Tag: Merthyr Express

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 7

by Barrie Jones

Chapter V recounts Henry’s completion of his prison sentence at Dartmoor Prison, approximately three months short of his three-year sentence, and his first experience of London.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 26th February 1910, page 11.

Chapter V

The liberation of a convict is looked forward to far more than that of a local prisoner. In the first place, the governor has no power to release him until the preliminaries are gone into, as all his papers, records and so on are sent up to the Home Secretary three full months before his release; and then, and not until then, will he be allowed to grow his hair, or, what is called, “going into orders.” Then he has to be photographed, and all the minute marks on his body are taken, and also his fingerprints, with head measurements. He is also measured for his clothes and boots, and finally he is called up by the governor concerning his future prospects. The Government allows so much for each convict’ skit, which consists of one suit of clothes, one pair of boots or shoes, two pairs of woollen socks, two handkerchiefs; two collars, two over-shirts, one hat, and a penny comb; but they are not worth much. Convicts, as a rule, do not wear these prison made clothes very long; they get rid of them as soon as possible, as nearly everyone knows the prison cut, particularly the flannels. I have known a convict to be liberated in those clothes, and only a week later, brought back to “serve his ticket” for a breach of the rules, and wearing quite a different suit altogether.

My journey from Dartmoor to Pentonville was a rather pleasant one, and a great deal happier I felt coming from than going to. I had still seven days yet to serve at Pentonville, and that short period seemed to me as long as the whole sentence; indeed, I must confess that the night previous to my discharge was to me rather a restless one, for I lay awake reckoning each stroke of the prison clock. A convict does not think much of his sentence while serving it, but when he is within his last three month’s time drags. The lag says: “It is the longest part of my lagging.” It is then he begins to feel the punishment of along sentence. I can well remember a convict at Dartmoor asking me how long I was doing, and when told it was three years, he replied: “That is only a sleep.” Naturally it was only a sleep to him, for he wore upon his arm the letter L, which told that he was serving a life sentence. I have nothing to say about Pentonville Prison, as I was not long enough there to experience anything approaching person treatment; it being the first time I had ever been in a London prison, or London itself. I wish to let my readers know what I went to London for, and that was, to join a Prisoner’ Aid Society. It was not that I had no home to go to, for I had as good a home as any man, but I did not wish to go back home, as I had too many friends who were always ready to treat me with another “lagging,” if I gave them the least chance. Between nine and ten o’clock on the morning of my discharge I was given an old temporary suit of clothes at the prison, and I was taken in a cab to the well-known Saint Giles’ Christian Mission, where I was supplied with a new suit of common black diagonal, and a pair of boots, as I refused clothes made at Dartmoor. Those clothes were paid for by the Government to the Society, the former allowing two pounds two and sixpence for a convicts’ rig-out, and I was entitled to a balance of over a sovereign, as the clothes and boots could be obtained at any clothiers for a little over a sovereign.

I had an interview with the founder of this establishment, and asked him to give me the promised assistance, but he said: “You haven’t sufficient money to start with,” and he could do nothing for me. This is a Prisoners’ Aid Society, and he had a few loafers there who had the cockney impudence (and that Is impudence seldom heard in Wales) to ask me to stand them a drink. I was having none of it, and as Welshmen are looked upon by that class of people as “mugs,” I up and asked them if they thought they had a shark. I told them that I was a Welshman, but nearly all Welshmen could speak English, too, so in the end I was advised to go home, as London was not the place for me. I replied: “No, you are right; I think I had better go home.” Thus, I left Paddington on the 19th of July 1898, for Merthyr, where I was received with open arms by my mother and sisters.

To be continued…..

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 6

by Barrie Jones

Chapter IV (continued) At Dartmoor, Henry recounts an attempted prison break by William Carter, John Martin, and Ralph Goodwin.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 19th February 1910, page 9.

