Introduction

INTRODUCTION

Thomastown was named after Meyler Thomas, the man who opened the colliery in Coedely. The street where my family occupied number 100 for many years was named Meyler Street after him.

Thomastown consisted of a handful of streets built for the miners who would work in Coedely colliery. Extending from Meyler Street towards the colliery was another street called Pembroke Street, sometimes called Tynycoed. I lived on this street too, for about two years before being called up to join the army in 1940.

Thomastown had a very small village centre: the Ely Hotel (now Fagins), the Co-op store, the Post Office and Webber’s bakery. Near the spot where the Music Centre stands Flook had a store; and a couple of doors down from where Richard Williams lived there was a barber shop. Next to the barber shop was a cobbler shop run by Shep- herd. At one time the barber shop was run by Jim “Penwen”, another good singer, and another member of the Williams family. Jim had a good voice; also his son, John, and his daughter, Eirwyn. Of course there were several small stores both in Meyler Street and Pembroke Street, but they were really dwelling places with small store fronts. The small street leading up to Meyler Street from the Ely was called Elizabeth Street named after Meyler Thomas’s wife.

A small extension of the village centre ran along the main road. This included the Primitive Methodist Church, and opposite it the Thomastown Social Club. There was also a Fish and Chip shop and a Hellings betting shop. Next up from the Thomastown Social Club on Francis Street was a half dozen houses overlooking the Ely River.

Between Francis Street and Meyler Street in my youth, there was a long stretch of waste ground where we played. Travelling fairs also set up their rides there. In the early fifties a street of wooden semi-detached houses was built there called the Swedish houses. This development continued along the road to Newton where concrete slabs were used to face the houses. Newton itself was part of Thomastown which ended at the old stone railway bridge now replaced by one designed to carry a motorway. 1 Photo : Brian Lewis

Thomastown

Meyler Street Francis Street

Railway

Pembroke Street (Tynycoed)

Black Path to Coedely Colliery

Following are some sketches of people that gave Thomastown its life and identity. ======ALLEN: A Runner

Fred Allen was a tall, lean, loose-limbed man. He kept a garden just beyond Streeter’s Piggery on the right hand side after crossing the bridge before going up the mountain. He was known in his youth as a great runner who could run like the wind. In my memory I see him in mid-summer carrying a pail to his garden often with Idris Evans (Evans “Garth Hall”) who kept a garden close by. When Fred came home the pail was full of the most amazing runner beans. I suppose the soil along the river was the most fertile in the area, but I suspect that pig manure from Streeter’s Piggery next door helped a lot; and of course, just up the mountain from his garden there were lots of sheep grazing. Sheep droppings also make good manure if handled properly.

Surrounding his garden and along the river there was also a plentiful supply of saplings he could cut as bean poles. The secret to his success though was likely the small brook, the Ilid. Although there was usually plenty of rain in the spring and summer there was an occasional dry spell. While other gardeners were praying for rain, Fred was watering his garden with pails of water from the brook. That pail he carried had many uses. Sketch: Brian Lewis

Fred was famous as a runner but I remember him best for his pail and his runner beans.

***************

Herbert Allen was Fred Allen’s brother. He was in the army and when he came out he married Walt Tarling’s daughter, Barbara. He was even taller than his brother and very well built. Gerald Tarling almost worshipped his new uncle and couldn’t get enough of the stories Uncle Herb told him. Whenever anything was up for discussion Gerald would voice his opinions with great confidence and finish the sentence with, “Herbert said.” Uncle Herbert was the authority on everything. He seemed to know everything, had seen everything and done everything.

From these modest beginnings Her- bert soon became a folk hero among the young boys. One anecdote has him being awarded a medal for brav- ery. Herbert tore off his shirt and de- manded the medal be pinned directly through his flesh. Another story has Herbert going to the armourer to have a longer bayonet made. He wanted one long enough to hold at least two men on it.

There were many stories like this which filled young boys with a sense of daring and adventure. He was one of the hardest working men in Thomas- town. He worked on the coal face and moved many tons of coal on every shift. After work he was in his garden.

Like his brother. Fred, Herbert was a good gardener. Me and Sylvia were members of the local gardening club for many years. Before he passed away Herb was the chairman of the club. He never grew monster runner beans like his brother, but he was a modest and efficient chairman who kept the Allen gardening tradition (and the Garden- ing Club) alive.

BANWELL: The Boxer

Gerald Banwell, the boxer, lived on Francis Street. From an early age Cyril, his father encouraged him as much as he could to become a professional boxer. On one occasion when Gerald was around ten, his father fixed up one of his flatbed trucks to enter a parade through Thomastown. On the truck was a boxing ring. Gerald and Allan Phipps squared off inside it and Thomastown was treated to a spirited boxing match the whole length of the parade route.

Boxing fans will recall that one of the greatest boxers who had ever lived, Sugar Ray Robinson lost his world title to an Englishman, Randy Turpin. who was also black. Both boys had been smeared with blackening to honour the champions.

Gerald never married and lived a reckless life. I know a lot about him since Graham for many years was his friend and travelled with him a lot. Gerald or Banji, as everyone called him was taken under the wing of Eddie Thomas who ran a boxing club and was a boxing promoter. Like Eddie, who’d been a British Champion, Gerald was a welter- weight. There were many good British boxers in that weight class in the sixties and Banji was in the top ten. Unfortunately he lacked discipline, was never fit enough and learned that raw talent was not enough for success.

Graham, my youngest son could likely write a book about the ex- ploits of Banji. When Graham broke away from him and decided to settle down, me and Syl- via heaved a sigh of relief. Every time he went on the road to a boxing venue with Banji we thought it could be his last. Banji liked to drive on the wrong side of the road occasionally, not a good idea, drunk or sober.

Banji was an active member of the Thomastown Social Club and spent a lot of time and money there. Eventually in poor physi- cal shape and completely blind he spent his final days in hospital.

At his funeral hundreds showed up to show their respect. He was a rogue, but Thomastown loved its rogues. He was one of Thomastown’s colourful characters.

On reflection being with Banji all those years gave Graham a deep insight into the hu- man spirit. He’s well schooled but the time with Banji made him wise to the ways of the world.

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THE BESSANTS: Chapel People

Across the street from our house on Meyler Street were the Bessants. Tom, a carpen- ter was the mainstay of the Primitive Methodist Chapel on Francis Street opposite the Social Club. We called him “Flying Tom” at work because he always said “flying” this or “flying” that when he was upset. In other words he used “flying” as a substitute for a swear word since Tom never used foul language. His son, Leighton was a very good boy soprano and when he was scheduled to sing on the radio, everyone at the top end of Meyler Street was alerted.

Up the street a few doors lived Tom’s mother, Granny Bessant. Many considered her to be the real soul of the Primitive Methodist church. She kept ducks, chickens and geese at the end of the street and a foster child, Arthur Applegate, looked after the animals and did chores around the house.

Her three daughters lived at home for a long time. Many people speculated that one look at Granny Bessant was enough to send potential suitors scurrying away. She was a forbidding character. Some believed she did what she could to keep her girls away from men.

The oldest daughter Dolly courted a neighbour of ours, Dilwyn Llewelyn for many years but it was a very strange courtship. Dolly would wait until her mother was asleep then she would rendezvous with Dilwyn and walk in the darkness up Llanilid Lane. She must have been around forty years of age—but she was almost completely under the control of Granny Bessant.

This is exactly how the Primitive Methodist Chapel was run, too. It was completely under the control of the Bessant family. I can’t say that it unusual. Many chapels in the area are linked with certain families.

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BIRD

When I was a young man, Thomastown was a close-knit community and young people had an ability to make their own enjoyment. The centre of our world was Bruce Bird’s shop in the middle of Meyler Street. We called Bruce, “Birdy” and he ran the shop with the help of his wife, Winnie.

All the young working bachelors met there on a regular basis. We sat around the shop and up the stairs while Birdy kept us fuelled with food and drink from his store. Most of us were rugby players and Birdy was the chairman of Thomastown Rugby Club. His store became our unofficial clubhouse.

Birdy devised many challenges to keep us coming to his store. It was only in later years I realized what a clever businessman Birdy had been. We spent nearly all our pocket money in his store and he was always coming up with inventive ways to keep our business.

One involved one of the toughest men I ever play rugby with—Harry Lord. “Right,” said Birdy. “I’m going to get something growing in my garden. There’s a half crown for anyone who’ll eat it. Won’t do you any harm!” “You’re on,” said Harry Lord. When Birdy came back from the garden he had three large slimy slugs on a rhubarb leaf. Birdy turned to Harry and said, “There eat those buggers and I’ll give you half a crown.” Without hesitation Harry took the three slugs and dropped them down his throat. “Thanks Birdy, I enjoyed that,” said Harry. “A half a crown and a free meal. You can’t beat that.”

Even when we went to the seaside for a week for a camping holiday, Birdy volunteered to come with us and be our cook. He brought much of the food from his store. When the twelve of us left Thomastown with a large army bell tent, we also had many of our provisions for the week.

Early on someone threw a shoe at a candle to extinguish it rather than disturb those already sleeping. It hit Birdy. In the morning we saw Birdy had a black eye, a real shiner.

When we came home that night we saw he had two black eyes. We quickly learned that while we were in Coney Beach, Birdy had been among the sand dunes pimping. An irate man had filled him in.

“POP” BROWN

The closest shop to our house was ‘Pop’ Brown’s. He was an Englishman who still spoke with a West Country accent. He was very brisk and energetic and kept working well into his eighties. He was one of the three people who owned a vehicle in Meyler Street in the fifties. It was an old Austin and my memory of Pop Brown is seeing him trying to get his vehicle to start with a hand crank. Starting the old car was never easy.

The secret to Pop’s success was that little old car. Transportation for almost everyone in those days was by train, bus or to walk. It seems in advance of its time but “Pop” found that in many isolated places people would appreciate home delivery. He deliv- ered groceries regularly to the cottages above the colliery. No doubt he had other de- liveries too.

Pop also made himself useful when there were bereavements. He showed up and helped people dispose of items that no one wanted to inherit. He had a car and no doubt a market where he could dispose of old pictures, bits of furniture and other bric a brac.

The fifties was the scary period of the Cold War. The menace for everyone was the Rus- sians. When Pop couldn’t get his car going he blamed the Russians. If the bacon he sold that week was a bit salty and customers complained it was the Russian’s fault. If the weather turned cold he said the Russians were up to something.

He was always on the move and always muttering something.

