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| The Unknown People's Journal 20 most recent entries |
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 Edward Cardigan part 1 Edward Cardigan knew he would enlist as soon as he heard of the outbreak of war. He also knew that he would not tell his father who was bound to use his own privileged position, by virtue of title, wealth and his own service record, to allow Edward to enlist as an officer. He didn't want that. His whole life had been privileged and now, as he turned sixteen years of age, he wanted to do something that marked him as his own man and not a carbon copy of his father. He enlisted at the station near the private school he attended, queuing up with the other men who were ready to give their lives for King and country and filling in his enlistment papers with the name Eddie Cadogan. As far as his family were concerned he had gone missing and they informed the police. When, after a week, the police had turned up no leads as to his whereabouts they employed a private detective to search for their missing son. Not once did it occur to them that he would have signed up as a private and be receiving basic training only twenty miles from their manor house. Eddie revelled in his anonymity and took great pleasure from being called by his new name by what, his Father would have referred to as, the common folk. In basic training Eddie found something that he had never before known he had wanted, camaraderie. He was surrounded by men, who like himself were barely finished with being boys, who would, he knew, drag him off a battle field or throw themselves on a bayonet for him, as he would for them. It was so different from the school cricket and rugby teams where there was a sense of being a team but he had never experienced it as intensely as he did now. It was real where before it had not really mattered and had been a playing out of war where there were no casualties. He shipped to France sooner than he had expected, having not quite finished basic training, having stood in front of the squads Lieutenant with the other men and been told that he would learn more from standing in a trench for and hour than he would from another two weeks of basic. He was going over there and he couldn't wait. He would show his father once and for all that he had the spine that his father had told him so often that he lacked. 4 comments | post a comment
 Bryn and Branwen Llewellyn Bryn’s father, Rhodri, beat him about the head with a rolled up copy of the Aberdare leader while his Mother, Catrin, pleaded on his behalf for Rhodri to stop. The afternoon had begun as it normally did with Rhodri returning from the early shift to his dinner and then a pipe and the newspaper. Bryn had arrived back from his job in the market a few hours later looking particularly agitated, he kept walking into the sitting room where his father smoked and then walking out without saying anything until eventually, rather than speak to his Father he chose to talk to his mother. “Mam,” he began, “I think I’ve gone and done something stupid.” He then proceeded to confess to his Mother that he had been seeing a girl and now that girl was pregnant. She said nothing for several moments and then told him, “You have to tell Da Bryn, tell him now and tell him quick and it will be over sooner.” With his Mother by his side Bryn again approached his father and this time his Father spoke first, “What is it with you today boy? You’re like a pit pony that smells a collapse.” Bryn started to tell him but it took only two words to set his father off, girl and pregnant. He was up out of his chair and beating Bryn with the newspaper. Bryn cowered in the corner of the room as his Father called him names that were not fit for his Mother’s ears. Rhodri was a miner, a strong man, and even the blows from a newspaper stung hard when he put his arm into them. Catrin tried repeatedly to stop him but his fury was beyond the point where it could be drawn back and it spent itself with repeated blows until, in a brief moment of clarity, Rhodri saw his son, curled in a ball on the floor and sobbing quietly, as though he did not want to yell out his pain but remain as dignified as he could be in the presence of his Father. “Oh Bryn, Bryn what have you done boy, what have you done?” Rhodri said quietly and then knelt down and cradled his sons head, “who is she?” He asked. “It’s Branwen Edwards,” Catrin said from the doorway. “No,” said Rhodri, “the pit bosses Daughter? Oh bloody hell.” “Sorry Da,” Bryn said quietly as he looked up pleadingly into his Fathers face, “I’m really sorry Da.” “Sorry boy! Sorry! You’re bloody joking aren’t you,” said Rhodri and began to laugh, “Do you love her then do you?” “Yes Da,” replied Bryn, “I think I do.” “There we are then,” said Rhodri, “We’ll have you married before the end of the month and I can get a job in the bloody office instead of down the main shaft, well done son, I’m bloody well proud of you, now get up and make yourself respectable, we’re off to see Mr. Edwards to sort things out.” 4 comments | post a comment
 Aberdare Licensed Victuallers Association The Aberdare Licensed Victuallers Association’s annual outing was always a rather quiet affair until the year that young Jack Jones (front, far left) took over the running of the Lamb Inn on the Brecon Road at Hirwaun. It was his first year as a member and his first annual outing and he didn’t know the others very well. He also hadn’t yet seen the things the others had seen. He hadn’t seen the evils of their trade, the respectable men crumbling before them, shedding a little more of themselves with each drink. He hadn’t seen the women leading men into alleys to earn enough to pay for another night on the sauce. The family man getting happy on the weeks wages that was supposed to feed his children. He’d seen the results but never connected it to the trade. Upon their arrival in Barry they made straight for the first pub and there young Jack set the tone for the day by drinking his first pint before the barkeep had finished pulling the rest. Ned Evans (front, centre)took this as a challenge and did the same with his first. So began a contest that Jack thought he could win, being the younger fitter man, but never really had any hope of doing. Ned Evans may very well have appeared to be half drunk most of the time but it was well known by those that drank at his pub that he had hollow legs and could drink until the drink ran out. It was certainly true that none of the other members of The Aberdare Licensed Victuallers Association would have dared challenge him to a drinking competition having all seen him in action at one time or another over the years. To his credit Jack put up a very good showing and it was only on the sixteenth pint that he blacked out. He remembered Evan John (back, second from right) going to the bar to order the seventeenth but the next thing that he knew he was on the doorstep of The Lamb in Hirwaun. When Jack awoke the next morning he set about piecing together the events that occurred after that sixteenth pint but apart from a flew seemingly unconnected images he had no clear memory of what had happened. Evan John turned up at his doorstep before lunchtime opening and asked Jack how he was feeling, to which Jack answered that he had a hangover to end all hangovers. Evan John told Jack that he wasn’t surprised and proceeded to fill in the blanks of the rest of the day for him. After the sixteenth pint Jack