Billy was shocked, too. How could the company do this to a woman whose husband had been killed in their pit?
“It’s signed ‘Perceval Jones, Chairman of the Board,’ at the bottom,” Da finished.
Billy said: “What lease? I didn’t know miners had leases.”
Da said to him: “There’s no written lease, but the law says there’s an implied contract. We’ve already fought that battle and lost.” He turned to Mrs. Dai. “The house goes with the job, in theory, but widows are usually allowed to stay on. Sometimes they leave anyway, and go to live elsewhere, perhaps with their parents. Often they remarry, to another miner, and he takes over the lease. Usually they have at least one boy who becomes a miner when he’s old enough. It’s not really in the company’s interest to throw widows out.”
“So why do they want to get rid of me and my children?” wailed Mrs. Dai.
Gramper said: “Perceval Jones is in a hurry. He must think the price of coal is going up. That’ll be why he started the Sunday shift.”
Da nodded. “They want higher production, that’s for sure, whatever the reason. But they’re not going to get it by evicting widows.” He stood up. “Not if I can help it.”
Eight women were being evicted, all widows of men who had died in the explosion. They had received identical letters from Perceval Jones, as Da established that afternoon when he visited each woman in turn, taking Billy with him. Their reactions varied from the hysterics of Mrs. Hywel Jones, who could not stop crying, to the grim fatalism of Mrs. Roley Hughes, who said this country needed a guillotine like they had in Paris for men like Perceval Jones.
Billy was boiling with outrage. Was it not enough that these women had lost their men to the pit? Must they be homeless as well as husbandless? “Can the company do this, Da?” he said as he and his father walked down the mean gray terraces to the pithead.
“Only if we let them, boy. The working class are more numerous than the ruling class, and stronger. They depend on us for everything. We provide their food and build their houses and make their clothes, and without us they die. They can’t do anything unless we let them. Always remember that.”
They went into the manager’s office, stuffing their caps into their pockets. “Good afternoon, Mr. Williams,” said Spotty Llewellyn nervously. “If you would just wait a minute, I’ll ask if Mr. Morgan can see you.”
“Don’t be daft, boy, of course he’ll see me,” said Da, and without waiting he walked into the inner office. Billy followed.
Maldwyn Morgan was looking at a ledger, but Billy had a feeling he was only pretending. He looked up, his pink cheeks closely shaved as always. “Come in, Williams,” he said unnecessarily. Unlike many men, he was not afraid of Da. Morgan was Aberowen-born, the son of a schoolmaster, and had studied engineering. He and Da were similar, Billy realized: intelligent, self-righteous, and stubborn.
“You know what I’ve come about, Mr. Morgan,” said Da.
“I can guess, but tell me anyway.”
“I want you to withdraw these eviction notices.”
“The company needs the houses for miners.”
“There will be trouble.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Don’t get on your high horse,” Da said mildly. “These women lost their husbands in your pit. Don’t you feel responsible for them?”
Morgan tilted up his chin defensively. “The public inquiry found that the explosion was not caused by the company’s negligence.”
Billy wanted to ask him how an intelligent man could say such a thing and not feel ashamed of himself.
Da said: “The inquiry found a list of violations as long as the train to Paddington-electrical equipment not shielded, no breathing apparatus, no proper fire engine-”
“But the violations did not cause the explosion, or the deaths of miners.”
“The violations could not be proved to have caused the explosion or the deaths.”
Morgan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You didn’t come here to argue about the inquiry.”
“I came here to get you to see reason. As we speak, the news of these letters is going around the town.” Da gestured at the window, and Billy saw that the winter sun was going down behind the mountain. “Men are rehearsing with choirs, drinking in pubs, going to prayer meetings, playing chess-and they’re all talking about the eviction of the widows. And you can bet your boots they’re angry.”
“I have to ask you again: are you trying to intimidate the company?”
Billy wanted to throttle the man, but Da sighed. “Look here, Maldwyn, we’ve known each other since school days. Be reasonable, now. You know there are men in the union who will be more aggressive than me.” Da was talking about Tommy Griffiths’s father. Len Griffiths believed in revolution, and he always hoped the next dispute would be the spark that lit the conflagration. He also wanted Da’s job. He could be relied upon to propose drastic measures.
Morgan said: “Are you telling me you’re calling a strike?”
“I’m telling you the men will be angry. What they will do I can’t predict. But I don’t want trouble and you don’t want trouble. We’re talking about eight houses out of what, eight hundred? I’ve come here to ask you, is it worth it?”
“The company has made its decision,” Morgan said, and Billy felt intuitively that Morgan did not agree with the company.
“Ask the board of directors to reconsider. What harm could that do?”
Billy was impatient with Da’s mild words. Surely he should raise his voice, and point his finger, and accuse Morgan of the ruthless cruelty of which the company was obviously guilty? That was what Len Griffiths would have done.
Morgan was unmoved. “I’m here to carry out the board’s decisions, not question them.”
“So the evictions have already been approved by the board,” Da said.
Morgan looked flustered. “I didn’t say that.”
But he had implied it, Billy thought, thanks to Da’s clever questioning. Maybe mildness was not such a bad idea.
Da changed tack. “What if I could find you eight houses where the occupiers are prepared to take in new miners as lodgers?”
“These men have families.”
Da said slowly and deliberately: “We could work out a compromise, if you were willing.”
“The company must have the power to manage its own affairs.”
“Regardless of the consequences to others?”
“This is our coal mine. The company surveyed the land, negotiated with the earl, dug the pit, and bought the machinery, and it built the houses for the miners to live in. We paid for all this and we own it, and we won’t be told what to do with it by anyone else.”
Da put his cap on. “You didn’t put the coal in the earth, though, did you, Maldwyn?” he said. “God did that.”
Da tried to book the assembly rooms of the town hall for a gathering at seven thirty the following night, but the space was already taken by the Aberowen Amateur Dramatic Club, who were rehearsing Henry IV, Part One, so Da decided the miners would meet at Bethesda Chapel. Billy and Da, with Len and Tommy Griffiths and a few other active union members, went around the town announcing the meeting orally and pinning up handwritten notices in pubs and chapels.
By a quarter past seven next evening the chapel was packed. The widows sat in a row at the front, and everyone else stood. Billy was at the side near the front, where he could see the men’s faces. Tommy Griffiths stood beside him.
