Tag: Merthyr Express

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 22

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XIX. Henry recounts his association with the convict Samuel Blisset and how he helps pass on a message to Samuel’s daughter, Hannah Williams, following his release from Parkhurst. Blisset shot his wife Margaret on the 15th November 1894 outside her shop at 112 Ivor Street, Dowlais. Margaret a ‘well known’ greengrocer, died of her wounds on the following day. 

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 28th May 1910, page 11.

Chapter XIX

THE DOWLAIS TRADEGY RECALLED

During my stay in Parkhurst, I never got into much trouble, for though I was passed as perfectly sane, nevertheless, I was well treated by the doctors. Parkhurst is well known as the dead station; the last camping place it has been to many of the criminal class. Men suffering from all manner of diseases are to  found here – consumption, heart disease, pleurisy, dropsy, and a great many fit cases. I was in Parkhurst over three years, and during that time not one single week passed without some poor, unfortunate passing away to the unseen world.

I was surprised to see down there poor Samuel Blisset, who was sentenced to twenty years on the 12th of November, 1894, for the manslaughter of his wife, and I cannot help thinking that his case did not merit the heavy sentence passed upon him for, when all is said and done, it was more of an accident than a crime, and there is doubt that if had had been allowed to go into the witness box, as is done these days, and give his own evidence, then he might have cleared himself. I had not much of a chance beyond a passing word to speak to him, but I can well remember a few weeks before my liberation telling him that I would take a message to his daughter in Dowlais, and after some difficulty in searching I found her, and I received a great welcome. The poor woman had evidently been trying and trying to get her dear father’s sentence remitted, but the poor woman’s application each time met with a refusal. Samuel Blisset was fifty-four years of age at the time of his trial, and I suppose he was given the heavy sentence thinking he would not live to see it through. But what man proposes, God disposes, and Samuel Blisset now has his liberty, and is now restored to his daughter to live the remainder of his life in peace and happiness, and when the time comes he will not be buried in a convict’s grave, where no flowers nor headstones marks the place. Let us hope that Samuel Blisset will live with his daughter for many years yet. For a convict is a man who has a heart that can feel joy and sorrow just like another, so do not treat him worse because misfortune is his curse. But he is the son of some mother, remember.

Before closing this chapter I will give an account of a poor, week-minded lad, for he was far away from budding-manhood. This young fellow’s name was Calladine, and he was subject to fits, and very bad fits they were, too, which took him some time to get out of them. He was a light-hearted – although light-headed – friendly, little fellow, and many a chat we had together, but his conversation pointed strongly to brain trouble, for sometimes when speaking to one he would suddenly stop and look into the sky, as if looking for his next words. It was heart rending to hear him speak of his coming liberty, but the poor little chap never dreamt that in a few weeks’ time he would be laid to rest in the convict’s cemetery at Newport. One morning, coming over the steps of the Protestant Chapel, this poor fellow fell down in a  fit. He was taken to a hospital, and after recovering, he declined to stay there. While in the straight jacket I heard his shouts and cries, which were most pitiful to hear, and I was working at the time sweeping the gutters underneath the padded cells. The following night he was taken from the infirmary to the separate cells, ready to appear before the governor the next morning, but when the officer opened his cell door, poor Calladine was cold and stiff, having expired during the night.

To be continued…..

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.

It was at the Dowlais Works the Bessemer process for the conversion of pig into malleable iron was tried, with the result, as told me by Sir Henry himself, “I was knocked down on my back, and for two years could not get up again”. The Bessemer process, as everyone knows, is to blow air through the molten metal and so burn the carbon out, but many years before that blowing steam through molten iron in the puddling was tried there. The furnace with the apparatus was seen in the upper forge – that is, between the Dowlais office and the fitting shop.

The Bessemer converter

Sir John himself conceived the idea of running the iron direct from the blast furnace into the refinery, so as to avoid the remelting usually followed. It was used for a while at the Ivor Works at the furnace next to the engine-house on the Pant side, but the refinery process itself was soon superseded to a great extent.

The Bessemer Converter at Dowlais Ironworks in 1896. Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

It was at Dowlais the very first steam whistle was made, and although the tale has been previously told, the use of the whistle for railway purposes is so extensive that it will be again told in the words of the inventor himself as told to me personally by him.