had managed a seventeenth and then decided, for no apparent reason, to remove his trousers, the legs of which he wrapped around his neck like a scarf , and head for the beach. Evan John and a couple of the lads followed him to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble, which he didn’t, apart from worrying a few of the locals but Evan John smoothed things over with them. By now night was falling and Evan John lost sight of Jack as he stumbled along the beachfront. They found him after a few minutes and in that short time he had managed to remove the rest of his clothes and vomit all over himself. There was a short discussion and it was decided to throw him in the sea to sober him up and to get the vomit off him. A still wet and slightly sobered Jack dressed himself and ended up asleep in the back of the coach. Evan John assured Jack that only members of The Aberdare Licensed Victuallers Association knew about it and he was not to worry. Jack took him at his word but the following day, as Jack was buying provisions from Aberdare market, he realised that the whole town knew. “You gonna keep your trousers on today then butty?” came one shout from a market stall. “Will you be managing to keep your beer in your belly and not on it today Jack lad,” came another. It was all good humoured but Jack took it hard, as a member of The Aberdare Licensed Victuallers Association he considered himself a good and upstanding member of the community, somebody with a little status, but now everybody knew about his indiscretion he felt lower than the butchers boy. It was a small town with a long memory and despite never stepping out of line again Jack became known as Naked Jack, it altered the course of his life, one small indiscretion took him from one side of the bar to the other in a few short years and he experienced first hand how drink can dissolve a man. 4 comments | post a comment
 the boy on the tricycle His name has been forgotten but his story remained to be told by one of the last of his generation to his grandchild. The boy, he told his descendant, was taunted by the other children in the street as he was the only one with a tricycle, “Mummy’s boy” they called him, “Mummy’s little angel”, “Spoilt kid” and worse. The boy hated his tricycle and refused to ride it anymore but his father said, “You wanted the damn thing, I bought the damn thing and you’ll bloody well ride the damn thing,” his voice rising as he said it, then he would pick the boy and the tricycle up and put them down outside the front door and say, “I don’t want to hear from you for at least an hour,” before slamming the door shut. The boy would ride to the next house, turn around and ride to the next house the other way. Back and forth he would go, hoping that none of the other children turned up to taunt him. They always did. Calling him names and trying to push him off his tricycle. One day the boy had enough of it all and he set off at speed down the street, wanting just to get away from them and from their hate. At the crossroads he didn’t stop in time and hit a horse that was pulling the milk cart. The horse slammed down it’s hoof to steady itself and crushed the boys head into the dirt road. It was the end of the boy with the tricycle. The only mark he was in the world long enough to make washed off in the rain. 11 comments | post a comment
 Maggie Evans Maggie Evans ran away from home at the age of fifteen with a man that her parents didn’t approve of and together they started a new life away from Aberdare in Weston Super Mare, which, although only 70 miles away, was far enough for them to remain untroubled by the family. Maggie took a job as a cleaner at the local school and a couple of the hotels and her partner, Iain Phillips, worked at this and that on the sea front. Although their life was hard and they had few luxuries, they were happy together, neither needing much more than the company of the other to provide them with the sustenance they needed for the day. In time Maggie came to realise that the only thing that spoiled their life was the absence of her family. She loved them dearly but had been unable to convince them that she also loved Iain, that she loved him enough to leave them for him. She eventually decided to write to her Mother and again explain how she felt and how she didn’t want to lose them but for them to be part of her new happiness. Two weeks after Maggie had posted the letter her father arrived at her door looking stern. Maggie tried to make him welcome but he said little as he looked around their modest home. He replied yes or no to her questions of ‘Are you well?’ and ‘Would you like some tea?’ but said nothing much more. He left after only five minutes with the parting words, “You’re mother is heartbroken, you should come home.” And then he was gone. On her sixteenth birthday a few weeks later a card arrived which took her by complete surprise.   It was the gateway to two years of correspondence that eventually led to an invite to Christmas Dinner and an initial begrudging acceptance of Iain that changed into making him part of the family when they married and presented them with Grandchildren the following year. 12 comments | post a comment
 Arthur Jarvis (back row far right) N451C - France 1915 - 16 - 17 In August 2001 Mary Alexander (nee Jarvis) received, quite unexpectedly, a small package from a the Ministry of Defence. In 1970 A French farmer had unearthed a bundle of personal effects and had forwarded them in the hope that they would be returned to the relatives of the person to whom they had belonged. Inside the bundle were a comb, a wallet containing two photographs and a small amount of money and also, there was a journal. It took the Veterans Association 31 years to track down Mary Alexander and return the belongings of her father to her. Final entry from the journal of Private Arthur Jarvis: When the time comes to go over the top, out of the perpetual damp and misery of the trench and onto the quagmire of the battlefield, a bullet cares not who it drops. We are accountants, milk men, butchers, bakers, mechanics and there is a bullet for each of us, or an unexpected gas attack, a piece of shrapnel, something, there are a hundred different ways to die but the manner of it matters not, the outcome is always the same. The only thing for which we can hope is that when it comes, that it be quick, that there be at least some dignity in it. At night I hear the screams of dying soldiers, dying friends, for weeks after they have been left in the mud to meet their maker, they haunt me. I don’t want to go like that, screaming, begging for help but knowing that none will come, screaming until death, still clinging on to the hope that a medic will appear. We’ve been told to sleep tonight, to rest. We’ve had extra rations, this can only mean one thing, tomorrow we go over the top. Statistically I should already be dead, I’ve lasted too long already and with each attack my chances of survival decrease but knowing this does me no good. I am alive, I have survived and, God willing, I shall survive again. Nothing here ever gets dry, nothing. It is a wonder that we have any skin left on our feet at all as all are swollen and soft. Little thought seems to be given to it but our feet are our best defence, lumbering forward with heavy feet, unable to weave, pain at every step, does not make a good soldier. A dry pair of socks is enough to make a soldier forever in his officers debt, but it never happens, we are