Chapter IV (continued)

Well, time went on, and it was Christmas Eve, 1896, that an event happened at Dartmoor which, doubtless, still lingers in the memory of many, especially London people, for it was to the Seven Dials the poor victim belonged. His name was Carter, and he was undergoing the long term of twelve years. On the day mentioned, we were all out on the bogs, digging, when a thick fog came on – so thick that we could only see the outline of each other a very short distance away. The guards began to close in, when suddenly the whistles began blowing, for three convicts belonging to another gang had made a dash for liberty. No sooner had they done so than the sergeant of the guards gave the order to fire upon them. One was shot in the thigh and fell; then poor Carter was seen to throw up his arms, and he fell dead, having had five slugs poured into his lungs. Ah! I shall never forget the sight when we covered up the poor chap with our smocks and bore him back to the prison upon an old door we had taken off its hinges. In the meanwhile, guards were sent in search of the other missing man, and shots were fired at random, but he was swift of foot, and he managed to get clear away.

Three days after he was recaptured and brought back to Dartmoor, where he was tried by the prison director, and sentenced to undergo fifteen days’ bread and water, six months separate confinement, made to wear the parti-coloured distinctive dress, and to be restrained in cross-irons for a period of six months. As for the other convict, who was wounded, he received the same on discharge from the hospital; but poor Carter was borne in an old farm cart, followed only by his brother and sister, who came down from London to see the last of their poor brother laid to rest in the convicts’ cemetery at Princetown.

My term of three years was slowly coming to an end, and after being persecuted by officers, who, one by one, kept on reporting me, I managed to cheat them of 116 days’ ticket-of-leave, having been robbed of five months of my ticket. Thus, my day of liberation came round, and I was escorted to Tavistock, and from thence to Pentonville Prison, London, to await my release.

To be continued……

The Crown Inn

by Carolyn Jacob

James Roberts, a freeholder and a dissenter opened the Crown Inn as one of his many business activities. In his book, ‘The Labyrinth of Flames’, Chris Evans writes that in the early 1790s the ironmasters hoped to install a landlord of their own choosing at the Crown Inn “as a competitor to Peggy Jenkins, the doughty if slapdash matriarch who ran the Star Inn. Each Company pledged £70 to their nominee, but little more was heard of the proposal thereafter.”

 The Crown Inn is situated at number 28 on the Lower High Street, in the old ‘Village’ area of Merthyr Tydfil and dates from 1785, although there have been later alterations to the inn. It is a grade II listed building. The Crown Inn was built on the site of an earlier thatched property and was fully licensed to let post horses in the nineteenth century. The building has a simple 2 storey Georgian front with some interesting old features and is a fine example of a late 18th century coaching inn. The Crown is contemporary with the time of Anthony Bacon, the first ironmaster. Following the building of the Cyfarthfa Ironworks visitors started to come to Merthyr Tydfil and the Crown provided essential refreshment and accommodation.

Before 1800 the first post-office was at the Crown Inn. An old woman brought letters from Brecon and these were put on a round table ready to be collected. Despite having undergone many changes, the building still retains many original features, such as the iron gates and carriage arch to the right hand side of the building leading to a cobbled courtyard where coaches from Cardigan were berthed.

The Merthyr Express of 28 July 1866 tells a tale of a traveller in the year 1806. He put up at the best hotel then, the Crown. He well remembered being taken by a friend to see the Castle Hotel, which was then in course of building.

One sunny afternoon, towards the close of the eighteenth century, two suspicions-looking travellers rode down through Twvnyrodyn, then the direct-road from Cardiff, passed the Court House and entered the village. They dismounted and entered the Crown Hotel. ‘In the queer old hostelry, then the principle inn, or at least equal rival to the Star’. The travellers were no other than the press gang, as Merthyr men would soon know to their cost. Coming at such a time the rumour about them spread quickly, terrified children hid them and one young fellow found a refuge in a large chimney at the Blast Furnace public-house. Never had such an alarm been caused before. A veritable panic seemed to have seized everybody, and the most ludicrous actions ensued to avoid these men. While all this commotion was going on in the little village the two travellers sat in the parlour quite at their ease and enjoyed the Crown’s best ale.

