Hwyl Nofio - Dusk - DARK

"There comes a time when silence is betrayal"
(Martin Luther King)

Scotch Cattle was the name taken by a secret brotherhood of coal miners in South Wales. Dressed in cow skins, wearing elaborate headgear comprised of the severed head of a black bull, the gang would raid at night, visiting and terrorising the home of a local miner known to be working during a strike or liaising with an employer against the local mining community. Sometimes as many as 300 men would gather high on the mountain. With torches ablaze they would arrive at a house announcing their presence by screaming and shouting, blowing horns and rattling chains. They would break-open the house door, smash windows, destroy all furniture and burn any fabric items in a bonfire. If the homeowner were to resist he would be beaten severely, regularly breaking their bones so as prevent them returning to work. Several members of these bands were possibly idealists, but others were local thugs merely looking for a chance to loot property from the groups' targets—or even, in some cases, from bystanders. The brotherhood flourished during the 1820s and 1830s, the last confirmable reference to a Scotch Cattle raid dates from 1850. However, in 1926, the Scotch Cattle were revived by pickets in the great strike who dressed themselves as Scotch Cattle, evoking the memory of the terroristic enforcement of solidarity that the Cattle had carried out in the past. The origins of the name Scotch Cattle are unclear – one theory is the name derives from the idea a local mine owner kept a herd of Scottish Black Cattle. The stealing and skinning of the animal could be seen as a provocative act, an act of defiance, solidarity against the appalling working and living conditions subjected on the men and their families by the rich landowner.

Hwyl Nofio - Gone - DARK

 

I recall as a boy visiting my grandfather’s house in New Inn, Pontypool and being enchanted by a painting prominently displayed above the fireplace. The image was of a racing pigeon, handwritten on the canvass were the words 'QUARRY QUEEN’, 1st Ripon, Pontypool Club, 1954. Bred and Raced by Mr J Hughes. The image has resonated throughout the years and today remains in my possession – treasured, a constant reminder, exhibited prominently on my living room wall. So what makes this painting so important to me personally? Well he was my Grandfather and I cannot ignore the sentiment involved, but hidden in the paint of this picture is a message that remains to this day.

Around 1910 John Hughes came with his father, brothers and sister from the Shropshire hills to South Wales, to the eastern valley in search of a new life. It had been a difficult time; his mother had died at the age of 37, devastated by the loss, father moved the remaining family, walking over 100 miles to Pontypool to make a fresh start. Through family contacts they found a place to stay, unfortunately there wasn’t enough room for the boy in his father’s house, consequently John age 12yrs was farmed-out to a distant cousin, a person he'd never met, to work the land. Displaced, living in a household through obligation not choice, a family who were poor with little food to feed an additional mouth, John felt unwanted and so took to the hills to trap rabbits to allay hunger. Not wanting to return home he'd wander alone on the mountain, in winter ‘pissing’ on his hands to stay warm and outside. Pontypool in those days was an ugly, vibrant, dangerous place, a heavy industrial landscape where coal mines and steelworks dominated the valley and its people. John was between 13 and 14 when he started his first real job in the mines, taking care of the pit ponies. At the age of 15, John went to work at Tirpentwys Colliery where he spent the majority of his working life digging for coal with a pick and shovel, deep underground in an anthracite coal seam, barely a foot deep. After the shift ended, the lift would bring the miners to the surface - then they would see daylight. There were no pit head baths so John went home black from the coal dust to wash in old tin bath. Mining remained his life until he retired through ill health – coal dust choked his lungs and ultimately black lung disease took his life.

Throughout childhood I spent a great deal of time listening to my grandfather’s stories. He remains a larger than life character, a hero to the present, and his thoughts and ideals echo through me to this day. I particularly recall running my fingers over his near bald head and feeling a prominent ridge that ran front to back and east to west on his skull. During an explosion in the mine the coal had fallen in and cracked his head like a walnut – they took him home from the mine and laid him out on the kitchen table to die!

