Rhiannon (3 page)

March 1909

 

The pit bottom was 3,000 feet below ground at Glengarw Colliery; twenty-four men worked down there. And, even on this, an early spring day, underground felt airless and grimy. Through the darkness the signal went out to down tools – words whispered from man to man. It was time to take a break.

Dai Hughes flopped into the stall, his Davy lamp safely set beside him. Leaning forward in the darkness he checked down the line and, sure enough, the cap lamps of his fellow workers, which had, only seconds earlier, been thrashing about like fireflies, were now still. As was the row of sweaty, black faces and white teeth that caught the glimmer of light from lamps set low at each end of the coalface.

‘You all right, Frank?'

‘Yea, 'spec so. 'Ave to be, don't I? Can't say I'm looking forward to the rest of the shift, though. My arms already feel like lead weights, mun.'

Dai Hughes opened his round-edged Tommy box and took out a thick slice of bread and dripping. After six hours of hard slog he felt he'd more than earned this meal break.

‘It's been a tough first week for you, lad. Still, if it's any consolation, you're not on your own. Why, my shoulders ache like toothache!'

Dai hadn't been at all keen to take on Frank. He felt that a lad of fifteen would never replace John Jones – an eighteen-stone six-footer, built like a brick shithouse, who'd recently been given his own stall.

‘Mr Hughes, if you'd just give me a chance to prove myself. You'll not regret it, I promise,' Frank Lewis had pleaded.

For years Dai had worked and lived alongside Frank's father, but sadly Jack Lewis, a hardworking family man, had recently passed
away – yet another victim to tuberculosis, leaving a distraught Ethel to care for her three children – sixteen-year-old Frank, eleven-year-old Sadie and six-year-old Martha. Jack Lewis had always wanted the best for his children. When Frank did well at school Jack worked every shift he could to allow his eldest to stay on at school and, he hoped, fulfil his ambition to join the ranks of the Welsh Regiment's Volunteer Battalion.

Jack had been so proud that he confided in Dai, ‘That's got to be better than a life down the pit, eh Dai?'

Dai had agreed.

But sadly it wasn't to be; Jack's untimely death changed everything. As the eldest, and only son, it fell to Frank to provide for his family and to keep a roof over their heads. To that end he needed to secure a position down the mine, so that the family wouldn't have to leave their tied colliery house.

‘Well, all right. For your father's sake I'm prepared to take you on. I'm relying on you not to let either of us down, do you hear?'

All week they'd been working together on a low seam, which could only be reached on bended knees. This made every swing of the pick difficult for Dai. It was even worse for young Frank. He had to scramble around on all fours, gathering the freshly hewn coal off the floor to fill his ‘curling box' before lifting it shoulder high and emptying it into a waiting tram. When the tram was full a chalk mark on the side would tell the hauler, who came with a pony to take it away, that it came from Dai Hughes's stall. So far this week they'd managed to fill two trams. Each tram held a quarter of a ton, so this was no mean feat, ensuring they'd made their quota for the week. But, more to the point, today was pay-day – so no deductions from their wage packets.

‘You've done well, lad. I'm sure if you carry on like this we'll soon be over our quota and making our bonus.'

‘Thanks, Mr Hughes. I'll try harder next week,' Frank said.

In the darkness Dai sensed the lad's pride and was glad he hadn't mentioned that a bonus had been a regular occurrence with John Jones.

As Dai reached for his jack-tin full of cold sweet tea, he felt Frank settle down alongside.

‘Dai?'

‘Yes, lad.'

‘Tell me, do you ever get used to all the noises down here? I always imagined it quiet and peaceful, like. Of course, I'd heard talk of how cold, dark and damp it was. My dad, rest his soul, used to say it was as black as a cow's guts and twice as smelly.'

Dai smiled to himself. ‘I know what you mean. The creaking timbers, the rumbling trams and the continuous banter between the men. I suppose you've also noticed how some can't swing a pick without grunting and groaning as if they're on the privy?'

‘Yeah. And ... well, to be honest, I find it all a bit scary,' the lad whispered.

‘You'll get used to it, I promise. Soon you'll know every noise as well as a good friend – even the creaking timbers – and that's no bad thing. For it means you'll be able to recognize any sudden changes. Believe me, lad, that's the time to really worry.'

