing them to slip through unopposed.
In mid afternoon a small deputation of men arrived on foot. They were fishermen from the Parrog, and they asked to speak to me in private. I recognized two or three of them, but of course pretended that they were strangers to me. “Mrs Ravenhill?” asked their leader, one Tomas Wills who lived not far from Patty and Jake. I confirmed my identity, and he continued. “We have come to wish you well, Missis,” he said. “Patty and Jake tells us that you have a certain interest in stopping these mad plans for the estuary and the mountain. Talking in town, we have been, and people are greatly afeared. Hundreds will march in the streets if this goes through, and I shouldn’t be surprised if the castle is attacked. The Lord Marcher, miserable bugger, don’t listen to nobody and thinks he can do what he likes just because he owns much of the land hereabouts. He don’t even live here most of the time, Missis. Patty and various others have organized a petition, and they have eleven hundred signatures on it, just in the course of the last week since the news came out.”
“Wonderful! Will you present this petition at the meeting?”
“That we will, Missis. Then there are other plans too that we can share with you. If these bastards get permission from the Queen to go ahead, and it looks as if work will start, we have fifty people who will build ty unnos cottages on the common, using that ancient law of Hywel Dda. You know about that old law, Missis?” I nodded. “A good one it is, too. There will be another fifty hovels built on the sand dunes and on the Barony land down on the Parrog. They will put them just where the smelter is supposed to go, and the crushing plant, and all the other big installations and railway lines and so forth. We haven’t seen no maps, but the Rector has been yapping like a daft puppy, and we can work things out. We are not stupid. There will be all hell to pay if the Lord Marcher tries to get his people to move the squatters off by force, for they have rights, indeed, and will defend themselves using the law. Wilkins Legal has advised us, and says that could take years. Is that not a very jolly thing, Missis?”
“Very jolly indeed, Tomas. This is all good to know.”
“One last thing, Missis,” said another man whom I did not know. “If they try to bring in dredgers and so forth, we will block the river mouth with fishing boats. And if they want labour, nobody will give it. And if they then bring in navvies from Ireland or wherever, nobody will give them accommodation, and nobody will sell them food. The publicans have said, indeed, that they will not even sell them drinks.”
Then Tomas sidled up to me and whispered in my ear: “And we also have the makings of an underground army of saboteurs, Missis.”
“Good God! You realize that you will not get public support for that? I personally would speak out against anything that might involve damage to life and limb.”
“No no,” said Tomas. “Do not misunderstand me. No hurt to anybody. But I was in the wars against Napoleon, and so were several of the other older men in town. Some of us old soldiers and seamen are getting stiff in the joints, but our brains still work, and we know all
about explosives and where to get them..........”
“Thank you Tomas. I would prefer not to know any more. Your news is greatly encouraging, and it’s good to know that a mighty protest is building up. Some of us are taking a slightly more diplomatic approach, and hope that that might succeed, but if all else fails, the way may open up for you and your friends to act as appropriate.”
They grinned, and all offered me their big rough hands, and through handshakes I received their goodwill and gave them in return my blessing. Then they returned to town to continue with their plotting.
One man who did not call at Brynglas during the day was Abel, for he was waiting -- with the Brithdir chaise -- at Haverfordwest railway station for the arrival of the first train from London.
The big meeting in the Church Chapel was packed out, with people crowding outside and peering through the windows. In theory, it was an open meeting, but as soon as I arrived I saw that there were several rows of town burgesses in the front, no doubt at the invitation of the Lord Marcher. They were mostly small traders and small farmers who would put their hands up when required, for they owed a great deal (including their status in the community) to Sir Mervyn’s patronage, and they had no doubt all been thoroughly briefed as to the merits of the plans for the town. Then there was a sizable flock of faithful church-goers, shepherded by the Rector. Their votes could be counted on too. And in a rare alliance, they were joined by perhaps forty members of the Nonconformist chapels in town, from Bethesda, Tabernacle and Ebeneser, no doubt also convinced of the merits of industrial “progress” and seeing the plans of the Stone Company as a means of promoting hard work, thrift and assorted other virtues. I wondered if any of them had ever seen the real impact of industry on men’s lives, or if any of them had ever heard of China. Eager anticipation was in the air. This was not going to be easy.................
But as I took my place towards the front of the hall, flanked by George and Ioan, I reminded myself that outside there was a jeering crowd, burning a straw effigy of the Lord Marcher. And about twenty black-faced men dressed in female garb were on station -- just in case the Ceffyl Pren should be needed. The constables were nowhere to be seen, having absented themselves as soon as they scented a whiff of trouble in the air.
The Lord Marcher strode into the hall, looking as imperious as ever, flanked by his five gentlemen shareholders. George and Jeremy arrived, carrying a frail Jonas Harry. They took him to the front and settled him into a deep chair specially brought down from the castle. The rest of us had to sit on benches, tightly packed. I noticed that Iago Woodward, Silas Reynolds and one other man were also standing at the back of the hall, trying (with not much success) to look intimidating. I looked at the faces of the shareholders of the Carningli Stone Company, and saw in them apprehension if not fear; indeed, they would have been idiots if they had not already picked up on the disquiet in the town, and if they had not recognized the threatening behaviour of the black-faced men outside the door. There was chaos for a while, as yet more people tried to push into the hall and as the Lord Marcher’s servants tried to stop them. We all had to squeeze in yet more tightly. The seven directors of the company were crushed up at one end of the room, but at least they had chairs, and the Lord Marcher invited me to join them. I accepted the invitation, causing a wave of murmured speculations to wash across the assembled company. Was this the Mrs Ravenhill people had been talking about? What on earth was she doing here?