It took a shrewd man to make a go of a little store front shop, especially when he carried so many families “on tick’. He kept people alive in tough times and likely didn’t collect many debts. 7

BUGLER and the BURGLARS

Jackie Bugler inherited Llanilid Farm when his father passed away. He remained a bachelor all his life and cared little about outward appearance. He was rarely out of his farm clothes. The farmhouse had been improved slightly when his father took a second wife. There was power, and the path up to the farm had been upgraded, but the house itself remained dilapidated with just a few dry spots to sit down or sleep. Luckily, Cassie, Jackie’s sister who had a shop in Meyler Street kept an eye on him and brought him pots of stew. Billy Bevan, who lived on Meyler Street, had helped Jackie on the farm for years and he saw Jackie nearly every day too.

Llanilid was a typical Welsh hill farm. Most of the land was only fit for grazing. To subsidize what must have been a very modest farm income, Jackie allowed people to build sheds or garages in spots accessible from Llanilid Lane and collected rent from them. He also hired out himself and his horse, Captain to work in the forestry at Smaelog.

Although very rough and ready on the outside, me and Sylvia thought he was a real gen- tleman. He kept us in touch with the honest, real world of ordinary people who enjoyed the simple things in life. For many years he trundled along Meyler Street with his horse and cart delivering eggs from the farm. Good eggs they were too since his chickens were free range. He also supplied us with our Christmas chicken and there was never better tasting chicken than those we got from Jackie. Everything they ate was natural and the water came from a pure mountain spring.

Despite the improvements to make the farm more accessible it remained an isolated spot. When night fell Llanilid Lane became pitch black. There were no lights and many late night walkers on it carried a torch.

People somewhere in the area had obviously been keeping track of Jackie’s movement. They likely shared the belief that many farmers didn’t trust banks and kept their money and valuables hidden somewhere on the farm. I can’t remember the exact date but it happened recently. The robbery at Llanilid Farm shook Thomastown to the core. Un- der cover of darkness two thieves broke into the farm house. They tied Jackie up and threatened him with his life if he didn’t tell them where his treasures were hidden.

Jackie knew the men meant business. He was frightened and told them where his money, his gold sovereigns and other treasures were kept.

Jackie did not remain trussed up too long. Besides his sister, Cassie, others who helped Jackie on the farm would find him very soon. He was found alive but badly shaken. He continued to live on the farm but this incident shook him very badly and

he became a shadow of his former self.

It’s believed the police knew who the robbers were but could not produce enough evi- dence to make an arrest. The suspects, father and son, were not thought to be from Thomastown.

======CAREY

Josh Carey and his wife lived in #46 exactly half way up Meyler Street. They had twenty-six children, the largest family I’d ever heard of. We’d been fifteen. I recall in our house all the boys slept in the back bedroom, the girls in the middle bedroom and my mother and father in the front bedroom overlooking the street. Living in the Carey house must have been a bit like camping since there must have been people sleeping in every room.

There are many jokes about the Carey’s. The one I like best shows Josh’s dry sense of humour. He had been very helpful to a neighbour and had done a lot of work.

“What do I owe you, Josh?” asked the neighbour.

“Nothing,” said Josh, “Just give the kids a few bob .”

======CASSIE’S

For over twenty years Cassie kept the shop once owned by the Nash family. Cassie Bugler married Ted Williams, a council road worker and they lived in a small farm next to the Coedely Welfare Club grounds.

Cassie was a hardworking woman with a good head for business. She owned several houses in the Rhondda so she had income from rent. The farm wasn’t very productive but she no doubt got income from that too since farming in Britain has been heavily subsidized by the Government. Cassie would have quickly learned what support she qualified for. In addition she ran the shop which, like most store front stores, kept long hours.

No place summed up what village life was all about better than Cassie’s. Sylvia loved going there because it was the news centre for Thomastown. Cassie had a wonderful knack of keeping her fingers on the pulse of the community. 9 passed on.

Every customer had some yarn to tell and Cassie made sure it was passed on. When Cassie left there was a void in community life. There was no gathering place for the swift exchanges of news anymore!

CHEATERS and CON MEN

Our street had its share of people who loved ‘to beat (or cheat) the system’. Often, on the street I’d see a man climbing his ladder to paint a window frame or fix a tile on his roof. In the afternoon he’d be wearing a neck brace and hobbling down to the bus stop to collect his compensation or benefit. We called such people “hobblers” a piece of good acting to attract sympathy.

A woman could be despairingly presenting her case to a social service officer one minute, almost in tears. After the officer had left the house she would roar out with laughter and give the people across the street the “thumbs up”.

The doctor’s surgery was always full of people. Many of them just wanted what we called a “doctor’s paper” or a “sick paper”. For those that couldn’t or didn’t want to work the interview was swift. You were in and out. I think the mining valley doctors had a great sympathy with and understanding of the working man. Many of them had working class roots.

Perhaps many of those in the “system” that people were trying to beat understood as well! ======

CHRISTOPHER

Edwin Christopher was a very enterprising man. He was one of the few in Thomas- town who owned a vehicle. He was in the transportation business and had a garage next to the old Salvation Army building near Tynycoed. Anyone needing to move furniture or to have something towed called Edwin. He even had an old jalopy to deliver the Sunday newspapers. Sometimes one of his young boys would drive the vehicle through they could barely see over the driving wheel. It was Edwin who drove me and my teenage friends from “Birdy’s Shop” around 1930 when we went camping in Porth- cawl. When we left Gilfach Goch in 1946 it was Edwin who moved our few sticks of furniture to Thomastown. Edwin moved the old ambulance chassis I bought in Peny- graig to convert into ‘Sylvia’, our caravan.

Edwin had a brother in Tyny- bryn who everyone called Dai Christie. It’s a mystery to me how brothers could be so different. Dai walked around stripped to the waist even in bit- ter weather. His main daily en- terprise was to take his “gambo” down to the slurry beds at Coe- dely Colliery and drag it home full of slurry to his house in Tynybryn. On fine days he walked up the Ely River stripped to the waist his feet in old army boots, groping for trout and eels. Some fish he took home for supper most he sold to make a few bob.

Even in his middle age Dai made his daily journey to the slurry beds, though he panted continually and his chest heaved with a rattling cough. Although he hadn’t had a job for a long time in the end it was work—and maybe the weather that killed him.

Others claim he died because he lived in a house that he’d let go and couldn’t look after himself. ======THE FIGHTING COLEMANS

Tom Coleman was a tall raw-boned man who was always itching for a fight. He had a son called “Boyo” who was a chip off the old block. They lived at the bottom of Mey- ler Street near Hamer, the butcher.

Tom and his son were always looking for a likely place to engage in fisticuffs. Their favourite place for a long time was the Griffin, a pub just below Hendreforgan that we called “The Bog”. The area around it was unusable marshland. Although it had a rough path up to the main road and an even rougher parish road to some farms, it was quite an isolated place. A fight at the Griffin would not disturb the peace because there was no one living close by. Quite a few of the customers were young males and they enjoyed watching a fight.

What Tom and Boyo provided was Saturday night entertainment for them. Sometimes though there was an illicit rendezvous at the Griffin between lovers who’d left their re- spective spouses at home. What began as a quiet evening sometimes erupted into something they hadn’t bargained for. The landlord urged combatants outside for fear of damage and a crowd gathered around. The lovers, not wanting to be caught up in the spectacle, and fearing public exposure, quietly crept away.

Fighting was not Tom’s only passion. He was attracted to anything that offered a chal- lenge. He was known on Meyler Street as a poacher. When he wasn’t fighting he’d be off over the mountain with his shotgun and a dog. He was always looking for a good dog.

In the early fifties we had a good looking field spaniel who we called Major. He was black and the devil was in him. He was impossible to handle and very destructive. I wanted to get rid of him but I didn’t want to have him put down, so I offered him to Tom. Tom convinced me that with his knowledge of dogs he’d soon have Major eating out of his hand. Major became a hunting dog.

We never saw Major again. After a few weeks Tom gave up on Major and shot him.

This is your last chance, Major, or you’ll be getting it!

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VIC COOMBES

Vic Coombes was a good friend of mine. We sat together in the Thomastown Club for many years. In all that time I don’t suppose we were a pint apart. We enjoyed each other’s company and did not get involved in ‘big rounds’. When there’s a large group at a table and rounds are paid for in turn there’s often somebody who disappears when his turn comes. It didn’t happen with us. One motto I’ve had all my life is to be friendly to all, but familiar with none. Vic was a special friend—a solid man yet it was only in the club that we spent time together.

======CORNISH

Stan Cornish was known as “Ketchel” since Stanley Ketchel was a world champion boxer. Stan was pale and fragile looking so I don’t know how he acquired his nick- name, except he was a Stanley too and was what we called a ‘doctor’. By that I mean he was a ‘know it all’. 13

He was a keen gardener and spent a lot of time in his allotment. He seemed to be an authority on everything. His sons Arthur, Stan, Roy and Donny were quiet like their mother, May. It seemed to me that “Ketchel” loved expounding things so much there was no room for other opinions. They had to learn to be quiet! When Mrs. Cornish died Brian and I were asked to sing outside the front parlour at a small funeral service. There were very few of us. I felt very awkward standing there but felt obliged since he was a close neighbour. He had never been a friend of mine.

======DAVIES

When we moved to 100 Meyler Street from Gilfach in March 1946 friends of my mother’s made us feel very welcome. Some good solid neighbours had the name Da- vies: Mrs. Davies “Pyle”, Mrs. Davies “Wooky” and Mrs. Davies “Ha Ha.” Sylvia was very reluctant to leave Gilfach where she’d been born and grew up. She was very shy and didn’t like the idea of having to settle among strangers. Gilfach was only three miles away but to Sylvia Thomastown was too far from her roots.

She soon learned that Thomastown people were not unlike Gilfach people. Everyone, it seemed had an acquired name to distinguish them from so many others who shared the same surname. Mrs. Davies “Ha Ha” found everything in life amusing and her dis- tinctive laugh could always be heard when women stood on the doorstep and greeted their neighbours in the morning.

Sylvia loved to chat and it was important to know who said what and to whom, especially if all three Mrs. Davies’ were involved.

======DO IT YOURSELF (DIY)

I remember Leeke when he had a small store in Tonypandy in the early fifties. He was a man of vision. He could see the day when mining people would modernize their homes. The first things to go would be the cast iron grate and ovens. His business logo was “We are Grate People”. He sold modern fireplaces that could be installed by the homeowner with the minimum of help.

