The Storytellers, page 10
“Yes, we could have carried on kowtowing to your Marquess instead,” chortled Stanley, feeling that he had hoisted his wife on her own petard.
“Well at least he was a Scot,” snapped Mabel defensively. She rather liked the picture of the man by Henry Raeburn in her guidebook.
“Yes, and they now have the oil, too,” grumbled Stanley.
Mabel decided to keep her research to herself from then on. It was a long way to South Wales.
* * *
Mabel, Rita, Stanley and Davyn entered the town hall, next to the Carnegie Library, around 6.00 p.m. to be sure of a good seat. The Quar Ladies were meeting in another room and it had been a toss-up for Mabel and Rita whether or not to join them. But when Stanley told them their John would be there and that Jack Pugh was an energetic speaker, they had decided to stick with their men.
At 6.30 p.m., the local union officials entered with their guest and following the usual flattering introduction, which Jack considered no more than his due, the now national organizer began his talk.
“The election was a disappointment,” he admitted. Capitalist propaganda had bamboozled the electors, he claimed.
Mabel shifted in her seat. She had not felt in the least bamboozled. But then he started to say something that caught her attention.
“Coal made this country,” he asserted. “The industrial revolution was driven by coal. In 1700, less than three million tons was mined but this had more than doubled by the end of the century reaching sixteen million in 1815 and some thirty million by 1830. Those numbers speak for themselves. And when the easy money had been made by the iron masters and colliery owners, they went inland after the deeper seams. The population in the Rhondda Valley went from some five hundred in 1800 to over one hundred and sixty-two thousand in 1921 after the Bute Merthyr Colliery was sunk and the Taff Vale Railway was extended to carry the coal to Cardiff docks. Coal, people, progress – it is as simple as that!”
‘And what about the Bute family’s great borrowings and mighty investments?’ Mabel wanted to call out. ‘Didn’t vision and money fit in there somewhere?’ But Jack Pugh had moved on.
“And what more can we learn from the people of the Rhondda Valley?” he pounded out, his reedy voice rising to its theme. “We learn about communitarianism; about the precious gifts of community, of sharing, of equality.
“Now I hardly need tell you, good people of Merthyr, about these things. It was the Rhondda Socialist Society that helped form the Communist Party of Great Britain; it was the people from these valleys who stood up against Tommy Moran and the British Union of Fascists; it was men from here who joined the International Brigade in Spain to fight General Francisco Franco; and it was to Tonypandy, just eighteen miles from here, the government sent troops to stop miners securing a fair wage from greedy mine owners intent on getting more for less.
“These are things you know,” he said, lowering his voice. “I am here to call upon that spirit again. Our new fascist government – and yes, that is what I believe we now have – is intent upon destroying the coal mining industry. Why? Because oil and foreign coal can be purchased more cheaply, enabling business to make even greater profits, profits which flow to the few, not to the many.”
A rumble of approval spread through the room and Mabel felt herself being carried along.
“Yours is an industry under great threat. Between 1920 and 1945, the number of men working in the mines fell from 1.2 million to eight hundred thousand, and in 1947 the mines were nationalized. But did that help? You be the judge. In 1920, there were two thousand eight hundred and fifty-one working collieries producing two hundred and twenty-nine million tons of coal. Last year, one hundred and thirty million tons were produced from just one hundred and seventy. Brothers, nationalization was a boon to the owners not the workers.”
An even stronger murmur of approval ran through the audience. The now national organizer, albeit one of several, had them eating from his hand.
“We can expect no favours from this government…”
The sound of ‘No!’ rose from the gathering.
“We must take a stand…”
The ‘Yes!’ was half-sigh, half-release of pent-up worry and emotion, like a spontaneous response in one of the Baptist churches many in the room still attended. Even Harvey, sitting at the back, was ready to shout ‘Alleluia!’ had anyone else been inclined.
“Now there is a man in Yorkshire, Arthur Scargill, who will take this fight to the government if you will give him your support.
