by Barrie Jones
Chapter XXII. Henry recounts his return to honest labour at Cwm Pit Colliery, and the problems encountered in concealing his past.
The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 25th June 1910, page 9.
Chapter XXII
Nine years of incessant labour on a convicts settlement plays havoc with a man’s strength. After about three weeks’ rest I made up my mind to look for a job; so I wandered up to Heolgerrig, where I knew of an overman, and who was known as Shoney Bach for short. I met him just outside his house and walked up to him. I said, “Is there any chance for a start, Mr W_______” “Indeed,” he replied, “I’m afraid that the pit is full up” “I am very sorry,” says I, “but I happen to be badly in want of a start just now.” “There may be a chance later on,” says he. “What is your name?” “Harry Williams,” says I. “What, are you the same Harry Williams that used to go to Georgetown School with me, and who was sentenced to penal servitude years ago?” “I am the same one,” I replied. “Good heavens, Harry,” says he, “You have altered.” After giving me a bit of good advice he said, “You can come to work to-night, Harry, I will put you on the screen until I see something better for you.”
I thanked him, and went home to make preparations, and on the following day I went to the offices on the head of the pit to sign on. Having done so, I went home and started work that night. I was getting on very well, for although the work in the screen was a bit dusty I preferred it to the dust of the Portland limestone. I was not long on the screen before I was sent under to work as labourer. There was no one there at the time who knew me, although I recognised several faces, one or two who had been schoolmates. I kept as much as possible to myself, for I did not want the whole pit to know that I was a released convict on ticket-of-leave. But no matter how hard a person tries to conceal his identity, spotted he will be in the end, as I was. Not that I cared in the least, for I had suffered for what I had done.
I was one night told off by the fireman to the heading to shift a few trams of debris, and I was accompanied by a young chap named Peter Lodge. An agreeable little fellow was Peter, and we got on well together; for we devised a way to do our work properly without killing ourselves. Peter and I didn’t work the same as other shifters, one shifting one tram and the other shifting the next one. Peter and I used to drive in at the same tram, and then sit down and take a rest until the next came. Yes, I often think of young Peter now, for a better little comrade not to be found in a day’s march.
But even in a coalmine there can be found some interfering person, and one night Peter and I were having our snap time – that is a rest from twelve to one – when two labourers whom I knew, although they did not know me at the time, came into our place, sat down on a lump of coal, and proceeded to “chew the fat” with Peter, my mate. “Hullo,” says one, “you’ve got a new mate with you to-night, Peter.” “Yes,” says he, and turning to me, they said, “You know, mate, you’ve got to pay your footing.” “So I suppose,” says I, “but which way will you have it, standing up here or a boxing contest up at Taylor’s?” (This being a well-known boxing saloon). But I wasn’t having any of it, for I did not wish to be sent back to Portland to do my ticket. Anyway they cooled down in the end, and one of them, lifting his lamp, looked into my face, and turning to his mate, he said, “Do you know who this fellow looks like?” “No,” says the other. “Why, Harry Williams,” says his mate; him who was sentenced to penal servitude in 98.” “Oh I remember,” replied the other, “do you mean Harry Cobler?” “Of course, I do.” So, they then kept my name in their brain, and mixing my character up, one giving me a good name, and the other condemning me.
Of course, I had already told Peter who I was, and when their conversation was getting heated, Peter was laughing fit to burst, for little did they know that I was the man. The snap time over, they had to clear out of it, and a few more trams of debris were brought with it. Knocking off time came, and Peter and I put our shovels away, and made our way back to the shaft, and off home. That’s all I know of the first night for many years of the Cwm Pit Colliery.
To be continued…..