I could see the earnestness in his eyes and it touched my heart. I smoothed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him lightly. ‘You are a surprising man sometimes, do you know that?’
He raised his eyebrows in question.
‘That’s just what I want for my children too. I never thought I’d hear you say something like that. It’s made me so happy. And I agree, it’s too late for us, but for our children . . . oh, what an ambition. Thank you, Tom. For being so . . . so ambitious,’ I said, laughing.
He was smiling from ear to ear. ‘Thank you. Thank you, Katie bach,’ he said so softly I almost couldn’t hear him. ‘I knew you’d understand . . . but, well – don’t tell anyone else about it. You know, my mates. Thing is they don’t think like me. They talk of making mining safer for their sons to go underground. They think that miners who want out are traitors to their trade. We’re a proud lot. It takes a lot of courage to go underground every day. They’d never understand, that’s why I haven’t been able to talk to you about it before. But I knew you would understand. Knew you were different to other girls. I knew you were the one for me.’
I kissed the palm of his hand and held it to my cheek. I couldn’t stop smiling. I looked into his eyes. ‘I think it’s my turn to be honest now.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m proud of you. Proud of your ambitions, I misunderstood you when we first met.’
‘No,’ he said, looking anguished. ‘Don’t say that. It was my fault. I put pleasure before anything else. I can see that now. I was young and like so many, I didn’t think. But I do now, Kate. I do think now.’
We kissed for a long time.
Later, as we were eating our bread and cheese, I said, ‘Tom?’
‘Yes,’ he said, smiling, pulling off a chunk of bread.
‘As we’re being honest, can I ask you something? It might sound strange, I mean, coming from a miner’s daughter and all, but well, I don’t really know what it’s like underground.’ I chewed on my cheese, pondering. ‘Whenever I asked my father he said it’s not a suitable topic for nice young girls like me to know about. But I’m about to be your wife, and I think it would be helpful to me to understand what it’s like exactly. You know, to be able to help you with it, make me a better wife.’
He laughed.
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘Because I’m so happy you want to know. I’ve never thought about it before. Come to think of it, my dad never talked of being underground so I suppose that’s right, we don’t talk about it, to our families at any rate.’
He kissed me gently on the lips and gazed into my eyes. ‘Well now, let me think. I’ve never described what it’s like before.’ He screwed up his face and put his hand over his forehead, pretending to think. He always tried to make me laugh.
‘Come on Tom, tidy now. Tell me tidy, please.’
‘All right, serious it is then. Well, it’s dark. I mean pitch black. You’ve never seen such blackness. It’s solid and it always surprises me when I find I can walk through it. I think I’m going to hit a wall, but it’s a wall of nothing except space. We have our lamps, but they don’t give out much light and often blow out unexpectedly, taking God with the light and leaving us in the blackness of the devil. Me and my mates, we call it the devil’s blackness.’
He looked up. ‘Look at this beautiful sky. I always marvel at it when I come up off shift because, below ground, it’s cramped and dirty and wet . . . with midges biting you. Can you believe that? Who would have thought that you’d get insects underground? And up here it’s all light with wonderful skies, even grey skies are wonderful. Nature’s such a marvellous thing.’
He pulled a silly face and kissed me lightly on the tip of my nose and as he did so, said, ‘Rats!’ I jumped and screeched a little, which was the effect he wanted.
‘Rats run around us and although my trousers are tied around my ankles, I have nightmares about them running up them and biting my bits.’
I laughed.
‘Oh, it’s all right for you to laugh,’ he said smiling, ‘but it’s awful, it really is. And I don’t care who knows I’m scared of the rats. They’ll eat your food if it’s not in your Tommy tin and they’d take the spit out of your mouth given the chance. They’re devils. Do you know how long a rat’s tail is?’
I shivered but couldn’t suppress my smile. ‘No, Tom, but I think you’re going to tell me.’