“When the miners went on strike in 1972, thirty thousand engineers in Birmingham came out in solidarity. The mass picket of the Saltley Coke Depot, which Arthur helped organize, was a success. Solidarity with the miners closed power stations and docks and after seven weeks the government was defeated. Again in 1973, Arthur was a key figure in organizing the strike that brought down Edward Heath’s Conservative government. Next year he will be putting himself forward for the presidency of the National Union of Mineworkers. I urge you to vote for him. If anyone can take on this heinous government and save the coal mining industry, it is Arthur Scargill.”
For a moment, there was silence. The message had been brought down to them from the mountain. Now what?
“Thank you,” Jack Pugh prompted, his arms outstretched, and they rose to give him the standing ovation he craved.
* * *
Harvey had come with Alun Davies, a seasoned reporter from the Merthyr Express. Although this was now the third occasion at which he’d seen Jack Pugh in action, he thought it time he met the man in person and Alun had been lined up by the national organizer for an interview after the meeting.
The venue was Y Dic Penderyn, a pub opposite the town hall.
“An insufferable little prick, I expect,” confided Alun as they walked from the hall. “They come here from nowhere, promising to refashion the earth in less time than it took God in the book of Genesis and after getting the people all wound up, they float off leaving us somewhere in the Book of Revelations to be crushed in the winepress of God’s wrath.”
Inside they found a squash around the organizer, of people anxious to draw out some last drop of wisdom they might have missed and to be associated with the expression of their dreams. On seeing the reporter, Jack Pugh excused himself from his admirers – ‘Work to do, I am afraid’ – and joined the journalists at a table with John, John’s parents and their hosts, Rita and Davyn Pritchard. After introductions were made and drinks ordered, Alun Davies quickly got to work.
“Now tell me, Mr Pugh, how is this Arthur Scargill going to save our mines?”
“Jack, please.”
“Jack, Mr Pugh, certainly. Now what is the answer to the question?”
Stanley was bristling at the reporter’s tone, but Davyn knew the reporter took no prisoners in his search for truth, a characteristic that endeared him to his readers, and so settled back with his beer to enjoy the joust.
“You are asking our communities to make a big commitment and probably, down the road, an even bigger sacrifice,” Alun elaborated, “so they need to know.”
Jack didn’t like any encounter with an intellectual equal, especially one who appeared hostile to his views and launched into a diatribe about the government being captured by the capitalist class.
“The government must be forced to keep the mines open,” Jack said, “and our power stations should be obliged to use our coal, rather than gas and cheap imports. Arthur has forced the government’s hand twice before. He’s a winner.”
“I could offer up the tale of King Canute,” Alun began, “but let me tell you instead about Dic Penderyn, who this fine establishment is named after. Davyn, you’ll know this narrative well, but our visitors might not.”
Davyn Pritchard nodded a comfortable, worldly nod. Such stories had been the lifeblood of his youth.
“The great influx of people into the valleys happened because the ironmasters and colliers needed workers. The ironmasters and colliers came to the valleys because there were deposits of coal and iron ore. These industries expanded as fast as they did in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries because Britain was industrializing. The population was growing. Cities were growing. The nation’s wealth was growing. The place was abuzz with opportunity. Change abounded. Everyone wanted a piece of the action.
“After Boney was finally defeated in 1815, the continent was no longer off limits and industry had to adjust to new markets, new competition and to ever-improving ways of doing things. There were now more workers in the valleys than the factories needed. So factory owners laid off men and cut wages. But people were less quick to leave than they had been to come. They had built communities.
“In early 1831, frustrations boiled over, and the men working for the ironmaster William Crawshay, who had built Cyfarthfa Castle a few years earlier for a cost of some five million pounds in today’s money, downed tools and took to the streets of Merthyr. Soon their protest spread and in June the government sent in a Scottish regiment to restore order.
“A battle between soldiers and workers ensued. Many were injured, some were killed and the soldiers were forced to withdraw. Around eight thousand workers, waving red flags, effectively took control of Merthyr.”
