Compensation

When the cage reached the bottom, the place reminded me of the darkest December night: thick cloud cover, no stars, no moon. Nothing to light your way except for a few flickering candles. I made out yellow canaries sitting in cages, tweeting, a welcome sound among the many I heard that day. Dada said, ‘If one keels over, you get out quick before the fire damp gets you. You’ll be a goner if you don’t, my son.’

            So many sounds resounded and blended. They made my head buzz: the ring of pickaxes, the rumble of carts, the whinny of a pony. I recognised men’s voices. Some deep baritones, others soft tenors, and their singing filled my heart with joy. 

               Mr Downer, our school teacher, called me a prodigy – a scholar bound for the University in Cardiff. Then Davy took sick. He coughed throughout one winter, and the cough worsened. ‘Tis the consumption,’ wailed Mam. ‘ Maybe kill him, isn’t it, Alun?’

            Dada did not reply. It was no use talking about maybes. Anyway, Davy would not stop working, cough or not. He spat out thick green phlegm, making me feel nauseous. One morning he did not come down from the attic where he slept with my two other brothers. ‘ He’s got a fever mam and has been raving all night. We’ll have to send for the doctor,’ said Gareth, his brow creased.

         ‘The doctor, is it? Where’s the money coming from? I save every extra farthing for your sister’s wedding.’

         ‘Never mind, my wedding. I haven’t met a man I would marry.’ Carys could be stubborn like dada and refuse to marry anyone she did not love. Gwilym Jenkins had tried to court her ever since they left school but to no avail. She did not love him.

            So, the doctor from the big house near the stream came to examine Davy. ‘He’s got double pneumonia, Mrs Evans. He needs complete rest, and steam will help his chest.’ His visit cost Mam a shilling. But she had trouble letting it go from her hand, so I took it and paid him.

            The steam kettle hung over the fire day and night, and bowls of steaming water were carried to the attic. Bryn and Gareth took Carys’s bed and she slept slept on a truckle bed in mam and dada’s room.Mam sleptt beside Davy for a week until his fever broke. The doctor came, listened to his lungs, and said. ‘His lungs are scarred,’ Mrs Evans, ‘he should not go down the pit again. He will be prone to lung disease for the rest of his life.’

          But Davy refused to quit the pit and remained well for a time. Then, the following winter, he got sick again and accepted his fate. He was lucky and got a job winding the winch. But the pay was less than a miner’s, so I volunteered to go down the pit and earn the difference. Mam was against it. ‘Not on my life, is it?’ She said, wiping her eyes on her white pinafore. ‘Rhys is going to the University to become a school teacher. I want a better life for him.’

  Dada stuck his pipe in his mouth, looked at me, and I knew. Yes, I loved book learning, but not at the expense of my family. ‘I will grow taller, Mam, you’ll see and strong too. I can study at night.’

 Father looked to the rest of the family for agreement, and Mam shook her curls. ‘Be it on your head then, Iestyn. If Rhys becomes sick, you look after him, for two sick boys may kill me.’

‘The pit, is it then, boyo?’ So Da said that first day, a week after my twelfth birthday. I knew the ritual: tallow candle and bait in the tin box and, up twelve hours later, in the cage, covered in coal dust. Wash off in the big zinc tub in our yard and let the dirty water wash the cobblestones down to the stream. A hearty supper welcomed us after a hard shift down the pit. Meat pies with thick crusts, floury potatoes, and cabbage covered with Mam’s gravy. Apple pie and custard too.

I was sixteen when it happened. My brother Gareth, who had wed Ffion from the next valley that spring, stumbled just as a coal tub trundled down the track. Two miners stopped the pony before the tub careered off the rails, but not before Gareth’s foot was crushed. His screams rent the dirt-riven air and echoed down the tunnels. Dada knew. He dropped his pickaxe, and together, we ran up the tunnel. It took three men to move the tub, with Gareth screaming like a keening bird. Then silence fell as they loaded my unconscious brother into an empty tub to take him to the winch, wound by Bryn. Dada carried him home and sent me to fetch the doctor.

 ‘Nothing I can do for him. ‘It will have to come off.’ 