expendable, pieces on a board of a game that has no winners and no end. So tomorrow I go once again and I will return with fewer of my unit or they will return without me, rumour has it that we are to tackle a machine gun post which is a sure way for four men to kill a hundred for the sake of two hundred yards of worthless mud. Even though I feel this way, feel the futility of it all deep in my bones, I am still willing to walk, crawl and die for my fellows, it is they that are the reason we do it, not the army, we are ready to die for each other not for King and Country who sit back in England cheering us on from a position of safety. I will die for my brothers, to protect my wife and my little girl, but for nothing more, the rest can go to hell. Mary had been too young to form any lasting impression of her father, what little she knew of him came from a few old photographs and the rare stories of him that her Mother told. Now here she was, 89 years old and refusing to go into the care home, insistent that she was quite capable of taking care of herself, which she was having survived two wars. Now she knew where her rebellious streak came from, the character trait that had caused her more trouble in her life than she really deserved but she was grateful for it, her life had been much more interesting because of it and, for that, she could thank her Father. She closed the journal and placed it with the comb and wallet in a wooden cigar box in which sat a medal, awarded to her Father posthumously for his bravery in neutralising a machine gun position having already been shot three times. Mary had always been proud of that, but now, having read all of his words and seen that he was no ordinary soldier blindly following orders, but fighting instead for the love of his family, she forgave him for his absence in her life and thanked him for loving her so much. 4 comments | post a comment
 Stanley Jones and Gabrielle Servini Servini’s Café on Aberdare High Street first opened it’s doors for the business of serving tea and cakes in the late 1800’s and has been family run ever since. For the first year the sign above the door said only ‘Café’ and it was not until the proprietor, Stanley Jones, met and married Italian immigrant Gabrielle Servini that the name changed, and with it the clientele. It had been a place for miners and workmen to get a cheap cup of tea and a snack between shifts but when Gabrielle became involved the inclusion of such seemingly minor touches as napkins, cutlery and tablecloths brought what she considered a better class of customer through the doors. Although the business began to do well under Gabrielle’s guidance, Stanley was unhappy. They had met in Cardiff while he was there on business and to Stanley’s surprise he had almost instantly become dependant upon her. She was the type of woman who fussed over other people, making sure that everything was in order, that a pocket handkerchief sat correctly in a jacket top pocket or a crumb was delicately removed from a moustache and, although he was unaware of it, she was exactly the type of person Stanley needed in his life. He was, though he would never admit it even to himself, a mummy’s boy and liked nothing better than to be looked after, even if in reality it meant that he was being dominated. For the first fifteen years of the marriage Stanley was comfortable with the situation but as he aged he came to resent his own inability to make almost any decision without first consulting Gabrielle and in a community where the men worked and the women tended to domestic matters he felt increasingly out of place. It was perfectly normal and accepted that the man of the house would return from work, wash, eat his meal and then head off for the pub, returning home the worse for wear and expecting more food to already be prepared without him having to ask, regardless of the lateness of the hour. It was the way things were, but Stanley wouldn’t dream of behaving in such a manner, knowing as he did that Gabrielle would never accept it and that he would suffer for weeks should he attempt it. This was the source of his unhappiness, his emasculation, self imposed though it was through his own life choices, but still it disturbed him to such an extent that he began to undertake a series of small rebellions. His first attempt at rebellion involved returning late from buying meat in the market, just fifteen minutes longer than it usually took him, but on his return he was subjected to such a tirade of abuse from Gabrielle that he regretted being so obvious. From that moment he took a great deal more care in planning his own personal, small revolution. Stanley began to do things that were, for him, out of character. When Gabrielle was not with him he would walk with one foot on and one foot off the pavement and smile the whole while he did it, he poured hot tea into the saucer and slurped it up gleefully and, if he was wearing his boots, he wore different coloured socks. These seemingly unimportant actions gave Stanley a sense of control over his own life that had previously been missing, he recognised that they would seem to be rather pathetic to most people but he felt empowered by them. And it was during this time of change that he came to realise something else just as important, he didn’t like his wife. A sense of duty, propriety and consideration towards his standing in the community had prevented him from analysing his feelings towards Gabrielle in any great depth but now he did. Stanley thought about it for hours on end, over weeks that stretched into months, and could not find it in himself to like his wife, but this analytical approach afforded him other information that he had not previously considered. He was sure he did not like Gabrielle but this did not stop him loving or needing here, they were not, he was sure, mutually exclusive feelings and he could quite easily have carried on as he was, generally unhappy but living a life that was at least acceptable, but he didn’t. On the twentieth anniversary of their marriage, with a fortifying drink inside him, Stanley decided that enough was enough and that this was the day that he would finally take action to rid himself of what was an unhappiness that could easily be avoided. After the café had closed for the day he approached Gabrielle and took her hand, “We have to clean up ready for opening tomorrow,” she said. “Shut up,” said Stanley, surprising even himself as, until the words jumped from his mouth, he had not been sure he could go through with his plan. Gabrielle was shocked into silence having never experienced such behaviour from Stanley before, “We’re going upstairs,” said Stanley sternly, “where I am going to give you the longest, hardest rogering of your life and then, when I’m done, I’m going to do it again.” Gabrielle had been shocked by his initial outburst but now she was utterly stunned, “Come on girl,” said Stanley, turning her round and slapping her ample backside, “before I change my mind and have you here on the floor.” Gabrielle, at a loss as to what else she could do, ran quickly up the stairs and Stanley followed behind her singing loudly, “Fee, Fie, Fo Fum, I want the bum of an Italian!” From that day forward, things changed, not overnight and never completely, but they changed enough for Stanley to find the happiness he had sought for so long and Gabrielle, well, she seemed to smile a lot more than she had used to. 4 comments | post a comment
