CHAPTER FOUR - March 1914
"So," Billy said to his father, "all the books of the Bible were originally written in various languages and then translated into English."
"Aye," said Da. "And the Roman Catholic Church tried to ban translations-they didn't want people like us reading the Bible for ourselves and arguing with the priests."
Da was a bit un-Christian when he spoke of Catholics. He seemed to hate Catholicism more than atheism. But he loved an argument. "Well, then," said Billy, "where are the originals?"
"What originals?"
"The original books of the Bible, written in Hebrew and Greek. Where are they kept?"
They were sitting on opposite sides of the square table in the kitchen of the house in Wellington Row. It was midafternoon. Billy was home from the pit and had washed his hands and face, but still wore his work clothes. Da had hung up his suit jacket, and sat in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, with a collar and tie-he would be going out again after dinner, to a union meeting. Mam was heating the stew on the fire. Gramper sat with them, listening to the discussion with a faint smile, as if he had heard it all before.
"Well, we don't have the actual originals," Da said. "They wore out, centuries ago. We have copies."
"Where are the copies, then?"
"All different places-monasteries, museums... "
"They should be kept in one place."
"But there's more than one copy of each book-and some are better than others."
"How can one copy be better than another? Surely they're not different."
"Yes. Over the years, human error crept in."
This startled Billy. "Well, how do we know which is right?"
"That's a study called textual scholarship-comparing the different versions and coming up with an agreed text."
Billy was shocked. "You mean there isn't an indisputable book that is the actual Word of God? Men argue about it and make a judgment?"
"Yes."
"Well, how do we know they're right?"
Da smiled knowingly, a sure sign that his back was to the wall. "We believe that if they work in prayerful humility, God will guide their labors."
"But what if they don't?"
Mam put four bowls on the table. "Don't argue with your father," she said. She cut four thick slices off a loaf of bread.
Gramper said: "Leave him be, Cara my girl. Let the boy ask his questions."
Da said: "We have faith in God's power to ensure that his Word comes to us as he would wish."
"You're completely illogical!"
Mam interrupted again. "Don't speak to your father like that! You're still a boy, you don't know anything."
Billy ignored her. "Why didn't God guide the labors of the copiers, and stop them making mistakes, if he really wanted us to know His Word?"
Da said: "Some things are not given to us to understand."
That answer was the least convincing of all, and Billy ignored it. "If the copiers could make mistakes, obviously the textual scholars could too."
"We must have faith, Billy."
"Faith in the Word of God, yes-not faith in a lot of professors of Greek!"
Mam sat at the table and pushed her graying hair out of her eyes. "So you are right, and everyone else is wrong, as usual, I suppose?"
This frequently used ploy always stung him, because it seemed justified. It was not possible that he was wiser than everyone else. "It's not me," he protested. "It's logic!"
"Oh, you and your old logic," said his mother. "Eat your dinner."
The door opened and Mrs. Dai Ponies walked in. This was normal in Wellington Row: only strangers knocked. Mrs. Dai wore a pinafore and a man's boots on her feet: whatever she had to say was so urgent that she had not even put on a hat before leaving her house. Visibly agitated, she brandished a sheet of paper. "I'm being thrown out!" she said. "What am I supposed to do?"
Da stood up and gave her his chair. "Sit down by here and catch your breath, Mrs. Dai Ponies," he said calmly. "Let me have a read of that letter, now." He took it from her red, knotted hand and laid it flat on the table.
Billy could see that it was typed on the letterhead of Celtic Minerals.
"'Dear Mrs. Evans,'" Da read aloud. "'The house at the above address is now required for a working miner.'" Celtic Minerals had built most of the houses in Aberowen. Over the years, some had been sold to their occupiers, including the one the Williams family lived in; but most were still rented to miners. "'In accordance with the terms of your lease, I-'" Da paused, and Billy could see he was shocked. "'I hereby give you two weeks' notice to quit!'" he finished.
Mam said: "Notice to quit-and her husband buried not six weeks ago!"
Mrs. Dai cried: "Where am I to go, with five children?"
Billy was shocked, too. How could the company do this to a woman whose husband had been killed in their pit?
"It's signed 'Perceval Jones, Chairman of the Board,' at the bottom," Da finished.
Billy said: "What lease? I didn't know miners had leases."
Da said to him: "There's no written lease, but the law says there's an implied contract. We've already fought that battle and lost." He turned to Mrs. Dai. "The house goes with the job, in theory, but widows are usually allowed to stay on. Sometimes they leave anyway, and go to live elsewhere, perhaps with their parents. Often they remarry, to another miner, and he takes over the lease. Usually they have at least one boy who becomes a miner when he's old enough. It's not really in the company's interest to throw widows out."
"So why do they want to get rid of me and my children?" wailed Mrs. Dai.
Gramper said: "Perceval Jones is in a hurry. He must think the price of coal is going up. That'll be why he started the Sunday shift."
Da nodded. "They want higher production, that's for sure, whatever the reason. But they're not going to get it by evicting widows." He stood up. "Not if I can help it."