The keeping of racing pigeons was a popular hobby among coal miners. John had a loft in the back garden and from here he would rear young birds to race. Pigeon racing is a sport in which specially bred and trained pigeons are released from specific locations. They then race back to their home lofts. As a member of the local pigeon fanciers club John would spend many non-working hours talking birds with other pigeon fancying friends. Quarry Queen remained his special bird – to him she was the stuff of legend – so much so – a commemorative picture was commissioned as a prize by the artist T.H Edwards. I have since discovered via a BBC documentary that racing pigeon painters is an art form in itself

John Hughes never ventured far; Cardiff remained an exotic distant location. Holidays were a trip on a steamboat on the lake in Roath-Park. Gloucester, through the Forest of Dean appeared like a journey into Outer Space. Never in his lifetime did he go abroad – everywhere outside of the valley appeared foreign.

What John lacked in miles above ground, he made up for in his imagination. Quarry Queen would be his eyes on the world, fly the depth and breadth of the land, what she saw, he said, she relayed back to her master. This mythical bird gave to my grandfather an enormous amount of pleasure. I suppose to him Quarry Queen represented a life elsewhere, a world away from the grim reality of life underground. Quarry Queen represented freedom – perhaps a yearning for what might have been.

QUARRY QUEEN (1st)  Bred and Raced by Mr J Hughes

Hwyl Nofio - Dark - Wordwall (For book edition)

Wordwall concept:Steve Parry - Design:Jack Casling - choirofvision

Herbert the Steelroller

Herbert the Steelroller - composition - Hwyl Nofio - Dark

In my recorded work I have occasionally referred to steel manufacture and the memory of my grandfather Herbert Parry - The abstract guitar composition ‘From Elevated Gangways Rivers of Molten Metal Flow’ underlining the experience of visiting a steelworks.

Herbert worked as a steel roller and unfortunately died of gangrene poisoning when I was only 3 years old. A quiet, dignified gentleman – he was someone I would have liked to have had the opportunity to know better.

I recall in my youth walking along a public footpath that cut through Panteg Steelworks on my way to secondary school. The sights, sounds and smell of the place reverberate to this day. The blistering heat of the furnace, the white light sparks the deafening thud of an industrial hammer and the noxious gasses that remained long in the nose and throat.  

All that remains today are the echoes of memories of a once heavy industrial landscape. Currently the site is being developed as residential housing and the Parc Panteg housing estate. The industrial buildings and structures have been removed and remedial work in relation to land contamination has been carried out, in its place there appears yet another LEGOLAND development with the promise of a better lifestyle, devoid of character.

But what about people and jobs you may ask. Panteg steel works was founded in 1873 and operated for over 130 years until its closure in 2004. At one point 900 people were employed producing stainless steel at Panteg. Throughout its history many thousands of people including my grandfather Herbert Parry were employed in the manufacture of steel. Others benefitted throughout the local community as the factory provided work for many trades and businesses.

Working in steel production was extremely hard, hot, filthy work that often acutely affected your health, but it wasn’t only a job it was the opportunity of employment and with it a way of life.

Today – the eastern Afon Valley seems intent on promoting itself in terms of its industrial heritage. Museums of rail, steel, iron and coal attract visitors from far and wide to experience the relics of the past and presumably part with their cash. Men dress up as coal miners and tell a tale or two as the cage descends into the dark – the illusion is real!

Culture and society are intricately related. Through culture and society people and groups define themselves. Today the valley appears to have become an industrial theme park?

What follows is a partial account of Herbert’s working life by my father John Parry.

 

HERBERT PARRY - STEELWORKER - EARLY MEMORIES OF THE LATE 1930s AND 1940s

My Dad, Herbert Parry was a Roller in the Richard Thomas & Baldwins Steelworks at Panteg about a mile and a half from where we lived in New Inn, Pontypool.

