Author: merthyr.history@gmail.com

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 19

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XVI. Henry recounts his medical examination and his transfer to Parkhurst Prison, Isle of Wight. At this time Parkhurst catered for the infirm and ‘weak minded’ convicts, consequently the prison regime was not as hard as in other penal institutions.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 7th May 1910, page 9.

Chapter XVI

At a quarter past five on Tuesday the 12th of July 1904 Portland Prison bell rang out its chimes, the last chimes that I was to hear in that dreadful place. I was fast asleep in the strong cell in the hospital when the night nurse came and knocked at my door. “Are you awake, Williams,” says he. “Well, I’m not quite dead yet,” says I. “Why, your worth a hundred dead ones yet,” he replied. “Anyway,” says he. “Get ready, for you leave here at half-past six.” So up I jumped, put on my shoes, and was ready almost before he had said the last word.

My heart throbbed loudly as the bell itself, when I heard I was to be transferred to the Isle of Wight. They gave me my breakfast, which consisted of one pint of hot milk, half pound of white bread, and one ounce of butter, which I did not forget to eat, for I had forgotten all about the stomach pump. Shortly after breakfast in came the medical officer. “Well, Williams, my lad,” says he, in a kind, fatherly way, “how do you feel this morning?” “Well, just about the same as usual, sir,” says I. “Have you eaten your breakfast?” says he. “Yes, sir.” I replied. He then proceeded to examine me in order to see whether I was fit to travel. That done, he gave me a bit of his advice, saying, “Your heart is perfectly sound, Williams, and it is my opinion that if you will look after yourself when you get to Parkhurst you will very soon be better, but do not get excited, and keep perfectly calm.” I then said, “I suppose, sir, you are sending me to my last camping place.” “Oh, dear, no,” says he. “You must not think of dying yet. Your organs are all perfectly sound, and I do not see why you should not keep them sound.” “But I have a very weak stomach, sir.” says I. “Well, that may be.” Says he, “but people with delicate stomachs live to a great age sometimes. And I am sending you to the Isle of Wight because the climate is milder. Oh, you will be all right.”

With that he left me. He had not left me five minutes when in came the Chief Warder with a pair of handcuffs and a chain, which he proceeded to place upon my wrists. Having done so he led me up to the front gate, where I slipped into cab, and was driven to Portland railway station, where I got into a train for Southampton. The journey was rather a pleasant one, although I kept thinking it was my last, but I was afterwards told I was not transferred to the Isle of Wight on the grounds of any organic disease, but sent there as a weak-minded convict, and when there I should not be subjected to the prison rules but placed under medical observation. I should be allowed to converse with my fellow convicts and receive hospital diet, and be employed on light labour in the open air. Of course, this information I received in confidence on the condition I would not breath it even to my ten ounce loaf for the hospital nurse who accompanied the Chief Warder in charge of me was a very good man to me during the time I was in Portland. I owe my life to him, for if it had not been for the kindness which he placed at my disposal I should be on the hill in Portland convict cemetery, instead of transferred to the Isle of Wight. Therefore, I do not wish to place in print even his initials, but I should very much like to place him on the roll of heroes of everyday life.

After a few hours’ travel by rail I reached Southampton. I stepped out of the train into a cab, which was to take me to the pier-head, a couple of miles away. Arriving on the landing stage I was led on board ship, the Princess Beatrice, which took me across the water to the Isle of Wight, landing at a place called Cowes. I got off the ship into a cab, which was waiting to take me to Parkhurst Prison, a distance of six miles. After a pleasant little journey, passing the late Queen’s Island home, Osborne House, I at last arrived at the Prison gates, and was taken to the separate cells, searched, and then placed in a cell. My heart nearly fell from my side to my feet, and my brain swam around like the sea I had crossed when I found myself in prison again after such a beautiful sniff of sweet liberty. I was not in my cell long before the door was flung open, in came the doctor, attended by the hospital nurse, for he wore a red-cross upon his arm. “Well, my lad,” says the doctor, “Williams is your name, is it not?” “Yes, sir,” says I. “How do you feel after your journey?” “Downhearted,” I replied. “Oh,” says he, “do not make yourself ill. You must cheer up. You will be alright. I will take care of you,” says he, in his kind way. He then examined me, as is the usual custom, and ordered the nurse to take me into the hospital, and when there, I must confess, the doctor treated me with every possible custom, and he continued to do so all through my time, but I had some more trouble to go through even there, for although the doctors treat a man kindly they do not know that their orders are violated. In my next chapter I will give the account of my life in Parkhurst Prison.

To be continued……

Accident on the Brecon & Merthyr Railway

The following article is transcribed from the Western Mail dated 24 August 1874.