{II}
Eight women were being evicted, all widows of men who had died in the explosion. They had received identical letters from Perceval Jones, as Da established that afternoon when he visited each woman in turn, taking Billy with him. Their reactions varied from the hysterics of Mrs. Hywel Jones, who could not stop crying, to the grim fatalism of Mrs. Roley Hughes, who said this country needed a guillotine like they had in Paris for men like Perceval Jones.
Billy was boiling with outrage. Was it not enough that these women had lost their men to the pit? Must they be homeless as well as husbandless? "Can the company do this, Da?" he said as he and his father walked down the mean gray terraces to the pithead.
"Only if we let them, boy. The working class are more numerous than the ruling class, and stronger. They depend on us for everything. We provide their food and build their houses and make their clothes, and without us they die. They can't do anything unless we let them. Always remember that."
They went into the manager's office, stuffing their caps into their pockets. "Good afternoon, Mr. Williams," said Spotty Llewellyn nervously. "If you would just wait a minute, I'll ask if Mr. Morgan can see you."
"Don't be daft, boy, of course he'll see me," said Da, and without waiting he walked into the inner office. Billy followed.
Maldwyn Morgan was looking at a ledger, but Billy had a feeling he was only pretending. He looked up, his pink cheeks closely shaved as always. "Come in, Williams," he said unnecessarily. Unlike many men, he was not afraid of Da. Morgan was Aberowen-born, the son of a schoolmaster, and had studied engineering. He and Da were similar, Billy realized: intelligent, self-righteous, and stubborn.
"You know what I've come about, Mr. Morgan," said Da.
"I can guess, but tell me anyway."
"I want you to withdraw these eviction notices."
"The company needs the houses for miners."
"There will be trouble."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Don't get on your high horse," Da said mildly. "These women lost their husbands in your pit. Don't you feel responsible for them?"
Morgan tilted up his chin defensively. "The public inquiry found that the explosion was not caused by the company's negligence."
Billy wanted to ask him how an intelligent man could say such a thing and not feel ashamed of himself.
Da said: "The inquiry found a list of violations as long as the train to Paddington-electrical equipment not shielded, no breathing apparatus, no proper fire engine-"
"But the violations did not cause the explosion, or the deaths of miners."
"The violations could not be proved to have caused the explosion or the deaths."
Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You didn't come here to argue about the inquiry."
"I came here to get you to see reason. As we speak, the news of these letters is going around the town." Da gestured at the window, and Billy saw that the winter sun was going down behind the mountain. "Men are rehearsing with choirs, drinking in pubs, going to prayer meetings, playing chess-and they're all talking about the eviction of the widows. And you can bet your boots they're angry."
"I have to ask you again: are you trying to intimidate the company?"
Billy wanted to throttle the man, but Da sighed. "Look here, Maldwyn, we've known each other since school days. Be reasonable, now. You know there are men in the union who will be more aggressive than me." Da was talking about Tommy Griffiths's father. Len Griffiths believed in revolution, and he always hoped the next dispute would be the spark that lit the conflagration. He also wanted Da's job. He could be relied upon to propose drastic measures.
Morgan said: "Are you telling me you're calling a strike?"
"I'm telling you the men will be angry. What they will do I can't predict. But I don't want trouble and you don't want trouble. We're talking about eight houses out of what, eight hundred? I've come here to ask you, is it worth it?"
"The company has made its decision," Morgan said, and Billy felt intuitively that Morgan did not agree with the company.
"Ask the board of directors to reconsider. What harm could that do?"
Billy was impatient with Da's mild words. Surely he should raise his voice, and point his finger, and accuse Morgan of the ruthless cruelty of which the company was obviously guilty? That was what Len Griffiths would have done.
Morgan was unmoved. "I'm here to carry out the board's decisions, not question them."
"So the evictions have already been approved by the board," Da said.
Morgan looked flustered. "I didn't say that."
But he had implied it, Billy thought, thanks to Da's clever questioning. Maybe mildness was not such a bad idea.
Da changed tack. "What if I could find you eight houses where the occupiers are prepared to take in new miners as lodgers?"
"These men have families."
Da said slowly and deliberately: "We could work out a compromise, if you were willing."
"The company must have the power to manage its own affairs."
"Regardless of the consequences to others?"
"This is our coal mine. The company surveyed the land, negotiated with the earl, dug the pit, and bought the machinery, and it built the houses for the miners to live in. We paid for all this and we own it, and we won't be told what to do with it by anyone else."
Da put his cap on. "You didn't put the coal in the earth, though, did you, Maldwyn?" he said. "God did that."
{III}
Da tried to book the assembly rooms of the town hall for a gathering at seven thirty the following night, but the space was already taken by the Aberowen Amateur Dramatic Club, who were rehearsing Henry IV, Part One, so Da decided the miners would meet at Bethesda Chapel. Billy and Da, with Len and Tommy Griffiths and a few other active union members, went around the town announcing the meeting orally and pinning up handwritten notices in pubs and chapels.