For the better understanding of it allow my saying that a column of water about 27 inches high gives a pressure of a pound for every square inch of its area, and for the feeding of his boilers James Watt had designed an automatic arrangement, based upon the weight above mentioned. Even up to 10lbs, a standpipe 270m inches high would suffice, but when it comes to 50lbs the pipe would be excessive, and as some little looking after is needed, it would be rather inconvenient, so that the regulation of the feed became dependent on the care of the stoker, he being guided by the use of gauge cocks. Stokers are human, and therefore remiss; the feed goes too low, overheating of the plates follows. This reduces their strength, perhaps, too, the steam pressure increases, and disaster follows.

Adrian Stephens inventor of the first steam whistle

Something of this kind happened, and Sir John asked Adrian Stephens if it were possible to arrange something to indicate that the feed was getting low. The upshot of the conversation was that one of the pipes from the organ in the house was sent for Stephens’ consideration. In Watts’ arrangement a float was used for governing the feed, and Stephens very naturally followed the idea. The idea of an inside valve was evolved, and by the passing of steam through the organ pipe sound was produced. It then occurred to Stephens that if the emission aperture were made all around the pipe it would be better, and he made it so.

It did not bring him profit, nor was he ever honoured as he should have been. Some Manchester workmen were then down with tools for the fitting-shop, and they either communicated or took the idea back there, and not as a regulator for feed, but as a means of calling attention the whistle became used in locomotion.

To be continued at a later date…..

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 21

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XVIII. Henry recounts his removal from the asylum hall, and his work on a ‘labour privileged party’.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 21st May 1910, page 9.

Chapter XVIII

After the event related in my last chapter I could not possibly remain in C Hall any longer, so I applied to the medical officer for a removal to another part of the prison, but my request was refused. After a further interview with the doctor, that worthy granted my request, and I was transferred to a prison known as A Hall, and placed among the intellectual convicts, that is to say the right-minded men. One morning early in the year 1907 I was told off parade to join No. 19 party. There were only eight men in this party, and our work was cut out for us, it being a first-class labour privileged party. We were occupied in drawing a coal cart, each man being supplied with a collar attached to a strong rope, after the manner of horses, and our work was to bring coal for the hospitals, blacksmiths, shoe maker’s shop, etc. In the afternoon of each day we went our round to the officers’ quarters, doctors, governor’s, chief and principal warders’ houses to clean and take away the refuse, and many a relic we often clapped our eyes and hands on when we got half a chance.

I must specially mention here that the wives of the officials were very kind to us in the shape of luxuries, as very often they would wrap up in a small piece of paper a bit of cake or meat, which we shared equally among the gang. Of course, we had to keep it all dark, and not even breath it to our boot laces. But no matter how careful we might be, there was always to be found a man in every gang who would bring it to the notice of the authorities, and, of course, they were duty bound to give the whole gang a special search, and then the poor fellow suffered as well as those they tried to get into trouble. The official in charge of the gang, to give him hid due, was not a bad sort of a , though strict. He was just, and there was no favouritism with him; for he would treat every man alike. He had a systematic way in working them, and when he saw one of his men doing all the work and others looking on he would say, “Now, come on, give this man a share of your strength.” I remember an argument once between two convicts, whose turn it was to lift a bag of coal. The officer, hearing the dispute, said, “Shall I lift the bag?” That was quite enough, for they both lifted it together. On another occasion two convicts were going to fight, and instead of reporting them, he separated them, remarking, “Now, I do not want any trouble with any of you, but from what I can see of it, you’re asking for it. You are like two little infants wrangling over a doll.”

This party was considered one of the best in the prison, also for seeing a bit of life, as on our journey back and fore to the prison we walked in close contact with free people along the country lanes, roads and fields. There was one thing our officer was down on us for, and that was tobacco. He would not have a single man of his stop to pick up fag ends, and when he himself saw any cigars or cigarette ends upon the ground he would either pick them up or put his foot on them. This was not for spite, but in order to keep temptation out of his man’s way. He was unlike some officials who would have allowed men to stoop and pick up things, and then pounce upon them for a report, which would mean three days’ bread and water, and perhaps eleven days remission. He was a different man altogether, and a Welshman, too. But no matter how careful he would be in keeping us out of trouble, one would sometimes drop right into it. An old game was to stick a bit of soap underneath the boot near the toe, and when they came across a bit of tobacco they would just put their foot on it, and it would stick to the soap.