 Lateef Kosey (Front, Left, in white suit) Lateef was an Egyptian employed by the The Denbighshire (Hussars) Yeomanry as a translator during the attempted invasion by German-led Turkish troops of British Egypt in 1915. The vitally important Suez Canal was under threat and there were attempts to cause an uprising amongst Egyptians against the ruling British. Lateef’s involvement was vital throughout the conflict as he acted as a bridge between the officers and the Egyptian people without which the armies ability to function would have been diminished. His work was unremarkable, his paperwork was always correctly filed, his reports and translations always accurate and from day to day he went unnoticed by those he worked for. Lateef was a quiet, introspective man and this is how he preferred things, having no desire to improve his lot as he was already very content with his life, which could easily have been like that of so many others who made a living on the streets, not knowing where their next meal was coming from. The Commander of British Forces in Egypt, General Sir John Maxwell, was later forced to divert troops from the Suez Canal Defence Force to defend the Nile Delta from possible attack. He created a mobile formation called the Western Desert Task Force to halt the Senussi (pro-Turkish Senussi Arabs). The Task Force comprised an armoured car detachment, some camel-mounted units and several mounted Yeomanry Regiments, Lateef among them. The Task Force was located in Alexandria, but quickly moved to the west in an attempt to track down the rebellious tribesmen. The Task Force were used to the desert terrain and dry conditions but the Senussi caused considerable problems. In a series of running battles they inflicted hundreds of casualties on the British Task Force before melting away into the desert. One of the Task Force's officers, a Captain Jarvis, later wrote: "In some respects this revolt was the most successful strategic move made by our enemies of the whole war, for these odd thousand...Arabs tied up on the western frontier for over a year some 30,000 troops badly required elsewhere and caused us to expend on desert railways, desert cars, transport etc, sufficient to add 2d to the income tax for the lifetime of the present generation". It was during one of these battles that Lateef Kosey became stranded in the midst of fighting without means to defend himself. He ran as fast as he could in the general direction of the main fighting and dived under an abandoned armoured car when he saw enemy riders approaching him from behind and no sign of any of his own soldiers. Lateef crawled underneath, climbed up the other side and dragged the body of a dead soldier from the gun turret before climbing in himself. He had never fired a gun before, let alone a machine gun but he’d seen others do it and so he pointed the gun in the direction of the riders and pressed the trigger. Three riders fell. He moved the gun back and forth and saw the rest collapse before the power of the machine gun. Lateef was alone and the silence after the ear splitting gunfire filled him with a strange melancholy. He had just killed ten people, ten people he had never met and would never know, ten people with families, with children perhaps. His heart constricted and it was then that he realised that his cheeks were wet with tears. Before he had time to reflect any further on what he had done the silence was shattered by gunfire from over a rise. He got into the drivers seat, started the engine and set off in search of battle. Over the rise and in a hollow he saw several British soldiers pinned down by gunfire from a group of Senussi, without any thought for his own safety Lateef drove straight towards them and, when he arrived, the soldiers took cover in and around the armoured car. Lateef drove forward towards the Senussi as one soldier took charge of the machine gun and opened fire. The fighting was over as the Senussi turned and fled from the superior firepower of the British. The soldiers, buoyant from their victory, gathered around Lateef to thank him and proclaim him a hero but Lateef merely walked away, back towards the Senussi he had fired upon over the rise. He went to each body in turn and removed whatever identifying paperwork he could. One of the soldiers who had followed him asked him what he was doing and received the reply, “I must apologise to their families.” Lateef never again found himself in a position where he had to fire a gun. After word of his heroics reached headquarters he was moved well back from the front lines and later received a medal that he never wore. When the war ended he spent his time locating the families of those he had killed and wrote each a letter explaining what had happened and offering his apologies for his actions. He never received a single reply and this weighed heavily with him for the rest of his days for Lateef Kosey was aptly named, Lateef meaning gentle and Kosey meaning lion. 15 comments | post a comment
 Jimmy Jones Jimmy’s mother was unmarried and died in childbirth leaving him in the care of his Grandparents, who were already advanced in years. They took care of him until he was twelve but passed away within weeks of each other leaving him alone in the world. He had his Grandparents house and all that was inside it and a small amount of money that they bequeathed him but it wasn’t enough to keep him going indefinitely so he took a job helping to care for pit horses above ground. The money he made from the job was small but enough to keep himself fed and clothed, which was all he needed. As he passed the workhouse on the way to the pit every morning he always thought about how lucky he was that he never had to go to that hell and he said a silent thank you to his Grandparents for doing as much for him as they were able. His life was a solitary one but he was comfortable caring only for himself having learned very early on that the people he loved left him before he was ready for them to. In moments of contemplation he would confess to himself that he was unsure whether he had actually ever loved anyone at all having never known his mother or father and only being indebted to his Grandparents for their kindness. At the age of 29 Jimmy first discovered what it was to love. By then he had worked several jobs, finally settling as a funeral assistant which earned him very good money. He found much of the work easy as his face was naturally of sombre cast and being without religion he had no fear of the bodies he was required to work upon, although he was sure to never let slip his godlessness as it would most likely have cost him his job. He met Alicia at the funeral of her father and as was the requirement of his job he was caring and attentive when required to be although Alicia, in her grieving, misinterpreted his attentions and accused him of attempting to take advantage of her when she was in such a distressed condition. Fortunately her accusations came to nothing and she quickly realised that she had made a terrible mistake that could have ruined the reputation of an innocent man. Alicia visited Jimmy at the funeral parlour and apologised to him as best she could, using her grief stricken condition as an excuse for her behaviour. Although she did not realise it she was still acting under the influence of her loss when she continued to visit Jimmy, sometimes after he had finished work for the day, to talk and be in the presence of somebody other than from her family who would not remind her of her beloved father. This