“And it can be that way again,” interjected Jack Pugh, glowing with vicarious pride.
“It must have been frightening,” said Mabel, oblivious to Jack Pugh’s withering stare.
“And so it was,” continued Alun. “The protest ran out of control and many of the families felt things had gone far enough. The rioters’ council was split and by 7th June, the authorities had regained control using force. Twenty-six were arrested and two of them sentenced to death by hanging. One of these was Lewis Lewis, convicted of robbery, and the other was Richard Lewis convicted of stabbing a soldier in the leg with a seized bayonet.
“The sentence passed on Lewis Lewis was eventually downgraded to a life of penal servitude in Australia because a soldier testified that he had protected him from the rioters. However, the sentence on Richard Lewis, better known by his local name Dic Penderyn, was upheld even though the people of Merthyr were convinced of his innocence and eleven thousand signed a petition calling for his release.”
“So was he innocent?” asked Mabel.
“It seems he was,” answered Alun. “In 1874, it was discovered that a man called Ianto Parker had stabbed the soldier and then fled to America. It also came to light that James Abbott, who had testified under oath against Penderyn, had been put under pressure by the Home Secretary, Lord Melbourne, who was adamant that there should be at least one hanging.”
“That’s your aristocracy for you, Mabel,” chipped in Stanley.
“Capitalist pig!” hissed Jack.
“So are you saying we should or shouldn’t support this Arthur Scargill?” asked Mabel, quite shaken by what she had just heard.
“I am not saying one or the other,” answered Alun. “But what I am suggesting is that confrontation for the sake of confrontation usually ends badly.”
“But if it brings down a rotten system, that’s good,” asserted Jack.
“Unless the system that replaces it is even worse,” replied Alun.
“How could it be?” snapped Jack, now regretting he had asked the journalist from the Merthyr Express to meet him.
“Very easily,” explained Alun. “You have to see Lord Melbourne’s decision in the context of the time. The French Revolution had descended into the murder of an entire class–”
“And a good thing, too,” interrupted Jack.
“Which included, Mr National Organizer, Maximilien de Robespierre, the brilliant young lawyer and passionate advocate of the revolution, who argued that the king must die so that France could live.”
For once Jack Pugh was silent.
“And after that bloodbath,” Alun continued, “France resorted to a military dictatorship. This led to a continental war which took the combined strength of the British and Prussian armies to bring to an end. And that was after Napoleon’s ill-fated attack on Russia which resulted in the death of over five hundred thousand men.”
“How interesting!” exclaimed Mabel.
“Haven’t we lost sight of Dic Penderyn in all of this, Alun?” asked Davyn, who was more comfortable with the folklore without Alun’s extraneous embellishments.
“Perhaps we have,” admitted Alun. “But from the Home Secretary’s point of view, restoring order and preventing a repeat of the riots was more important than justice. People had seen what took place in France and did not want to see the same happen here.”
“Of course they didn’t,” smirked Jack.
“Oh yes, they kept their heads all right,” chortled Alun. “But we should not see Dic Penderyn as a champion of revolt, but rather as the innocent victim of a clash between the hot-headed and the thick-headed. By all means, follow this Arthur Scargill, but first make sure you understand where he’s leading you. King Canute was a wise enough king to know that there were tides he could not turn, however much his enthusiastic followers wished otherwise.”
“Well I’ll be!” enthused Mabel, although it was not until some days later, in the public library, that she read how the tenth-century King of Denmark, England, Norway and parts of Sweden had made his courtiers place his throne on the beach at low tide to illustrate that there were forces even a great king could not command.
Seeing the fallow ground on which his wisdom would be broadcast, Jack excused himself – ‘Meetings to go to’ – taking John Preston with him, but not before Mabel and Stanley had embraced their prodigal. The young man might have been associated with someone Alun Davies considered a hothead, but at least, from Stanley’s point of view, his son was now on the right side of the argument. Mabel was just happy to have reclaimed him.