I can well remember playing a good joke with our officer. We found some tissue paper, and one day got some dry dung, and made cigarettes of it. When walking along the road we dropped them one by one, and, of course, our officer, who possessed wonderful eyesight, would pick them up until he had nearly his pouch full. On arriving at the prison he would stop one of the senior officers, saying, “Look here, sir, I have picked up about a dozen cigarettes on the road, and I am sure somebody has been dropping them for the convicts. Now, this is only tempting my men.” “All right,” said the senior officer, “I will have a look around to see if there is anyone hanging about.” Shortly after, we were out again, and dropped some more, but the senior officer picked some up this time. Giving our gang the order to halt, he called our officer aside, and the both burst out laughing, for when looking at one of the cigarettes, they found out what they were. Never in all my life did I laugh so heartily.

On Easter Monday, 1907, our gang had a good feed of cakes, but I must confess we stole them. I myself did not steal them, but I received some of them, so I was quite as bad. It happened this way. Our regular officer went out on night duty, and for one whole week we had a substitute, He, too, was not a bad sort of a man. We were told off to go to the governor’s house to cart away the refuse. There are some trees at the back of the house, and near the trees is the larder and scullery, and in the larder were the cakes. Through the window we saw the cook cleaning some cabbage, the stumps of which she threw into a tub. Of course, we had arranged what to do. “What tree would you call that, sir,” said one of the gang to our officer, who turned round to look at the tree. Immediately one of the chaps slipped into the scullery, and filling his shirt full of hot scones, caught up the tub of stumps, which the cook had left, and was out again before the officer had turned his head. “Here you are, sir,” says he, “here’s the stumps.” Placing the tub in we hitched our collars on the rope, and away we went to the farm.

To be continued…..

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 20

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XVII. Henry recounts his experiences of some of the inmates in Parkhurst Prison asylum.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 14th May 1910, page 12.

Chapter XVII

I was not long in the hospital in Parkhurst Prison, for I was only admitted there for a few days for medical observation. They could have saved a great deal of trouble, as I repeatedly told the doctors there was nothing the matter with my intellect. But they would not have it, and they passed me as weak minded, though there was no harm in acting a bit “barmy.” It was understood thing if a convict says he is not “barmy” that they think he is. If he says he is “barmy” then they put it down as a bit of a swank, or what they call “putting it on.” They treated me kindly, and, of course, I had to work in conjunction with their opinion. I do not think you will think me any the worse for that, so just for the sake of argument I will be “barmy” to the end of my narrative.

I was discharged from the hospital, and taken to a prison known as “C” Hall, and a place set apart especially for convicts suffering from derangement: and, indeed, some sad types of humanity were to be found there. One poor chap I came in contact with, whose name was Parsons, was undergoing a term of 20 years for setting fire to a haystack, and when I first knew him he had already completed over fifteen years. The authorities would not give him his liberty because he was not fit to be at large. This poor fellow was suffering from religious mania, and his actions, though laughable, were extremely sad to behold. He would sometimes enter into a conversation with me, but only on points of religion, and I was greatly astonished at what he knew of the Bible; I do really believe that he knew it all by heart, from the first chapter of Genesis to the end of Revelations. I have known convicts to stop him and put a question to him about the Scripture, and he would answer them quite correctly. I can well remember in 1905 speaking to this poor unfortunate, and while he was in the middle of a chapter in the book of Deuteronomy all of sudden the sun came out from behind a cloud, and he made off at a run, throwing out his arms wildly, and calling the sun his God. I cannot forget this poor chap, and I have often thought that his case might have been one of a far worse description than a religious mania. At any rate, if he was mad, he had the right kind of madness – the knowledge and love of God in his heart.

I will compare this case with another lunatic who was as dangerous as the other was harmless. I will not give his name here, sufficient to say that he was one of the worst specimens of humanity I’d ever seen, and well worth a corner in Madam Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors. It was on a Sunday in 1905 that we were marching back to our cells, when suddenly this man caught hold of an empty zinc bucket and brought it down with terrible force upon the head of a fellow convict, until the poor fellow was streaming with blood, and had to be taken to the infirmary. On another occasion he used the heel of his boot on another man, and one night he was carrying the can of cocoa at supper time, and threw the whole of its contents in the face of a fellow convict. For each of these offences he was taken to the hospital, and placed in a padded cell, and put into a straight jacket. The very “Nick” himself was this man, and it was never safe to look at him, much less get anywhere near him. Finally, they got him into the new asylum, which was opened at Parkhurst in August, 1906, where by all accounts he had a lively time of it in the India rubber cells. A man who was really insane, I must confess, is treated with every possible attention. I know this for a fact, for I have been employed attending in this asylum myself with the lunatics daily rations, and I knew what food they are given to eat.