continued for several weeks and it came as a surprise to Jimmy when he began to feel differently about Alicia. His feelings grew until the day when he summoned all the courage he had and confessed his love to her and asked for her hand in marriage. Alicia thought at first that he was larking about and laughed at his foolishness, by the time she realised her mistake it was too late, Jimmy had left and she would never see him again and be able to apologise a second time for her behaviour. He was sure that news would spread quickly of his foolishness and to spare himself and Alicia, Jimmy packed a bag and set off immediately for Cardiff where he enlisted. As he was older than most of the other newcomers he was quickly promoted to corporal and by the time he set off for France he had become a Sergeant, which was the most he could possibly have hoped for. Jimmy showed a daring that was unmatched by any other man in his company and most others by repeatedly leading raids into enemy territory seemingly without a care for his own welfare but always making sure his men where as safe as they could be. He went alone on scouting missions and on more than one occasion returned alive from what had been considered certain suicide. It was in his second year of combat that Jimmy cut his leg on a piece of barbed wire that protected his own trench. He thought nothing of it and went into battle with his usual vigour but as he moved further and further from his own front line he came to realise that all was not well and quickly developed a limp. The pain in his leg increased with every step and he was sure it was infected but, although he could have turned back without dishonour, he pressed on. Thirteen minutes later he lay in the mud looking up at the grey sky, watching the light slowly fade. The bullets had lodged in his spine and he knew that there was no saving himself now, it was over, he was finished with this life. As his eyes fluttered and his heart gave up, one feint word drifted out with his final breath, "Alicia." 3 comments | post a comment
 William Morrison William’s dream from an early age had been to go to sea, he had been fascinated by it ever since his Grandfather had told him old stories about the Spanish Armada and how the men of Wales came to be wearing daffodils in their lapels. He listened to the story over and over again and no matter how many times he heard it he was enthralled by the talk of galleons, canons, sails and rigging. He took to wearing a daffodil in his lapel even when it wasn't St. David’s day, just in case there were any invading Spanish around, he didn’t want to be mistaken for one of them, he wanted to fight them with his cutlass made from a branch side by side with his fellow Welshmen. Every holiday was spent at the beach where young William could look at the ships and boats and solidify his dreams with the memories of them. William wrote about the sea, drew pictures of it and talked of little else, he was single minded in his pursuit of a berth on a ship headed for anywhere. He left school at 14 and headed straight for Newport where he managed to get a berth on a ship headed for Spain for a small wage and meals as a cabin boy. He was distraught to discover that he had no sea legs, spending the majority of his time feeling terribly unwell on his bunk. William spent some time then travelling from port to port along the Spanish coast and working at what odd jobs he could. Eventually he managed to raise enough for a trip home in the hold of a ship where he lay feeling ill again the whole way. His arrival home marked the end of his seafaring adventures but not the end of his dream. He worked on the docks loading and unloading ships and doing any other jobs he could turn his hand to. Although he was sure he would never again set to sea he was as close as he could be to the world he wished to inhabit and it was almost enough, but not quite. As he grew older William took on the persona of a sea captain and although he would never be one he looked every inch the part. His fellow workers took to calling him Captain, as a joke at first, but the name stuck and even his superiors began referring to him by his adopted title. William never married but his brothers and sisters did and he was regularly visited by his nieces and more often his nephews. He told them made up stories of his maritime adventures and they believed every word and as time went on, so did William. He retired to a fisherman’s cottage overlooking the docks and spent his final years painting watercolours of the view from his window. He had no real talent for it but he didn’t care about that, it was his way of maintaining his connection with the world he loved so much. William Morrison died 30 years ago but the cottage is called ‘The Captains Cottage’ to this day. He would have liked that. post a comment
 Nana Jane (Johnson) As she sat in her old rocking chair, her youngest grandchild asleep in her lap with her head in the crook of Nana's arm and the other at her feet noisily playing an old wooden bagatelle, Nana Jane sighed contentedly. There had been a time when she would never have believed that it would have been possible to be sitting where she was now, sharing her remaining years with the love of children. Nana Jane lost her first husband in the first great war and in the second she lost both her sons, leaving just her and her daughter Nancy. They were sent to the country during the second war as Nancy was so young then and having lost three of her greatest loves already Nana Jane was glad of it, glad of the opportunity to protect her last love from the bombings that occurred in the city with increasing regularity. The found themselves in Wales, in Aberdare, where the war was taking over the town but where there was no imminent danger of attack. They lived happily there for two years, looked after by the townsfolk who, despite having a distrust of the English, took to them, sensing perhaps the melancholy shadow that hung over Nana Jane. When the war was over and they were able to return to the city they chose to stay where they were, the safety of the place was something that Nana Jane had no desire to give up and she had become used to the ways of the people she saw every day. She liked the way the butcher knew her by name and would put things by for her, she liked the way the people in the market would smile and bid her good day, sometimes stopping to share some news, she liked being amongst people who cared. So they stayed and the ways of the locals seeped into their bones and they changed, becoming part of the community and feeling safe. Sitting now, in the rocking chair, with Nancy's children, Nana Jane thought back to those days before the war, before she became Nana Jane and was simply Jane, a carefree girl in the city with a host of potential suitors all vying for he hand. She looked back on the times when the face that stared back at her from the mirror didn't carry the lines of experience they did now, when the finger of tragedy had not pointed her out and she thought herself beautiful. There was nobody who would remember that girl, there was nobody to share the memories with but herself. She held her grandchild close and smiled down at the little one on the floor. One of these days she would get Nancy to bring down the old box of photographs from the attic and she would tell her grandchildren about their Daddo, and how wonderful he was, how she could see some of him in them, one of these days she would, one of these days. 
