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MAMETZ WOOD REMEMBERED
That futile war, never forgotten.
the Somme a hundred years on.
Battle lines drawn, no man's land,
brave men preparing to die.
Birdsong fell silent, that fateful day,
slaughter, it surely did follow.
Machine guns nesting, deep in the wood,
barbed wire protecting the enemy.
The 38th Welsh led that fatal charge,
their orders to take Mametz wood.
Chaos abounded, their lives sacrificed,
like lemmings, to their holy maker.
The mortars rained down,
a shell hole, one's only safe haven,
Bodies piled high, deep in the mud,
as blood flowed, a deep poppy red.
Although stripped bare, by bullet and mortar,
Mametz wood will live on forever.
A graveyard for heroes, all Welsh to a man,
their sacrifice, never forgotten.
Welsh dragon today, faces the wood,
tearing at wire, where heroes blood flowed.
A memorial now guarding their souls,
its colour a deep poppy red.
"This poem is dedicated to the brave men of the 39th Welsh
who fought at the disastrous battle of Mametz wood during the
First World War. R.I.P"
At 8.20am an explosion occurred at the Parc Slip Colliery, Aberkenfig, near Tondu. One hundred and twelve men and young boys lost their lives, may they all R.I.P.
PARC SLIP REMEMBERED
One hundred and twelve, at peace in heaven,
in their day the heartbeat of Cefn.
Parc Slip the mine where they all worked,
way down below, their destiny lurked.
Men and boys taken that day,
firedamp and flame, the usual way.
Generations lost, without any say,
deadly fire and gas, took all air away.
Two miners were rescued, after the blast,
no hope for the rest, the future now past.
Hampered by falls, the rescue continued,
the following day, hope came to the village.
Voices were heard, deep in the mine,
a miracle, rescued, at least thirty-nine.
Some solace for those that were weeping,
heart break for those, loved ones sleeping.
Still to this day, Cefn mourns the begotten,
those lost souls, never forgotten.
Descendents reflect, heartache and sorrow,
their relatives felt on that sad 'morrow.
Parc Slip is now a nature reserve,
a memorial, those heroes deserved,
Birdsong is heard each single day,
lost souls at last finding their way.
PIT PONIES
I was four when I started, my life underground,
stabled below, coal dust would abound.
Miners my friends, they treated me well,
for one, oh so young, the face was like hell.
The dust and the gas, the air putrified,
the miners would crawl on their bellies and sides.
After pulling the journeys for eight hours a day,
I lay in my stable, on soft and warm hay.
Fifty weeks of the year we'd work together,
think what I'd give for fresh air, fine weather.
Then it would come, two weeks on top,
roaming the fields, a nice gentle trot.
The air I took in, so fresh and clean,
the weeks would fly by, then back to the seam.
Ten years I would work, with the brave men below,
but my time it did come, up top I would go.
Up in the cage, to the top of the pit,
they patted my head, you deserve it.
Checked by the vet, then down to the field,
where for two weeks a year, always spring heeled.
A pit ponys life was hard and so tough,
I made many friends, took the smooth with the rough.
Life in the field, is the way it should be,
for ponies who started out young, just like me.
'Pen-Y-Fan'
She's a jewel in the crown, a snow covered peak,
a stairway to heaven, though in winter so bleak.
An everlasting reminder, of a glacial past,
formed out of sandstone, dark shadows cast.
A Bronze age cairn, on her summit stands proud,
elements defied, mystical views they astound.
'Ashes of the dead' long ago there entombed,
meadowsweet flowers, now sadly exhumed.
She's a sight to behold, when shrouded in mist,
when covered by snow, she's a peak to resist.
She's a taker of life, when her spirits are stirred,
hail, rain and snow, killer elements converge.
To modern day pilgrims, a muse she's become,
a bucket list challenge, erosion succumbed.
'The Beacons' she rules, such a majestic sight,
on a fine summer's day, one of pure delight.
My Coal Mining Poetry book 'An Industry Now Lost'
At 9.15 am on Friday the 21st October 1966, a colliery spoil tip collapsed into many
homes, and the Pantglas Junior School, killing 116 children and 28 adults.
This poem is dedicated to them. May they all Rest In Peace.
ABERFAN
Slag and slurry, the devil incarnate,
robbed a village of lives and didn't abate.