Most of us in Thomastown did what had to be done in the house without calling in a tradesman. When we brought our lavatory indoors in Meyler Street I did all the work including the tiling. Some of us were more skilful than others. Many of us were ‘potchers’ the name we gave to the most unskilled “do it yourselfers’.

Another project I undertook in 100 Meyler Street was to remove the front parlour inside wall. This enlarged the middle room. The parlour or front room in my youth was hardly used except for special occasions or purposes. When I made the change me and Sylvia used it every day.

I believe my experience in construction gave me confidence. Soon after we got rid of the parlour, many people on the street followed suit. Also I doubt if anyone has an outdoor lavatory any more.

Leekes is one of the largest furniture, appliances and home decorator stores in South Wales. Leeke owes a lot to the early ‘do-it-yourselfers’.

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EDUCATION

When the boys were growing up I was determined to give them a good education. Many of my work mates couldn’t understand why we had three big boys at home who spent their time studying. Much like my father before them they believed a boy should be out working as soon as he could earn his keep. I’d seen enough of life to know that what most successful people had in common was a good education. The main difference in the army between officers and ‘other ranks’ was the level of education not intelligence or aptitude.

Nothing has made me more proud then seeing my three sons graduate from 15 university. And there can’t be many Welsh people of my generation who had all their grandchildren go to university. Many of them are engaged in work which was beyond the imagination when I was growing up. My children and grandchildren had much broader horizons.

======ELOCUTION

My father had little schooling as far as I can tell. He spoke Welsh and often talked to Jenkin Llewelyn in Welsh over the garden wall. He loved to recite things, tell stories and jokes. He was animated and loved entertaining.

He belonged to The Royal Antediluvian Order of the Buffalo, the lodge we called “The Buffs”, which met in the Ely. He had an ability to memorize things and one of his great gifts was for elocution. This was a popular form of entertainment in my day and there were several standard narrative poems and ballads in the elocutionist’s repertoire. People of my generation will recall that much of the schooling then involved committing passages of poetry to memory.

I have happy memories of my father lying upstairs on the old brass bed rehearsing “The Mumbles Lifeboat” for a lodge meeting that night.

======ELY HOTEL

The Ely was the only pub in Thomastown. My best memories of it was during the war when I was in the army. Sylvia and the two boys had gone to live with Sylvia’s parents in Gilfach when I was called up. On my previous leaves to be with Sylvia and the boys I always found time to visit my parents at 100 Meyler Street. Nothing gave my father more pleasure than taking me to the Ely for a pint. I was in uniform and he was very proud. Most of the men of my age from Thomastown worked underground. Coal pro- duction was a war time priority so they were exempt from military service.

I don’t know when the Ely was built but I recall it had a very large courtyard and a sta- ble. No doubt pony and traps used it at one time and there were commercial travellers who stayed there when doing business in the area. The Ely was also the terminus of the bus to Porth, so drinkers from outside Thomastown also visited the Ely.

Most pubs had an established area for fighting. Where the Music Centre stands now there was a small grassy field where the Ely brawlers often settled their differences.

There’s one story about the Ely Hotel that got into the press and was widely circu- lated. The publican’s name at the time was Martin. He owned a wire haired grey dog called Brandy. Whenever the piano sounded Brandy would bound across to it, sit on his haunches and howl. Many of the drinkers believed that Brandy was just imitating the singer who belted out a tune standing by the piano. Many believed that in his howling Brandy showed musical talent. It was fun to hear people discussing the dog’s prowess which was a hot topic in the newspapers for a while.

ELY RIVER

The source of the Ely river is near Penrhiwfer, only three miles upstream from Thomastown. By the time it reaches Thomastown it’s still a very small river. In the summer the children used to dam it using rocks and clodges. Many children learned how to swim in the river though the dam was little more than two feet deep.

Although there were small trout in the river and an occasional eel, the children con- tented themselves with catching even smaller fresh water fish. One fish was called lo- cally a “bomble”. It looked like a big fat tadpole and for this reason the common name was Miller’s Thumb. Another small fresh water fish we called a “crachan” probably a Welsh word. It was an ugly fresh water fish commonly called stickle back.

======HAYDN EVANS

Haydn Evans, son of Idris Evans (Garth Hall) across the road had played rugby as the scrum half partner to Cliff Morgan when they were in Tonyrefail Grammar School. In the early fifties, National Service was still in force so Haydn joined the Navy and played rugby for Devonport Services. Later he went to Teacher’s College, became a teacher near London and played rugby for London Welsh.

Haydn’s strength as a scrum half was his long powerful pass from the base of the scrum. It was so powerful that many players found it too hard to handle. On the other hand, it allowed the outside half more space to avoid the oncoming open side wing forward. It was a ‘bullet’ pass.

Haydn was a sturdy man, just like his father, and he was invited to a Final Trial for the Welsh National team. The Welsh outside half was Cliff Morgan his old grammar school partner. Many people believed they would represent Wales together. Instead the selectors stayed with Cliff’s Cardiff partner Rex Willis. He was also a sturdy individ- ual. He had another way of protecting his outside half. Rather than expose him to danger, he hung on to the ball himself and took lots of punishment. Haydn always tried to throw his bullet pass and maybe that’s why he never got to play for Wales.

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FIGHTERS

I suppose men have a natural instinct to fight. That’s what was expected of them when they joined the army. When we were young though we exercised most of our aggres- sion in our boxing Club. It was in a backyard across the street from Hamer’s butcher shop. Many of us who gathered in Birdy’s shop including me belonged to it. We paid a shilling a week membership. The club had a full size ring set up and the latest training equipment. My father used to come in to watch the boxing matches though there was little room for spectators. My mother couldn’t understand why I paid a shilling a week to get a black eye or a sore lip.

What we learned in the club didn’t do us much good where the real fighting took place. That happened in the back alleys, inside or outside a pub or dance hall, or on any suit- able waste ground close by. There were no rules but a crowd usually gathered around and when there was imminent danger of serious injury, people stepped in.

The man who had the reputation as the toughest scrapper when I was young was Ted Randal. I’ll have more to say about him later. He was a memorable character. He was tall and very skinny and always wore a dirty muffler around his throat, summer or winter. He fought like a dog and anyone who took him on was shocked by his ferocity.

His son, Eddie a semi professional soccer player had a similar tem- perament and was re- nowned throughout the Rhonda as a scrapper to stay away from.

One boxer who sometimes drank in the Ely was Warren Kendall. At one time he was lightweight champion of Wales and fought the best boxers of his generation throughout Britain. Many of the retired boxers like Warren enjoyed talking about their past glories over a pint of beer. One Saturday night Warren was jostled by one of the locals trying to get to the bar. He turned to the young lad and said, “Do you 19 know who I am?” “No idea,” said the young miner!

“Warren Kendall,” said the ex-champ. “I see,” said the young lad, “It rings a bell. I think you mean you were Warren Kendall.” To the young miner, Warren was just a ‘has been’.

Anyway, Warren was out of his weight class and boxing skill didn’t matter if somebody invited you outside.

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GLADWIN

We got to know Harold Gladwin when he came to Gilfach with Edwin Christopher to move our furniture from 28 Fairview, down to Meyler Street. It was in March 1946, a really windy bitterly cold day, and Harold was shivering. His hands were too numb to do very much. Harold had never had a steady job because he suffered from some birth defect. He walked with an unusual gait, one arm limp at his side and one foot dragging. He always walked with one shoulder well in advance of the other. Despite his handicap, Harold was always cheerful and friendly.

Many people will recall when the Remploy factory opened on Gilfach Road. It was a godsend for people like Harold. He was always singing when he walked up the street. When he got a job at Remploy it just started much earlier in the day. He had a limited repertoire of songs which he sang over and over. His favourite seemed to be “Who’s sorry now?”—a hit at the time. Harold always used the words, “Who’s torry now?” He never sang it quietly for his own enjoyment. He belted it out for all of Meyler Street to hear.

For those people who worked night shift and came home at six o’clock in the morning like I did there was no point in trying to sleep until he was well on his way. Harold’s booming voice echoing up Meyler Street was bound to wake you up.

I’ve been a socialist all my life. The weak shouldn’t have to go to the wall all the time. They should be helped to become productive useful people both for their own benefit and for society. The Remploy was a wonderful example of how it can be done. It made tubular furniture but like many imaginative projects it closed for the usual reason—it was either losing money or not making enough. Governments should support things like this. It’s better to subsidize employment than finance unemployment.

HELLINGS

Iris Hellings, Sylvia’s sister, married Fred Hellings. It was a famous name in Thomas- town since Fred’s father Dick Hellings was a Welsh international rugby player. He was part of the winning Welsh Triple Crown championship team in 1900.

All the Hellings boys played rugby including Jack Hellings, a strapping second row forward like his dad. He’d been chosen for a final trial for Wales but missed it to attend his mother’s funeral. He never played rugby for his country but he was certainly good enough.

“Hellings” was the main bookmaker or “bookie” in the area. It had several betting shops and Fred and his brothers had customers (and runners) in Gilfach Goch, Tre- banog and other close-by villages. Many men in Thomastown liked to have a ‘flutter’ on the horses also on the Football Pools.

When I left India I stayed in touch with a jockey friend of mine. He’d ridden for a ma- harajah in India. We often talked about a betting tip being ‘sent’. This meant it was information from an insider. Once my friend sent me a tip—a horse named “Keep -a-two-a-two.” He told me to bet my shirt on it. I did and it won at 28 – 1. Fred Hel- lings was hopping mad. I must have told others about it—because Hellings lost a packet. He said he wished the horse had broken its leg.

The main business was conducted in the young Dick Hellings house at the bottom of Meyler, roughly opposite Hamer the Butcher. This was the same house where the boys had been brought up and where old Hellings had ruled with a fist of iron.

Old Dick Hellings was known for his fiery temper and sheer brute strength. There are many stories about him which made him a legend in my time, but few today have heard of him.

Once Dick Hellings, saw three men struggling to put a lamp post into a hole. He pushed them out of the way and put it in himself. On one occasion he was at a ban- quet. Someone upset him. He was so angry he lifted the end of a very heavy table and scattered guests all over the room.

Although Dick Hellings played for a rugby team from a very small village, LLwynypia, he is credited with ushering in a new era in Welsh rugby. His family was originally from Devon where there was a much bigger stock of physically bigger man than could be found in Wales. In Wales there were plenty of speedy, skilful athletic players. It did- n’t have many brutes like Dick Hellings. Many Devon and Cornish men were of Celtic origin too and when industry boomed in Wales they left the farms and fishing boats to make good money in the mines, iron works and strip mills in Wales. They are now part of the Welsh fabric.