 Ffion screamed, eyes heavenward. ‘Not my Gareth, no, no.’ Her voice rang down the valley, a desolate echo.

 But Gareth had no choice; too many bones were broken. Two pitmen helped him onto the kitchen table and held him down as the doctor sawed off his foot and bandaged the stump. ‘If he develops a fever, call me at once. Rest it is for him, Missus.’

Three months pregnant, Ffion ensured that Gareth did not develop a fever, changing his bandages for fresh ones every day and nursing him with help from Mam. They fed him beef broth with vegetables, then hearty meals to build his strength. Within weeks, he could move with crutches. But there was whispered talk about inadequate pit lighting and losing the tenancy of their tied cottage. The words echoed from home to home down the valley.

 The Miner’s Welfare Board paid Gareth from its scheme while he healed, but he knew it would run out after a few weeks. What would he and Ffion do then? Dada consulted Pastor Williams and called a family conference. ‘Gareth needs compensation. The accident occurred from inadequate lighting. None was available except on the miner’s headbands in that part of the pit. Gareth says candles are extinguished by the breath of the sweating ponies. We must talk to the mine owner.’

I accompanied Dada to visit Mr ap Morgan, who was gracious to a fault. ‘Come away in, Mr Evans, is it? I am sorry about your son. An unfortunate accident, but he knew the dangers and should have taken more care.’

            Dada explained about the poor lighting, but Mr ap Jenkins ignored the issue and said, ‘Carelessness, Mr Evans, that’s what it was. Your son knew the layout of the tracks.’

           The exchange became heated, Dada’s temper rising like steam from wet laundry. ‘Carelessness, is it? Said Dada, his face like thunder. ‘We will see who is careless, Mr ap Morgan.’  

            The following evening at a meeting in the Methodist church, the village voted to strike. ‘Out until Mr Jenkins sets up a miner’s injury scheme and improves mine lighting,’ said Huw Ellis. The date was June 25^th 1856.

              The winches fell silent. No clattering on the cobbles disturbed early morning peace, no dirty faces and no coal dug, the strike total. Davy and I caught rabbits on the hills. We caught fish in the streams, and Mam found mushrooms in the woods, but by October, even these food sources had gone, and people starved. Small children’s bellies grew large while their limbs became like sticks. Then Mrs ap Morgan sent for Dada. I accompanied him.

          ‘Mr Evans, I cannot bear to see little children starve. Can your son read and write?’

            Dada said his anger rose like proving bread dough at the implication his son might be illiterate. A son who had read the bible since he was five years old. But he held back his retort. ‘Yes, Ma’am, all my sons can read and write.’

            ‘Well then, I will ask my husband to give your son a job in the Miners office. It pays a wage of eighteen shillings a week plus the cottage. I will discuss a compensation scheme with my husband too. ‘ She gazed at Dada, her violet eyes beseeching. ‘The children, Mr Evans, for pity’s sake, go back to work. Please.’ Tears spilt down her pale cheeks.

           I thought, ‘Praise be, the woman has a conscience.’

The doctor gave Bryn a wooden foot, and after a few days of practice, he made his way along the cobbles with a single crutch. Carys’ face shone when Dada told them the news. I saw it and rejoiced.

        The next day, the cobbles clattered, dirty faces reappeared, and zinc tubs took up their posts. Washing hung from the lines, food reappeared on tables, and children’s laughter tinkled. Gareth began working in the office, where he proved to be a diligent employee, and Mr ap Morgan praised him with a shilling per week raise. Then, after months of tough negotiations, a compensation scheme was signed and backdated. Twenty pounds for a lost foot or hand and fifty for a missing arm or leg.

             The lighting in the pit improved, too, with oil lamps fitted to brackets beside the tub tracks. Davy got the job of refilling the oil, and while he did the job, he wore a mask made by Carys using muslin left over from her wedding dress. His combined wages improved to that of a miner, and he told Mam and Dada of his intention to wed Alys, who he met while out hunting rabbits. I said,’ I 'm free to study for the University now’, to Mam’s delight.

        Carys gave birth to a son just before Christmas. They named him Iestyn after Dada, and joyful singing resounded again down the valley.