On that early morn, the sun fell from the sky,
a giant black shadow drowned their small cries.
Teachers’ and children fighting for air,
the slag and the slurry laid the school bare.
Completely covered by the river of black,
many souls lost, if we could only go back.
The village would come, with all haste and speed,
digging with hands, miners taking the lead.
Mothers wailing, where is my child?
the black stuff still sliding, a torrent so vile.
The number it took was one forty-four,
if only God had allowed a few hours more.
Half term it would be later that day.
souls that we lost, would have been on their way.
The survivors they numbered one forty-five,
sad and heartbroken, however, alive.
God bless you all, please rest in peace,
never forgotten, our love will not cease.
I WAS BORN IN CAERAU A SMALL MINING VILLAGE AT THE TOP OF THE LLYNFI VALLEY, MAESTEG. MY DAD WAS A MINER, AS WERE ALL MY CLOSE FAMILY.I JOINED THE POLICE SERVICE IN 1967 AND SERVED OVER 30 YEARS, RETIRING AS A DETECTIVE SERGEANT.
AT THE END OF 2015 I BEGAN WRITING POETRY, THE GENRES BEING COAL MINING AND THE FIRST WORLD WAR. IN FEBRUARY 2016 I WROTE A CRIME THRILLER TITLED 'UNETHICAL CONDUCT' WITH THE HELP OF MY NOW CO-AUTHOR NIGEL WILLIAMS.
I NEVER INTENDED WRITING ANOTHER BOOK, IT WAS JUST A BUCKET LIST EFFORT, HOWEVER NIGEL AND I THEN BEGAN WRITING TOGETHER. WE SELF PUBLISHED THE NEXT 8 BOOKS ON AMAZON, DONATING THE ROYALTIES NEARLY £2,000 TO CHARITY.
IN MAY LAST YEAR I WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET MY POETRY PUBLISHED BY 'WORDCATCHER PUBLISHING' CARDIFF. OWNED BY DAVID NORRINGTON.
AS WEL AS MY POETRY DAVID THEN DECIDED TO RE-PUBLISH ALL OUR BOOKS, GIVING THEM BRAND NEW COVERS, BUT KEEPING THE SAME TITLES, SO THAT READERS WOULDN'T RE-PURCHASE.
THE FIRST BOOK 'UNETHICAL CONDUCT' HAS JUST BEEN RELEASED ON KINDLE AND THE PAPERBACK SHOULD BE AVAILABLE IN A FEW WEEKS.
WE HOPE TO RELEASE THE SERIES AT REGULAR INTERVALS.
I HAVE MY OWN POETRY PAGE ON FACEBOOK WHICH IS PUBLIC, SO ANYONE CAN VIEW AND JOIN, THERE ARE OVER 280 POEMS ON THE SITE 'ARTHUR'S POEMS AND ANECDOTES.
NIGEL AND I ALSO HAVE A SEPERATE PAGE FOR THE THRILLERS TITLED 'THE TERRY MCGUIRE THRILLERS' AGAIN A PUBLIC PAGE THAT ANYONE CAN VIEW.
“ Hot Dog Sir?” asked the pimply faced burger vendor.
Council official Job Swurth didn’t look happy...but then again he never did.
“ What the Hell are you doing?” he moaned at the bemused van owner, Rann Cydd.
“ Selling burgers from a lay-by...everyone does it in Wales!” he laughed merrily.
“ But this is the Galon Uchaf acceleration lane to get on the A465 (T) Heads of the Valleys Road!” barked Job shaking his head.
“ That’s what’s clever about my pitch....everyone has to stop!” said Rann.
“ It’s all about location...location...location!” he said boastfully.
“ What about highway safety?” asked Job astounded by the ignorance of the offender.
“ What on the Heads of the Valley....your having a laugh!” countered the Cydd.
Feeling he had lost that argument Job pursued another line of questioning.
“ So where’s your hawker’s licence?” asked the Environmental Health Officer.
“ Don’t sell hawks....only fresh meat....do you a nice Hedgehog sandwich...fresh too!” said Rann pointing to a red spot on the road surface.
“ You not telling me you sell road kill to passing tourists too?” said Job feeling he would be outwitted on flawed logic on each argument.