One more anecdote. In a crucial Triple Crown when Wales played Ireland it was Dick Hellings who scored the winning try. He had two Irishmen on his back at the time. Later it was found that he had been playing most of the game with a broken collar bone. In those days they only took you off the pitch if you were dead!

I remember old Dick Hellings well. He was one of the stokers at the Coke Ovens where I worked.

======HOWELLS

Ron Howell’s, a friend of Barrie’s was brought up by Stan and Barbara Howells. It was common in Thomastown to find extended family members living in the same house. Often it involved the natural offspring of one of the daughters. His real name was Ron Walker, his father was Bert Walker. Stan and his brother Haydn were darts players when Thomastown Social Club had one of the best teams in Wales. Stan became British darts champion.

It’s hard to imagine a more frenzied house to grown up in yet Ron Howell went to Cambridge and won a “blue” in Rugby. The Howells family rarely left Thomastown except to play darts but a large number of the family went to see Ron play against Ox- ford in Twickenham.

Ron’s uncle Haydn Howells was known as “Black Arrow.” His wife Rita had

nicknames that shouldn’t be repeated. They lived just across the street from brother, Stan. There was constant traffic between the two houses so Ron got to know his uncle Haydn really well.

Mervin “Boyo” Coleman was a frequent visitor too, but only when Haydn was away playing darts. One day Haydn came home and found Boyo in bed with Rita. He stabbed Boyo and the police had to be called in. Rita wasn’t the only one Boyo visited. This time though he’d learned his lesson. No more fooling around. His bachelor days were over. He eventually married Rita and settled down in Porthcawl.

Barrie often joked about visiting Ron. Life was chaotic. Often there was a garden wheelbarrow parked in front of the fireplace with coal to add to the fire, ashes to rake out from the grate. There was a constant stream of people floating in and out of the house.

Yet, from this environment, came Ron, a Cambridge graduate and a good rugby player.

======IKE THE YANK

Ike the Yank lodged with Mrs. Edwards, widow of Luke Edwards. I don’t recall his real name. Like so many people in Thomas- town, although it was a small community, he was known only by his nick name.

Ike was best remembered for walking up Mey- ler Street from the Ely Hotel late Saturday night, throwing punches at the lamp posts and staring wildly around. Many people thought he was ‘punch drunk’. Perhaps he’d been a boxer once and had taken too many blows to the head. He was one of several older bachelors on the street with no one to come home to. Old Mrs. Edwards, like many older women took in lodgers to help pay the rent.

Mrs. Edwards was a large, soft spoken lady who kept geese in the back garden. They say that geese are even better than watchdogs to guard the house. With Ike the Yank, she also had a man around the house.

ILID RIVER: Lover’s Lane

No more than a small brook, the Ilid has its source in the bogs just above the reservoir about a mile from Meyler Street. It joins the River Ely under the motor way. The lane which runs close to the brook was our childhood link to the natural world.

A little upstream from the gate up to Llanilid farm stood a huge stately beech tree. It dominates the small valley below the farm house even to this day. Although I recalled this valley as my childhood playground where there were many climbing trees, by evening the beech tree became a meeting place for lovers.

One of the local characters in my youth was Jimmy Jones “False Teeth”. He was famous for pimping, though he wasn’t the only ‘pimper’ in Thomastown. In my day pimping meant spying on lovers.

Jimmy learned that at dusk on certain evenings a couple of lovers he’d been keeping his eye on would stroll up the lane and lie under the beech tree. One day Jimmy got to the tree well before dusk, climbed it and hid among the branches. As expected the lovers arrived and began their lovemaking under the tree. To get a better view Jimmy stirred the branches too roughly and the lovers looked up. The man shook his fist at Jimmy and threatened to knock his false teeth down his throat.

“I should be the angry one,” said Jimmy. “I was here before you!”

Quick witted was Jimmy and he probably saved himself a black eye.

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JENKINS

Len Jenkins had been in the army and had been a bit of an entertainer. He often did a ‘turn’ at the Thomastown Social Club. One of his sons, Eddie must have inherited his father’s love of the stage. He became a very accomplished ‘whistler’. His version of “In a Monastery Garden” showed his versatility and, he often joined visiting concert parties to give variety to the evening.

Probably the best known of the Jenkins family had no such gifts. He was Jimmy and had been known throughout the Ely Valley as “Jimmy Jinks”. He never married and never became a ‘star’ at anything. His main passion was Thomastown Rugby Club. He never played rugby himself but he was the club’s biggest fan and supporter for many years. He sometimes carried the water bottle to an injured player, he took tickets at the gate and pestered everyone to buy raffle tickets. Probably no one represented the spirit of our small village better than Jimmy.

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AARON and TOM JOHN

Behind Meyler Street was Gelli Seren Farm. It was run by two brothers, Aaron and Tom John. The farmland is covered with houses now but in my youth it was part of the country landscape. Cows and horses grazed in the meadows and in the summer the smell of new mown hay was heavy and sweet. Just below the farm was a quarry with a large pond just behind Newtown where there was a gap for access to the farm.

Because it was so close to the farm the quarry accumulated a lot of waste water and became very scummy but kids used to swim in it. It was from the quarry that the rock was quarried so the masons could build Thomastown.

Of the two brothers Tom looked more like a typical farmer. He was never out of his farm clothes and seemed content with a simple life. He had served in the First World war. He could never understand why young people went on holidays in Belgium. He’d been there. All he could recall was “rain, rain, rain—and horses pulling cannon, the mud up to their withers”.

Because I was the last person to run an allotment behind Meyler Street, I learned a lot about Tom and his brother. For years they’d collected rent for land for which they had no clear title. Tom asked me once, since I was the last gardener to have an allotment, whether I’d like to buy the land where Pant y Seren now stands. He wanted two hundred pounds. That was a lot of money in the fifties and too rich for me. 25

When the farm changed hands, the new owner, Shepherd carried on collecting rent for the use of bits of land behind and beyond Meyler Street. I had my doubts that any of the land had been part of the farm. It was likely a right of way when they carted rock from the quarry to build Thomastown.

My father, Ted Randal, Granny Bessant all had small holdings on that land. They could have claimed squatters rights decades ago. Instead they paid rent. Eventually I refused to pay Shepherd rent on a small lot where I’d built a garage. Jack Harvey had once kept chickens there. It didn’t take long for others to follow suit and claim the land as their own. ======KIFF

Gordon Kiff married Margaret Hellings. She was a big woman, raw boned like her father, Jack Hellings, the rugby player. Margaret was a strong personality, Gordon was much more subdued. While she bustled around the community doing church work, or social work, or tending to family problems, Gordon became the housekeeper.

He laboured to make their old miner stone house into something special. He worked with me on the coke ovens and he was totally unlike other men on the shift. He was a good, reliable worker, but he was obsessed with domestic issues like decorating and cooking rather than the manly arts. He was not in the least effeminate and it was good to see such a happy marriage.

In the kitchen Gordon was in charge. He had no problems putting on an apron or pinafore and trying out recipes. Our main contact with Gordon was when he’d retired. Sylvia and I were both active members of the Gardening Club. Sylvia always had several entries in the an- nual show where there were prizes for products from both garden and kitchen. Sylvia was a

good baker. Everything that came out of her kitchen was first class.

Gordon decided that maybe he should specialize if he wanted to win first prize. He decided that his sponge cakes would be his best bet. Imagine his surprise when Sylvia won as usual. He entered his sponge cakes every year after that but as far as I know first prize always eluded him.

It was wonderful to see a man pursue this pleasure the way Gordon did. He wasn’t a bit like me. I left everything domestic to Sylvia. 100 Meyler Street was her do- main and when she was alive it was like heaven on earth.

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“KING KONG”, EVANS

I remember many of the policeman who were colliery sergeants. It was a cushy job and seemed to go to experienced policemen as a reward before retirement.

Sergeant Evans was one of the colliery policemen who took his job very seriously. He was completely opposite to an earlier sergeant, Harry Rees, a good friend of mine.

Harry had played for Wales as a second row forward and was a committee member of Cardiff Rugby Club. Often when he was supposed to be on call, he’d leave me his phone number in Cardiff. He was well-liked since he overlooked the petty pilfering that went on. He always kept the big picture of safety and protection of the mine and the miners firmly in his mind. By contrast Sergeant Evans missed nothing. His huge presence was felt everywhere so we called him “King Kong”. Most people didn’t know him by any other name.

Evans had been keeping his eye on someone for some time. This man was a furtive person and Evans found his behaviour unusual. Instead of taking the usual path home he walked along the siding where railcars carried coal for the coke ovens.

Evans kept an eye on him but still couldn’t figure out what he was up to. When the man emerged from the siding and joined the path home he was empty- handed. He wasn’t stealing anything.

Eventually Evans put two and two together. The man’s wife Gwyneth worked in the canteen. Often the women in the canteen would take unused food home rather than let it waste. It wasn’t unusual to see a woman carrying a bag home after work. What he had been doing for a long time was to take the large lumps of coal from a railcar and place them where Gwyneth could pick them up later.

One evening Evans stopped Gwyneth and asked to look inside her bag. She opened her bags, and there were large chunks of coal, enough to keep the fire going overnight.

Gwyneth was frightened.

“I won’t charge you this time,” said Sergeant Evans “But this is the last time.”

“I won’t do it again, Mr. Kong,” said Gwyneth.

He was “King Kong,” he was the Law but she didn’t know his real name.

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LLANILID and LLANBAD (The old Church)

Llanilid and Llanbad still retains some of the beauty of the country lane I recall as a youth. It snakes its way up the small valley to the reservoir near the source of the brook. The area around the reservoir is a drainage basin for the large tracts of marshland which extends as high up as the area we called “the Peewit Bog”. Walking beyond the reservoir is like walking on a sponge, but there was a parish path which avoided the more marshy areas.

A favourite walk for Thomastown people on Sunday was to walk up Llanilid Lane, proceed through a small iron gate just beyond the reservoir and follow the path to Llanbad church. The church was a ruin 70 years ago but there was a stone wall around it and a stone stile to enter the churchyard. There were many gravestones.

Since that time farmers have taken stones from the walls and gravestones. In recent times treasure seekers have dug up the graveyard on the pretext of searching for King Arthur’s “Camelot”. At one time Llanbad (or St. Peter’s) was an important church for the hill farmers.

