The Melting Pot

by Barrie Jones

This is a transcript of the serialisation of Henry William’s life of crime and his terms of imprisonment, titled The Dark Side of Convict Life, covering a total of twenty-three chapters in editions of the Merthyr Express from the 29^th January 1910 to the 2^nd July 1910. Henry’s prison records mark him as one of ‘imperfect’ education and the serialisation’s grammar suggests that the account of his criminal career was in part ‘ghosted,’ probably by a journalist at the Merthyr Express. Further research into Henry’s early life and details of his crimes and court judgements, show that Henry omitted or glossed over some aspects of his life of crime. Also, his life of crime extended well beyond the date his ‘memoir’ was written.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 29^th January 1910, page 12.

Introductory

My Dear Readers, – It is my sincere desire and wish that all those who have taken a wrong step in life will check, before it is too late, their evil courses, which is certain in the end to bring them to destruction. I do not for one moment, dear readers, accuse you of wrongdoing. God forbid! But to quote the words of the Bible: “Watch, lest ye also fall into condemnation.” It is a very easy thing to get into trouble. But, oh! how hard it is to wipe off the stains. We not only disgrace ourselves, but also our innocent loved ones. I do not think there is a single soul on God’s earth who has not experienced trouble of some description or other. Some people’s troubles are greater than others; some sins are more serious than others, but they are all considered equal in the sight of God, but, as it says in Holy Scripture, “Though thy sins be as scarlet they shall be white as wool.” Therefore, I wish to give you an insight into my own past life, of what nature sin is, and how far it will go to spoil our happiness. In my narrative I will relate the sufferings of poor unfortunate, shall I say pieces of humanity, and the things practised within the walls of our British Convict Prisons, hoping not to weary my readers too much.

Chapter I.

My sole object of choosing the “Dark Side of Convict Life” as the title of my narrative, is simply because I know of no bright side to the life of a poor convict. To begin with, I was once the son of a middle-class boot and shoe manufacturer, and my father was well known within the circle of influential tradesmen as a keen man of business. When I was a little lad rumours had been floating about that he was the heir to an extensive estate, which ultimately fell into the hands of the now Viscount Lord _______. Measures were adopted to restore the estate, but without success, as the will, somehow or other, had been buried or burned. Thus, fate was against father as it has since been against me. When I was not much more than three years of age I was sent to the Cyfarthfa Infants School, and after going through my course there as a child, I was transferred to the Georgetown Board School. I had a very good master, Mr. Jones by name, and a thorough gentleman; a man who knew how to work a school without a great deal of trouble with his pupils. He was also well respected, and well-liked by parents of lads placed under his care. Some of these old schoolboys are now men of position in the world, and some have drifted downwards like myself; but it was not for want of care and attention. Mr. Jones always did his best to bring us up as men, and apart from his teaching he trained us in physical drill. Some people are too apt to believe that the condition of a man is due to his brining up in the past, but nothing of the kind, for no matter how a lad has been brought up it does not follow that he will continue that course all through life.

Some people are born to be unfortunate, and I am one of those unfortunates. Still, it says in the Bible that “The rod and reproof giveth wisdom, but a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.” Now, that is quite the opposite in thousands of cases, Still further it says, “Correct thy son, and when he is old he will not depart from it.” That is quite correct, but have I not been corrected? When I was young was I not brought up in the midst of Christianity? Yes, I was but I departed from it. Yes, I am sorry to say I have, but it was not for the want of trying to do better, for I really have tried to live down the past, but I have been overtaken each time by misfortune. As General Booth says in his book on “Darkest England,” “That he believes there is a certain time for the turning point in each man and woman’s life, and I believe that time has come for me.”

I left school at the age of thirteen, and although not very classical, I managed to learn my three “R’s”. My mother then placed me with a well-known Merthyr chemist, but I did not use the pestle and mortar very long before I showed signs of a longing for more active work. In short, I wanted to work in the pits, but my mother had such a dread of the coal mine that she would not think of allowing her pet boy (for such I was considered that time) to go to work underground, for she had seen so many during her life carried home killed. My father said, “Let the lad go to work in the pit, it will make a man of him.” But, in the end, it nearly made a corpse of me. My mother had to give in, and before very long I was equipped ready to start as a collier boy. I was not long working underground before my dear old mother’s fears were realised. I was working with a miner by the name of William Haman in the six feet seam at the Cwm Pit Colliery, and one day I was engaged upon my knees filling the coal box when suddenly without the slightest warning, part of the roof gave way, and a large stone about two tons came crashing down within a foot of me. Fortunately for me it only struck the box, but the box tamped up, and dealt me a violent blow on the head, tearing back with its sharp edge nearly half my scalp. I at once fell unconscious to the ground, and when I awoke I found myself at home and in bed all bandaged up, the doctor having sewn my head right round from ear to ear. It was one of the narrowest escapes known to have occurred in a coal mine, for if I had been one foot further in towards the sea I should have been smashed beyond recognition. This was only the beginning of my troubles.

To be continued…..