I would like to take advantage of your revised deadline to make a
late submission.
The name of my story is The Rising, based on the historical events in Merthyr Tydfil which culminated in the execution of the innocent Dic Penderyn which enshrined him as the 'first working class Martyr of the industrial revolution. ' The essentials of the story are historically accurate but the central character who was the real perpetrator of the act for which Dic was executed is fictional. I hope I have not missed the extended deadline.
...
The Rising By Viv Protheroe
‘Come on Betsy girl, come on a few more miles and we’re home.’ The fires of Bute were behind them now, a faint glow compared with the crimson dusk bloodletting which lit up the sky over Blaen Dowlais as they approached the Waun. Home to Merthyr, that crazy sprawling metropolis, the iron citadel of the world lit by a hundred furnaces that turned its night into a frenzied day. Iestyn cajoled his tired pony onward. It had been a hard few days with meetings in Blackwood, Garndyrus, Nantyglo, Blaenafon and Bute. At least tomorrow was a holiday and at Waun they were to gather for a demonstration under the banner of ‘Reform’. It was planned to be the biggest demonstration held in Wales, bigger than Peterloo it was hoped, and with a more positive outcome.
This had been Iestyn’s task over the weekend, to liaise with Zephania Williams, his grandfather’s protégé, and rally the ironworkers and miners of Monmouth for the great day which was coming, when the workers of Wales would throw off their shackles and bask in a new society of freedom and brotherhood. ‘Nid Gadarn ond brodyrdde’ the pamphlets had proclaimed, ‘there is no strength but through brotherhood.’ it was the motto coined by Iolo Morganwg for the renascent Welsh nation, and his son Taliesin in Merthyr had insisted that ‘brotherhood’ meant ‘combination’. Pamphlets were scattered like confetti through Merthyr and the Monmouth valleys those of Paine and Cobbett and the home-grown Welsh language revolutionary tomes from the lands of ‘Rebecca’ to the West, and the ‘Scotch Cattle’ to the East were well read and well learned by Iestyn and his friends.
The sight from Blaen Dowlais had never failed to excite him from that first time when Grampa brought him from Nant Y Glo, by foot on that occasion, and lodged him with his good friend and fellow Chartist, the Unitarian David John, though Grampa like his acolyte Zephania Williams was a humanist.
Iestyn’s mother had died bringing him into this world and Iestyn’s father had never got over the pain until he too was taken by the iron of Crawshay Bailey’s furnace when Iestyn was barely five years old. It had fallen to Grampa, himself a widower to bring him up.
It was at Grampa’s lap that he had learned to read and in his early teens it was Voltaire, Paine and Rousseau that he read. In his late teens he was considered old enough to be about his grampa’s business and after his ‘apprenticeship’ in Nantyglo Grampa had decided that the crucible of the new world would be Merthyr and that Iestyn would be in the vanguard of the imminent revolution.
That first time had been a pilgrimage, a baptism; was it Beulah or Samaria, that was the question. He was familiar with Blaenavon, Nantyglo, Ebbw and Bute, but nothing could have prepared him for Merthyr, the greatest town in Wales with it’s fire and smoke, shops, crowds, smells, the labyrinth of ramshackle ‘China’ with its loose women and tough lawless men, and the Taff’s cleansing torrent rampaging through it after heavy rain. Then there was Cyfarthfa Castle, grandest of the great houses of the Masters, grandest home he had ever seen , a testament to power and privilege dwarfing the mean and huddled settlements of Cefn Coed, Caepantywell and Georgetwon hardly separable from the sprawling ironworks which spawned them..
Then it had overwhelmed him with a heady intoxication and he loved and hated it at first sight. At first sight too he had fallen for Gwenllian, his lovely Gwen, David John’s budding daughter, now his wife of six months with a gently swelling belly and an infectious laugh like the tinkling bells of one of John Stephens’ clockwork music boxes where Grampa had bought him a fine pocket watch to mark his leaving Nantyglo.