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LLEWELYN

Our next door neighbours when we moved to Thomastown from Gilfach were the Lle- welyns. Jenkin Llewelyn was a good friend of my father’s who often talked to him in Welsh over the garden wall. Both Mr. Llewelyn and his son, Reg were blind which cut them off from much of the social life in Thomastown. Luckily Dilwyn the second son had served in the army and had learned enough in the army kitchen to keep the house in order and to prepare food. He was the only one in the house who could see since Mrs. Llewelyn had passed away years before.

I’d never thought too much about the handicap of blindness until I got to know the son, Reg. He had learned Braille and had found employment. It was amazing to see Reg come tap-tap-tapping his way up Meyler Street. He said ‘Hello’ to everyone he passed by name, sometimes before they’d opened their mouths. He recognized dozens of voices from just a simple hello. He seemed to ‘see’ exactly where he was going even though he was totally blind.

There are many handicaps which you become more aware of as you get older. Surely the loss of sight must be the greatest . Living to a ripe old age and not being able to see would make every day in perpetual darkness a tough burden to bear.

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LEWIS: 100 MEYLER STREET

My father’s name was Lewis Emrys Lewis so in typical Welsh fashion he was called Lewis “Twice” to distinguish him from any other Lewis. When we moved from Peny- coedcae to Meyler Street around 1920, there were clear advantages for us. My father had borrowed money from his brother William to buy the house, 100 Meyler Street. Now he could walk to work at Coedely Colliery: no more catching a tram to Trehafod from Pontypridd as he had done when we lived in Penycoedcae.

We were a big family so I’m sure although there were other Lewis families on the street, ours was the biggest. The Great War was over and with my older brothers and sisters starting to bring money into the house the future looked bright. My father 29 acquired a smallholding at the end of the street. He had chickens and pigs and a large vegetable garden. He had a huge stone slab in the back pantry to salt bacon and there was always slabs of bacon hanging on hooks in the kitchen to cure. There was plenty of vegetables to eat. There was always eggs, and chicken for the pot.

I had a wonderful childhood. I was big, strong, loved sports and I enjoyed going to school in Cwmlai. At thirteen I was too big for the desks, and I was put to work doing odd jobs around the school. I was just putting in time. Before I reached the school- leaving age of fourteen, my father secured my release from school. I was the youngest son but old enough in my father’s opinion to start earning my keep. I went down the mine when I was only13 ½. Although I had a very successful and lucky life and helped Sylvia raise a successful family, I sometimes wonder about the ‘might have beens’ if I’d stayed in school.

In the army I noted the big difference between officers and ‘other ranks’ was the level of schooling. It wasn’t intelligence or aptitude it was the old school tie that mattered.

I worked for about eight years in Coedely Colliery. I experienced the devastating ef- fect of labour strife in the twenties. I remember the rallying cry during the 1926 strike, “Not a minute on the day, not a penny off the pay.”

As the strike dragged on I had time to reflect. Mining was not for me. I’m well into my nineties now. Could I have lived that long if I’d stayed down the mine? I don’t think so! Of course I wasn’t thinking of old age when I was a teenager. I know many of my generation who stayed down the mine all their lives never reached sixty.

In 1933 I moved to London to work in construction. It was pick and shovel work. My sweetheart, Sylvia moved to London too and worked in service for a wealthy family. We were married in 1935 and I did not live in Thomastown again until 1946.

When I came out of the army in 1945 I joined Sylvia and the boys in Gilfach were she’d spent the war years with her mother and father.

My mother was dying with cancer in

100 Meyler Street and she asked me to move in with her. She was alone and needed help. She knew how cramped we were in Gilfach and how unsettled I was. She said if I moved I’d never have to move again.

Moving back to Meyler Street seemed the solution to all my problems. When my mother died on August 21, 1946 her will was read with me and my brothers and sister standing around. 100 Meyler Street would be mine. The tension was hard to bear. A house represented a lifetime of hard work to which many had contributed and my mother’s will seemed unfair. I remember Jack Mould, my mother’s brother trying to ease the tension a bit. He was what we called ‘long headed’ and could see strife ahead. He tried to get me to disclaim the will. I refused. I’d served my country and like many other soldiers I was finding it very difficult to settle. Besides what right does anyone have to change anyone’s will after they have passed away? I stuck by my guns but paid the price. My sons grew up barely aware they had uncles and aunts. I had little contact with my brothers for the rest of my life.

Moving back to Meyler Street was one more lucky episode in my life. It was hard work to convince Sylvia to move from Gilfach. After she had lived in 100 Meyler Street for just a few months she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

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MAY

Mr. and Mrs. May were quiet people who minded their business. They had plenty to keep them busy. During the war they had a houseful of children, all evacuees from London. Most of them were from the East End of London where the bombing had left many children homeless. Some were orphans. Brian and Barrie used to come home with lots of stories about the evacuees on our street, especially the ones who lived with Mrs. May.

Most of the children had never been in the country. Soon they were climbing trees, swimming in the river, groping for trout and eels and playing on the mountain or in the back lane. One boy who couldn’t adjust was David Levy. The children always referred to him as Dai Jew, which didn’t help matters. He was a dour, surly boy who constantly lashed out. Children can be cruel! By contrast in the same house was Joey Green. He was a ‘happy go lucky’ young boy who always wore a wide grin. More than anyone else he took to country living. He always had his pockets full of worms, spiders and beetles. His favourites were frogs and he usually had one in his hand throughout the summer.

Joey, specialty was bird-nesting. Although our boys went bird-nesting, I never encouraged it. I’ve always loved birds and deep down, I didn’t approve of taking any eggs 31

from any nest no matter how many eggs there were in the clutch. There are probably stricter laws against it now.

One story I can remember involved getting an egg from a crow’s nest in a tall tree. The traditional way to collect the egg was to wear a jacket, put the egg in the pocket and slowly climb down. Of course, even in a loose jacket pocket the egg broke which made for a very messy pocket. Another method was to take a pin up the tree, prick two hole in the egg, ‘blow it out’, then throw the egg shell clear of the tree to drift slowly down. Sometimes the egg shell caught in a branch and was broken. Sometimes it floated to earth, only to hit a rock and break.

Joey’s innovation was to put the egg in his mouth, descend the tree, then ‘blow it out’. Even this wasn’t fool proof since it’s often harder to climb Ken & Letia down than to climb up. Several times the egg would crack in Joey’s mouth. He even swallowed one or two. All he did was grin and say, “Crows eggs don’t taste too bad.

======NASH

For many years, long before Cassie ran the corner store at the top end of Meyler Street it was run by Ethel Nash. She was a spinster who lived with her parents behind the store. Apart from the store which kept her busy every day the only other loves of her life were her two old parents and her black chow dogs. At least that’s what we all thought. She was thin like a hairpin, wore tinted glasses and kept her hair very short and tight on top, sometimes in a bun. All she seemed to do was take her dogs for a walk and run the store.

The only thrill for Ethel it seemed was putting her chows in a Dog Show. At least so we thought. It was almost impossible to imagine Ethel having a love life. She was dedicated to the store, her parents, and the dogs—a confirmed spinster.

Close to the store lived a Lewis family. Edgar Lewis lived with his married brother, Billy. Edgar was a happy go lucky red-headed miner who’d remained a bachelor and seemed content to lodge with his brother. Many were surprised when they heard Ed- gar was throwing his hat at Ethel. The two were seen engaged in conversation over the garden wall-not long enough to raise suspicion but significant enough to keep an eye on.

Edgar, like many of the older bachelors on Meyler Street, enjoyed walking. They were the ones most often seen walking in Llanilid Lane or sitting on a bench watching the world go by. So, it was natural when Edgar saw Ethel walking her dogs, that he should stop for a short chat, since they were neighbours.

Suspicion heightened one day when Edgar was seen passing notes to Ethel over the garden wall. Things were getting serious. Edgar was making sure that any future encoun- ters in the lane would not be random. They would be planned. They would be dates.

Although Edgar would continue to see Ethel ‘by chance’ when she went walking the ro- mance went nowhere. Edgar was like Dilwyn Llewelyn next door who never married his sweetheart, Dolly Bessant. While her folks were alive, and to some degree depend- ent on their offspring there would be no wedding bells. Whatever little intimacy was possible between Edgar and Ethel, it always had to be in secret. They never did marry. Edgar spent his latter years still walking, scarred by love lost and bent over with pain from old mining injuries and the infirmity of old age. 33

NICKNAMES

Nicknames have often been used to distinguish among several people carrying the same name. They also broke down barriers. Few things gave a community cohesiveness better than the happy familiarity people had with each other.

Here are some Thomastown examples:

Tom Bessant...... Flying Tom” Arthur Crier “Sharky” Stan Cornish ...... “Ketchel” Bobby Cowdrey...“Dobo” Mrs. Davies ...... “Ha Ha” Mrs. Davies ...... “Pyle” Dai Evans ...... “Rags” Idris Evans ...... “Garth Hall” Mog Evans ...... “Pigeons” Mr. Evans ...... “Long Arthur” Will Gregory ..... “Banky” Edie Gulliford ... “Stockings” Eddie Harris ...... “Polo” Jack Harvey ...... “ Pal” Fred Hellings ..... “Poddle” Ken Jenkins ...... “Shaky” Eva Jones ...... “Trumpet” Jimmy Jones ...... “False Teeth” Raymond Jones... “Slosh” Mrs. Jones ...... “Irish” Wyndham Lewis. “Snowball” Tommy Myatt .... “Megan” Dai Phillips ...... “Dirty” Ernie Streeter .... “Piggy” Will Thomas ..... “Potcher” Bob Williams .... “Chips” Jim Williams ..... “Pen Wen”

There are dozens of others. This is just a sample.

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OUR MOUNTAINS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN

ODE TO WINDMILLS

Our mountain will never be the same again. We’re all miners on the dole Because those revolving monsters Are standing on our coal.

When we go to bed at night We find we cannot sleep. We now start counting windmills Instead of counting sheep.

………………….. by

Wyndham Lewis

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OUTINGS

Although Thomastown was less than fifteen miles from the sea as the crow flies, most people went to the seaside only once or twice a year when I was young. There were only a handful of cars in the whole Tonyrefail area. To get to Porthcawl by bus was a tedious process with bus changes in Talbot Green and Bridgend. Another alternative was a bus to the Llantrisant railway station in Pontyclun to get the train to Porthcawl. The most favoured way to get to the seaside was by chartered bus. In the early days it was the “charabanc”, a bus with wooden seats. In later years the familiar red Rhondda buses were brought into service for the Sunday outing.