“ Have to be quick mind ....they soon sell out....but not as quick as my assistant ‘Frogger’ over there!” said Rann.
Job looked across the road to see a fourteen year old school kid standing on the centre white line as two huge HGV lorries thundered passed him in opposite directions.
The child seized his opportunity and sprinted through the traffic back to the van.
“ Got him!” he said holding up by the tail the remains of someone’s pet cat.
“ You can’t sell that?” ordered Job.
“ Why not...your Environmental Health Department keeps encouraging me to recycle...I’m just putting it back in the food chain!” Rann exclaimed.
“ Besides you’d only fine me if my black bin lid was open a fraction!” he continued moaning back at the official.
“ The Welsh Assembly always complain about the amount of ‘Fast Food’ served in Merthyr....I only serve ‘slow food’ Rann ranted.
“ I want to speak to you about that too...we’ve had a complaint from A.L.F that your home address in First Avenue Galon Uchaf is being used as a PO BOX for business!” said Job.
“ Apparently, you are advertising as Rann Cydd’s Swiss Pet Rescue Sanctuary on your web page!” said Job.
“ So...that’s where I get all my ideas on the interweb...what’s wrong with that?” asked Rann indignantly.
“ Your telling people that you run a Swiss style euthanasia clinic for pets...please send your pet in a sealed box with no holes and a £100.00 and you can save time and money on vet’s bills!” said the Health Inspector.
“ And your point is?” asked the last remaining roadside Little Chef frying some meat in onions.
“ Don’t tell me...you cook them too?” asked the inspector.
“ I’m beginning to smell a rat!”
“ No....interrupted Frogger....that is definitely a field mouse...when you’ve worked these roads for as long as I have you get to know the difference!”
“ Rats....tend to make it to the centre line while your mice only get as far as the hard shoulder!” he said expertly.
As he did so, a local bus driver, threw his £1.00 at Rann , grabbed his bun and pulled out in front of an oncoming Lorry.
The lorry driver stood on his metal on metal brakes and narrowly avoided another crash.
The European Driver from Riga, after 24 hours driving non-stop in his truck with no tachograph, stopped hard.
Not to miss the bus...he didn’t want to miss the burger van.
“ Alsatian burger?” Rann said to the Non- English speaker.
The driver shook his head pointing at the sesame bun instead.
“ He must be DOG tired...he said taking his £2.50 and throwing him a bun with the back legs of a field mouse sticking out.
The Council Inspector was astonished in the space of ten minutes the van had taken £50.00 in cash....all destined for the black market economy.
“ You’re on to a good thing here!” said the Inspector raging .
Parked next to the van on the embankment was a 2011 black four by four Land Cruiser.
“ Is that yours too?” asked Job.
“ Yeah...I’ve got three like it at home...of course I don’t drive to sign on in THAT...I use my little X reg corsa for that!” said Rann.
“ Don’t you think fleecing the Country is immoral?” asked Job expecting some sign of remorse.
“ F*** Off.... I take all the wool off the sheep...besides do you think the MP’s care....who paid for Prince William’s wedding...well it wasn’t me....anyway those German bastards found a lower tender for the Wedding Catering from Poland....!” replied Rann.
“ Don’t you have any ethics?” continued the Council worker.
“ Your out of luck... I sold the last one this morning...some people will sell any old body part to stay in this Country!” said Rann.
“ I wouldn’t eat any of your produce anyway...you don’t know where its been!”
“ Middle –of- the Road mate....same as your Politics....!” countered the Dog Vendor continuing his good ‘Korea’ choice by selling three ‘hot dogs’ to a local takeaway owner.
“ I must be mad...!” said Job.
“ How much are you on an hour......£50.00...£100.00”?...
“ And I’m on £20.00 per hour as an Environmental Health Officer with a science degree and £20Kworth of student debt....face death and kebab shop owners with skewers every day....and the Government wants me to take a cut in my pension and work till I’m 67...I must be mad to be the only legitimate worker in Merthyr paying tax on my day job!”
“ Shove over!” said Job instantly climbing the ladder.
“ You can ‘burger’ off when you like!” squeaked Frogger.... you start at the bottom pal......go and get me some ‘Health-y food’ ...its my way or the highway!”
The cars engine spluttered and coughed for the last time as he parked his ‘Popemobile’ outside the house of one of his parishioners in Crabapple Close Gurnos Merthyr Tydfil.
