A Million Tears (3 page)

He was a sprightly old boy in spite of the years he had worked in the mine. As I took in the darned cardigan, the patched trousers and the grey hair, I realised what was wrong. He was not angry. He was smiling under his fierceness. I was so surprised I stopped and gaped at him.

‘After all these years Dai Griffiths and you caught me out. Heh, heh but I had you fooled for long enough didn’t I boyo? Heh, heh.’

I smiled back. For the first time I was unafraid of him. I saw a friendly, lonely old man. How did I, a mere ten-year-old boy, see that? I suddenly realised what old age meant and why families stayed together.

‘Well, Dai Griffiths, are you going to come in for a cup of tea or are you going to tell your young friends that I’m not really angry at all? Mind you, if you do, then you’ll spoil not only their game but mine too. And you must admit I make them run just a little bit faster and give them more spice in the game than anybody else, even that old biddy at twenty one.’ Again he laughed. ‘And just think young Griffiths, if you come inside with me for a cup of tea you’ll be a hero in no time. Ha, ha, especially when you leave and tell them all about the live bats and frogs I keep. Don’t look so alarmed it’s not true. But just think of the stories we can make up to tell them. Well then, are you coming or aren’t you?’

I put the buckets of coal on his doorstep and followed him inside. His house was identical to ours, not quite as clean perhaps and certainly shabbier, but there was a friendly air about the place that somehow went well with its smell.

‘Mam, guess where I’ve been,’ I said as I tipped the coal into the back shed.

‘Apart from down to the river, I’ve no idea,’ she replied, scrubbing Da’s clothes on a wash board. ‘I went in to old Mr Price’s for tea. You know Mam he’s a nice man, only a bit lonely I think.’

‘Um . . . nothing much. Mostly about school and working down the mines. He said I should work hard and go to grammar school and do well and perhaps get to university in Cardiff. He said if I did and other folks hereabouts saw how much of an advantage there was in it then they’d try harder perhaps for their children, like you and Da are doing. He said that education was . . . was the working man’s way out of s . . . sludgery, I think he said.’

Mam chuckled. ‘Aye Dai, that’s what he probably did say. I persuaded him ages ago that was the best way for us. I had the devil’s own job, a lot of nonsense he kept calling it, but he changed his mind and now tells everybody how important schooling is for the working class. You never know Dai, perhaps one day they’ll learn, and then we’ll have a decent education system available to everybody.’

I nodded, struck by the idea. After all, was it fair my parents had to work hard, deny themselves so much to put us through school? So many rich people made sure their children had a proper education without any effort or hardship. Life, I reflected for the umpteenth time, was unfair. I got out the atlas and wandered back into my daydreams of adventure, exploration and fortune.

After the twins came in and washed I had an idea.

‘Sian,’ I asked seriously, ‘do you think you’re brave?’

‘Of course,’ she replied, scornfully. She was a proper tomboy, which was not surprising with a twin brother as well as an older brother to influence her.

‘Good. Well you saw me going into old Mr Prices’s didn’t you?’

‘Gosh, yes, Dai. That was awfully brave of you. What was it like? Is he really a man witch like old Mrs Jenkins is a woman witch?’

‘Don’t be daft, Sian. He’s just a nice old man who’s very lonely. So’ I paused, ‘you and me and Sion are going to visit him before tea, all right?’

They both gasped. ‘I’m not,’ said Sion. ‘He eats little boys,’ he voiced the fear of the myth that had been in existence for as long as I could remember.

‘Tell me,’ I said craftily, ‘name one little boy he’s eaten, ever.’

They screwed up their faces in concentration and finally admitted they could think of none.

‘Right, because it’s not true. He’s really very nice and we’re going in to see him.’ Who could have possibly foreseen the consequences of such a simple decision?

They looked at one another uncertainly, then Sian said, in a timorous voice, ‘All right then, Dai, but you must come too.’

‘Of course, that’s the whole idea. You wouldn’t go alone, anyway.’

I told Mam where we were going and we left the house. Reluctantly, they followed me along the pavement. I reached for the knocker and as I did I realised the twins were edging away.

‘Come here, both of you. It’ll be all right, I promise you.’

They nodded, wariness mirrored in each other’s eyes.

I rapped a couple of times and stepped back. The two of them were poised for flight and as the door swung open I thought they would run before I could stop them.

Mr Price’s scowl was replaced by a smile when he saw me. ‘Back so soon, boyo? What can I do you for?’ He used English for the first time.

He ushered us through the door, the twins shuffling their feet so slowly it was maddening, but he didn’t seem to mind. We went into the living room and sat awkwardly at the table while he went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

‘It’s just like ours,’ whispered Sian. ‘Where do you think he keeps the bats and things?’

‘Shshsh and don’t be silly,’ I whispered back, ‘he’ll hear you.’ Her eyes opened wide with fright and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I told you, he’s just a nice old man.’

He came back in with four cups and the tea pot. The twins fidgeted as he looked at them, still with the same broad smile on his face.

‘Of course I did. You don’t think you children invented the game do you? Why I can even remember your mother doing the very same thing,’ he chuckled. ‘She thought she was being original too. Now let’s see about this tea.’

For an hour we listened to his stories about the old days and about mining when he was a boy. Suddenly I realised it was past time to meet Da in the allotment and I got up to go.

The twins were about to follow, but Mr Price said: ‘I have a biscuit or two . . . .’ They decided to stay. Biscuits were a little known luxury.

The allotment was further up the hill, behind the last row of houses. The land, like most of the valley, belonged to the mine owners but because it was unsuitable for anything else they allowed the villagers to grow vegetables there. The soil was tough, rocky and unyielding, at first. Hard work, tons of good soil brought up from the river and a lot of time had finally given us land, which was productive. It was Da’s greatest pleasure, even after a hard shift, to work in the allotment and watch things grow.