It is a great mistake for some to suppose that a convict lunatic asylum is different to that of a public lunatic asylum, for it is precisely the same thing, and the inmates are treated in very much the same way. I have heard of a poor chap who was taken very ill in the small hours of the morning. He eventually got out of bed and rang his bell. Again and again this poor fellow rang for assistance, but there was no response, and afterwards all was quiet. But at seven o’clock when the day officer in charge of the ward was unlocking the cells, one of the convicts who was carrying the slop tub, shouted out in the casual way, “slops,” but there was no answer. Naturally, thinking something was wrong, he called the attention of the assistant warder, who immediately went into the cell, and found him half dressed, and lying across the bed quite dead. The official at once phoned to the infirmary, and the doctor arrived, and ordered the body to be carried to the mortuary.

To be continued……

The First Merthyr Town AFC

by Phil Sweet

Most Merthyr football fans would know that a club bearing the name of Merthyr Town AFC was formed in the spring of 1908 and would go on to play in the Football League in the 1920s before failing to secure re-election in 1930 and ultimately folding four years later due to the impact of mass unemployment in the Borough.

However, my recent research has revealed that the Merthyr Town AFC which was formed in 1908 was not the first football team in the town to bear that name. Indeed, the first, and ultimately short-lived, club to bear that name was founded in 1903 and during the 1903-04 season would play in the Second Division of the South Wales League.

However, the rugby orientated Merthyr Express showed little interest in association football at that time and very few references to the club exist in its pages. What follows is an account of the short history of the first club to bear the name Merthyr Town AFC which I have managed to glean from a variety of local newspapers and the minute book of the South Wales Football Association.

Although still very much a rugby town in the early years of the 20th century association football was beginning to gain a foothold in the area. In the south of the Borough Treharris were widely regarded as being one of the pioneers of the game in South Wales while the neighbouring village of Merthyr Vale also boasted a football team. In addition, in the north of the town several teams over the years had emerged bearing the name ‘Dowlais’.

The central area of the town was very much a soccer vacuum until the decision was taken to form ‘Merthyr Town’ in 1903. However, no records survive as to where or why the club was founded. Indeed, the only information we do have is that the club’s first secretary was Mr. R. A. Davies of 126, High Street and that he was succeeded during the season by Mr. J. O. Morgan of 80, Thomas Street while the team played its home matches at Gwynne’s Field Cefn Coed.

The new club was accepted into the Second Division of the South Wales League. This division was initially comprised of 13 clubs and offered the prospect of attractive local derbies against the likes of Treharris Reserves, Merthyr Vale, Rhymney and Pontlottyn.

Things began quite promisingly for the new venture. In their opening match they secured a creditable 2-2 against Treharris Reserves and their next home match two weeks later saw them secure their first victory when visitors Cwmaman were defeated by 2 goals to nil. However, these two games would prove to be the high point of the season as the following fixtures resulted in a number of heavy defeats, a sequence which included a 6-0 hammering at Merthyr Vale in early November.

The club also entered the South Wales FA Junior Cup. However, their presence in the competition would be a fleeting one as they went down to Ynysybwl by a goal to nil in the opening round of the competition. Over the Festive Period the club hosted Brecon in a friendly fixture. However, the late arrival of the Brecon team meant that the final portion of the game was played in semi-darkness as the spoils were shared in 1-1 draw.

The transient nature of football at this time was aptly illustrated by the fortunes of the respective clubs in the South Wales League Second Division. During the course of the campaign Blaina, Tredegar and Nantymoel all dropped out of the league and in early March 1904 Merthyr Town followed in their footsteps. Not surprisingly no record exists as to why this decision but the fact remained – the first Merthyr Town AFC were no more.