 Little Mary Jones Little Mary Jones came to know death early. She saw the boys in their new uniforms waving their goodbyes to the people gathered on the streets and she believed that's what death was, saying goodbye and never coming back. The only one that ever returned was her uncle George who she was sure had died but then come back to life again without his legs. She once asked him why he had come back, why he didn't stay dead like the others and he told her, "I wrestled with the Devil cariad, and I bested him." She knew about the Devil and God and Jesus. She wondered why God and Jesus couldn't fight the Devil themselves, if her uncle George could do it then surely they could as well. Every night before bed she prayed for two things, the first that the boys would win their battle for God and come home again and the second was that God and Jesus would never ask her daddy to fight the Devil for them. She sometimes overheard her daddy talking about the Devil, he called him the hun and he didn't like him very much, he used to get angry as he read through the paper in the evenings. She also heard him saying that he should do his bit for the war effort, but she prayed every night that he wouldn't have to. She saw it all very simply, if her daddy went off to fight then he would be dead and she would never see him again. When the day finally came that her daddy arrived home in uniform little Mary ran upstairs and hid under her bed, refusing to come out again for anything. Little Mary's daddy sat on the bed and spoke to her, asked her why she was so upset, she told him everything. "Well now," he said, "If uncle George can best the Devil don't you think your Daddy can as well?" She had to admit that her daddy was the biggest and strongest daddy that she knew, he was much bigger than uncle George who wasn't much taller than her now that he sat down all the time in his wheelchair. She made her daddy promise to come home again right after he'd won the war, then she crawled out from under the bed and threw her arms around his strong neck. "I love you daddy," she said. Throughout her life she took comfort in the knowledge that those were the last words she ever had the opportunity to say to him. * Cariad - Love or my love in Welsh 7 comments | post a comment
 The Pugh Family Mr Pugh could barely even think about what was happening to his once respectable family, his one son living with a man and another run off to live in sin, all he had left was Robert into whom he poured all his energy. Robert was to be his new pride and joy, despite having grown up in the shadow of his brothers and never feeling that he quite matched up to them, he was now number one son and extremely uncomfortable in the role. Up until now he had enjoyed the independence he received by virtue of a lack of expectation of him, when there were two respectable and successful older brothers in the house all of his parents dreams for their children were fulfilled and if Robert were to not do very well then it was just a small matter, now he was under the microscope and he felt as though the sun was focused through the lens and burning him. Mrs Pugh continued her daily routine and had never acknowledged that two of her sons had left the family home under a cloud, if asked she would answer that they were working away but would be back soon. She and Mr Pugh did occasionally discuss it but those discussions consisted mainly of Mr Pugh spouting forth his point of view and Mrs Pugh nodding in all the right places, which she had learned by years of experience was the easiest thing to do, most of the time she didn’t even listen to what he was saying. Life in the Pugh household continued almost without skipping a beat, new routines grew from old ones and the two missing sons slowly faded like a photograph left in the sun. Robert was placed in charge of collecting the post so that he could intercept any letters from Raymond and Archie and burn them without his parents even knowing they’d arrived, he didn’t dispose of them though, he kept them and read them in his room, over and over again. The freedom that his brothers had, that they talked about in they’re letters, became something that Robert began to crave but his sense of duty to his parents was strong and he could not even entertain the thought of the two of them living alone, cut off from all their children, so he stayed and he did his best to make his father as proud of him as he once was about his brothers. Mr Pugh seemed to wither without the presence of his sons to give him strength but even though, deep in his heart, he longed to make contact with his two errant sons, he did not give in to the desire, his sense of propriety would not allow him to do so. Mr Pugh began to stay in the house more and more, unable to meet the eyes of the people he met outdoors, sure that they knew his shame. Once a strong healthy man he was now repeatedly ill. Four years had passed since Raymond left and three since Archie eloped and still Mr Pugh would not hear their names spoken in his house. Then he fell ill again, but this time it was much more serious than on previous occasions and he was unable to raise himself from his bed. He was sure that he was not going to last much longer and Robert, sensing that this was the case, wrote to Raymond and Archie telling them to come home, to see their father at least one more time before he was gone. Raymond and Archie arrived together three days later. Robert let them in and told them things were very bad, their mother was at their fathers bedside and they should both go up and see him. With some trepidation all three climbed the stair and entered their parents bedroom. Before them they saw their father, sunken and frail, and their mother, her head resting on his chest, tears running freely. “He’s gone boys,” was all she said and it was all that needed to be said. In his hand he held a photograph.  Raymond, Robert and Archie
 Archibald Pugh Archie had always looked up to Raymond and the turn of events that forced his brother from the house and away to Bristol was no real surprise to him. Living in such close proximity to his brother had made him aware that Raymond wasn’t like other men, but Archie wasn’t really very concerned about it. He loved his brother because he couldn’t help doing so and the fact that his parents found his behaviour so abhorrent that they saw no option but to disown him was an action that was in itself abhorrent to Archie. Despite his parents eliciting a promise from him that he would have no contact with Raymond, he ignored them and began corresponding with his brother. He had the letters delivered to his work rather than at home, where they would be thrown unopened on the fire by his father who recently seemed to have discovered a bottomless well of anger that was twisting his views and his heart. The only person Archie told about his brother and the letters was his intended bride, Maggie. There had never been a proposal, nor even a courtship, but somehow everybody expected them to soon tie the knot. Archie and Maggie had other ideas. Although they both worked in retail their shared dream was of an artistic life lived out in the busy streets of Paris, where they imagined that they would mingle daily with like minded people. Their vision was a romantic one and took into account none of the practicalities of moving to another country and then being able to support themselves. Part of their vague plan was that they wouldn’t marry but that they would live together as man and wife in the eyes of those that might matter. To them, marriage was nothing more than a piece of paper and if they truly loved each other then that paper had no real value to them. In his letters Raymond actively encouraged them to seek their dreams in reality, but they didn’t have the drive or desire to follow things through. It was to them something that they could share, a conversation topic, nothing more, no matter how much they talked and planned their future out. After Raymond’s departure, Archie was even less inclined to follow through on their impossible dream, not wanting to break his fathers heart for a second time. It was Maggie that first began to change. With Raymond’s encouragement and by his example she began to really believe that they could escape the bondage of family commitment and attempt to at least partially realise their dreams, perhaps not in Paris, but somewhere other than where they were, somewhere new and exciting that breathed resuscitating possibilities into their very being. Her enthusiasm grew and infected Archie, he too began to see the possibilities that lay ahead for them on a path yet to be walked. On a bright summers day, almost a year to the day since Raymond had fled, Archie and Maggie followed him. Heading off to Bristol in the hope