He hoped that the first time this call was genuine.
He really wanted to do battle with the Devil face to face .
He looked up at the bedroom window and could see a luminous eerie glow inside.
His bumper sticker ‘Honk if you love the Lord’ was the only sign that he was a
Man of God ….that and the small silver image of a fish attached to the back.
Silverfishes were common in that part of the world.
This was the only Church courtesy car available to him -as the previous two in the trinity had been stolen by joy-riders - when he was coincidentally also on house calls.
This was one of the reasons why no longer anyone had a Wedding Reception in the Gurnos – the other was they would know you were away from home for the day.
Father Afield was a Catholic Priest and new to the area but he had learned the hard way that the Ten Commandments were broken daily in the Gurnos.
The Holy Man was also a Quaker as tonight he had received a call from his boss – one Bishop Hedley- that as locum priest for the neighbour parish of Penydarren that he was needed to conduct his first exorcism.
Whilst he had complete Faith in God, he wasn’t sure he ready to take on his opposite number.
After locking his car, putting on the steering wheel lock , car alarm and four’ Denver Boots’ he picked up his bible and crucifix and made his way up the small path to the front door.
He looked nervously at the eaves of the house which bore gargoyles, water spouts and a series of horseshoe pendants on the front door.
Some-one was clearly trying to keep evil away or trap it inside the house.
He genuflected and blessed himself before he knocked on the door.
His knees were knocking louder than the engine of the Proton ‘Trinity’ Car that he had arrived in.
The door creaked open and the Priest was relieved to see that he was met by a Court Bailiff known local as Swifty.
“ She’s upstairs…..she’s in some kind of trance….I am frightened to go near her…if you hadn’t come….I’d have had to put the eviction off till next month!” said the Bailiff – full name- Jonathon Swift.
Inside the house, Afield could see all the deadly signs of connection with the Occult.
Hanging from the ceiling were several Red Indian dream catchers, tarot cards were strewn everywhere and a Ouija Board was set in the middle of ‘living room’.
The Bailiff not a man to be easily frightened was ashen-faced and had aged in the time he had been left alone in the house.
The house stank of cat faeces and sour milk.
The Father said another prayer before he took his first step towards the bedroom.
The bailiff followed behind him as close as he could without touching the Priest.
He was frightened that the woman was a witch and that her mere presence had turned the milk sour .
The higher they got the colder the house became and once they reached the landing their breath was visible in the dark passageway.
The Priest tried to rationalise events- perhaps the electricity had been cut off because of the recent price hikes by the greedy foreign energy companies that monopolised the utility suppliers.
There was no light save as to an eerie glow from under the main bedroom door and of course that coming through the obligatory Gurnos punch-mark in the bedroom door.
The Priest tried the round door handle but as he touched it burned his hand.
He recoiled in horror as did the bailiff who was less than an altar boy’s distance from the priest.
“ Please be careful in there Father…it’s dangerous…some of the local kids are too frightened to even vandalise the house because they say she is going to give birth to the Anti-Christ!” whispered Swifty.
Taking off his hat, he put it over the burning door handle and turned the knob.
It came off in his hand.
It was the Story of the eternal bachelor’s life.
Reading from his Guttenberg bible, the door suddenly swung open without being physically touched- this really impressed Swifty.
“If you ever leave God’s Service….there’s always a job with us if you want it!” said the bailiff.
“ Never underestimate the power of prayer!” said the Priest feeling more confident by the remark but inside knowing he had stood on some dodgy floorboards.
Peering around the door frame, the Priest and the Bailiff stared at the scene that greeted them.
The room was lit only by a series of ‘lava’ lamps but they could make out that the woman tenant Rosemary Bede was naked on the bed.
As Father Afield plucked up the courage to enter the room, he could see that she was white as a sheet, perspiring and had a huge distended belly….she looked drugged out of her mind.
Bailiff Swifty re-assured him that this was how Gurnos women normally looked and not to be afraid.
Raising his crucifix in his right hand he stepped into the room.
The woman without opening her eyes somehow sensed the arrival of the Priest.
Like Jeremy Irons in the film ‘The Mission’ Crucifix held high in the air - covering his face- he walked towards the woman.