The Crown was a popular public house in nineteenth century Merthyr Tydfil and on Saturdays it was not unusual for a crowd of men to come out of the Crown or Star and for 2 of them to strip to the waist in order to have a public fight. Before the Glamorgan Constabulary was established there was only a village constable and he wisely kept well out of these occasions.

In the first half of the nineteenth century the market was outside the Crown Inn. The shops were crowded with customers and the fairs and markets were held in the open streets extending from the churchyard wall upwards, temporary stalls were erected along a poorly constructed pavement and the public highway itself was invaded by hand-barrows, baskets and panniers. These stalls sold clothes, boots, shoes, jewellery, gingerbread, sweets, Welsh flannels and so on. The butchering trade had its own area and small market in a side street.

In 1835 Pigot’s directory gives John Richards as the Inn Keeper of the Crown Inn and on the 1841 census Margaret Richards was the landlady living in the Crown with her daughters, Mary and Jane. In 1852 Slater’s directory lists Howell Davies as landlord.

In the mid nineteenth century the Crown was the most popular location for Friendly Societies to meet. Amongst those that met there were The Social Society, The Society of Gentleman, Tradesman and Mechanics, The Cambrian Friendly Society, The Star Brotherly Society and the Faithful Youths’ Society, according to the Merthyr Telegraph, Registered Friendly Societies, 26 September 1857.

A directory from 1889 shows John Davies to be the landlord here. The 1901 register of electors reveals that David Francis Williams lived in the Crown Inn. A trade directory of 1923 shows that D. Williams was still the Crown’s landlord at this time.

Memories of Old Merthyr

We continue our serialisation of the memories of Merthyr in the 1830’s by an un-named correspondent to the Merthyr Express, courtesy of Michael Donovan.

But I have wandered somewhat, so to return – having given Cyfarthfa its innings, and let us begin with the personnel of Plymouth, or rather, of Plymouth, Pentrebach and Dyffryn.

Part of the derelict Plymouth ironworks in the 1900s. Courtesy of the Alan George Archive

The upper part formed a portion of the taking of Mr Bacon, and the ‘Furnace Isaf’ was leased from him by the father of Messrs Hill. Upon his death the firm became Richard, John and Anthony Hill. Richard, the eldest son, was a fine specimen of the old English gentleman. John was not so robust, but keen, fond of horses, betting and of gaiety. Anthony, studious, precise and particular. He lived to become the sole proprietor after years of hard work and earnest attention.

As characteristic of Richard Hill, he, as well as his brothers, were Tories, and on the return of a member for Cardiff had a chairing. He was known as ‘Honest Dick from the Mountain’. Richard Hill  died at Court yr Alla, and rests in the churchyard near there (Michaelston-le-Pit, I believe). John in Bath, and Anthony lonesome at Pontyrhun. They had a sister who died a spinster at Clifton in 1847 or so. It is a matter of regret that the trustees of Mr A. Hill’s will did not see their way to let the works pass into the hands of one of the relatives, but that is forestalling events.

References to ‘Mushet on Iron’ will show that the blast furnaces at the Dyffryn and the blowing engine there were of note. The engine was a departure from the ordinary proportion which was between the steam and blast cylinders, and, as far as can be recalled, the blast cylinder was the largest (120 inches diameter) and the furnace boshes were also the largest, but the greatest achievement of Mr A. Hill was the utilisation of cinders. This he patented, and heavy litigation followed. He won the first action, and being defeated at a subsequent time, would not go on again, as he was strongly advised to do. This soured his feelings, and he always entertained a bitterness of feeling with respect to it, for he verily believed perjury had been used.

