Month: November 2024

Jack Jones (1884-1970)

by Mary Owen

‘…he has made for us a tender, deeply understanding picture of the      home-life of simple, patient, incredibly diligent workers in the mining towns of South Wales, and the regal heroism of their wives and mothers.’  D Lloyd George. (in his 1937 preface to Jack’s autobiography, Unfinished Journey)

‘…no other Anglo-Welsh writer’s experience comes near to Jack’s in variety, pace and richness.’ Glyn Jones (eminent Merthyr-born writer in his book, The Dragon Has Two Tongues – 1968)

Jack Jones was born on 140 years ago today, November 24th 1884 in Tai Harry Blawd, a row of small cottages on a bank of the Morlais Brook, a squalid area of Merthyr Tydfil. His father, David (Dai), was a collier and his mother, Sarah Ann (Saran), was typical of her kind, who, having worked as a young girl in the local brickyard, continued her life of hard labour in the home, struggling to bring up a large family, especially when money was scarce at times of pit strikes and lock-outs. Saran gave birth to fifteen children of whom nine survived. Jack was the eldest. His education at St Davids Church School and Caedraw Higher School was sporadic because his mother often needed him at home. He left school at the age of twelve to become a collier with his father. Always energetic and eager to help the mother he adored, he worked in his spare time as a butcher’s delivery boy and as a pop and orange-seller at the new Theatre Royal, where his love of the stage and the literary life was born. Fortunately, he grew up strong and healthy, surviving to tell and to write countless tales of his life, the working-class life of families particularly in Merthyr Tydfil and in South Wales in general. In his wordy, simply stated recollections of his long and eventful life he presents us with a true social and cultural history of the times of our grandparents and great-grandparents. His writings, first published in 1935, comprise eleven novels, three plays, a biography of David Lloyd George, newspaper articles, radio scripts, speeches and much material that was unpublished. Those considered his best are the novels: ‘Black Parade’, ‘Bidden to the Feast’, ‘Off to Philadelphia in the Morning’; the autobiographies: ‘Unfinished Journey’, ‘Me and Mine’, Give Me Back My Heart’ and the screenplay of the film ‘Proud Valley’ in which Jack also had an acting part.

Jack made popular appearances on television in the 1960s and became known to many more admirers as a self-educated ex-collier whose love of writing had led him, after service and injury in the Great War, to realise his true calling. After his first successes he settled in Cardiff, where he made up for his lack of education by reading regularly at the central library and being allowed by an understanding librarian to borrow far more than the allotted number of books to read at home. With the knowledge he had gained of the history of South Wales and of his beloved Merthyr, he improved the book he had first called ‘Saran’ to honour his mother, the determined woman who steered her large family through many hard times. He told, honestly and without exaggeration, of the squalor and destitution that had existed in some areas of the then prosperous town, which Merthyr’s wealthy businessmen and professionals had helped to create. ‘Saran’ disgusted and disappointed much of Merthyr Tydfil’s reading public and this attitude, sadly, lingered – and still lingers! among people who recall what their parents and grandparents had regarded as the author’s treachery. The book, later renamed ‘Black Parade’, is now known as a Welsh ‘classic’. It is an impressive cavalcade of past times and a fine tribute to his people and his hometown. It was not written to shame and scorn his beloved Merthyr, but with great pride and compassion. In book-signings he always used the same two words above his name: Yours sincerely.

Unlike his father, who worked underground for half a century from eight years of age, Jack led a far more varied life. Before becoming a successful published writer when he was fifty Jack had been a soldier, navvy, communist agitator, political protagonist, trade union official, book salesman and cinema manager.  In the following thirty years he was a freelance journalist, playwright, author, fluent public speaker, film actor, script writer and television personality. Success bought him a comfortable bungalow home, which he named ‘Sarandai’, located in Rhiwbina, a pleasant garden suburb of Cardiff and close to a direct bus route to Merthyr. Amidst a community of noted Anglo-Welsh writers and academics, Jack, whose writing and character had so impressed Lloyd George in 1937, would cut a striking, silver-haired figure as he strolled and chatted easily with them, no doubt sounding sincerely every bit like the Merthyr man he was proud to be.

Timothy Evans: Wrongly Executed

Today is the centenary of the the birth, in Merthyr Vale, of Timothy Evans. To mark the occasion, transcribed below is a marvellous article by Rupert Taylor.

Timothy John Evans

Timothy John Evans was born in 1924 in Wales. He was sickly and had an intellectual deficiency; he never learned to read or write anything other than his name.

His father ran off when he was young and left his mother to cope with three children. This difficult childhood led to an adulthood filled with alcohol abuse and violent outbursts.

Timothy Evans Moves to London

In 1939, Evans settled in London’s then-seedy Notting Hill district.

In 1947, he married Beryl Thorley, five years his junior. The Watford Observer records that Beryl was “about as bright as [her husband]. When Beryl fell pregnant they needed more room so went to live in a squalid upstairs flat at 10, Rillington Place.”

Executed Today says the marriage was “tempestuous,” and the birth of baby Geraldine put an even greater strain on the relationship, with Evans finding it very difficult to support his family on a van driver’s wages.

