sunlight did nothing to alleviate the bleakness of the valley.
My illness had taken more out of me than I had realised. Soon I was more breathless and tired than I had been in a long while. I slowed and finally stopped, wondering whether I should go back. I was over half way to the mine. It was only down the road and round the corner, just past Devil’s Elbow where the road almost doubles back on itself. After that another few hundred yards . . . that was okay, but returning? Most of the way would be uphill. Reluctantly I turned around.
I had looked away from the school, still half covered with slag. Workmen were slowly clearing it but they would be a long time yet. When I had a clear view I paused, but there was not a great deal to see. A black forlorn building, the roof and half the walls were showing through the sea of slag. The playground and road outside were still covered, a river of black running down to the banks of the Taff. I shivered, whether from the cold or the bleakness of the view I was unsure. I thought of Sian and knew where I could go for a short while.
I stood by her grave and read the stone.
Sian
Dearly beloved
Daughter of
Evan and Megan Grif fi ths
Born 29 th July 1882
Died tragically 14 th October 1890
“ Suffer the little children to come unto me.”
The engraving was in old-fashioned Welsh. I tried to imagine her lying almost under my feet. Her arms would be crossed, her eyes closed and she would look as though she was sleeping. I felt the tears coming to my eyes. I looked around to see if I could find any flowers, feeling guilty that I had not brought anything now that I was there for the first time. Of course there was nothing to be found in November but I promised her that the next time I returned I would bring a plant.
The hand on my shoulder made me jump.
‘Sorry Dai, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said Da. ‘I was passing and thought I saw you standing here.’ He looked at the grave, silent for a few moments. ‘Just after the accident I couldn’t walk past without stopping for a few minutes, even if it meant leaving for the mine a bit earlier and getting home later,’ he paused and shook his head sadly. ‘Now I come once a day, usually on my way home. Today I’d just persuaded myself to go straight home when I saw you. In a little while I’ll be going every other day, then once a week, on a Sunday because we’ll already be here and it’ll be less inconvenient. Do you know what I’m trying to tell you, son?’
‘I dunno, Da. I’m not sure.’
‘I suppose I’m trying to say that life goes on, see. We have to go on living, eating, breathing, laughing. Time, Mam tells me, is the great healer. We’ll go to America and . . . although we’ll never forget Sian . . . no, that would be impossible, we’ll just remember her less and less.’
‘Even Sion, Da?’
‘Even Sion. Come on, let’s go home.’ He put his arm across my shoulders.
‘What happened at the meeting?’
‘It was postponed for another two days. Damn them. I don’t know how they did it but the strikers got it called off. The fools.’
I went to bed for a nap and slept until suppertime. The strike was beginning to be felt. For supper that evening we had bread and cheese. The latter was green in places but buried between two pieces of toast (to hide how stale the bread was), it was not too bad.
‘We need to keep our savings for as long as possible,’ explained Mam to Sion and me. ‘So we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got in the allotment and what I’ve got here. Evan, how long is this going to go on? Do you have any idea?’
Da shook his head. ‘We still have to wait for the meeting. If we got a shift back now it could cause more problems than it’s worth. A proper show of hands will do the trick, though God knows what’ll happen now. I thought we’d persuaded them to go back but if the ringleaders got a postponement so easily I don’t know . . . I just don’t know.
My illness had taken more out of me than I had realised. Soon I was more breathless and tired than I had been in a long while. I slowed and finally stopped, wondering whether I should go back. I was over half way to the mine. It was only down the road and round the corner, just past Devil’s Elbow where the road almost doubles back on itself. After that another few hundred yards . . . that was okay, but returning? Most of the way would be uphill. Reluctantly I turned around.
I had looked away from the school, still half covered with slag. Workmen were slowly clearing it but they would be a long time yet. When I had a clear view I paused, but there was not a great deal to see. A black forlorn building, the roof and half the walls were showing through the sea of slag. The playground and road outside were still covered, a river of black running down to the banks of the Taff. I shivered, whether from the cold or the bleakness of the view I was unsure. I thought of Sian and knew where I could go for a short while.
I stood by her grave and read the stone.
Sian
Dearly beloved
Daughter of
Evan and Megan Grif fi ths
Born 29 th July 1882
Died tragically 14 th October 1890
“ Suffer the little children to come unto me.”
The engraving was in old-fashioned Welsh. I tried to imagine her lying almost under my feet. Her arms would be crossed, her eyes closed and she would look as though she was sleeping. I felt the tears coming to my eyes. I looked around to see if I could find any flowers, feeling guilty that I had not brought anything now that I was there for the first time. Of course there was nothing to be found in November but I promised her that the next time I returned I would bring a plant.
The hand on my shoulder made me jump.
‘Sorry Dai, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said Da. ‘I was passing and thought I saw you standing here.’ He looked at the grave, silent for a few moments. ‘Just after the accident I couldn’t walk past without stopping for a few minutes, even if it meant leaving for the mine a bit earlier and getting home later,’ he paused and shook his head sadly. ‘Now I come once a day, usually on my way home. Today I’d just persuaded myself to go straight home when I saw you. In a little while I’ll be going every other day, then once a week, on a Sunday because we’ll already be here and it’ll be less inconvenient. Do you know what I’m trying to tell you, son?’
‘I dunno, Da. I’m not sure.’
‘I suppose I’m trying to say that life goes on, see. We have to go on living, eating, breathing, laughing. Time, Mam tells me, is the great healer. We’ll go to America and . . . although we’ll never forget Sian . . . no, that would be impossible, we’ll just remember her less and less.’
‘Even Sion, Da?’
‘Even Sion. Come on, let’s go home.’ He put his arm across my shoulders.
‘What happened at the meeting?’
‘It was postponed for another two days. Damn them. I don’t know how they did it but the strikers got it called off. The fools.’
I went to bed for a nap and slept until suppertime. The strike was beginning to be felt. For supper that evening we had bread and cheese. The latter was green in places but buried between two pieces of toast (to hide how stale the bread was), it was not too bad.
‘We need to keep our savings for as long as possible,’ explained Mam to Sion and me. ‘So we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got in the allotment and what I’ve got here. Evan, how long is this going to go on? Do you have any idea?’
Da shook his head. ‘We still have to wait for the meeting. If we got a shift back now it could cause more problems than it’s worth. A proper show of hands will do the trick, though God knows what’ll happen now. I thought we’d persuaded them to go back but if the ringleaders got a postponement so easily I don’t know . . . I just don’t know.
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