Tag: Cwm Pit

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 26

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XXIII. In this the final chapter, Henry concludes that despite once again falling into a life of crime following his release from Parkhurst Prison, he is determined to reform. Sadly, that was not the case. Records show that his criminal career continued well into the following decades.  

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 2nd July 1910, page 11.

Chapter XXIII

This being my last chapter I shall not weary my readers with any further experiences of convict life. Suffice it to say that the entire prison system is very much the same as in the days of long ago. Of course, it will not help us much to discuss theories of punishments. Whether such is retributive, or remedial, whether it is to avenge or whether its end is to curse, but one thing I do know, criminals will be treated in very much the same way. Suffer they must, but the suffering that destroys the self-respect, that weakens the mind and body, and sends the poor wretches out into the world again the wrecks of what they were, is not only needless, but harmful. Criminals should have sufficient food and sleep. They should be treated fairly, and protected against the tyranny of warders and magistrates who are too apt to believe all the official tell them.

Some of my readers who know me personally, know very well how hard I have struggled to live down my past life. I was engaged in honest employment at the Cwm Pit Colliery, and had no thought whatever of drifting again to the bad. I married a good woman, who did her best to make me happy, and I was getting on comfortable until the month of February, 1908, when I was lead away by a person, who asked me to go and work with him on the coal. I thought I should get more wages, so I went, although it was very much against the wish of my wife, who entreated me not to go. I wish I had listened to her, for it is simply marvellous how some women can foretell what is going to happen. I was not long in my new place before I was thrown out of employment, and lured further into trouble, which finally landed me again in prison for 18 months, which caused great grief to the only one that I ever truly loved – and that is my wife, who stuck by my side, and who was true to me from the day of my trial to the day of my release.

On account of this I have sworn that this last shall be the turning point of my life, and I can truly say that I am now a reformed man. After 15 long years of prison life and my reformation is due only to the love and affection of a faithful wife, who was the daughter of the late Mr. Thos. Morris, manager of the Pontycapel. I hope readers will excuse the blundering way in which I have written my narrative, as I have done so that even the illiterate may understand. It can truly be seen and said that the way of the transgressor is hard, for the rising generation. I think that the history of my past life may prove a great help, especially to those who are about to take their first step into crime, and who are ignorant as to the consequences. Sin always brings in its train poverty, ruin, the loss of character, lunacy, and lastly death with the soul unredeemed. If readers are tempted to do anything wrong, I implore them to hesitate, and think twice before they drop their right foot on the wrong path of evil, which is certain, in the end, to bring them to destruction, for once the character is gone there is no reclaiming it, although one may try hard afterwards to live it down. I will now conclude by saying, “When you are tempted to sin, stop and think of the past life of Harry Williams, and that which will surely follow will be the dark side of convict life if you continue in sin.”

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 25

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…..

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 24

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, 18th 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….

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 2

by Barrie Jones

Chapter II covers Henry’s account of his first encounter with the law and his imprisonment in October 1892, aged sixteen years. In fact, Henry’s life of crime had commenced from the age of thirteen years, and this was not his first experience of Swansea Gaol. Perhaps his long list of crimes had confused him or that this account made a better storyline. His old schoolmate Dai was David Davies, who would feature in more serious criminal escapades with Henry in the future.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 5th February 1910, page 9.

Chapter II

After the accident to my head at the Cwm Pit Colliery, for five months I was idle and dependent upon on the support of my father, who was fast approaching old age. There was no such thing as a Miners’ Federation at that time, but only an accident fund, and the widow of a man killed underground only received ten shillings per week, and not even then unless the collier contributed towards the fund. Of course, that had nothing at all to do with me, as I was employed by the miners and not by the company, and it was the miners’ duty to pay the accident fund for me, and to deduct it from my wages. I was too young to know this at the time, otherwise I could have claimed compensation; consequently, I received absolutely nothing.

I was not going to see my father working himself to death to support me any longer, so one day, still suffering from the effects of my injuries, I set out to seek employment. I wandered towards the South Pit Colliery, near Troedyrhiw, but I had not gone very far before I met an old schoolmate of mine, Dai ____. Now Dai was a bold fellow. Although a good-hearted chap, he cared not for anyone. He hailed me with “ullo Harry, where are you off to?” “I am going to look for a start at the South Pit,” says I. “Well, come along Harry,” say he, “I happen to be out of work too: let us try together for a place on the coal.” So we reached the pit just as the manager was coming up, and we applied for a job, but no luck, for the place was full up.

Then Dai turned to me, saying, “What do you say, Harry, in doing a bit of crook?” (for Dai ____ had already made a great rent in his character). “Are you game?” says he, “game enough,” says I. So in returning towards Merthyr, we wandered towards the Field Pit Colliery, and once again we applied there for work, but the same as usual, it was full up. Then Dai says, “Let us go around to have a warm by the boilers,” for it was rather cold at the time. On going round, we passed the back of the miners’ lamp-room, when we happened to notice that a part of the zinc roof had been torn away and some of the lamps upon the shelves were visible. We put our hands in and made the shelves lighter by half-a-dozen, and with the aid of a file we managed to rub out the letters “P C” (which meant Plymouth Company), and which came off the oil pots in filings of brass. We then took them to several pawnbrokers, where we pledged them at half-a-crown and three and sixpence apiece. After enjoying ourselves with the reapings we returned to the lamp-room for some more; but just as Dai was drawing forth another lamp, out sprang a policeman and pounced upon him. Well, you know the rest. To make it brief, we were both brought before the “beaks,” and finally escorted to Swansea Gaol for one month.

On our arrival at the prison, after answering several questions to the chief turnkey, we were taken below to a place called the reception room, where a sturdy warder eyed me from head to foot, remarking, “You are starting rather young nipper.” Turning to Dai, he said, “You have brought a fresh mate with you this time, Dai. “We are quite innocent,” replied Dai, “Yes, you look innocent,” replied the turnkey, “if the kid doesn’t” (what would he say if he saw the kid now?). Then he proceeded to weigh me and take my measurement, and after fitting me, or trying to fit me with a dirty suit of khaki large enough for a man, he locked me in a cell. After making an examination of my surroundings, I broke down and cried, until I made the place quite damp with my tears. My thoughts were of “Home, Sweet Home.”

I was not long engaged in pumping water from my system before the turnkey came and unlocked the cell door, holding in his hand half a tin of skilly, which he called porridge, and eight-ounce dark brown toke (loaf). “Here you are,” says he, “let your tears drop into this, and you will fill the tin.” “I cannot eat it sir,” says I. “Oh, you will eat it,” says he, “before you have done your month,” and he was right too, for before I had been in goal a week, I was looking for more to eat. I happened to leave one of my small loaves on my self one day, when I was on the treadmill, but when I came in it had gone. When the turnkey brought me three pounds of oakum to pick, I asked him where my bread had gone to. Throwing down the oakum, he replied, “I suppose one of the birds has picked it.” Getting a bit bolder, and my tears being a thing of the past, I turned sharply upon him, and said, “The birds have picked it, have they? Then the birds can pick this oakum,” and I kicked it flying out of the cell. He then brought me before the Asinorum (governor), and the functionary awarded me three days bread and water. Thus the turnkey was beginning to know me, and he cooled down wonderfully well. The day of my discharge came round, and I was let out into the wide world again to fight another battle with the world, the flesh, and the devil.

To be continued…..

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 1

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 29th January 1910 to the 2nd 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, 29th 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…..