“An insufferable little prick he was,” concluded Alun when the two men were out of earshot. “Where do they find them?”
* * *
During the drive back to the Midlands, Jack Pugh was glum, but Alun Davies’s report in the Merthyr Express the following day, while not enthusiastic, was factual. The reporter concluded his article by saying that communities were easier to build than dismantle and that if this Arthur Scargill could bring the miners’ plight to the attention of the government, that would be no bad thing. But to lose the goodwill of the public, he cautioned, would be folly.
With Max housed at Her Majesty’s pleasure, Jack had moved in with John. Ever since Miranda had shown ‘her true capitalist colours,’ his interest in Oxford had waned. Besides, with his new national responsibilities, Longbridge was even better placed than Cowley had been. But as they drove through the darkness and away from the South Wales valleys, a thought that had been festering in his head, ever since the debacle at Hunters, finally broke cover.
“Why were you not arrested along with Max and me?” he asked.
“Max was a crazy: had it coming,” John answered, “and you’re a big man. I’m nowt.”
That satisfied Jack Pugh entirely.
What John Preston did not say was that he had told Peter Betsworth about his erstwhile flatmate and when the police were informed, his handler made sure John faced no charges.
* * *
Harvey and Alun Davies talked long after the Prestons and Pritchards had left. Y Dic Penderyn was convivial and he found the old Welshman the best of company. Full of the seasoned wisdom that comes from a half-century observing the rich and the poor, the lazy and the diligent, the decent and the dishonest, he considered it essential that the present be set in the context of the past.
“The Spanish-American writer, George Santayana, said it best Harvey: ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ Our own Robert Owen had true wisdom, but somehow what he said was lost in translation.” He explained how the great Welsh industrialist concluded that men and machines should not compete and that capital and labour should work together for the prosperity of all. For a time, Alun recounted, the model factory Owen built up in Lanark, Scotland, where workers and their families were fairly paid, well housed and properly educated, was much admired.
“The trouble, Harvey,” he bemoaned, “is that his socialistic principles were turned into coercion by ambitious men, hungry for power. Who really wants to live in a world where everything is controlled by some higher authority, however benign? And imagine what they feel when that authority ceases to be benign! A slave is a slave no matter how honourable his master. That left libertarians with Adam Smith’s invisible hand. He argued that when each of us pursues his own self-interest within a properly regulated, free-market economy, the well-being of everyone will steadily improve. I suppose we are about to give that a try,” he said. “But I feel for the communities in these valleys. What brought them here is leaching away. If the people of the Nile delta awoke one morning to find that their river no longer flowed, what would they do? They would lavish tribute on their priesthood from their dwindling resources and pray for a miracle.”
* * *
The following day, Harvey struggled with his piece for The Sentinel. He wanted to write about the rich culture he had found and how the economic winds that had enabled it to form were now blowing that culture away. Instead he wrote about a looming battle. He predicted that a man called Arthur Scargill would soon lead the miners in a make or break confrontation with the country’s democratically elected government. As George Gilder had often told him, newspapers sell on the basis of black and white, not subtlety.
CHAPTER
LIKE MOST OF his friends, Ray Gosling was a member of the Amalgamated Union of Engineering Workers. But he and his wife, Mary, had grown sick and tired of the stoppages and the damage these were doing to their lives. Mary never did tell her husband about the help she was getting from Mabel Preston, but even with this she was struggling. Both had voted for Mrs Thatcher, although it would be several years before they would admit it, even to each other.
John Preston, Mabel’s son, had suggested he vote for Terry Duffy when Hugh Scanlon had retired as union president the previous year, because Duffy was no friend of the communists. Ray would never have thought of doing so otherwise. The favoured candidate was the left-winger, Bob Right, but Duffy had won. Like Ray, many of the younger Leyland workers were growing restless and John Preston was finding ready recruits willing to break the left wing’s grip on their union.