Now his head buzzed with the same drunken fervour as he approached the brow of Blaen Dowlais, buzzed with the foreknowledge of the great tumult which they had planned and worked for so tirelessly, which was about to free the workers of Merthyr from their shackles and bring about that new dawn of which Paine had written so eloquently.
He pulled out his cherished watch which he could read plainly now on the Dowlais hill lit up like day from the Goat Mill furnaces. He was on time for his final meeting of the day with Job James who was addressing the Oddfellows at Dowlais and would probably speak at the Waun fair tomorrow . He found him in a conspiratorial group on the steps of the Oddfellows Hall where he dismounted and tied Betsy to a rail. Job immediately approached him and patted Betsy affectionately. It was Job who had bought the mare at last year’s Waun Fair, and gifted it to Iestyn in recognition of the work he was doing organising lodges representing working men throughout Merthyr and further abroad, in Hirwaun and Bute for example, for which he concluded the use of a horse was essential. The animal was ironically stabled in Crawshay’s basin at Georgetown but then wasn’t the cantankerous Crawshay a radical himself when it came to Reform and opposition to Guest’s Truck.
‘Iestyn my good friend. Hot from Monmouth I take it. So how did it go? Are many pledged to the demonstration tomorrow.’
‘Job,’ Iestyn clenched his hand and shook it with vigour. ‘I’d guess a thousand at least will make the journey over. Though it must be said that most are more concerned with the pay cuts and the short time than with the question of Reform right now. I hear that Twiss has been about and may put in an appearance. He’ll be more for strike and organisation no doubt.’
‘Well that’s allright, the one will feed the other, there are many intertwined issues coming to the boil and Crawshay has added to it with his ultimatum to the puddlers. and the ironstone miners you know that better than most as a puddler yourself. Looks like an excellent turnout here. It’s going to be a great day tomorrow Iestyn. I’m told Bruce is very uneasy and has been in touch with the barracks at Brecon to be at the ready.’
‘Don’t worry Job, that eventually is taken care of. The Hirwaun and Cefn boys have it all in hand.’
‘Well,’ Job smiled his long faced saturnine smile, ‘I’d best be getting inside, we have to take the oath and get some last minute things sorted out. Oh there was a message from your father in law, he and Morgan Williams, Lewsyn yr Heliwr, Dic Penderyn and others want a final meeting tonight at half past nine in the Lamb. Good old Betsy will get you there with time to spare. Godspeed Iestyn. tomorrow then.’
Replete from the bowl of cawl and culf of fresh bread which seemed always to grace the Thomas’ table Iestyn pulled Gwen close to him and patted her swelling belly. ‘Come on Gwen, it will be fun. Dick, Lewsyn and Morgan will be there and you can bet Dic Dywyll will entertain us with his radical republican songs.’
‘Not tonight love,’ she refused. ‘I love all your friends well enough, but that Dic Penderyn enjoys his cwrw a bit too much, and when he has a drop he always wants to fight.’
‘But Lewsyn keeps him under control Gwen and with Mari due any time now and his sister and her husband the good Reverand Morgan Howells all at hand to keep an eye on him he won’t be getting into any trouble now will he?’
‘If Howells has his way he won’t even be there. He hates Lewsin, thinks he leads Dic by the nose. Mari told me they’re trying to keep him from the Waun tomorrow.’
‘No chance,’ Iestyn assured her. ‘It all starts at the Waun tomorrow. Zephania will be speaking, and Twiss too . The Dowlais boys have got a big Reform banner, and the Monmouth men will be there. Tomorrow is a new day dawning Beth, a new world for our little boy,’ he stroked her belly again.’