‘Well, they’re long. That’s all. Just long. And strong. You don’t want to get a whip from a rat’s tail. And it’s hot down there too. Air comes down a shaft which is enough for us to breathe easier, but not enough to cool the air around us because men’s and horses’ labour heats up the air and the sweat just runs down us.’ He ran the back of his hand across his forehead as if reliving the heat. ‘Sometimes it’s so hot it’s almost unbearable. I’ve never known such heat above ground.’
‘Never? Even on a summer’s day?’
‘Never! But then sometimes, it’s so cold down there. It depends on the weather and no two collieries are the same. Each one has different drawbacks . . . but mostly, I suppose, it’s the top that’s different. You have to adjust your way of working. In some mines you have rock above you and in some it’s clod. You have to put up a post, to support the roof, every yard for clod and that’s time consuming. There’s some that thinks rock is safer, so you don’t need to put in as many supports, but that rock can crack without warning and come down on top of you. Better to put posts in both I do say. It’s slower but safer although that gets us into trouble with the management who want faster and faster work. But many of us keep slow and steady and put in the posts, clod or rock. It is dangerous work, we all know that, us miners more than anyone.
‘I was underground with Dai Davies one day, he was older than me and had lots of experience, he was working just a few yards away when, without warning, the top gave way and a huge chunk of rock fell down on him. It took us ages to get him out from underneath and he left his brains for the rats. They had a good day that day, those rats.’
He stared out over the valley and I didn’t disturb his mourning. He took several deep breaths. ‘The bosses are always pushing us harder and wanting to pay us less for more work. They don’t care about us, there are always more men waiting to take our place, they keep us like cattle. They use us men just for profit knowing there’s always another unemployed bull waiting his turn to prove himself when one of us working bulls fall.’
He fell silent and I waited.
‘Then there’s the gas. That blasted firedamp gets into you. You don’t know it’s there until it makes your head swim. You can’t smell it. And if it goes up, maybe with a spark from a mandrill if you hit a rail by mistake, then up you go and maybe take your mates with you.’
He looked angry and I smoothed his face and kissed him calm.
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissing it tenderly, whispered, ‘And then there’s the ghosts!’
‘Ghosts?’
‘Yes, real ones, I mean. I’ve seen a few and so have many of my mates. Men are killed underground all the time and if there’s been an explosion or a roof fall, we just can’t get them out, or there’s nothing left of them to get out. They’re trapped forever. They haunt us down there.’
‘How do you know they’re there?’
‘Well, you know when you’re there. There are strange noises and lamp lights where there shouldn’t be, and feelings that run up your spine and make you shiver for no reason. The air goes cold. Oh, they’re there all right. It’s a hard life. I think that’s why your father doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to worry you.’
I was still holding on to Tom’s hand and realised that I knew so little of the deep feelings of this man I was soon to marry.
He wrapped his hands around his knees and stared into the distance. ‘Like I said, I do hate being a miner. I really, really do hate it. If I could do something different I would. When I get in that cage to go down into the blackness belo
w, all us men crammed in so tight we’re cocks to bums, that’s when I hate it the most. Speeding downwards fast and your stomach goes up to your throat and your ears pop and although the brake man engages the brakes half-way down, we still hit the bottom with a hard bump and it takes me a while to get over my fear that one day we’ll hit the bottom too hard and end up with our knees pushed up into our hips. Then, when we get out of the cage we have to walk out to our working places. It could be a mile or so, bent over, crawling sometimes in low seams, in water, the dust already in my mouth, knowing its going into my lungs, that death is getting a tighter hold of me every day.’ He shivered.
‘I never knew you felt like that, Tom,’ I said as I put my arm around his shoulders, hugging him to me. ‘Oh, you poor, poor thing. It must be awful. And to have to do it day after day. Oh, Tom. Maybe we should think of another job after all, you know, even if it means less money or moving away.’
