How Green Was My Valley

I am packing my belongings

in the shawl my mother used to wear when she went to the market,

and I am going from my valley,

and this time, I shall never return.

I am leaving behind me my 50 years of memory.

Memory.

Strange that the mind will forget so much of what only this moment has passed

and yet hold clear and bright the memory of what happened years ago,

of men and women long since dead.

Yet who shall say what is real and what is not?

Can I believe my friends all gone

when their voices are still a glory in my ears?

No, and I will stand to say no and no again,

for they remain a living truth within my mind.

There is no fence nor hedge 'round time that is gone.

You can go back and have what you like of it if you can remember.

So I can close my eyes on my valley as it is today,

and it is gone, and I see it as it was when I was a boy.

Green it was and possessed of the plenty of the earth.

In all Wales, there was none so beautiful.

Everything I ever learnt as a small boy came from my father,

and I never found anything he ever told me to be wrong or worthless.

The simple lessons he taught me are as sharp and clear in my mind

as if I had heard them only yesterday.

In those days, the black slag, the waste of the coal pits,

had only begun to cover the side of our hill,

not yet enough to mar the countryside

nor blacken the beauty of our village,

for the colliery had only begun

to poke its skinny black fingers through the green.

I can hear even now the voice of my sister Angharad.

Coal miners were my father and all my brothers,

and proud of their trade.

Gwilym Morgan, £3 and 7.

Thank you, sir.

Lanto Morgan, £3 and 7.

Ivor Morgan, £3 and 7.

Davy Morgan, £2 and 5.

Owen Morgan, £2 and 5.

Young Gwilym Morgan, £1 and 10.

Someone would strike up a song,

and the valley would ring with the sound of many voices,

for singing is in my people as sight is in the eye.

Then came the scrubbing out in the back yard.

It was the duty of my sister Angharad

to bring the buckets of hot water and cold,

and I performed what little tasks I could,

as my father and brothers scrubbed the coal dust from their backs.

Most would come off them, but some would stay for life.

This is the honorable badge of the coal miner,

and I envied it on my father and grown-up brothers.

Scrub and scrub,

Mr. Coal would lie there and laugh at you.

Aah!

There was always a baron of beef

or a shoulder or leg of lamb before my father.

There was never any talk while we were eating.

I never met anybody whose talk was better than good food.

My mother was always on the run,

always the last to start her dinner and the first to finish,

for if my father was the head of our house, my mother was its heart.

After dinner, when dishes had been washed,

the box was brought to the table

for the spending money to be handed out.

No one in our valley had ever seen a bank.

We kept our savings on the mantelpiece.

My father used to say that money was made to be spent,

just as men spend their strength and brains in earning it,

and as willingly,

but always with a purpose.

Thank you, Dada.

Ha ha ha!

Out of the house and across the street,

as I had run a hundred times before.

Softly now, for respect for chapel was the first thing my father taught us.

Then straight to Mrs. Tossall,

the shop for that toffee which you could chew for hours,

it seems to me now,

and even after it had gone down,

you could swallow and still find the taste of it

hiding behind your tongue.

It is with me now, so many years later.

It makes me think of so much that was good

that is gone.

It was on this afternoon that I first saw Bron...

Bronwyn.

She had come over from the next valley

for her first call on my father and mother.

Is this Gwilym Morgan's house?

You must be Huw.

Is that you, Bronwyn?

Yes.

There is lovely you are.

I think I fell in love with Bronwyn then.

Perhaps it is foolish to think a child could fall in love,

but I am the child that was,

and nobody knows how I felt, except only me.

I am so proud for Ivor.

I'm the one to be proud.

You think well of our Ivor?

Ha ha ha!

It seems only a few months since he was scratching around here

like this one with his mouth open.

This is Bronwyn, Huw, who's to be your sister.

We have met already.

Be careful of the basket. There's shortcake in it.

This is not for you, Huw. You will have your time to come.

Run along.

Bronwyn and Ivor were to be married by the new preacher, Mr. Gruffydd,

who had come from the university at Cardiff.

This was my first sight of him.

Yay! Yay!

Good evening, Mr. Morgan.

Yes, indeed, sir.

Excuse me.

Thank you.

Come now, boys. Back to work.

Ivor, find Dai Griffiths and Idris John

and bring them to Mr. Evans' office.

Will we come with you?

No. This is for the older men.

Home to your mother.

But...

Leave it now, Davy.

Well, come! Come!

Why aren't you washed?

We were waiting for you.

The cut is only a few shillings.

There will still be plenty for all of us.

A bit of supper now, is it, girl?

It is because they are not getting the old price for coal.

Come and wash now.

May... May we speak first, sir?

Yes.

They did not give the real reason for this cut.

We've been expecting it

since the ironworks at Dowlais closed.

What have the ironworks to do with us?

Their men came to the colliery willing to work for any wage,

so our wages must come down.

And this is only the beginning.

Watch now, they'll cut us again and still again,

until they have this,

as empty as their promises.

Nonsense. A good worker is worth good wages,

and he will get them. Not while there are three men

for every job.

Why should owners pay more if men are willing to work for less?

Because the owners are not savages.

They are men, like us.

Men, yes, but not like us.

Would they deal with you when you went to them?

No.

They have power, and we have none.

How will we get power, from the air?

No. From a union of all the men.

Union, is it?

I never thought I'd hear my own sons talking socialist nonsense.

But it's sense, good sense!

- Unless we stand together... - I've had enough of this talk!

But, Father, it d...

Come and wash now.

Your good mother will be waiting.

Do you think I'll let them make my father stand like a dog in the rain

and not raise my hands to stop it?

Hisht, Davy.

Who gave you permission to speak?

This is too important for silence.

They're trying to punish you...

It is not more important than good manners.

What are we going to do?

You'll die of the cold when it comes to snow.

Let us stand together and see how they act then.

Right. The men will come if we say the word. All the pits are ready.

You will not make me a plank for your politics.

I will not be the excuse for any strike.

If they can do things like that to the spokesman,

what will they try and do to the men?

We will see. Be silent now. Finish your supper.

But, Father... Enough now!

But... On with your work.

It is not enough!

Owen! Hold your tongue until you have permission to speak!

I will speak against injustice anywhere, with permission or without it.

Not in this house.

In this house and outside, sir.

Leave the table.

I will leave the house.

Gwil! Tell your father you're sorry.

I'm not sorry.

I am with you. We can find lodgings in the village.

Gwilym.

All of you, then?

For the last time, sit down, finish your supper.

I will say no more.

We are not questioning your authority, sir,

but if manners prevent our speaking the truth,

we will be without manners.

Get your clothes and go.

I am going with them to look after them.