The Lord Marcher took the chair and opened the meeting. He took it upon himself to give the outline of Carningli Stone Company proposals, more or less in accordance with what we already knew. There was much jeering and laughter from the start, to which he appeared impervious. “You will be aware, ladies and gentlemen,” he said smoothly, “that there is not another smelter anywhere on the coast of Cardigan Bay or indeed anywhere in Pembrokeshire, apart from the little one at Kilgetty which is too far inland to be a success. We have here a deep-water harbour, sheltered from the south-westerlies which are the bane of other ports. We have a wondrous source of bluestone within a mile of the sea -- and there is nowhere to compete with it anywhere on Cardigan Bay. There is nothing in the way to prevent the efficient transport of the stone from the quarries to the port installations........”
“Apart from my paddock!” shouted somebody.
“And my house and garden!” shouted somebody else.
The Lord Marcher was momentarily ruffled, but pressed on. “We have markets for stone and slate only a little distance away, in Wexford and Waterford. And the most wonderful feature of the whole plan, ladies and gentlemen, is the iron mountain which we call Carningli. We do not believe there is anything like it in the whole of the British Isles -- eight million tons of iron ore, again less than a mile from the coast, available at very little cost to feed the Newport blast-furnaces, and indeed others across the globe which might wish to take advantage of a superior product at a most competitive price.”
“Very competitive indeed,” said Jonas Harry, nodding vigorously.
The Lord Marcher continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are most privileged to have with us today three scientific colleagues, whom I now ask to identify themselves ..........”
Three men whom I did not recognize stood up a few rows from the back of the hall, and bowed, to the jeers of the crowd. We never did discover what sort of “scientists” they were, and many of us suspected that they were simply henchmen of Jonas Harry, brought in to increase the impact of the Lord Marcher’s theatrical performance.
“These great experts have confirmed our findings and our calculations. In short, we have stone, and iron ore, of unparalleled quality. So, ladies and gentlemen, to conclude before I invite questions, there will be great benefits for all. Jobs in abundance, opportunities for local men to become experts in the craft of iron making, new schools for the little ones, new houses for the work-force (not in the same places as at present, you understand, but a little way removed), and wealth on a scale unimagined heretofore. And this wealth will bring in new shops, new facilities, and -- dare I say it -- new places of worship and recreation. The only slight inconvenience, as I see it, ladies and gentlemen, will be the necessity to relocate a small number of houses...........”
“You mean demolish, not relocate!” shouted my friend Jake.
“How many? There are thirty on the Parrog alone -- those and how many others?” asked Skiff, in a perfectly level and controlled voice.
“Yes, Mr Abraham, thirty, and maybe a few more in town. But many of these properties in town are old, damp and draughty. The new houses which we plan will be of the highest quality, built to exacting modern standards. And all who are required to move will be amply recompensed and commodiously accommodated elsewhere, so nobody will suffer.........”
There was uproar. Questions were shouted from all directions. What about the common and the commoners? What about the fishing rights on the estuary? Where would all the workers come from? And what about the mountain? Does Sir Mervyn not realize that the mountain is a sacred place, blessed by St Brynach and inhabited to this day by angels?
Then my friend Tomas strode to the front of the hall, accompanied by another man. They carried between them a large paper parcel, and in spite of the protests of Sir Mervyn they dumped in on the table in front of him. “Eleven hundred signatures!” announced Tomas. “Not one of them wants your bloody quarries and your iron works, so take them away and put them somewhere else, if you please!” Then they stamped back to their seats, waving their fists in the air, with wild cheering in their ears.
Shemi Wizard stood up. He was dressed in his full regalia, including a long white cloak and a tall green pointed hat which I had not seen before. Half-way up it there was a wreath of the most beautiful summer flowers, no doubt picked and arranged by his wife Sian. He looked much taller than his six feet four inches, and with his great bushy beard he looked like a giant, or something straight out of the Mabinogion. Lady Charlotte Guest, the translator of that great w
ork, would have been pleased. He had no staff with him, but he carried a bunch of oak saplings in full leaf. There was another cheer, for he was a man greatly loved as a defender of the poor and as a scourge of the pompous. Here we go, I thought -- time for a splendid theatrical entertainment from a doughty defender of nature and the countryside. I settled back into my chair, trying not to smile.
He waited patiently till he had complete silence in the room. “Sir, you call yourself Lord Marcher,” he said, in a low voice, “and presume on the basis of some out-moded law to tell us what to do, where to go, and how we may lead our lives. Because you own land, you presume to do with it what you will, regardless of the consequences for others.” As he continued his voice began to rise in pitch and volume. “Sir, have you no sense of the spirit of this place? Have you placed no value upon the whisper of a rising tide upon the sand, or the song of the skylark, or the scent of the furze upon a May day? If you had trod upon the mountain on this very morning, sir, you would have come down refreshed and renewed, and would have instantly confined this insane plan to the rubbish heap! Instead, you and your cronies -- whoever they are -- have been closeted in your dusty castle, counting tons of metal and charges of dynamite and volumes of rock and piles of golden sovereigns! What sort of lives do you lead, sir, and what sort of world do you want? Whoever your cronies may be, I see it in their eyes and their mode of dress that their future lives will not be lived here, enveloped in choking dust, with the rising sun blotted out by noxious fumes and with their ears assaulted by explosions on the mountain, and the thunder of furnaces in blast, day and night!”
The Lord Marcher became more and more agitated as Shemi gave his performance. “Be quiet, sir!” he said at last. “You are making outrageous accusations, and indulging in wild flights of fancy..........”