‘Hey, Dai Hughes,' a muffled voice called from down the line. ‘Seen anything of that wayward wife of yours?'

Dai gritted his teeth. ‘No, I bloody haven't. And I don't want to neither. Anyways, who's asking?'

‘It's me, Selwyn Davies. I thought you'd like to know that I saw your Nellie down Butetown, Cardiff, last Saturday night.'

‘How come it's taken you all week to tell us then, butty?' another collier piped in.

‘I've been off sick with a bad back, haven't I?'

‘Bad back, my arse! If you ask me, it was too much of that ha'penny a pint Black beer they sell down Tiger Bay,' Tom Morgan's voice bellowed. Everyone laughed.

Selwyn didn't bite, he was too keen to carry on goading Dai. ‘Anyways, there she was, your Nellie, done up to the nines. Dressed in a fur-trimmed coat and looking ever so prosperous.'

‘Ay, you know what they say? Fur coat and no knickers, and with her I can well believe it. I for one wouldn't mind paying sixpence for a feel of her whiskers, I can tell you.' He sniggered as he added suggestively, ‘How's your young Rhiannon these days? It won't be long before you'll be beating the boys from your door – or maybe she's already been tested?'

Dai recognized Jack Dawkins's voice. He felt his temper rise. He knew he was being goaded. Over the past few months he'd grown used to it. Up to now, whenever they brought up the subject of Nellie he'd managed to hold his temper. Not so today. Today was different. Today they'd brought his Rhiannon into it. His temples were throbbing so hard that he felt that if he didn't speak out, he'd surely burst a blood vessel. Today they'd just gone too far.

‘Jack Dawkins! If I were you, I'd shut your filthy mouth. Or I'll come and shut it for you!'

‘And I'll help him,' Frank said, only too ready to defend Rhiannon's good name.

Jack Dawkins, ignoring Frank, continued to goad Dai, ‘Come on, Dai – or should we start calling you Dewi, after our patron saint? Cause only a saint, or a fucking fool, would have put up with your strumpet of a wife for so long without giving her the beating she deserved.'

Dai jumped up from his stall. ‘That's it. You've bloody asked for it this time—'

‘Shhhh, all of you,' Tom Morgan growled. ‘Something's not right.'

Then there was silence.

The first thing Dai felt was the rush of warm air on his face. This was quickly followed by the sound of a distant rumble coming their way. As it came closer it grew louder and louder, and all around them pitprops began to shake, disturbing small pockets of earth from above.

‘
Iusi Mawr
! What's happening?' young Frank yelled.

‘Everyone take cover. It's a fall and it sounds like a big one!' Dai called out before diving back into his stall, landing on top of Frank. Only seconds later they heard the loud crack of the timber props snapping under pressure and the roar of roof caving in.

In the darkness someone shouted, ‘God help us.'

‘Dai, I can't die. I promised your Rhiannon I'd always be there for h-her. ' Frank's voice cracked.

‘And you will, lad. You will,' Dai whispered, just before a large boulder of rock crashed down on them and their Davy lamps went out.

 

‘Mair, will you get a move on and lay the table?' Rhiannon called.

‘What's the rush? Dad's not due home for another half hour or more.'

Rhiannon smiled. She liked it better now that Mair called him Dad. It made it feel as though they truly were sisters.

It happened the day after Nellie left. Dai had arrived home from the pit a changed man. He looked older, his shoulders slouched, his head bowed. As he slowly took his place at the tea table he sighed. The girls noticed how red his eyes were but said nothing. For a while he just stared at his plate.

‘Dad. Are you all right?' Rhiannon asked. Then she wanted to kick herself for asking such a stupid question.

He didn't answer. Instead he put his head in his hands and sobbed.

Rhiannon saw Mair's eyes fill up. ‘I could bloody kill my mother!' she shrieked.

Dai instantly stopped crying and looked up. ‘Mair, I'll not have such talk in this house, do you hear?' His voice was raised.

‘Yes, Dai. I'm sorry,' Mair half-whispered.