PLAYING RECORD

SOUTH WALES LEAGUE DIVISION II

TEAM HOME AWAY
ABERGAVENNY W1-0 D1-1
BLAINA W2-1 XXXX
CWMAMAN W2-0 D1-1
HAFOD XXXX XXXX
MARDY W3-2 L0-1
MERTHYR VALE L1-2 L0-6
PONTLOTTYN XXXX L0-1
RHYMNEY W2-0 XXXX
TON PENTRE XXXX L1-3
TREHARRIS RESERVES D2-2 L2-5

RESULTS AGAINST TEAMS WHO DROPPED OUT OF THE SOUTH WALES LEAUE DIVISION II

TEAM HOME AWAY
TREDEGAR XXXX L0-1
NANTYMOEL XXXX L0-3

SOUTH WALES JUNIOR CUP

RD1 YNYSYBWL 1 MERTHYR TOWN 0

FRIENDLY FIXTURES

PORTH SECONDS 2 MERTHYR TOWN 1
MERTHYR TOWN 1 MERTHYR DISTRICT 2
YNYSYBWL 2 MERTHYR TOWN 1
MERTHYR TOWN 1 BRECON 1

SOUTH WALES LEAGUE DIVISION II

TEAM P W L D F A PTS
HAFOD 13 10  1 2 46 15 22
TON PENTRE 10  7  1 2 28 11 16
PONTLOTTYN  9  7  1 1 26  9 15
MERTHYR VALE  8  6  1 1 30  7 13
ABERGAVENNY 10  3  5 2 24 19  8
MERTHYR TOWN 11  3  6 2 14 30  8
RHYMNEY  9  2  5 2 15 20  6
TREHARRIS RESERVES  7  2  4 1 15 21  5
MARDY  9  2  7 0 10 27  4
CWMAMAN 12  0 11 1  7 55  1

AS AT FEBRUARY 27TH 1904

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.

After Mawdesley left Dowlais, Mr Dodd came to the Ivor Works. He had previously been at engineering works in or near Glasgow, and it was then intended to make superior things. He brought some foremen with him from Scotland: one Mr Wm. Kemp stayed on, but the foreman fitter did not, and after his term of engagement was up Mr Dodd himself returned.

Lady Charlotte Guest. Photo courtesy of Cyfarthfa Castle Museum & Art Gallery

If able I should like to describe what can even now be very vividly remembered. It is a party of gentlemen and a lady: the lady was Lady Charlotte, the others Sir John, Mr E J Hutchins (his nephew), one whose name is forgotten now, and Mr Edward Divett. They were walking across the yard, and went into Dowlais House altogether. Mr Divett was the M.P. for Exeter. Mr Hutchins afterwards became member for Lymington. I almost think Kitson, the private secretary, was also of the party.

Why was such a thing impressed upon me? I will tell you. I had on a suit of fustian, and up to a short time previously had only consorted with broad cloth. I felt my position. I was a workman. David Davies was the foreman pattern maker; John Lewis, the foreman fitter; and John Price the foreman smith. Guess my surprise upon one occasion by being asked to give the equation of a curve of the second order by the owner of a brawny arm named David Jones. It was given him.

We youngsters were in the habit of giving each other mathematical questions. Alas, I think all are gone. H V Trump, who died a few years ago at Rhymney, was one; Wm. Llewellyn (who went to America) another; and Josiah Richards (a cousin), not of the same name, the brother of Windsor, a third. There was one workman in the fitting shop named Thomas Wheatley, the best handicraftsman ever met with. He was also the highest wageman, but his pay did not appear correct on the ticket. To avoid it being known he used to go to the office at stated times for the difference.

Dickenson, who became the chief Government inspector of mines was an underground surveyor. He married one of Mr Thomas Evans’ daughters. Thomas Evans’ son, Thomas, also became an inspector of mines. Shortly after his appointment an action was brought against the Dowlais Company for non-compliance with the Act of Parliament, and many experts were enraged. This “battle of the gauges” will be found pretty fully stated in  the book of colliery law, written by the late John Coke Fowler., who was the stipendiary magistrate before whom it was brought.

Edward Williams began his career in iron making in Dowlais, and he was there with Menelaus, and some others can be remembered, but they must pass at the moment.

To be continued at a later date……

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 19

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XVI. Henry recounts his medical examination and his transfer to Parkhurst Prison, Isle of Wight. At this time Parkhurst catered for the infirm and ‘weak minded’ convicts, consequently the prison regime was not as hard as in other penal institutions.