‘Or little girl,’ she remonstrated. ‘You go ahead Iestyn, I know you have to. Arrangements to be made and all that. But with the Waun tomorrow you can bet the Emperor and his Queen will be there and all the nymphs and thimble riggers. What sort of influence is that for our child. You go, I’ll pop over to see Mam. I suppose Dada’ll be there at the Lamb for a little. Thick as thieves you lot. Just watch out for the specials, I hear Bruce has been swearing them in all day and even has some Highlander spies from Brecon slinking about.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘When the weather’s warmer we’ll all go again up to Vaynor for a picnic.’ She chuckled as she recalled their sojourn two weeks ago on one of those rare June days when the sun bursts through in all it’s glory. Iestyn had a makeshift bogey knocked up in the basin and they had all set forth with Mari riding like a queen in the bogey towed along by Betsy, up through Cefn and on to Vaynor Church and the Tavern. They had paid due homage to the grave of Rhys Hywel Rhys, Vaynor’s own astronomer philosopher, and then spent a lovely lazy early summer day in the beautiful Taf Fechan valley where Guest would later construct his megalithic railway viaduct. Iestyn and Dic had sparred playfully, Dic pretending to be the Emperor Shoni Sgubor and Iestyn the pretender to his crown, with Iestyn emerging victor and Gwen crowned the new Empress of ‘China’. They had talked of Reform and the Republic safe from the Company spies. The women Mari and Gwen equally as informed and impassioned as their men. It had been a lovely day.
Their meeting at the Lamb at an end, David John, Gwen’s father and Unitarian minister did not linger. Dic Dywyll did indeed sing some of his stirring songs and The Emperor, his Queen and several nymphs and thimble riggers did congregate to rehearse their arts in preparation for the Waun. There was little love lost between the Emperor and Dic and after a few pints Dic had to be restrained from responding to Shoni Sgubor’s taunts. Shoni was a giant of a man with flaming red hair who put the fear of God into those who sampled the delights of ‘China’ with its maze of ramshackle streets and it’s ‘cwrw bachs’ and brothels. Normally you would not find many constables brave enough to parade the streets of ‘China’, but tonight Shoni Crydd, the policeman and the special constable James Abbott had been assigned by Bruce, the magistrate to keep an eye on Lewsyn and the others. The Lamb was situated outside the heart of ‘China’ and therefore theoretically outside the fiefdom of Shoni Sgubor otherwise Crydd would probably not have taunted Dic Dywyll the blind singer as he did.
The Emperor, not so particular about the precise boundaries of his empire and nurturing an abiding hatred for all constables , special or permanent, pronounced their banishment from his domain and in the ensuing struggle took Abbott by the scruff of the neck and propelled him towards the door. Crydd with the Emperor’s back towards him took out his truncheon with the obvious intent of cracking his fiery crown.
Dic despite the lack of love between himself and Shoni Sgubor, and fired up himself by the strong brew which was the Lamb’s speciality launched himself into the affray. By this time the Emperor was down in the sawdust clutching the top of his red head made redder by the bloody scalp. Abbott freed from his grasp now had Dic by the throat, but Dic was stronger and more agile. He butted Abbott who joined the Emperor in the sawdust, and turned just in time to avoid Crydd’s bludgeon. A rapid left right combination and Crydd joined Abbottt while the Emperor struggled to his feet. He held out a hand to Dic in thanks. ‘We still have a score to settle one day Dic Penderyn,’ as if his crown were being challenged. ‘Now let’s have these two bastards out of here.’
Outside in the narrow street Crydd and Abbott sat licking their wounds. Abbott turned and spat at Dic. ‘I’ll have you Dic Penderyn, mark my words. If it’s the last thing I do I’ll have you.’ What a prophecy that spiteful oath turned out to be.
The day was bright and sunny for the Waun Fair. The horse sale, the foot races, the eisteddfodau all proceeded with the usual gaiety. The hucksters were there with their three card tricks, the thimble riggers , Shoni Sgubor with his Empress, nymphs and bullies together with Sencyn bach and his Rodnies, all the low life of ‘China’ adding colour to the occasion. But the respectable shopocracy was there too and the radicals for Reform, the James family, the Johns and the Williamses and of course Lewsin, Morgan, Dic and Iestyn, and from the Monmouth valleys came Grampa and Zephania and from Llantrisant young Dr William Price with his fox fur hat galloping up and down the field on a jet black stallion. And after all the selling and singing and dancing and drinking the speeches began. First a large crowd marched up and down the field led by a huge white banner with ‘Reform’ emblazoned on it in red. On the morrow in Hirwaun it would be bathed in blood and raised as the red flag of revolution.