I ran past the last house, badly winded but determined to run all the way as a test. Out of breath I gasped my apologies for being late and explained why.

‘What made you do that?’ He stood stretched, his hands in the small of his back. He was still covered with coal dust from the mine; he had not yet been home.

I shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I suppose I just felt sorry for him. No one ever seems to visit him much. I thought he must be pretty lonely, that was all. Sion and Sian are still there. At least they were when I left. He persuaded them to stay with some biscuits.’

Da chuckled. ‘I don’t suppose our Sian could resist that, could she boyo?’

‘You’re right Da, she couldn’t. What do you want me to do?’

For an hour I helped. I dug, lifted out the smallest stones and pulled up weeds. Although I did not mind the work I did not get the same pleasure from it as Da. I had told him so once and he had said that was because I had not been underground and so I wasn’t able to appreciate the joy of something green growing in fresh air, the sun on my back.

Although it had stopped raining earlier in the afternoon the sky was threatening again and so we packed up early. Just as we reached home, the rain started again.

Da looked up and frowned. ‘That’s too much,’ he murmured, ‘too much.’

The twins had not yet returned and by the time supper was ready I was sent to fetch them. They were in high spirits and came home reluctantly. They had promised Mr Price that they would visit him again soon.

After supper Sion started building a new kite, the previous one having failed to fly. This unusual hobby had started six months earlier when Mam had shown us pictures of Chinese children playing with kites. From three or four illustrations and descriptions he had managed to make a couple that had flown reasonably well. Now he was designing his own, so far with little success, but he was not discouraged; his hobby was a ruling passion with him. The setbacks he claimed always told him something; he could then try to correct them. He was often to be found up, past the allotment near the top of the hill, trying to get a kite into the air.

Just before the twins’ bedtime we got out the slates for a game.

I was trying to think of a river beginning with Z, Sian’s choice, when she said unexpectedly: ‘You know what? I like Mr Price. He’s very nice. I don’t know why I haven’t spoken to him before.’

We looked at her in surprise and burst into laughter. It was not what she had said, it was the way she had said it . . . solemn and somehow cute at the same time. The crash of thunder overhead startled us into silence. Sian took Da’s hand and I must admit, it was so loud I was frightened too for a moment. Da looked worried.

‘What is it Evan? The rain’s been worrying you, hasn’t it?’ Ma saw his expression and wanted to find out what was troubling him.

He said nothing for a moment and then sighed. ‘Yes, love, it has. There’s too much. You know what happened last time and nothing’s changed. Those new pumps we were promised haven’t turned up and they’re still skimping on the shoring materials. They argue they are not making enough money to pay for it, in spite of the extra output we achieved. All the time they demand more and more and give us nothing in return.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Where I am, it won’t affect me,’ he put his hand on Mam’s, ‘so don’t look so worried. The problem is at the lower level where Ivan, Ted, Gareth, the two Jones boys and a lot more besides are working. If anything goes wrong I don’t see how we’ll get them out.’ He shrugged and forced a smile. ‘What am I worrying about? I don’t expect it will happen, see. I’m just being a pessimist. Come on, let’s play. After this game it’s bed for you two,’ he said to the twins. ‘It’s already past time.’

It was half past seven. On Saturdays I was allowed to stay up until eight.

We had no way of knowing Da was right. The mine was safe. The disaster was going to strike somewhere else and be much worse.

On Sunday we attended early morning chapel. Da made one of his rare appearances because the vicar had been to the house a week earlier and shamed him into coming. For the rest of us it was a weekly habit that none of us wished to break.

When we left the house, dressed in our best clothes, it had stopped raining but was still very windy, the sun occasionally breaking through the clouds. The chapel was always filled to capacity. It was a solid, large building on the hill with a graveyard stretching behind.

As we approached the bells became louder, summoning us to pay homage to a god most of us did not believe in nor, we felt, need. That was the way I had heard Da describe it once. At my age I was not so sure, though I did have my doubts which I kept to myself. The one time I had been brave enough to voice them I received a rap over the knuckles from the teacher and another one from the vicar the following Sunday. After that I never trusted my teacher with any of my ideas or thoughts. Furthermore, I took a hearty dislike to him. Unfortunately, I could not hide my feelings and pretty soon he heartily disliked me too. That had the effect of making me work harder. On more than one occasion he let me know he resented the extra work I did at home.

His attitude was common. Working class people only needed to read, write and do simple sums. Anything more was reserved for the sons of the rich who would become the future rulers of Britain. The advantage of education had been so drummed into me that neither his jibes nor the taunts of some of my classmates could deter me. I was going to leave the valley at all costs.

As we filed into the chapel the vicar greeted us at the door. He knew all his parish, their attitudes to the church and the way they treated their families. In his opinion the latter was a direct reflection of the former. Da he described as an enigma, the exception that proved the rule.

Inside we children were herded to one side. I could see my father talking with a group of men in the back. From their worried looks I guessed they were discussing the weather and safety in the mine, or rather, lack of it.

We fooled around as usual, and I was asked to show my toy soldier. A couple of the other boys tried to barter for it, but they soon realised it was not for swaps.

Before the service started I gave a mighty sneeze and before long I could not stop. I was now shivering continuously and guessed I was in for a bad cold. It meant at least two days off from school, in bed. I felt like smiling at my good fortune but thought it prudent not to, especially as I saw my teacher glaring across at me after one of my louder explosions.

The service was in Welsh, although some of the English congregation did not understand the vicar nor the hymns we sang.