Since Thomastown was a coal-mining community one “outing” was sponsored by the Thomastown Social Club. It took place during Miners’ fortnight, two weeks in August when the colliery closed down and the miners took a holiday. Incidentally, the first day 35 of the holiday was called Mabon’s Day, named after William Abraham who took the bardic name Mabon. He was leader of the coal miners’ union and the first MP for the Rhondda. He was a big hero in our family since we were distant relatives. My grandfa- ther William Lewis married his sister, Sarah.

The “outing’ on which we took the boys had become huge by the early fifties. Up to a dozen double Decker buses were lined along Francis Street early in the morning. It was only about an hour’s drive to Porthcawl but there was a 30 mile an hour speed limit, the roads were windy and narrow and the holiday traffic made the journey a very slow one. The buses were parked in the huge parking area near the railway station. There were many buses from the other mining valleys already parked when we got there.

It was incredible how much we were able to do in a day. The first order of business was to rent deck chairs for Coney Beach while there was still room. By mid morning it could be packed solid. My priority was to get into my trunks and swim in the sea. I’d loved swimming since I was a boy. Until I built a caravan and kept it in Trecco Bay as our summer place the “outing” provided me with the few chances I had to swim in the ocean. Even in August the sea was cold. Although my lips turned blue when I entered the water, I knew the agony would soon wear off.

Just as it has been in my youth the fairground was the main attraction for the boys. Right away they left me and Sylvia on the beach to look after the food, towel, trunks, kites and buckets and spades. Until recently there were still rides at the fairground that dated from the beginning of the twentieth century. I recall the Ghost Train, Hall of Mirrors, dodg’em cars, water slide, figure of eight and many carousels.

There were dozens of stalls to test skills: the rifle range, coco- nut shy, darts, and many challenges to get rings on pegs, or balls in buckets. It was common to see people walking around with huge stuffed animals they had won as prizes.

From my observation they’d spent a lot of money trying.

Above the beach there was a paved area with many snack and refreshment stands. Often

there’d be a large parked truck there too, the back open and a “cheap Jack” selling china, house ornaments, mostly ‘seconds’ he’d got from the factory .

On the beach there were pony and donkey rides. Some children spent hours on the beach building elaborate sand castles. There was constant movement from beach to fairground to get pop, ice cream, crisps or candy floss.

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PEEWIT BOG

When I was a boy the Lapwings came back every year to what was called the Peewit bog. It was over the crest of the mountain and a few hundred yards west of the old mountain road to Llanharan. Usually we crossed just beyond the bog to another old farm road to Llanbad Church.

The Peewit Bog drained into the valley which fed the reservoir. Often there were cur- lews and snipes flying over the same area.

I don’t believe many walk over the mountain any more. In my day it was wonderful in springtime to be on the mountain and watch the bog come back alive with the sound of the peewits.

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PIGEONS

A familiar sight in Thomastown was a flight of pigeons circling around the streets. The two best know pigeons fanciers were Frank Webb and Mog Evans. I knew Frank well because I worked with him on the Coke Ovens for many years. He’d also played rugby for Thomastown at the same time I did in the early thirties. In the middle of Meyler Street Mog and Frank lived close to each other for several years. That meant a heavy concentration of pigeons about half way down the back lane of Meyler Street. Frank Webb moved eventually and built new pigeon lofts across the Ely River near Cassie’s farm. Ken Evans, Mog’s son, a chip off the old block, took over the Webb pigeon lofts from Frank eventually, and was still keeping pigeons there when I left Meyler Street.

Like many hobbies, keeping pigeons has a culture all its own. It’s based on two simple facts: the instinct of the pigeon to fly home and the recognition that goes to the fastest flyer as well as to the owner of the fastest pigeon. 37

Apart from pigeons and a place to keep them, the serious pigeon fancier needed a club to belong to and an official pigeon clock. He also needed baskets to carry the birds by train to distant places where, on race days, they were released.

On race day there was excitement along Meyler Street. If, for example birds were to be released at Crewe Station at nine o’clock Saturday morning the experts would know ap- proximately when to expect the pigeons home that evening. Small crowds would gather in the back lane close to the pigeon lofts.

As the estimated time of arrival approached everyone would be looking up at the evening sky. Both Frank and Mog would be waiting close to their lofts with their clocks. As soon as a pigeon entered the loft the activity would be intense. Off would come the identification ring around the pigeon’s leg. As soon as it was punched into the clock, it stopped the clock, thus recording the time of arrival.

The clock would then be quickly taken to the Pigeon Club in Thomas- town Social Club where the race offi- cials entered the time. The same procedure would be repeated in the several Pigeon clubs in Tonyrefail, Trebanog, Coedely and the surrounding areas.

Probably the most amusing sight was to see a pigeon drop down to a nearby roof top or a telephone pole and simply take a rest after the long flight home. The owner would be dancing up and down in frustration encouraging the bird to go into the loft. They would try every trick in the book: coaxing the bird with millet or corn, or talking gently to them, almost beg- ging them to go into the loft.

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QUARRELERS

There were some fierce quarrelers on Meyler Street, many of them close to our house. For some reason the people at the top end of Meyler Street thought they lived in a better neighbourhood than those who lived down the street. No one knew exactly where the top end of the street started but for most it was the gap where Meyler Street turned onto the main road. Beyond the gap where we lived there was no through traffic. It was assumed to be a zone of tranquility. Nothing could be further from the truth. I had known Edith Gulliford since I was a young man when we had called her Stock- ings. She lived just a few doors up from us but we avoided her as much as possible. She was like a volcano always on the verge of eruption. She had beet red complex- ion and the lungs of an opera singer. She would quarrel with anybody about anything at the drop of a hat. It's not surprising that her two sons, John and Allan should take to quarrelling so easily.

The Gulliford boys, at an early age loved to dress up in their mother's old clothes and chase each other up and down the street. This simple game of pursuit nearly always de- generated into a shouting and screaming match with one chasing the other through the front door of their house, up the stairs, through the back bedroom window, up the garden, over the garden wall and back around to the front door again. Usually one carried a bread knife or a poker. Stockings couldn't control her own temper so what chance did she have of controlling her boys?

Hilda Lloyd, next door up from us was also a fierce quarreler. She was a Streeter and her mother old Mrs Streeter lived next door but one down from us. If Hilda wasn't on the rampage about something her mother would be. Hilda's husband, Dai was a quiet inoffensive man, a good colleague of mine who worked as clerk at the Coke Ovens where I worked. I knew that if Dai had been anything like Hilda their lives or their marriage would have been of very short duration.

Dai's solution depended on the season. In the summer he worked late in his garden. In the morning he got up early to pick mushrooms, then went to work. Through- out the year he went to lots of evening meetings and choir practice. He avoided contact and the possibility of conflict as much as he could. Dai didn't smoke and he didn't drink. He was a tidy fellow and he never did anything I could see that would make anyone angry. Although the walls in our house were very thick we often heard Hilda in full flight about something. We never heard Dai. He'd learned long ago to offer no resistance.

I quarreled with Hilda a few times then decided Dai had the best solution. Although she lived next door and I often saw her just a few feet away on the doorstep, in the back garden or in the street I never spoke to her again after our last dispute. I hadn't spoken to her for more than eight years by the time I moved from Meyler Street in 2007.

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RANDAL

Ted Randal’s household on Meyler Street could furnish stories that would fascinate for hours. Ted was a tall, tough, sinewy man with a house full of children and animals. Chickens and ducks roamed freely around the household when they were invited in.

Ted had a lean bristly face and long hairs sprouted from his eyebrows like antennas. We often joked they`d made good bean poles. He looked like a gypsy with his flat hat and dirty red muffler knotted around his neck, but he was firmly rooted in the community.

He kept a smallholding next to my father`s garden and piggery at the top end of Mey- ler Street. Like my father Ted had many children to feed so he grew his own vegetables and kept chickens and ducks for meat and eggs.

I don`t know exactly how people lived in the Randal house, but there must have been over a dozen. Many of the younger children were the natural offspring of some of the daughters. Ted brought them up as his own.

The Randal girls were very sturdy and worked at the chain works, where they pulled their weight alongside the men. Ted had a job with the local council road crew. They kept our community, roads and streets tidy.

In Ted`s retirement he was often consulted about gates, drains, culverts and ditches. He was an expert on ancient pathways and right of ways. He knew all the plants in the hedgerows and their medicinal value.

Among all the people in Thomastown he seemed closest to the natural world. He loved the country lanes and that extra sense country people have about the meaning of the signs that nature gives us.

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RUGBY

I was the captain of Thomastown Rugby Club in 1932. I was only 21 and most of the team were around that age. Many of us spent a lot of time and money in Bruce Bird’s store in the middle of Meyler Street. We called him Birdy and we’d been giving him business since we’d been teenagers. Birdy was the chairman of the rugby club and encouraged us to use his store as a meeting place. He was a humorous man but he had a good head on his shoulders for business too. He kept on finding imaginative ways to keep us amused in his store, and spending money.

At one time rugby was played on a piece of boggy ground about a hundred yards up Llanilid lane past Streeter’s piggery. There’s a couple of large houses on the old pig farm now, and until recently the field where we played was covered with bulrushes.

Another playing field we used was Tynycoed cricket pitch close to the tip which is now long gone. We changed at the Ely Hotel and walked up the Black Path to the field.

This sounds a bit rough and ready, but we had a good team. One of our centres. Glan James was selected to play for Wales. Unfortunately the game against Ireland was cancelled because the ground was frozen. He got the bad news while crossing to Dublin on the ferry. I can’t understand why but he wasn’t chosen again. 41

Rugby in those days was coarse in many ways, though there were many good players in the valley teams. Some teams played such dirty rugby that it was sometimes very difficult to raise a team to play them. Cefn Gribbwr comes to mind. We had to beg players to get on the coach.

Another team was in Hopkinstown. The team was called Graigwen and the Moody brothers, Frank and Glen were their stars. Both were professional boxers. Frank was the British champion at the time. To get a team together to play Graigwen was a chal- lenge since the game would be more like a ‘punch up’ than a rugby game. Again, we had to beg people to get on the coach.

Thomastown Football Rugby Club — 1932-33

Getting referees could also be a problem. For regular home games we’d get a local referee. We’d expect the same when we played away. When there was a trophy at stake it would be different. Once we played Maerdy in a cup game and there was a neutral referee from Trebanog, Ted Napkit. In that game it was clear that Ted was worried about his own skin more than the game. He made his decisions according to which team intimidated him most.