It was Twiss who spoke first, Reform was necessary of course, but Reform alone would not achieve their aims. Wasn’t Crawshay himself in favour of Reform, but wasn’t it Crawshay who had cut his miner’s wages and even laid off his puddlers. He had stockpiled when others like Guest, Crawshay Bailey, Forman and Fothergill had been the first to cut wages. But was that in solidarity with the workers or did it not give him an edge when the market rose again. Reform they must have but combination must go along with it, then cuts and the market could be resisted. Many lodges had been established recently but the Scotch Cattle had shown the way in the Monmouth valleys. There was muttering at this as the strong-arm tactics of the Scotch Cattle had not been popular in Merthyr. The Sons of Rebecca too had shown what force could achieve in the West. The workers of Merthyr should not shrink from the use of force now or they would forever suffer whenever the masters’ profits were at risk. The time for action was now and they must strike now, both by withdrawing their labour and taking to the streets.
Dic Dywyll sang one of his republican songs and the growing crowd began to warm up. They had gathered in their thousands. It was by far the biggest crowd that Iestyn had ever seen in his life. They had shut down the furnaces from Bute to Blackwood, from Hirwaun to Abercanaid and of course in Dowlais and Cyfarthfa and had converged on the Waun ready for action.
Zephania spoke of the principal points of the Charter. Universal suffrage with no property qualification, annual parliaments, salaried Members of Parliament and the need to co-ordinate activity with the North of England and the Midlands where workers were suffering in exactly the same way as the Welsh. But Wales should lead the way someone shouted. We could not afford to wait for the English. We should not shrink from violence if necessary. But wasn’t it true that the troops would stand down when they realised that the people were on the march. Zephania was a good organiser and an excellent man to address small meetings but here on the hill above Dowlais addressing ten thousand men he was tongue tied and to everybody’s surprise he suddenly held out a hand and pointed to Iestyn. ‘You don’t want to listen to a Nantyglo man to tell you all this,’ he pleaded. ‘There is one of your own more eloquent than I who has worked tirelessly among you for years, Iestyn Thomas.’ And he gestured for him to speak.
Iestyn was taken completely by surprise, he had never addressed a gathering such as this but was propelled forward by Lewsin and Dic to the cheers of the crowd.. He faced the crowd with trepidation and began to speak slowly. ‘The truth is that it needs no fine words from me to remind you of the reasons for our fight, they are self evident to every man jack of you. You are most of you laid off or on short time and those of you still working are on reduced wages. We are treated like mere chattels to be cast aside when we are no longer of any use to our masters. Our wives and children grow emaciated through malnutrition and our next generation is maimed before it leaves the womb. Industry has retarded not advanced our emancipation. We have no vote and no real power for negotiation. Guest and Crawshay will meet our deputations only to ignore our grievances if they affect their profits, yet they can afford to live in mansions and castles and have their country retreats in the Vale of Glamorgan and Dorset and Llangors and Gower. The jobless are starved on poor relief and the employed are sold to the truck shops where the cost of bread is double the price in Merthyr market. Your possessions are restrained by the Court of Requests and sold on to the nearest scoundrel who would profit from your distress. The time has come when we must fight or die. Our recent strikes were a failure and the masters are crowing . It is up to us as Welshmen now to show the way. We must unite and rise up with dignity and take over this town. They cannot resist our force, look at us, we are invincible.. We must smash the iron fist which holds us down, where we lead others will be sure to follow from John O’Groats to Lands End until Britain has its Reform and we are free. We shall not, we cannot fail . Our spirit is invincible. Our action will shine like a beacon in the stormy darkness. Tomorrow will be a day of destiny. Future generations will see it as the dawn of their emancipation. Workers everywhere will heed the call and join with us in overthrowing our oppressors, and overthrow them we will building a new Jerusalem here in the hills of Merthyr. A place of beauty and peace and love where Christ himself would be proud to walk.’