He was quiet for a while. ‘Trouble is, it’s a bit late now. As you know, my sisters have moved with their new husbands to Canada, God forbid. So you see, I can’t leave my mother, not now. And she won’t leave Ponty. Says she cannot abandon my father in his grave. She visits it every week. She feels so bad he died.’ He looked out over the valley. ‘And anyway, would it make any difference?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I had a cousin who went to Stoke-on-Trent to work in the potteries. It was just as bad there, he said. And there’s little work there for an unskilled man, just like there’s little work here. But I do have a skill, Kate, I’m a miner and as much as I hate it, at least I can earn enough to keep my family. If we moved away, then who knows what would happen and we’d have no family or friends around us to help us. The grass is not always greener.’
I pondered his words. ‘You’re right, the grass is not always greener somewhere else. We could end up much worse off than here, and as you say, we’d not have family and friends around us.’
‘If I . . . if I shared something else with you, you wouldn’t laugh, would you?’
He looked so earnest. ‘No, of course I wouldn’t,’ I answered, gently.
‘Well, then, I . . . I sometimes think that all we miners do is create holes. You know, when the cage reaches the bottom, we get out and walk into a hole we’ve created. We follow it to the end and then extend it or make new holes. By the end of the day, or year, or a lifetime of mining, all we leave behind are black holes. Chip it out, load it up into trams, look at the hole you’ve created and make it bigger or move on to create another one. Sometimes, the coal seems to be incidental, it’s the creating of holes that becomes the important thing, for me anyway. It’s like a competition with myself. How many holes can I make this week? Or can I increase the size of this hole anymore? Is there enough coal left to make a bigger hole? I get obsessed with the hole.’
He looked embarrassed, as if he’d shared too much with me.
I took his hand and squeezed it anxious to reassure him that I understood. ‘You’re like a poet, Tom. I love the way you think about your holes.’
‘I know it’s daft but . . . it’s how I feel. There’s not much joy down there, well, none at all if I’m honest. We have the camaraderie of our mates, the support of each other, that’s special, but we eat our food with black, sweaty hands and drink our tea from Tommy tins, knowing that we are washing that damned coal dust down our throats. We only take a short break, there’s so much pressure to get the coal out in large amounts that we have little time to rest.’ He turned to look at me. ‘I know I’m ruining my body. But I’ll do it for you, Kate, I have someone I love and who loves me, I’d do anything for you.’
‘Oh, Tom.’ I stroked his hair. ‘I think I love you more each day that passes.’
We kissed. ‘But I worry, Kate. I worry what might happen. I see the older men, too injured to work anymore, and they have nothing. On the parish it is for them and their families. They can’t work with their lungs ruined or backs broken, or eyes blinded. Whatever it is, the mines did it to them.’ He stroked my cheek. ‘But that’s not going to happen to us, is it? We’ll be different. Won’t we? We’ll be different.’
I hugged him. ‘Yes, Tom. We have each other. We’ll be different.’
CHAPTER NINE
The plans were all laid for the wedding. We would marry on August 6th 1921 and Edie would be my bridesmaid and a friend of Tom’s would be best man. I’d visited Davy and invited him and he agreed to come. ‘And I wish you all the happiness in the world. Just don’t sit me near Dad or Aunty and I’ll come with pleasure,’ he said. He didn’t forgive easily and I always thought his life could have been much sweeter if he could. But that was just how he was. He was still living with Rhys’ mother, Mrs Richards, and looked contented. He was smartly dressed in the latest fashion in his wide trousers, waistcoat and his tie was securely in place. He always wore a tie, even indoors, and his jacket hung on a hanger behind the door. He was a fastidious young man with high standards. I was proud of him.
Then, four months before our wedding, Tom called round with bad news. He knocked hard on the front door and came in like a bear with a sore head. ‘We’re out on strike,’ he spat. ‘Can you believe that? Out again! Those bastard owners should be shot. Should be made to go down the mines and hew that bloody coal for themselves. Then they’d change their tune. No doubt about that.’
‘Calm down,’ I said. ‘So they’ve decided then, the vote went for a strike. Sit calm now and tell me what happened.’