Photo: Brian Lewis

Another star referee was our own Jimmy Jones “False Teeth”. Once in a game on Tynycoed’s cricket pitch Jimmy had to make a difficult decision. A try was scored and if the try was converted it would give the visitors a victory. The kick was a simple one. The ball sailed over the bar. Then Jimmy made a decision which may have been a first in Welsh Rugby. Our posts were quite short and when the kick bisected them, Jimmy judged it had been ‘too high’. That’s ridiculous of course. The referee only has to judge if the ball crossed the bar whether the uprights are high or low.

Rugby was the heart and soul of Thomastown just as it was in most other mining com- munities. I suspect that most home referees were a bit biased.

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SMITH

Next to Stan Cornish lived Mr. and Mrs. Smith. They had raised a grandson, Tony Wells who they treated as their own son. It was quite common in Thomastown to see offspring of sons and daughters living with grandparents.

One summer round 1948, Tony’s mother Josie came by car from London to visit her parents and to see Tony. She was married to a Londoner and she and her husband brought with them a boot full of toys they aimed to sell.

One item that took my fancy was a very well built scooter. Tony brought it up to the house for me to take a good look at it. I asked him the price and he said seven shillings and six pence. That was a very good price so I gave him a ten shilling note and told him to keep the half crown change for himself.

A few minutes later Tony was back. He’d made a big mistake. The price was twenty- seven and six pence, a pound more then he had asked. A pound was a lot of money in 1948.

I think the Londoner knew exactly what he was doing. He was what we called a “wide boy”. The cheap price was a ‘come on’. What was I to do? The scooter ended up costing me thirty bob. I couldn’t very well ask Tony to return the half crown. I had the scooter and the “wide boy” knew I would be too proud to return it. I should have known better but I was ‘taken’.

STREETER

I won’t speak ill of the dead and I try to see some good in everybody. There are many people with nothing good to say about the Streeters.

Walt Streeter, two doors down from us on Meyler Street was a very enterprisng man. He held down a regular job at Coedely yet found time and energy to build up a successful piggery. He ended up buying the Rhiw farm. Ernie, his son, who we all called “Piggy” became the farmer and lived on Rhiw farm. It was a sheep farm but he kept pigs and grazed cattle and horses too.

I hate to tell you Sir, but you are a pig!

I’ve known Piggy most of my life. When he moved up to the Rhiw farm he guarded his property jealously like most farmers do. He discouraged children from using the old mountain road that went over the top to Llanharan. His farm land was on both sides of the road. He complained that people left gates open, so his sheep were going astray. Some gates higher up on the mountain top he began to wire tight so no one could open them.

I felt sorry for Ernie in the last years of his life. By the time he moved to Rhiw farm what few friends the Streeters had in Thomastown were long gone.

I used to see him very often at Thomastown Post Office. He used to drive down from the farm to collect his mail. I went down to mail something or collect my pension. I think he just waited around the Post Office on my ‘pension day’ just to talk to me. I was always polite and friendly to him. He always offered to drive me home. I always gave the same answer. I needed the exercise and I enjoyed the walk; also the chance to talk to people on the street.

Old Walt Streeter and his wife, Hilda, their daughter, Reg, their son and Piggy himself had argued and quarrelled so much there was no one who wanted to bother with them. Piggy, isolated on the farm became more isolated when his wife died. She had been in a wheelchair for years.

It’s sad really when you see people work so hard to achieve happiness and fail in the end because they lose touch with their community. It’s alright to fight for what you believe in but life shouldn’t have to be one constant fight.

======SYLVIA

In my book, “My Long and Lucky Life” I mentioned the good fortune I’ve enjoyed. I worked very hard but I was very lucky too. Probably my biggest piece of luck was mar- rying Sylvia. She’d been with me in London during tough times. She raised the three boys on her own during the five years I was in the army.

She came as a very shy and quiet woman to Thomastown, very uncertain as to how she would adapt to new surroundings. Less than four miles away was Gilfach Goch, the village she grew up in and loved. Her mother was a widow there, living alone and needing her. The eventual solution was for her to come to Meyler Street too!

In her eighties Sylvia had become like a grandmother to many of the children at the top end of Meyler Street. She was an active member of the gardening club and had acquired many hobbies. She always knitted but she became interested in other creative things—pressing flowers, collecting shells and assembling them into colourful pictures.

It was wonderful to see her become an outgoing person. She was a regular shopper at Cassie’s store to pick up the latest news. What was most striking was the ways 45 she found to be helpful to people. I have mentioned the Allen family. Ida Allen lived alone and disabled. Sylvia spent countless hours with her and loved preparing food for her. Sylvia had been a carer all her life and it was her natural inclination.

A long time ago I told Sylvia if she should pass away before me I’d never marry again. She looked at it the wrong way and was very upset. What I meant was that I could never be lucky twice.

She did pass away before me but not before I’d spent 69 years of happiness and con- tentment. The thought of looking for another partner never entered my mind.

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I must mention Shep, our dog. He brought a lot of happiness to both of us. I felt sometime he could read our mind and sense our moods. He kept me fit and never failed to remind me when it was time for a walk. He never wanted to walk up the lane. He must have had a bad experience there at one time. His favourite route was past Tynycoed and up the Black Path, a path I’d taken for so many years when I walked to the Coke Ovens. When Shep died, I knew he could never be replaced.

Sylvia, Wyndham & Shep

Photo: Brian Lewis

THOMASTOWN SOCIAL CLUB

The centre of social activity in Thomastown was the Thomastown Social Club. My first contact with the club was when I joined the Territorial Army in the early 30’s. We were called the Voluntary Reserve and we trained in the Cosy Hall, part of the club which served as cinema and dance hall from time to time. We used it as a drill hall. I became the sergeant in charge of 32 men and I revelled in the discipline of army life. Under the cinema/dance/drill hall was a billiard hall run by “Long Arthur” Evans.

In those says there was no such thing as hiring a babysitter. If there was no grandma to look after the children, the mother took her children with her. Often in the Cosy Hall cinema a baby would start crying, a mother would become agitated and “Long Arthur” would appear and turn up the lights. “There’s a baby peeing on the floor,” he would announce. “It’s dripping on my billiard tables.” Everyone would howl with laughter the lights would go out again and the film would continue. The Territorial army gave me additional chances to travel. We went to army camps in Aberystwyth and Salisbury Plain.

For my efforts with the voluntary reserve I received £3.15s a quarter, enough to keep me in clothing. There were also occasional visits to Cardiff by train to visit the Drill Hall. Captain Hammond kept regular check on our progress there: also on visits to Thomastown.

Thomastown Social Club was a lively place. There were billiard teams and darts teams. There was a pigeon club. On many Saturday nights concert parties could provide entertainment. Often we’d hold a ‘Go as you, please’ competition. Local men and women would do a turn and would often provide better entertainment then the semi- professionals we hired.

In later years the club became more and more a place to play bingo. When women were allowed to join the vulgar language declined, also drunkenness.

Sylvia went to the club once or twice. I went for my regular Friday night out. Some- time, but very rarely I went on Sunday. Although she never approved of the club, she rarely objected. I think she would have been happier if we’d never allowed in the women. I know nothing made her more upset than to see a woman worse for wear.

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TYNYCOED

We lived in Tynycoed for about two years while I worked in Bridgend on the construction of the arsenal. We lived in #12 where Jack Slade, the Coedely Railway station mas- ter rented us rooms. Barrie was born there and I was called up to join the army from Tynycoed in 1940. During the war years Sylvia and the boys lived with her father and mother at 28 Fairview, Gilfach Goch.

I never really got to know Tynycoed very well, though it was the next street over from Meyler Street. I renewed contact when we moved back to Meyler Street after the war. Tommy Griffith lived in Tynycoed. We’d both played for Thomastown in 1932 when we were unbeaten. He and I sold raffle tickets to raise money to restart the team. We raised £3.10, enough to buy eighteen jerseys and pairs of socks through contacts I still had in Bombay. Cotton goods were cheap in India.

Other rugby players in Tynycoed included father and son, Reg and Keith Hendy and Tommy and Ron Rees. Ron “Puny” Davies played for Penygraig and Penarth.

One of the most interesting families in Tynycoed were the Prings. There were four girls in the family and two boys. They were considered very poor and the boys were rough and ready. The oldest girl Iris, however, became the first person in Thomastown to go to University. She ended up teaching in a grammar school. Her sister, Shirley also went to University, got a degree in Nursing and became a sister at the University hospital in Cardiff. Another sister, Evelyn also became a nurse.

Next door to the Prings lived the Church family. Billie Church a friend of Brian’s got a PhD in Geology and became head of the Geology Department in a university in Can- ada.

After we moved to Meyler Street from Gilfach Goch, I walked along Tynycoed to the Coke Ovens where I worked. There were some interesting combinations of names like: White, Green and Brown. There were the Chappell and the Church families. Although the street sign said Pembroke Street most people called it Tynycoed.

Opposite Tynycoed, on the other side of the railway and the River Ely below was Cwmlai, the school I went to until I left to work underground. All Thomastown children went to Cwmlai. Many passed the eleven plus exams and went on to Tonyrefail Grammar School. Iris Pring led the way for others in Thomastown to pursue a university education.

A letter from Iris Pring to Billie Church gives some idea of how the world was opened up to those who followed her. “My son, Martin is a doctor. He is Assistant Professor of Emergency Medicine at the University of Arkansas in Little Rock. He has worked in

Bermuda, Australia and New Zealand. He is off to Antarctic next week. He goes as ship’s doctor on a Russian Nuclear Icebreaker. One year he goes to the North Pole, and the next year he goes down toward the south.”

That seems such a long way from our small community of Thomastown where his mother grew up.

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UNCLES

My father had five brothers. William (1873), David (1878), Daniel (1881), Wyndham (1885) Brinley (1881). My father was the only brother who worked in the mines all his life. Both Dan and Brinley were soldiers in the Great War and worked on the barges on the Glamorgan Canal. William the oldest was an astute businessman. He lived very close to the Twyn on Southern Street in Caerphilly. “Twyn” means hump or hillock. It was the site of the market place in Caerphilly for several hundred years. I don’t know what kind of trading William was in but he loaned my father 200 pounds to buy 100 Meyler Street in 1920, a lot of money then, so he must have been successful. I still have the small book which recorded how my father paid off the entire debt over a twenty year period.