that he could give them shelter for at least one night before they went in search of their dreams. Conditions in the apartment were cramped but Raymond allowed them to spent the night in the living room and it was there that Archie and Maggie consummated their new life together. The following morning, despite Raymond insisting that they stay a little longer, they left the apartment and went in search of their own place to live. Having spent the day trawling the city for suitable places and finding none they admitted defeat and headed back to Raymond’s and when they were only a street away they found exactly what they were looking for and what they could afford on their limited savings. Maggie was convinced it was destiny at work and Archie was sure it was blind luck but it was a home, a new place, a new start, step one on the road to fulfilment of their dreams. Within a week they had both managed to find temporary jobs and Archie had written to his father to let him know that everything was fine and that they were both well. A letter arrived by return advising Archie that he, like Raymond, was no longer part of the family. It was what he expected but not what he had hoped. At night, when the work was over and Archie and Maggie sat by the open window looking out over the city, Archie would look at Maggie and say, “ I can’t believe we did it, that we’re here, together, like this.” Maggie would reply, “Let me make you believe it,” and pull him towards her. 3 comments | post a comment
 Raymond Pugh Raymond Pugh was the eldest of three brothers, the youngest being Robert and in the middle was Archie. Raymond carried the burden of expectation upon his shoulders and was expected to be a fine example to his siblings, and through their youth he was. Raymond excelled academically and was captain of both his school rugby and cricket teams. It was not until he was twenty-seven and his brothers 25 and 21 respectively that the first suspicions about him surfaced. It was Robert who first noticed that Raymond never went courting, which was unusual for a man of his age and when he mentioned it to Raymond he told Robert that he had just never met the right girl, but before the week was out Raymond took a lady friend to a concert in the park. Raymond returned from the concert in a state of distress and locked himself in his room for days afterwards, refusing to speak o anybody about why he was so upset. The family were initially very concerned but slowly came to accept that Raymond, like many men of the time, was intent on retaining his bachelorhood. They didn't know about David. They had first met after a Rugby match in which Raymond had played scrum half, it wasn't his usual position but he coped well and the team clinched victory in the closing minutes with a beautifully executed drop kick by Raymond. David was waiting for him by the sidelines and approached him as he came off the field, he asked Raymond if he would like to be interviewed for the Aberdare leader and Raymond agreed, they arranged to meet at the Ffocheneol Arms after Raymond had cleaned up and changed. In the pub they retired to a quiet corner with their drinks and began the interview, which David informed Raymond was to form their weekly "Spotlight on Sport' column. Raymond was delighted, knowing that it was the best place to appear in the leader. They talked for a good length of time, with David asking questions and taking down notes and as the interview began to come to a close, David put his hand under the table and rested it on Raymond's leg. Raymond looked up sharply but made no move to push David's hand away, eventually he rested his own upon it and squeezed Davids gently. So began their affair. David became Raymond's special friend within family circles and everybody was very accepting s long as there was no talk amongst the neighbours and in their social circles. They managed to keep things secret for six years, until two days before Raymond's thirty fourth birthday, when he and David met by the river that ran through the woods outside town. It was a quiet spot, being a long walk from town and uphill all the way. The summer sun was high in the sky and they had both soon stripped to the waist and it was not long before they were naked in the river which was just deep enough to swim in without banging hands and knees on the pebbled bottom. Afterwards they lay on the riverbank allowing the sun to dry their bodies. David reached over to Raymond and pulled him towards himself, they kissed and held each other close. Raymond spoke again of his desire to end the secrecy but David convinced him, as he always did, that it would spell disaster for them both should they do so. Raymond arrived home that evening with the rising of the moon and was dismayed to discover that the family had convened in the parlour and were waiting for him. His father set about him immediately, telling him that they had been seen, that it was all over town and how Raymond had disgraced the family, he thundered at Raymond and disowned him on the spot. Raymond rushed upstairs to his room and found that his suitcases had already been packed. He needed nothing further to send him out of the house and into the world on his own. It transpired that David had suffered a similar fate and together they pooled the money in their pockets and bought train tickets to the furthest destination they could afford. They managed to travel as far as Bristol and with his savings Raymond rented a small apartment for them above a cobblers. In the new town where tey knew nobody the need for their previous secrecy was not so urgent, although they did not show affection penly in public they somehow felt that if they wanted to they could. Raymond quickly came to realise that he was happier now than he had ever been and vowed to cherish every moment, knowing that their lives together were forever balanced on a knifes edge. 5 comments | post a comment
 Maria Thomas (3) Life with her Mother changed gradually over the years that followed the first confrontation, but there were no more beatings. Harsh words, power struggles and arguments but the cane remained an empty threat in its place on the back of the door. Maria's Mother continued to preach at her but God was not a concept that Maria was prepared to consider having had the harshest of lives during her formative years and blaming much of it upon her Mothers unshakeable beliefs. It was late in life that Maria had her epiphany. Shortly after her Mother had passed, Maria was walking into town along the path by the river when she witnessed, from a distance, a man jump in to try and save a child who was clearly in distress. The river was running fast and the man clearly wasn't a very good swimmer, made even worse by the weight of his clothes in the water. Maria rushed towards them and arrived in time to lift the child from the arms of the man who was struggling to lift the child on to the river bank. As Maria reached out her hand to help the man he looked into her eyes and there she saw that he was lost, unable to summon the strength required to fight against the river for just the few feet needed to get to the bank. She saw him glance at the child, smile, and then give up his fight, allowing himself to be carried away and under by the river. There was nothing Maria could do, she couldn't swim. Later, as she thought again and again about the smile that came over the mans face she came to a realisation. She had seen a man sacrifice himself for the sake of a child and perhaps it was possible that this was all part of a divine plan, perhaps her Father being taken away from her served a purpose that was greater than her need. Maria turned it over in her mind almost constantly for the next few weeks and eventually came to the conclusion that she needed to look into things a little more, to see if there was anything in it at all or whether it was just a freak accident. Maria read everything she could find and could not bring herself to believe that the man had died because fate decreed it, she seemed convinced that it was because a higher power was at work. She visited the church, spoke at length with the pastor and members of the congregation and began to reach what she believed to be an understanding. She changed completely, Maria believed, she had faith. Maria continued her studies and eventually set off to countries new as a missionary to bring her faith to those that needed it. She would never believed herself capable of such a thing but she had come to learn that people can be whoever they want to be and do not have to allow the actions of others to mould them. Most of all, she was happy with her new self. 2 comments | post a comment
