Fall of Giants

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.