The tumultuous cheers must have been heard in Dowlais House and beyond, but the Guest family was already safely esconced in Abergavenny.
A chant began and swelled until it echoed in the hills. ‘Coffin’s Court, Coffin’s Court,’ followed by ‘Fothergill’s Truck, Fothergill’s Truck’ and the great crowd began to split into several constituent parts; one to Merthyr to ransack Coffins house and return his goods to their erstwhile owners, another to Aberdare to wreak havoc on Fothergill’s truck shops, while the Monmouthshire men focussed their actions in their own communities.
The following day the Town was in a state of insurrection. Coffin’s Court had been plundered and a huge crowd was pressing in from the Glebeland and High Street on the Castle Inn where the ironmasters were protected by a platoon of Highlanders who had come hotfoot from Brecon barracks during the night in response to Bruce’s frantic call. Corporal Donald Black poised in the doorway musket at the ready. He had been in some skirmishes during his army career but this was different, these were people like his people from Lanarkshire, people who had nothing and were rising in their desperation. He was reluctant to fire but if ordered to he would. He was terrified. The Riot Act was read out first in English, then Welsh by Bruce the magistrate. The consequences of the crowds derisive response would be dire.
Hill the master of the Plymouth works came out to announce that they would meet with a delegation of twelve men. Among the twelve of course were Lewsyn, Dic, Morgan and Iestyn. The meeting did not take very long, the deputation’s demands were for a restoration of their cut wages, the dissolution of the Court of Requests and the return of distrained goods, a reduction in the cost of goods purchased from the owners in order to carry out daily work and support for the principles of Reform and free trade with immediate reduction in the price of bread.. Crawshay pointed out that he had always been a supporter of Reform but was powerless to deliver it. Guest was more ambivalent on this but hadn’t he always been prepared to listen to their grievances but would yield nothing to ‘the mob’. The delegation filed out with nothing and the huge crowd which had swelled again to something like ten thousand pressed forward in the expectation of some conciliation from the owners. Rumour had it that Fothergill had agreed yesterday to restore the men’s wages but today had reneged on his promise. A voice from the front of the crowd exhorted the men to take what the owners would not yield. Were they not thousands to the few who defended the implacable masters. Another rumour spread like wildfire that the men of Cefn and Hirwaun had driven back the Highlanders’ reinforcements on the Brecon Road. Spurred on by this success the cry went up to disarm the soldiers and a section of the crowd surged forward.
Lewsyn, Dic and Iestyn were carried by the momentum back into the doorway where Corporal Black trembled with his bayoneted musket pointing into the advancing crowd. Shoni Crydd and Abbott were off to the side of the entrance and vainly attempted to hold back the surge. Dic was involved in a struggle with Black and tussled with him for possession of his weapon . Iestyn managed somehow to remove the bayonet which was flashing about dangerously. Then Abbott and Crydd manhandled Dic to the ground. ‘Now we have you Dic Penderyn,’ Abbott shouted. ‘It’s transportation for you, you bastard.’
In his panic Black’s musket jerked in the direction of Dic as he shook off his assailants. His tightening finger on the trigger would have blown a hole as big as a fist in Dic’s head at that range and Iestyn lunged in desperation with the bayonet aiming for Black’s leg and piercing his thigh. The soldier went down with a scream, blood oozing from the wound, and Iestyn froze with horror at what he’d done. At that instant the order was given and a fusillade rang out causing the crowd to scatter. People were screaming and falling like ninepins and Iestyn on Lewsyn’s entreaty turned to run and felt the thud of a musket ball shatter his shoulder. Dic and Lewsyn dragged him down to the cinder tip which afforded them some shelter. Several of the men were now armed and returned the fire on the windows of the Castle Inn from the slopes of the tip. The town was now a scene of horror as the dead and wounded were dragged to positions of safety from the soldiers merciless fire. Dic stuffed a kerchief into Iestyn’s wound to stem the flow of blood.. ‘You saved my life,’ he said as the red mist slowly suffused Iestyn’s sight and the sounds of the tumult seemed so far away as he lost consciousness.