All of a sudden sharp metallic objects began propelling themselves through the air at the priest impacting on the magnetic cross.
The priest could see they were being fired from a ‘lady part’ that he didn’t even know existed.
It was the first time he had encountered a ‘Twat-apult’.
Tarot cards swirled in the air like caught in Superstorm Sandy and one card ‘ the fool’ landed on the open page of the Book of Revelation.
Right foot in the air, hovering above the centre of a Pentagram or Seal of Solomon Father Afield felt like he was in the middle of a hurricane, as an invisible force, like a fan on full force blew his hat off.
As he stepped on the centre of the Pentagram, he fell head first through the ceiling, landing noisily in the kitchen below.
Bailiff Swifty rushed back down the stairs to tend to the injured.
“ That was the work of the devil incarnate!” said the shaken priest still clutching the bible and crucifix.
“ No… that was Merthyr Valley Homes carpenters….they forgot to put some floorboards in …I’ve done that before myself!” said Swifty.
Dusting himself down Father Afield looked at the crucifix…it was covered in gold rings, bracelets , gold and silver earrings… all potential stingers from the golden honey pot.
They had somehow or other become attracted to the Holy Relic.
Father Afield often felt a ‘little cross’ that poor people seemed to throw their meagre possessions at the richest religious organisation in the World….but after all business was business.
He climbed the stairs a little more confidently now.
The Demon had won round one but now he was angry.
As he reached the bedroom door it slammed in his face again.
As if unseen hands or black cotton strings were working it.
This time it was personal.
He booted the door open and eye-balled Rosemary Bede which was quite difficult as her head was spinning on its axis like it was a plate on a stick.
The Priest read from his Bible a list of demon names
“ Come out Azaiel….. Beelzebub…… Mephistocles….Wormwuse…. Zool…. as he trotted through from the grimoire …until finally he arrived at the right name…
On the mention of ‘Nandos’ – a jet of projectile vomit shot through the air passing over the top of the cross splattering all over his face and hair.
“ Why couldn’t I have been a born a Buddhist….he said questioning his faith…at least a statue of the ‘enlightened one’ would have stopped me being enlightened!” he said black tunic dripping with yellow sick.
Bailiff Swifty had witnessed the whole thing but had missed the pea-souper.
“ There is another 57 varieties to come yet!” he said reassuringly “ try and get to the witch to ‘scratch’ her- as long as your draw her blood on your cross…she will lose her power!” said Swifty from a safe distance.
The rainbow torrent of putrid stomach bile continued to pour out in the direction of the Priest who took it all on the chin.
Diced carrots trapped themselves in his Mo-Vember beard.
Almost magically, on the bed Rosemary’s Baby started to disappear…but then she started to let out the most disgusting sulphur farts…which started to lift her body as if on air jets above the surface of the bed.
“ Look she is transcending…!” said the frightened Bailiff.
The Priest could see she had used several pairs of counterfeit jeans to raise herself up- to give the illusion of ‘levi’-tation.
The woman opened her red eyes and lifted both her arms which contained both a witch ‘poppet’ and a nail .
She proceeded to stab the doll of the bailiff right in his little Mascot Coat.
Clutching his heart- if he had one- he fled in terror into the night.
Only to be sent home by the Casualty Department at the Queen Camilla Hospital as a result.
No sooner than the bailiff had left the room seemed mysteriously to come back to normal.
The Priest felt something was not right – the creature was a little devil all right- but not the real deal.
Rosemary Bede winked at the Priest and wiped away the drool from her mouth.
“ Not the Anti-Christ…I ate a chicken intended for my cats….it was soaked in
Anti-FREEZE… it made my stomach swell….great for getting rid of that Bailiff mind…!”
“I can’t go back to the Court again….I owe nearly £6,000.00 in back rent as you…he was threatening me with a Warrant of Execution…. Luckily we wear our wealth in the Gurnos Hood…I had to find a place for my stash….that reminds me…!”
She reached down to the golden crucifix and pulled a lot of old Ratners off that had attached itself to the Relic.
Picking up the Holy Book she asked the astonished Priest.
“ Is there anything in the Ten Commandments that says ‘Thou shalt pay thy Rent?’”
“ No….but I think you had better be careful dabbling with the Black Arts…or you could end up getting properly Re-Possessed!” warned the Churchman.