When Beryl became pregnant a second time, she decided to seek an abortion, something that was illegal at the time.

Confession to the Murder of his Wife

The police file on Evans opened on November 30, 1949. Bob Woffinden in his book Miscarriages of Justice writes that was the day Evans “walked into the police station at Merthyr Vale, South Wales, and told the duty constable that he had put his wife’s body down a drain.”

The immediate investigation turned up no body and Evans changed his story. Now, he said, his wife died when a tenant in a flat in the same building in which he and Beryl lived had tried to abort her fetus; he named ground-floor tenant John Reginald Christie.

Timothy Evans under arrest

Police went to 10, Rillington Place and interviewed John Christie, who denied Evans’ allegations. Police decided Evans was unhinged and left.

Later, when it became obvious that Beryl Evans and Geraldine seemed to have vanished, police returned to the dwelling and during a search found the decomposing bodies of Evans’s wife and the child hidden in a small washhouse. Both had been strangled.

Trial in Old Bailey

Evans was charged with the murder of his wife and child and gave two statements to the police confessing to the crimes. Later, it turned out the “confessions” had been written by police; Evans signed them after they were read to him.

He was brought to trial for the murder of Geraldine only at the Old Bailey on January 11, 1950, where Katherine Ramsland, writing for truTV, says he got shoddy advocacy from his lawyer, Malcolm Morris:

“It was as if [he] thought him obviously guilty and had no reason to expend any effort.”

Evans’s defence centered on the withdrawal of his confessions and his assertion that “Christie done it.” He said he confessed because he believed police would beat him up until he owned up to the crime and he wanted to save himself the pain.

But Christie showed up as a prosecution witness and gave far more compelling testimony than Evans. In addition, police fudged some evidence that firmly pointed the finger of blame away from Evans.

The jury took just 40 minutes to pronounce Evans guilty, and the trial judge, Mr. Justice Lewis, donned the black cap and delivered the death sentence. Evans was hanged in Pentonville Prison three months later, maintaining his innocence to the end.

Christie’s Life Takes a Turn for the Worse

Following the trial and execution of Timothy Evans, life turned sour for Christie and his wife Ethel. Christie lost his job as a postman and the couple squabbled. In December 1950, Ethel disappeared; gone to live with relatives in Sheffield, Christie told her friends.

Christie sold his furniture to pay the rent and then moved out of Rillington Place when he ran out of money.

Another tenant, a Mr. Brown, was putting up a shelf in the Christies’ old flat when he found the wall to be hollow. The Watford Observer picks up the story:

“[Brown] shone a light inside and saw what appeared to be the body of a naked woman. He could not have known that he was about to uncover a horror story, that six bodies would be discovered at 10, Rillington Place.”

One of them was Ethel, stuffed under the floorboards of the front room, the others were women Christie had picked up and killed as part of a perverse sexual ritual. Another two victims were, of course, Beryl and Geraldine Evans, bringing his total to eight.

Bungled Police Investigation

Police had completely botched their earlier search of the property when they focused solely on Timothy Evans. Unbelievably, Christie had used the thigh bone of one of his victims to prop up the fence. Other bodies had been concealed around the property and investigators had failed to find them.

John Reginald Christie

Christie had also buried the head of one of his victims in the garden. When his dog dug up the remains, Christie hid them in a bombed-out building. The skull was found by some children and handed over to the police, who ignored it.

Evidence that would have saved Evans from the gallows was staring at the police and they failed to see it; a classic case of police tunnel vision, accepting only evidence that supported their theory and ignoring everything else.

Reginald Christie Goes on Trial

On June 22, 1953 Christie faced justice in the same Old Bailey courtroom in which he had played a part in the wrongful conviction of Timothy Evans.

Christie tried the not-guilty-by-reason-of-insanity defence; Katherine Ramsland writes that “His own attorney called him a maniac and madman.”

The jury deliberations took a little longer than in the Evans case (80 minutes), but the verdict and sentence were the same. On July 15, 1953, John Reginald Christie was hanged by the same executioner, Albert Pierrepoint, in the same execution chamber as Timothy Evans.

Final Justice for Timothy Evans

An inquiry was held to determine what went wrong and incredibly upheld the guilty verdict and sentence registered against Evans. However, a campaign to overturn this ridiculous outcome was waged by Evans’ sister and the journalist Ludovic Kennedy.

In 1966, Evans was given a posthumous pardon.

Even with the pardon, it was another 37 years before the family of Timothy Evans was able to clear his name. Lord Brennan QC was appointed to assess the case. In his 2003 report, he noted: “… the conviction of Timothy Evans is now recognised to have been one of the most notorious, if not the most notorious, miscarriages of justice.

“There is no evidence to implicate Timothy Evans in the murder of his wife … She was most probably murdered by Christie.”

In common with two other controversial cases, the wrongful execution of Timothy Evans led to the suspension of capital punishment in Britain in 1965 and its abolition in 1969.