There was another matter in the making of iron he was virtually the pioneer of, viz, the use of oxides of iron in the blast furnace. The manager of the furnace was a Mr Edward Thomas, the great-uncle to Mr Wm. Thomas of Oakfield, Aberdare. When Mr Hill was quite clear that pig iron could be commercially made from hematite, he endeavoured to come to an arrangement with the Earl of Lonsdale for him to find the necessary coal and Mr Hill the ore, so as to make iron at Whitehaven. Should any of your readers be in that locality and find the original engine-house yet in existence, they will find a goat’s head with ample horns cut on the keystone of the arch in the walls. This was as a compliment to Mr Thomas.

Shortly after Mr Thomas went to America , and erected works there. He returned toward the end of the thirties, and after spending a few months at the Ivor Works, I think led a quiet life. Upon leaving Dowlais, Sir John Guest desired him to return after a while, although he promised to think over it ‘after the cuckoo had come’, he never returned there.

To be continued at a later date.

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 5

by Barrie Jones

Chapter IV recounts Henry’s arrival at Dartmoor Prison, Devon, and describes Dartmoor’s systems of hard labour: work gangs and the “crank,”.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 19th February 1910, page 9.

Chapter IV

Before beginning this chapter, I should like to say that the two officers at Exeter Prison did not go unpunished, for according to what I afterwards gathered, they were both dismissed from the service. The journey from Exeter to Dartmoor was not a very long one, the distance being only forty-four miles, and it was not long before I arrived at Tavistock, where I got out of the train into a sort of cab, for there were seven miles of road to cover before reaching His Majesty’s Prison. Those who have been to Devonshire know what beautiful scenery there is to be witnessed across the moors. It was not long before I was nearing Princetown, a picturesque village in South Devon, near which the prison is situated. Gangs of convicts could be seen on the roads, some breaking stones, some in charge of horses and carts; while here and there, standing at their posts, were civil guards armed with rifles. At last the prison was reached, and I was hurried into a place called the separate cells, where, in answer to the chief warder, I gave in my register number, sentence, and name. This was also a place of punishment, commonly called by the convicts as “chokee,” and I could hear the hum of the crank machines at work, which told of some poor wretch straining his vital power over this instrument of torture. This crank, or machine, is a kind of clockwork encased in an elevated iron box outside the convict’s cell door, and a needle something similar to the hands of the clock, recording the number of revolutions completed by the convict within, who turn a heavy handle fixed in the wall. Should the man fail to complete 9,000 revolutions a day, he is further awarded a fresh term of bread and water, consisting of a pound of coarse bread per day. I have done twenty-one days in this way, completing 9,000 revolutions a day, with the perspiration pouring from me in the depth of winter.

On my reception, as aforesaid, I was placed in a cell and supplied with another suit of khaki, two pairs of bog boots, one pair of low shoes, a guernsey, and a pair of moleskin leggings. I was taken to the hospital, and examined by the medical officer, who immediately ordered me tea instead of porridge, and white bread instead of brown, because I had a delicate stomach at the time. The doctor was a very nice gentleman, and well liked by the convicts. I was then taken to another part of the Prison known as B4 hall. The cells here a very small, and of corrugated iron, the iron door being raised about a foot from the ground. There is no light from the interior of the cells; the only light afforded is from the exterior of the prison, and that is very little indeed the cells being so dark that candles are allowed to be lit during meal hours. A hammock, extending from one end of the cell to the other, prevents the convict from even turning around without difficulty. Convicts have dwelt for periods of over twenty years in those dungeons. The next morning, after my arrival at Dartmoor, the prison bell rang me up at a quarter past five; we had breakfast at a quarter to six, church at seven, and at half-past seven I was told off to join No. 39 party – a gang of twenty-five men. After going through a short search drill on parade, I was marched with other convicts straight through the front gate to my place of work about four miles away from the prison. I was there employed in trenching the ground, and no easy work it was, either. Before long, the man in charge was felled to the ground by one of the gang. Convicts are really human beings after all, and they should be protected against officers who are sometimes very cruel towards them, for they seldom, if ever, interfere with an officer unless driven to desperation.

To be continued……