ACCIDENT ON THE BRECON AND MERTHYR RAILWAY

A STOKER KILLED AND A PASSENGER INJURED

On Saturday evening another accident occurred on the Brecon and Merthyr Railway, when the last evening train was wending its way from Brecon to Newport. At a quarter past six o’clock, just as the passenger train had approached Pant station at the point of junction which leads to the Dowlais branch, the engine, from some defect in the points or otherwise, left the rails, and, after an abrupt deviation towards the Dowlais branch, came to a standstill.

The stoker, on perceiving something wrong, either jumped off, or was violently thrown from the footplate of the engine. He was instantaneously killed. His name is John Price, of 26, Dolphin-street, Newport. The engine dragged after it one carriage, which appears to have become separated from the other portion of the train at the time of the accident, and in this carriage was a woman, named Elizabeth Jefferies, wife of a bailer at Ebbw Vale, whose leg was broken. The rear portion of the train passed for a short way along the main line. It contained a great many passengers, none of whom sustained injury. The injured woman was conveyed to the Bruce Hotel, Dowlais, where she received every treatment from Dr. Griffiths, of Dowlais. An inquest will be held on the deceased as soon, as practicable.

ANOTHER ACCOUNT
(FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT)
MERTHYR, SUNDAY

This line seems fated to become notorious in the annals of accidents. The inquest has not yet been held over the remains of the victims of the last, when another occurs, and this time to a passenger train.

On Saturday evening the “4.30 passenger” from Brecon to Newport was arriving at the Pant Station, a little way from Dowlais, and where the main line to Newport forms a junction with the branch to Dowlais, when the locomotive suddenly left the metals, and a scene of wreck and disaster at once occurred. Though only 500 yards or so from the station, the pace of the train was rapid. I am not aware whether the carriages are furnished with continuous breaks, but I believe this is the case, and thus up to the closest vicinity of the station the pace is rapid. The locomotive kept exceedingly close to the metals, but it must be noted for future examination on the Pant side.

Some of the carriages were upset, and two of the passengers at least severely injured. One of them at the moment of the accident opened the carriage and jumped out and broke her leg. She was a very stout woman, and this case may be serious. One of the carriages was completely overturned, and the passengers thrown in a heap, but no bones were broken. The stoker, a young married man, named Price, aged 26, was thrown under the wheels of the locomotive and instantly killed. This was the only death, but the injuries received were numerous, though all but two managed to go on with the train.

The scene of the accident has been thronged, but only a heap of matchwood, the remains of one of the carriages, showed where the calamity took place.

It seems a difficult matter to account for the accident. Had the points been at “half,” precisely the same thing would have occurred, but in this case the points are worked from the signal box, and were locked at the time. It will be seen by the official inspector’s report that the first trace of leaving the metals is at the points, and the first blow on one of the fish-plates. Could the flange of the wheel have struck this at a critical place, the facing points just before or on a curve are extremely dangerous, and should be altered.

This is the first accident that has occurred in the locality, which is one of great archaeological interest. The place is called Pantcoed Ivor, and is so named from the redoubtable worthy who scaled Cardiff Castle and sorely grieved the doughty earls of Glamorgan in days of yore. Nearby is a hollow where he is traditionally supposed to have fought his last battle, and on the other side a place called Rhyd-y-bedd, which is associated with his burial. Here, then, by ancient wells, and amidst the moss and the ivy of the past, comes another railway disaster, and its scenic accompaniments, which, too often, alas, mar one of the noblest handmaids of civilization. Where Ivor Bach marched in battle array the locomotive sweeps, and trains of commerce and pleasure are rapidly brushing aside a locality which is only again brought into notice by this railway catastrophe.

Western Mail – 24 August 1874

St Tydfil in Llandaff – and Saundersfoot

Did you know that today is St Tydfil’s Day?

To mark the occasion, here is short article by Rev Caroline Owen.

Coal magnate Sir William Thomas Lewis, (1837 – 1914), first Baron Merthyr, was born in Merthyr Tydfil. He married Ann Rees, grand-daughter of Lucy Thomas (‘mother of the Welsh coal trade’). They lived at Mardy House in Aberdare and in 1899 bought Hean Castle in Saundersfoot. Lady Lewis died at Hean Castle in 1902, and a window was dedicated to her in St Issel’s Church near their estate in Saundersfoot.

In 1921 their son the  Honourable Trevor Gwyn Eliot Lewis, died and a window depicting St Tydfil  and St Elvan was dedicated to him in St Issel’s.

St Tydfil’s window left and St Elvan’s window right at St Issel’s Church in Saundersfoot

The baron also commissioned stained glass windows in churches in Merthyr, Aberdare and in Llandaff Cathedral had one dedicated to St Teilo, St Tydfil and St Elfan.