Bonus Factoids

  • 10, Rillington Place was pulled down and a garden was planted in its place. The street itself was renamed Ruston Mews.
  • In 1971, Richard Fleischer made the movie 10 Rillington Place. It starred John Hurt as Timothy Evans and Richard Attenborough as John Christie. In 2016, the BBC dramatized the same story.
  • At his execution, Christie complained that his nose itched but he couldn’t scratch it because his arms were pinioned. The executioner, Albert Pierrepoint, comforted him by saying “It won’t bother you for long.”

Many thanks to Rupert Taylor for his permission to use this article. To see the original, please follow the link below.

https://discover.hubpages.com/politics/Timothy-Evans-Wrongfully-Executed

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 22

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XIX. Henry recounts his association with the convict Samuel Blisset and how he helps pass on a message to Samuel’s daughter, Hannah Williams, following his release from Parkhurst. Blisset shot his wife Margaret on the 15th November 1894 outside her shop at 112 Ivor Street, Dowlais. Margaret a ‘well known’ greengrocer, died of her wounds on the following day. 

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 28th May 1910, page 11.

Chapter XIX

THE DOWLAIS TRADEGY RECALLED

During my stay in Parkhurst, I never got into much trouble, for though I was passed as perfectly sane, nevertheless, I was well treated by the doctors. Parkhurst is well known as the dead station; the last camping place it has been to many of the criminal class. Men suffering from all manner of diseases are to  found here – consumption, heart disease, pleurisy, dropsy, and a great many fit cases. I was in Parkhurst over three years, and during that time not one single week passed without some poor, unfortunate passing away to the unseen world.

I was surprised to see down there poor Samuel Blisset, who was sentenced to twenty years on the 12th of November, 1894, for the manslaughter of his wife, and I cannot help thinking that his case did not merit the heavy sentence passed upon him for, when all is said and done, it was more of an accident than a crime, and there is doubt that if had had been allowed to go into the witness box, as is done these days, and give his own evidence, then he might have cleared himself. I had not much of a chance beyond a passing word to speak to him, but I can well remember a few weeks before my liberation telling him that I would take a message to his daughter in Dowlais, and after some difficulty in searching I found her, and I received a great welcome. The poor woman had evidently been trying and trying to get her dear father’s sentence remitted, but the poor woman’s application each time met with a refusal. Samuel Blisset was fifty-four years of age at the time of his trial, and I suppose he was given the heavy sentence thinking he would not live to see it through. But what man proposes, God disposes, and Samuel Blisset now has his liberty, and is now restored to his daughter to live the remainder of his life in peace and happiness, and when the time comes he will not be buried in a convict’s grave, where no flowers nor headstones marks the place. Let us hope that Samuel Blisset will live with his daughter for many years yet. For a convict is a man who has a heart that can feel joy and sorrow just like another, so do not treat him worse because misfortune is his curse. But he is the son of some mother, remember.

Before closing this chapter I will give an account of a poor, week-minded lad, for he was far away from budding-manhood. This young fellow’s name was Calladine, and he was subject to fits, and very bad fits they were, too, which took him some time to get out of them. He was a light-hearted – although light-headed – friendly, little fellow, and many a chat we had together, but his conversation pointed strongly to brain trouble, for sometimes when speaking to one he would suddenly stop and look into the sky, as if looking for his next words. It was heart rending to hear him speak of his coming liberty, but the poor little chap never dreamt that in a few weeks’ time he would be laid to rest in the convict’s cemetery at Newport. One morning, coming over the steps of the Protestant Chapel, this poor fellow fell down in a  fit. He was taken to a hospital, and after recovering, he declined to stay there. While in the straight jacket I heard his shouts and cries, which were most pitiful to hear, and I was working at the time sweeping the gutters underneath the padded cells. The following night he was taken from the infirmary to the separate cells, ready to appear before the governor the next morning, but when the officer opened his cell door, poor Calladine was cold and stiff, having expired during the night.

To be continued…..

Merthyr’s Lost Landmarks: The Huts, Treharris

In the late 1860s, a mineral lease of over 3,000 acres of land, owned by three farms, Twyn-y-Garreg, Pantanas and Cefn Forest was exploited by a group of businessmen, headed by Frederick. W. Harris. There was no settlement here in those days just a beautiful green valley which was dissected by the small Taff Bargoed river.

Sinking commenced in 1873, and the colliery was to be named Harris’s Navigation Colliery (later Deep Navigation Colliery), the village which built up around it was subsequently names Harris’ town or Treharris.

In 1869, a row of small houses was built for the families and men who were to be employed to sink the pit. This small street was named the Twyn-y-Garreg Cottages, but have always been known locally as ‘The Huts’. There were 32 houses, and they mostly consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms, although No.1 the Huts had four bedrooms, which the Minnett family of two adults and ten children occupied. These houses were made of wood and had hessian ceilings which were whitewashed, stone or brick chimney stacks and slate roofs. The rent was 7s. 8d.

‘The Huts’. Courtesy of the Alan George Archive

There was a commercial bakery at the Huts, and the first school lessons and religious services in the area were held there too.

Remarkably these huts survived until the 1950’s when they were finally demolished. A new street is built on the site now, and is called Navigation Close.

‘The Huts’ in 1936. Courtesy of the Alan George Archive