By a quarter past seven next evening the chapel was packed. The widows sat in a row at the front, and everyone else stood. Billy was at the side near the front, where he could see the men's faces. Tommy Griffiths stood beside him.
Billy was proud of his da for his boldness, his cleverness, and the fact that he had put his cap back on before leaving Morgan's office. All the same he wished Da had been more aggressive. He should have talked to Morgan the way he talked to the congregation of Bethesda, predicting hellfire and brimstone for those who refused to see the plain truth.
At exactly seven thirty, Da called for quiet. In his authoritative preaching voice he read out the letter from Perceval Jones to Mrs. Dai Ponies. "The identical letter have been sent to eight widows of men killed in the explosion down the pit six weeks ago."
Several men called out: "Shame!"
"It is our rule that men speak when called upon by the chairman of the meeting, and not otherwise, so that each may be heard in his turn, and I will thank you for observing the rule, even on an occasion such as this when feelings run high."
Someone called out: "It's a bloody disgrace!"
"Now, now, Griff Pritchard, no swearing, please. This is a chapel and, besides, there are ladies present."
Two or three of the men said: "Hear, hear." They pronounced the word to rhyme with "fur."
Griff Pritchard, who had been in the Two Crowns since the shift ended that afternoon, said: "Sorry, Mr. Williams."
"I held a meeting yesterday with the colliery manager, and asked him formally to withdraw the eviction notices, but he refused. He implied that the board of directors had made the decision, and it was not in his power to change it, or even question it. I pressed him to discuss alternatives, but he said the company had the right to manage its affairs without interference. That is all the information I have for you." That was a bit low-key, Billy thought. He wanted Da to call for revolution. But Da just pointed to a man who had his hand up. "John Jones the Shop."
"I've lived in number twenty-three Gordon Terrace all my life," said Jones. "I was born there and I'm still there. But my father died when I was eleven. Very hard it was, too, for my mam, but she was allowed to stay. When I was thirteen I went down the pit, and now I pay the rent. That's how it's always been. No one said anything about throwing us out."
"Thank you, John Jones. Have you got a motion to propose?"
"No, I'm just saying."
"I have a motion," said a new voice. "Strike!"
There was a chorus of agreement.
Billy's father said: "Dai Crybaby."
"Here's how I see it," said the captain of the town's rugby team. "We can't let the company get away with this. If they're allowed to evict widows, none of us can feel that our families have any security. A man could work all his life for Celtic Minerals and die on the job, and two weeks later his family could be out on the street. Dai Union have been to the office and tried to talk sense to Gone-to-Merthyr Morgan, but it haven't done no good, so we got no alternative but to strike."
"Thank you, Dai," said Da. "Should I take that as a formal motion for strike action?"
"Aye."
Billy was surprised that Da had accepted that so quickly. He knew his father wanted to avoid a strike.
"Vote!" someone shouted.
Da said: "Before I put the proposal to a vote, we need to decide when the strike should take place."
Ah, Billy thought, he's not accepting it.
Da went on: "We might consider starting on Monday. Between now and then, while we work on, the threat of a strike might make the directors see sense-and we could get what we want without any loss of earnings."
Da was arguing for postponement as the next best thing, Billy realized.
But Len Griffiths had come to the same conclusion. "May I speak, Mr. Chairman?" he said. Tommy's father had a bald dome with a fringe of black hair, and a black mustache. He stepped forward and stood next to Da, facing the crowd, so that it looked as if the two of them had equal authority. The men went quiet. Len, like Da and Dai Crybaby, was among a handful of people they always heard in respectful silence. "I ask, is it wise to give the company four days' grace? Suppose they don't change their minds-which seems a strong possibility, given how stubborn they have been so far. Then we'll get to Monday with nothing achieved, and the widows will have that much less time left." He raised his voice slightly for rhetorical effect. "I say, comrades: don't give an inch!"
There was a cheer, and Billy joined in.
"Thank you, Len," said Da. "I have two motions on the table, then: Strike tomorrow, or strike Monday. Who else would like to speak?"
Billy watched his father manage the meeting. The next man called was Giuseppe "Joey" Ponti, top soloist with the Aberowen Male Voice Choir, older brother of Billy's schoolmate Johnny. Despite his Italian name, he had been born in Aberowen and spoke with the same accent as every other man in the room. He, too, argued for an immediate strike.
Da then said: "In fairness, may I have a speaker in favor of striking on Monday?"
Billy wondered why Da did not throw his personal authority into the balance. If he argued for Monday he might change their minds. But then, if he failed, he would be in an awkward position, leading a strike that he had argued against. Da was not completely free to say what he felt, Billy realized.
The discussion ranged widely. Coal stocks were high, so the management could hold out; but demand was high too, and they would want to sell while they could. Spring was coming, so miners' families would soon be able to manage without their ration of free coal. The miners' case was well grounded in long-established practise, but the letter of the law was on the management's side.
Da let the discussion run on, and some of the speeches became tedious. Billy wondered what his father's motivation was, and guessed he was hoping that heads would cool. But in the end he had to put it to the vote.