A roller was the leader of a team of men who took Steel ingots which had been heated in the furnaces to a very high temperature and rolled the steel in large metal rollers until it was the required thickness and size. There would be a number of Rollers in a large steelworks like Panteg.

The roller was paid on the tonnage they processed and he then paid his men. The roller had to be highly skilled and was rewarded accordingly.

I remember asking my Dad why he did not progress to Manager of all the rolling mills and he told me he would be getting a lot less money. I believe at the time my Dad was earning £20 a week compared with the Manager's £8 a week.

The roller and his men had very tough and onerous jobs. They had to manhandle the steel ingots on to the rolling mill and using large tongs they manoeuvred the steel back and fro between the large rollers until it met the size needed and the right quality. My Dad liked dealing with stainless steel as it was very challenging and possibly more lucrative for the team.

The heat in the rolling mills and furnace areas was very high which, with the heavy work, made the men sweat profusely. They all wore flannel shirts with a sweat clothes around their necks and needed to drink a lot to stop being dehydrated. During the shift they drank a lot of tea which they had brought from home in metal canisters. I can remember I was often asked by my Mam ( Hilda) to take a fresh can of tea to my Dad at the Steelworks during the shift. To get there I used to go along the road to Griffithstown and cut across the fields and then climb over a large pipe to cross the Afon Llwyd river and then go in the back way to the Rolling Mills. My Dad was always pleased to see me with the tea which was very welcome.

After the shift my Dad took his team to the pub near the Steelworks and made sure his team made up for the moisture they had lost. My dad had a good team and it was his way of showing his personal appreciation for their hard work. They then went home for a good bath as they were dirty and their clothes were sweaty.

During the evenings when my Dad was not working he would go to meetings of the Royal Order of Buffalos of which he was President, to the Home Guard or to socialise with friends at the pubs in the village. My Dad was a very generous man and usually would be the first up to the bar.

My visits to the Steelworks gave me a good insight on what it was like working there. Sometimes, when my Dad and I were having an argument, I would say that I was going to work at the Steelworks which was the last thing he wanted me to do. This did not happen very often as my Dad was a very even tempered and gentle man.

Unfortunately, by the late 1940's my Dad was taken ill with dermatitis and had to give up his job as a roller as it was considered that his illness was related to his work. He took a job as a labourer in the steelworks which was a huge drop in wages. At the time he was just over 50.

I often thought that maybe he would have been better off if he had accepted the earlier offers to be a Manager but it is easy to be wise after the event.

The large drop in income made a big difference in my Dad's life style and I was sad to see many of his friends disappear. There were some loyal friends who tended to be in the same situation as my Dad and they remained loyal. This was a lesson to my Dad and to me.

John Parry, April 2012

Hwyl Nofio - Dark

Hwyl Nofio – Dark - (Ltd Edition: Music CD/Hardback Photobook Project 2012)

'Dark'

is essentially about a South Wales Valley; Pontypool and the eastern valley to be more precise, an area that lies straggled beside the river that runs through it. The Afon Lwyd (English: The Grey River).

A personal heritage runs deep throughout the landscape. Like the lost tunnels mined by the hand of human slavery the music and poetry of the place runs in the blood. Pontypool was not that long ago an industrial landscape scarred by a succession of iron, coal, steel and glass - this was the landscape and playground of childhood.

I have lived in many places; I have settled in Yorkshire; however the heart and soul remain routed firmly in the valley. I return as often as possible to bask in this magical place. As a boy I would sit on the Black mountain listening to the sounds emanating from the valley; the sounds of coal trucks scraping along steel rails, the solitary chime of a church bell,  dogs’ barking in the distant streets. This had been the soundtrack of youth. A strange mystical land informed by stories of people, spirits and legends – the sights of white light heat spitting from the furnace and the constant drone of the church organ.

(All images and text are copyright © Steve Parry 2012 – I don’t take kindly to people stealing my work - Thankyou)