He sat on a kitchen chair with a face like thunder. ‘I was hoping we could sort this out without a strike.’ He shot out of the chair and began pacing. ‘God knows how long it might last.’ He swung around. ‘I know it’s the right thing to do, but we’re too weak to have another long battle. We’re all practically starving now, what’s it going to be like when we’re on strike again? I know we have to fight for our rights, but not now.’ He sat down on the chair again and looked up at me. ‘Not just before our marriage!’
I kneeled in front of him and took his hand. ‘But we can still get married. What’s to stop us?’
He looked at me as if I were dim. ‘Simple mun, we won’t have any money. That’s what will stop us. We have so little now we’ll starve if we go on strike. We can’t justify spending all this money on our wedding now. We’ll need every penny.’
‘Well we’re not exactly spending much and we can cut back even more. I’ve already got the material for my dress so all I have to do is make it, that won’t cost anything except my time. We can cut back. Everyone will understand. I think we can go ahead.’
‘I think so too,’ said Aunty Annie, who’d been sitting quietly in her armchair next to the empty grate. ‘You shouldn’t let anything get in the way of your happiness. We’ve been out on strike before and I dare say we will again. If we don’t fight now, then the owners will get richer and we’ll be so poor we won’t have enough food to keep the men fit enough to work in the sodding mines.’ She almost never swore and looked so embarrassed and indignant that I almost laughed, but didn’t dare.
I poured some tea and we all sat quietly lost in our own thoughts. I knew Tom was right. We were too weak to have another strike. We’d been striking for years, terrible strikes, long battles and riots in Tonypandy and the government called in the troops. Terrible, unbelievable times. We were not the enemy, the mine owners were, but the government couldn’t see it, or didn’t want to see it. They were supporting their own kind after all. The fact that the owners treated us worse than animals was neither here nor there to the government. A miner’s life was worth £18 in compensation to his widow, while a working horse killed underground was worth £40. Says it all. So many miners killed while working because of the owners’ insistence on more and more coal being extracted in less and less time. And instead of rewarding the harder work with more wages, they cut them. Families were starving all over South Wales.
‘All this has come about because of that damned war,’ Aunty Annie said quietly, into her te
acup.
Tom shot her a look of distain. ‘How can you say that? We had good times during the war when the government took over the mines. We got paid well to get that coal out and to the ships. Best coal, South Wales coal is,’ he added puffing himself up. ‘It was good times.’
‘Yes, maybe,’ she said, sipping at her tea. ‘I know the war depended on our coal for victory, we’ve been told often enough. But if it hadn’t been for the war, we might have won the battle against the owners by now; but they are digging in with a vengeance now they have them back.
‘And that’s not right,’ exploded Tom. ‘They have no right to take us back to where we were before the war. No right at all.’
‘It was a boom time, all right,’ Aunty said, ‘but in my experience, all things that seem too good to be true are not true. They come to a sticky end. The boom time has collapsed like a pile of cards.’
‘That’s the whole point. That lily-livered Lloyd George doesn’t want to be lumbered with coal mines when the economy is collapsing. We miners are too much trouble,’ Tom said, proudly. ‘That’s why he gave them back before the potato got too hot to handle and now the bastards have slashed our wages and safe working practices and we’re right where we were. It’s not right. I know it’s not right, but I say it again, we’re too weak for another strike.’ He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘The price of coal has collapsed with the economy and that’s going to make them even more determined not to give way to us in any way. We’ll be daft to strike, mun. Daft.’ He picked up his cup and drank the rest of his tea down fast and burped.
‘Another cup, Tom?’ I asked sweetly, trying to diffuse the atmosphere.
He ignored me. ‘That bloody Lloyd George should be shot,’ he said. ‘Traitor to the miners, that’s what he is. Those bloody owners said they would lock out any miner who didn’t agree with the new terms, and that’s all of us really.’ He looked dejected. ‘Me included, whatever I think.’
‘Matt agrees with you,’ Aunty said. ‘He’s down the pit now, checking it’s all closed down safely. You know how thorough he is but there is nothing you nor he nor any of us can do to change it. The strike’s been called.’
The Rocking Stone Page 10