In the days that followed the workers took over the town and administered it with discipline and order. The ironmasters were escorted in danger of their lives from the Castle Inn to Penydarren House where they sheltered pending the reinforcements already on their way from Brecon , Swansea and Cardiff.
When Iestyn regained consciousness he was in a farmstead in Llantrisant with Gwen at his side. Morgan Williams had secured the services of his good friend the Chartist
Dr William Price who not only tended Iestyn’s wound but smuggled him out of Merthyr strapped in Dic’s bogey and towed by his magnificent black stallion down one of the disused tramroads. Iestyn continued to drift in and out of consciousness over the weeks that followed and when the rising finally fizzled out with Merthyr under marshall law Lewsyn and Dic had both gone to ground. Lewsyn was traced back to Cwm Cadlan near Penderyn where he was arrested and Dic desperate to see Mari and his newborn child was taken near his home. On the perjured word of Abbott and Crydd Dic was charged with the stabbing of Black and Lewsyn was held as one of the leaders of the insurrection as he undoubtedly was.
Iestyn tried to crawl from his bed when he heard the news. ‘It was me, not Dic,’ he pleaded with William Price, struggling to get out of bed but falling back in a swoon on his pillow.
‘Stay where you are man,’ Price commanded sternly ‘You’re in no fit state to go anywhere. You’re lucky to be alive, we don’t want another dead hero.’ A week later he returned with a message from Dic. He handed over a neatly written note in Dic’s unmistakeable hand. ‘Iestyn for God’s sake keep your mouth shut’ It opened starkly. ‘Abbott will see that I am done for this. We will probably be transported Lewsyn and I. So you must recover and carry on the fight. The lodges will spring up like mushrooms now. The whole of Wales is in ferment. So keep quiet. I will deny it if you don’t. You saved my life, this is the least I can do for you. Your affectionate friend Dic. Look out for Mari and the little one, perhaps you can help them to Van Diemen’s Land to join me if it comes to that.’ Dic did not anticipate the outcome of the impending trial, did not foresee Lord Melbourne’s need for a scapegoat to intimidate the still riotous Welshmen whose example might otherwise stimulate their English counterparts.
By the time Iestyn had regained some semblance of health Dic and Lewsyn had both been tried, found guilty and sentenced to death. Lewsyn’s sentence was commuted to transportation after a constable gave evidence that Lewsyn had interceded and probably saved his life when he was being beaten by four enraged rioters. Dic was hanged at Cardiff Gaol on the thirteenth of August despite petitions to the Home Secretary from the Neath Ironmaster and Quaker, John Tregelles Price.
Iestyn was broken hearted but returned to Merthyr to work in Job James shop and went on to organise the many lodges that sprang up in the wake of the Rising. He worked on in the spirit his brave friends. He was there when they celebrated the advent of Reform and he was there when history repeated itself with the abortive Chartist Rising of 1839 when the fusillades again mowed workers down, this time from the windows of the Westgate in Newport and his friend Zephania was, like Lewsin, transported to Australia, though it is said that Lewsyn made his way back from exile and assisted Iestyn secretly with his organisation. They and their descendents were there when Merthyr returned Henry Richard, the Apostle of Peace, to Parliament in 1868. And they were there when James Keir Hardie was elected in 1900. They were there when the apparatchiks tried to remove S O Davies and they were there when the black Leviathan slithered down and devoured Pantglas school. They were there in 1984 when Maggie declared war on the miners and they will be there whenever injustice raises it’s ugly head in Merthyr.
And if some quiet moonlit night you should stroll along the banks of the Taff through old ‘China’ down to Jackson’s bridge you might see them emerge from the Inn laughing and arguing about the advent of a New Jerusalem and old Jump Jackson might entertain you with a leap over the parapet into the black water.
I
updated by @vivian-protheroe: 02/13/16 12:42:52AM