 Maria Thomas (2) Her Mother fell into madness through God, claiming that she was his conduit and her word was his. Punishments became increasingly painful for Maria and she came to fear the sight of the cane that was kept on a nail behind the kitchen door. She carried its memory with her always, in the marks on her back and on her upper legs, on her upper arms, chest and belly, anywhere they wouldn't show. Maria became a sad and frightened little girl who could see no further than her next mistake and her next subsequent beating. In public things continued as normal, they never missed church on Sundays and Maria was sent to Sunday school no matter what the weather or her physical state, which was often very poor due to the administering of the cane. The worse thing of all for Maria was not the pain and humiliation but the lack of anybody to talk to about it resulting in the lack of any opportunity for rescue. She was as a lone as she was ever going to get and yet somehow she managed to take strength from that knowledge, from knowing that she only had herself to rely on and only herself to save. After one particularly nasty and unnecessary beating Maria turned to her Mother, tears streaming down her face, and for the first time that she could remember she felt herself growing into something new. Her back hurt badly but she stood straight, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and looked her Mother right in the eye. "That was the last time you will ever do that to me," she said. "What!" Her Mother replied, "What did you say?" "You heard me," Maria said, holding her mothers furious gaze for a moment then turning on her heal and walking slowly upstairs to her room where, very quietly, she said "yes" to herself, over and over again, rocking back and forth and letting herself feel the new power that was germinating within her. She heard her Mothers' heavy tread on the stair and quietened quickly. Maria knew she was carrying the cane, tapping it against the wall as she took each step. Her mother reached the top of the stair and the closed door to Maria's bedroom. Maria could hear her heavy breathing, she could feel her anger seeping through the wood as an almost physical being. Then her Mother turned and walked along the landing to her own room. A feeling of triumph overwhelmed Maria as she fell back onto the bed and smiled up at the cracked ceiling. She was sure that better times were ahead for her, absolutely sure of it. 5 comments | post a comment
 Maria Thomas (1) For a long time Maria didn't know who God was, nor would she have cared as he didn't enter her life until later. As a child she was happy, her Daddy loved her and her Mummy never shouted at her at all but that changed when her Daddy went off to the Great War and never returned, even though he had promised Maria that he would. Maria's Mother had told her it was the will of God and that was when Maria decided that she hated God for taking her Daddy away. The change in her Mother was a dramatic one, but only behind closed doors. To the other people in the street she appeared to be coping wonderfully considering her tragic loss and they all praised her for her bravery, but in private she grew bitter. God became her weapon against Maria whenever she was naughty, her mother would claim that God was watching and had told her that she must punish Maria for her errors. These errors could range from a spilled drink to, on some days, nothing at all. Her Mother dished out punishments at seemingly random intervals just so that Maria would remember who held the power in their household. Over the course of only a year Maria changed from a happy child to a gaunt ghost of what she once was. She became so afraid of doing wrong that she barely did anything at all without first obtaining her mothers permission or instruction. Maria became introverted to such a degree that people began to pass comment on it in the street when they saw her with her Mother, asking if she was well, whether there was something wrong with the girl, and her Mother saw this as a fit reason to again punish Maria for drawing attention to herself. If she was asked to clean then her mother would find fault with how thorough she'd been and if she was asked not to touch something, her Mother would claim that she had anyway so it seemed to Maria that no matter what she did, punishment of one form or another would follow. She decided that it was best, wherever possible, to do nothing. This was seen by her Mother as unforgivable and it was when the shouting first began. 16 comments | post a comment
 Georgina Thompson 2 Georgina's parents, George and Betty, had given up all hope of her finding herself a husband and a home of her own and though, at first, this worried them they soon came to accept that it was much better for them. They weren't young any more and it was good to have Georgina around to help them with the running of the house and to bring a little extra money in from her job at the Aberdare Leader. She'd begun working at the newspaper when she was 18 writing a women's column that was really a collaboration between Georgina and Betty but her mother didn't want her name on it. Betty talked and Georgina wrote it all down and sent it in to the paper, once a week she would get a small amount of money for the column which she always handed over to her mother. The only money Georgina really needed was to buy fresh books so that she could document her inner world. After a couple of years Georgina began to receive freelance writing jobs from the paper and occasionally one of her reports was picked up by the larger papers. She never really thought of herself as writer of any note but others could see that the way she constructed sentences and her use of metaphors revealed her different way of looking at the world. When Georgina was 25 George passed away in his sleep, Georgina said nothing for 4 days until she woke in the morning to find that Betty had followed George on his journey. She arranged a double funeral and buried her parents side by side in Aberdare Cemetery. She adjusted to life on her own very quickly and did her mourning in her own world where death was considered to be a happy event rather than a sad one, although she was not fully entangled in this world so a note of sadness crept in all the same. Georgina was 35 when a new editor took over at the Aberdare Leader. He was taken with her writing and asked her to submit some fiction for a weekly spot he wanted to run in the paper. Thinking nothing much of it, she sent him an extract from one of her notebooks and was surprised to receive an acceptance and a note to the effect that she would receive twice her normal payment for a weekly instalment. This allowed Georgina to live a little more comfortably than she would have otherwise, not excessively, but she could allow herself the luxury of a good pen and extra paper and envelopes. She struck up a correspondence with Frances Griffiths who was the younger of the pair involved in the Cottingley Fairy Hoax and even though she knew it a hoax Georgina was always delighted at the photographs the two had produced. They wrote back and forth with tales of their favourite faerie goings on and their journeys into the other world. It was always a pleasure for Georgina to receive a letter from Frances and she never jeopardised that by saying too much in her letters about what she really believed about the other world.  The Cottingley Faeries> Over a five year period, where Georgina simply copied out extracts from her notebooks and sent them in to the paper, she struck up a correspondence with the Editor, Gerald Ashton. Their business correspondence became quietly, almost unnoticeably, personal. Gerald began to ask Georgina if she would care to meet him for lunch, a movie, a walk in the park, but Georgina always politely declined. She was intrigued by Ashton but knew that with her lack of conversational skills it was destined to go nowhere as soon as they met. Eventually Ashton wore down her resolve and Georgina agreed to meet him in Aberdare park for a picnic, which he would bring with him. Georgina said two words during the hour they spent together, the first was 'Hello' and the second 'Yes' when asked if she would like some lemonade. Though she thought it had all gone very badly Ashton wrote to her and told her what a good time he had at the picnic. She thought about it and realised that he hadn't been lost for words at all and had talked enough for both of them. At the age of 45, after 5 years of courting, Georgina married Gerald Ashton in a quiet church ceremony. Whenever he was home from work he would talk and talk and every evening before bed Georgina would write him a letter in response, slipping it under his pillow so that he would find it in the morning. For Georgina, he was the perfect partner. 4 comments | post a comment |
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