The Melting Pot – Merthyr Tydfil's History and Culture

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XXI. Henry recounts the remainder of his journey from Parkhurst Prison and his arrival at Merthyr Tydfil station, where is met by his mother and two younger sisters.  

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 18^th June 1910, page 11.

Chapter XXI

As stated in my last chapter, I changed at Newport Mon., and had to wait some time before the motor train came in, and while patrolling the platform I was accosted by a young woman, who with tears in her eyes, one of which was black and blue, told me a pitiful tale of how she had run away from her husband, a Spaniard, who had brutally ill-treated her. In addition to the black eye the wretch had evidently used a knife upon her, as one of her hands was also bandaged up. Seeing me in a blue pilot suit she took me for a sailor. “I suppose,” says she, “you’ve just come from sea?” I said “yes, and I’ve had rather a long spell of it, too.” It was quite true, for I had crossed from Cowes to Southampton, although it was only twelve miles of water.

Thinking I must be the possessor of some money she asked me if I would lend her 1s. 6d. as she wished to go to her mother, living at a certain place, and that she would leave me her wedding ring as a security, which she did not wish to pawn, and I did not like to take. Finally, I asked her whether her tale was bona-fide, and assuring me that it was, I gave her the money, although I had only a few shillings until I reached my home. She immediately flung her arms around my neck, and the smack of her lips sounded all over the station. You can imagine my feelings, for I blushed from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, but it was her sudden joy, mixed with passion, that prompted her to do so, and I must confess that if it had not been for the wedding ring she wore I should have fallen in love with her there and then, passing over her black eye and damaged hand.

The train came in at last, and I stepped in the carriage, and just as the train was leaving the woman held out her hand and, of course, I shook it. She also made a daring attempt to repeat what she had already done, but she was too late, for she kissed the window instead, and I saw her wave her poor, bloodstained bandaged hand long after the train had left Newport. If you like, you can draw a moral from all this, for a man who ill-treats a woman, no matter what she has done, is a cad, and I’m not going to apologise for saying so, and I can assure you, all the way to my destination I resolved to lead  a better life, and with God’s help, to live down the past.

After a decent journey, the train arrived at Troedyrhiw. I said to myself, “Only one more station, Abercanaid, and then I shall soon be in Merthyr.” Looking out of the carriage window my eyes fell on the Gethin Colliery, then further up was the Cwm Pit, where I had met with the accident years ago, and where I little thought I should work again so soon.

Merthyr at last. I got out of the train leisurely walking up the platform, having  a good look out to see if I knew anyone. I had not gone far before I saw the backs of one aged and two young women, each of the latter nursing a child. I edged up a little nearer to them, and heard one say, “I wonder if that’s him over there,” pointing to another man. “No, he’s too tall to be him.” “But he might have grown, mam,” she answered.

I’m sure I should never have known them, if I had not heard the topic of their conversation. Nine years absence makes a great alteration. I thought it was about time for me to turn around, but no sooner had I done so and our eyes met, than the youngest woman, who was my sister Louisa, gave a shriek that could be heard in the Isle of Wight, so to speak, for there, half-laughing and half-crying, stood my darling old mother and two sisters.

“Whatever have you got there in the shawl?” says I to the youngest. “It’s a baby, Harry,” says she. “What! A baby?” says I. “You don’t mean to say you’re married?” says I. “For if you have done it, the best thing you can do is to go to the parson and tell him you only did it for a lark.” “I think,” says the witty little creature, “the best thing you can do is to come with us to the barber’s shop and get that beard taken off for really you look a fright.” And sure enough to a barber’s shop I did go, and got it off.

After the operation they escorted me to the home of my childhood, where I had a kind welcome from most of the inhabitants, who had known me from a child. Although I had been  a wild one I was liked by all.

To be continued….