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 7th May 1910, page 9.

Chapter XVI

At a quarter past five on Tuesday the 12th of July 1904 Portland Prison bell rang out its chimes, the last chimes that I was to hear in that dreadful place. I was fast asleep in the strong cell in the hospital when the night nurse came and knocked at my door. “Are you awake, Williams,” says he. “Well, I’m not quite dead yet,” says I. “Why, your worth a hundred dead ones yet,” he replied. “Anyway,” says he. “Get ready, for you leave here at half-past six.” So up I jumped, put on my shoes, and was ready almost before he had said the last word.

My heart throbbed loudly as the bell itself, when I heard I was to be transferred to the Isle of Wight. They gave me my breakfast, which consisted of one pint of hot milk, half pound of white bread, and one ounce of butter, which I did not forget to eat, for I had forgotten all about the stomach pump. Shortly after breakfast in came the medical officer. “Well, Williams, my lad,” says he, in a kind, fatherly way, “how do you feel this morning?” “Well, just about the same as usual, sir,” says I. “Have you eaten your breakfast?” says he. “Yes, sir.” I replied. He then proceeded to examine me in order to see whether I was fit to travel. That done, he gave me a bit of his advice, saying, “Your heart is perfectly sound, Williams, and it is my opinion that if you will look after yourself when you get to Parkhurst you will very soon be better, but do not get excited, and keep perfectly calm.” I then said, “I suppose, sir, you are sending me to my last camping place.” “Oh, dear, no,” says he. “You must not think of dying yet. Your organs are all perfectly sound, and I do not see why you should not keep them sound.” “But I have a very weak stomach, sir.” says I. “Well, that may be.” Says he, “but people with delicate stomachs live to a great age sometimes. And I am sending you to the Isle of Wight because the climate is milder. Oh, you will be all right.”

With that he left me. He had not left me five minutes when in came the Chief Warder with a pair of handcuffs and a chain, which he proceeded to place upon my wrists. Having done so he led me up to the front gate, where I slipped into cab, and was driven to Portland railway station, where I got into a train for Southampton. The journey was rather a pleasant one, although I kept thinking it was my last, but I was afterwards told I was not transferred to the Isle of Wight on the grounds of any organic disease, but sent there as a weak-minded convict, and when there I should not be subjected to the prison rules but placed under medical observation. I should be allowed to converse with my fellow convicts and receive hospital diet, and be employed on light labour in the open air. Of course, this information I received in confidence on the condition I would not breath it even to my ten ounce loaf for the hospital nurse who accompanied the Chief Warder in charge of me was a very good man to me during the time I was in Portland. I owe my life to him, for if it had not been for the kindness which he placed at my disposal I should be on the hill in Portland convict cemetery, instead of transferred to the Isle of Wight. Therefore, I do not wish to place in print even his initials, but I should very much like to place him on the roll of heroes of everyday life.

After a few hours’ travel by rail I reached Southampton. I stepped out of the train into a cab, which was to take me to the pier-head, a couple of miles away. Arriving on the landing stage I was led on board ship, the Princess Beatrice, which took me across the water to the Isle of Wight, landing at a place called Cowes. I got off the ship into a cab, which was waiting to take me to Parkhurst Prison, a distance of six miles. After a pleasant little journey, passing the late Queen’s Island home, Osborne House, I at last arrived at the Prison gates, and was taken to the separate cells, searched, and then placed in a cell. My heart nearly fell from my side to my feet, and my brain swam around like the sea I had crossed when I found myself in prison again after such a beautiful sniff of sweet liberty. I was not in my cell long before the door was flung open, in came the doctor, attended by the hospital nurse, for he wore a red-cross upon his arm. “Well, my lad,” says the doctor, “Williams is your name, is it not?” “Yes, sir,” says I. “How do you feel after your journey?” “Downhearted,” I replied. “Oh,” says he, “do not make yourself ill. You must cheer up. You will be alright. I will take care of you,” says he, in his kind way. He then examined me, as is the usual custom, and ordered the nurse to take me into the hospital, and when there, I must confess, the doctor treated me with every possible custom, and he continued to do so all through my time, but I had some more trouble to go through even there, for although the doctors treat a man kindly they do not know that their orders are violated. In my next chapter I will give the account of my life in Parkhurst Prison.

To be continued……