Uncle David or Davey as I called him remained a bachelor. He lived with us on Meyler Street for some time, so I got to see what an eccen- tric man he was. He’d worked underground for a short time as a “door boy” but he decided he pre- ferred the open air. He looked like something out of a Charles Dickens novel with his fly back collar, his drain pipe pants and rolled up um- brella. My mother did her best to make him look tidy. She was always sewing--often putting patches over patches. His second name was Abraham since his mother, Sarah was an Abraham, sister to Mabon.

He had no responsibilities and no real need to work, other than odd 49 jobs. He’s what was called “long headed”. He kept abreast of things and loved attend- ing meetings when public issues were discussed. He always created a stir because he had clear convictions and a powerful way of expressing them. He never sought public office but he had an impact on public opinion.

Davey was a very thrifty man. Once he told my mother he was going to Pontypridd market and needed a large shopping bag. Ever hopeful, my mother give him the biggest bag she had.

When Davey arrived home from Pontypridd market there was much speculation. He’d never done this before. My mother opened what seemed like an empty bag and some apples spilled out—a pound of sour cooking apples. I don’t know whether he paid any rent for his time with us in Meyler Street but I doubt it. He always told my mother he’d see her children got something when he passed on. All we got from Davey was lots to joke about.

My uncle Wyndham was someone I feel close to. I’d been given the same name. He was a very colourful man, but in a different way to Davey. He was a tough customer. Like William he’d been a businessman. At various times he’d been a publican, a bookie, and a boxing promoter. He had been a light heavy weight boxer himself when he’d been younger. He’d even fought at the National Sporting Club in London where the gentry threw golden sovereigns into the ring after a rousing fight. He showed me a plaque once, inconspicuous among the many other trophies. It was from the Na- tional Sporting Club.

I remember me and my sister Hilda working in ‘The Lion’ in Treorchy which he ran. He did everything in the Lion including throwing rowdy people out by the scruff of the neck. Uncle Wyndham had unusual drinking hours and a back room where he served the local businessman when the bar closed. It was my job to deliver a bottle from the bar to the police sergeant on Sunday for turning a blind eye.

Cliff and Leslie, my older brother, served beer in the marquees in Pontypridd when Uncle Wyndham was promoting a big fight. He was a very enterprising man and when he visited 100 Meyler Street he drove a fancy red Renault. Crowds would gather around to look at it since there were very few cars around the valleys at that time.

He was such an interesting man that there was a feature article on him in the Western Mail by a writer who called himself “The Stroller” I don’t have a copy of it any more but it created a lot of interest.

These are the uncles I associate mostly with Thomastown: William who financed the purchase of the house, Davey who lived with us, and Wyndham who brought excitement to our lives from time to time because he led such a colourful life.

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VOCALISTS

Thomastown Social Club has done a lot to promote the enjoyment of music, especially singing. There was so much local talent that we often had a ‘Go as you please” evening instead of hiring a concert party. Everyone who performed got a free pint so there were plenty of volunteers. Often the local performers were more enjoyable than the semi-professionals on the club circuit.

Cassie’s husband, Ted Williams would open the evening with the National Anthem in Welsh and English. The Jones family had even more soloists than the Williams family. Ossie Jones, a really deep bass sang “Blind Boy. Then the rest would take over: Jean Jones: Paper Roses Les Jones: Autumn Leaves Pearl Jones: All of Me Ray and Glyn Jones: Anything

They could all sing but Pearl Jones, made my hair stand on end. Her voice was deep and resonant. With training she could have been a top class professional singer.

Les Bunce was a good baritone. He sang, “Shake Hands with a Millionaire”.

The Buckleys from Tynycoed were also very talented. Brian sang with the Gentlemen Songsters for many years. His fun songs included “Donkey’s Serenade” and a medley of Danny Kaye songs. George Buckley played solo on the Drums and Jane Buckley gave her rendition of “The Old Rugged Cross” to add sobriety to the evening. Dai Rees (The Dray) sang too but only when he’d had a few.

Diane Coleman sang, “Let’s Twist Again”. Banji, Graham’s friend was a rock and roller and sang, “I’m all Shook Up”.

There were less talented performers who also added variety and fun. Bill Bolter, married to Edie Gulliford, had so much volume he always pushed the mike away with con- tempt. Cyril Banwell performed a comic song with Slogger Thomas who ended on the floor ‘dead’, shot in the head.

Two of the Williams family were also regular performers. Jim Penwen’s son, John, and his daughter Eirwyn were exceptional singers who sang on the club circuit. In Thomas- town they sang for a pint like everyone else.

Trevor Williams sang, “Some Enchanted Evening” from South Pacific. Graham joined him in “Joshua ‘fit’ the Battle of Jericho.”

Sometimes I would do a song from Sigmund Romberg’s “The Desert Song”--“One Alone”--Lonely as a Desert Breeze.

I wasn’t in the same class as the Jones or Williams singers but I could carry a tune and enjoyed those evening when we made our own entertainment.

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WILLIAMS

Although Richard William helped put Tonyrefail on the map in the world of music, his Music Centre was in Thomastown. I think this was a love/hate relationship between our community and the Williams family because they hadn’t acknowledged Thomas- town. The family was originally from the Rhondda and credited those roots with the creation of the Williams dynasty.

I was always very proud of what Richard Williams accomplished in Thomastown. I don’t think I was ever more moved in my life than when I heard his women choir singing Bohemian Rhapsody. I sent him a letter of congratulations when he got his

MBE—he told me it was the only one he got from Thomastown. His choir travelled the world and were hailed everywhere. The Williams family made a major contribution to music. Dick’s brothers Jim “Penwen”, Trevor and Ossie were members of Richard’s choir, “The Gentlemen Song- sters”. Their sister, Ginny married Len Jenkins, himself an entertainer. Their son Eddie, an amazing whistler often joined the Songsters to perform his favourite piece, “In a Monastery Garden”. Another sister married Trevor Lloyd, also a valuable member of the choir.

There were other prominent musicians in Meyler Street. In the end house at the bottom of Meyler Street lived the Davey family. Their son Melvyn was a violinist. Part of the Davey house was above Will Pearce’s green grocery store and there was a balcony where Melvyn practised. He was first violinist with the Welsh National Orchestra. An- other shopkeeper called Highley had a sister-in-law, Marian who lived with the High- leys. She played cello with the National Orchestra too.

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YORATH

Ivor Yorath helped me and Tom Griffiths re-establish rugby in Thomastown after the war. Ivor was a centre in his day, I was a forward and I took responsibility to teach rugby at the Youth Club in Cwmlai School. Ivor lived just behind 100 Meyler in Pentwyn, a large house on its own acreage.

Ivor worked on the coke ovens with me so I knew him well. We worked well together. When we agreed to teach rugby at Cwmlai we thought we’d be paid. At least the youth leader said he’d try to get some money for us since the youth were clamouring to learn rugby. As the weeks went by we became more and more exasperated. We had hardly started some nights when a figure would appear waving his arms and demanding that we release everyone for choir practice or some other activity.

We realized the enthusiasm for rugby was so great that many of the other activities were being threatened. They couldn’t allow rugby to take over. We stopped coaching. It was clear to us that though the youth were excited the leader was actively trying to un- dermine our efforts, at least that’s the way we felt.

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ZEALOUS PEOPLE

Mrs. Patrick was a very large woman who ran the Salvation Army in Thomastown. The Salvation Army building was between Meyler Street and Tynycoed. Although Mrs. Patrick was a moral and very spiritual person she was a practical woman too. She was the one who ‘laid people out’ before burial. In the early days that was done in the front parlour.

She came around Thomastown social club every Saturday night selling the “War Cry”. She wore her Salvation Army uniform and everyone likely bought a “War Cry’. I doubt many took it home, but everyone admired her.

Another solid community man was John Burrows. He ran Tonyrefail Soccer Club for many years and was instrumental in making it one of the best teams in the Welsh League. He was also a keen cricket player who, despite his great bulk batted and bowled for Tynycoed. In his hands the bat looked like a match stick and you couldn’t see the wicket keeper standing behind him. He was our local butcher. Old Hamer had no children and John inherited the business when he died.

I have recalled the achievements of Richard Williams elsewhere. He dedicated his life to music and was conducting well into his eighties.

Will Pearce kept a green grocery shop at the bottom of Meyler Street but lived close by on Pembroke Street. He was the captain of Tynycoed Cricket Club for many years. We all referred to him as “Five Day” Pearce because of his plodding style of play. He never scored but he was hard to get out.

He did everything on the rough cricket field near the coal tip—put down the matting, cut and rolled the pitch and looked after the cricket equipment. His son, Graham worked with me at the coke ovens. He was like his father, steady and methodical.

My son, Graham has spent most of his life in the Thomastown/Gilfach area. He worked with me in the Coke Ovens. He knew many of the people I grew up with and worked with. He knew many of them because of their reputation as solid citizens: people like Herbie Allan, Syd Howells, Mike Cowdrey, Eddie Randal, and Fred Mounter. They worked on the coal face moving as many as thirty tons of coal every shift. Big families like the Randal’s and Carey’s were very hard-working people. Ge- rald Tarling, a childhood friend of Brian’s was one of the nicest men in Meyler Street. His father Walt and his uncle Ernie were tough task masters, but Gerald was a gentle person who played bowls with Graham.

Georgie Bevan was another community minded man. He was the biggest fan of Tonyrefail Soccer Club and put in countless hours as a volunteer. Pop Brown was another man with great community spirit. He helped many families survive through difficult times. Although he was a shrewd business man his priority was to see people in need got food.

There were some families we called “crachach”: Lewis Twice (not my father), Evans Compton, Church and Reg Hendy who we lived close to in Tynycoed in 1940. They weren’t snobs but they liked to appear refined, a little different to the men who laboured on the coal face.

In a way Thomastown was full of zealous people when I was a young man.. Everyone worked and fed their families. The community was alive. The streets were play- grounds full of children. Now the streets are full of cars. There are able bodied man walking around in the daytime—with no work to go to. That didn’t happen in my day and despite the grimness of strikes and Depression we survived and kept the spirit of our community alive.

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ZEPPELIN

I don’t recall the date but I recall a zeppelin soaring above Thomastown. It was an awe- some sight. It was a major form of air travel around Europe and across to America. It carried thousands of passengers over millions of miles without an accident. That all ended in 1937 when the Hindenburg disaster took place in America.

I shall never forget everyone crowding onto the street to see the giant air ship pass over.

Lawrence

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