‘I'm sorry too. Blubbering on like a babe in arms. It'll not happen again, I promise.' He reached out and took both their hands in his. ‘I know what a shock Nellie's leaving is. But we have to get on and manage as best we can. From now on it'll be just the three of us, my two girls and me.'

Mair jumped up and threw her arms around Dai and Rhiannon, and gave them such a hug. And from then on he was Dad to the two of them.

 

‘Mair, I'll not ask you again,' Rhiannon scolded.

‘All right, Miss Bossy-Boots. Although I don't know why you're always in charge.'

‘Well, I am older than you.'

‘I'm nearly twelve,' Mair protested.

‘Yes, well I'm nearly fifteen, so there!'

Rhiannon had often thought how like Nellie Mair was – and not just in looks. Sometimes she could be really difficult, volatile even, with a vicious tongue and at other times she was gentle, loving and so considerate. Like two sides of a coin, one smooth, the other uneven. She was definitely her mother's daughter. It never mattered to Rhiannon how difficult Mair became, she always stuck with her and tried to understand. She tried to imagine how she would have felt if her own mother had walked out and abandoned her without so much as a second thought. At least Rhiannon knew that her mother had died loving her and, what was more,
she
had always known her father's love.

Rhiannon checked the evening meal. Tonight they were having boiled bacon and cabbage – one of Dad's favourites.

Mair, having given in at last and laid the table, called out, ‘Rhi, there's no salt.'

‘All right, I'll get some,' Rhiannon answered. She was about to cut a slice of salt from the block in the larder when she heard the loud wailing sound of the colliery hooter blasting across the valley.

Rhiannon held her breath and listened as one ... two ... three long blasts echoed across the valley, informing everyone that there had been an accident at the mine and calling for volunteers.

‘Oh please, God, no!' she cried, momentarily glued to the spot. She
felt the salt dish slip from her hand and fall, as if in slow motion, onto the stone floor. The loud crash as it broke into tiny fragments made her jump, and she started to shake uncontrollably.

‘What's wrong?' Mair asked.

‘Three blasts of a siren? That's the signal for a fall at the mine.'

‘What, you mean an accident at Glengarw pit?'

‘I think so. Mair, what time is it? Maybe Dad and Frank are already on their way home.'

‘I doubt it. It's only just after three. Dad and Frank aren't due up top until four o'clock. Oh Rhi, do you think they're all right?'

‘Let's hope and pray.'

And that's exactly what they did, they huddled together and prayed.

Outside they heard the familiar fast clicking sound of hobnail boots running past the front door. They rushed to the window only to find that what seemed like half the valley, ordinary folk, relatives, colliery officials, newspaper reporters, doctors, nurses, were hurrying behind a crowd of miners, they in turn were following behind the élite band of miners who doubled, when off-shift, as reserve rescuers. Everyone was heading towards the mine.

Rhiannon leaned closer to the window and felt the cold, wet condensation on the glass. A sure sign of how icy it was outside. She suppressed the urge to run from the house to join them, to make sure her dad was safe and well.

And what about Frank, kind, cheeky-faced, Frank? She just couldn't imagine a life without him. From as early as she could remember Frank had always been there for her. It was Frank who'd looked after her when she first started school, even shared his biscuits at playtime. It was Frank who tended her grazed knee when she fell down the mountain slope. It was Frank who'd been there to comfort her the day of her mother's funeral when she sat on the front doorstep, tears streaming down her face as she watched them carry her mam from the house in a box; a heart attack they'd said. But what did that mean exactly? And why did it have to be her mum?

She remembered how Frank had sat beside her and, as he put a clumsy arm around her shoulder, had assured her, ‘Whatever happens I'll always be here for you.'

And now ... was it possible that, in this one fragile moment, she could lose both him and her dad? It was too awful to imagine.

Then she heard the latch on the back door and, thinking it was her
dad, she breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God,' she cried, as she turned to welcome him home. Only to find that Ethel Lewis from next door stood in the doorway. Rhiannon's heart sank.

‘Oh, Rhiannon. Isn't it a worry?' Then seeing the disappointment on Rhiannon's face, ‘Sorry, love. Did you think I was your dad? I did knock, but—'

‘That's all right. It wasn't your fault. Do you know what's happened? Is it a fall, an explosion or ... what?'