A Little bit of "Valleywood" or Coal is King and Wool is wealth

[valleyboy]

A little bit of Valleywood or as they say “Coal is King and Wool is Wealth”

The Old Parish of Maesteg and District in the VBCW

Now as he stood trembling and sweating profusely in the mid day sun, the tell tale beads on his brow, the dark patches under his armpits and with the wetness in the small of his back showing through is was clear to all that Sir Edward Tasker-Watkins was not at all comfortable. This was not what had been expected from the men of the Llynfi Valley and the town of Maesteg or the “Old Parish”.



Ten minutes earlier, before he began to speak, this haughty man, representative of Edwin Lloyd-James, the Mayor of Cardiff had stood with his head held high and resplendent in his fine uniform had been confident that even with his empty promises he would brow beat and cower these simple miners and sheep farmers into joining his cause against both the Welsh Nationalists and the despised BUF. But no, it was not to be and with ever louder rumblings rising from his portly abdomen he knew he dare not loosen the iron grip with which he held his pelvic muscles lest he shame himself further before this angry crowd.

On hearing the roar of “Coal is King and Wool is Wealth” reverberating from the surrounding valley sides he knew he had failed, these men were not cowed, they were well led, they were united... they were strong.... and it was clear they were independent. Who the devil were those two little men that seemed to have the crowd eating out of their hands? How could this be? How did all this come about...........?



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They say it all began in the closing weeks of the Great War with the birth of the mysterious half-twins but any such talk is always uttered in whispers or said with a hand covering the mouth and preceded by a knowing look or nod inviting the listener to a quiet corner.

What is certainly true is that Mwynwen Hopcyn the Organist at Bethania Presbyterian Chapel caused an almighty scandal when she gave birth out of wedlock to at least one child and then mysteriously vanished.

The real truth will never be known it seems and of course as ever in the valleys the rumours abound. The most fanciful account (and dare I say it the one held by myself and many others to be closest to the truth) involved both a foreign scientist and the distant land of New Zealand.

It goes something like this...

Now Mwynwen was something of a ravishing beauty in her youth and a consummate player of the organ but her father, Taliesin, was by all accounts a very strict and God fearing, hard drinking Church Deacon who beat away any potential suitors. It is said that one day whilst on leave a visiting young Lieutenant from the Welsh Guards (later it seems identified as the son of the Governor General of New Zealand) was transfixed by the sound of the music he heard while walking down Commercial street one Monday evening. Mwynwen was at organ practice that evening and the dulcet tones she fashioned carried through the still evening air and took his breath away. In searching for the source of this wondrous music, he crashed breathlessly through the doors of Bethania and found himself alone in the vestry where he set his eyes upon her and immediately fell in love.

As he was wont to do, old Taliesin sent the young man packing but it seems this time the pair continued a secret courtship often meeting down under the Iron Bridge by the Diwlith. Inevitably the young man was called to the trenches and it is said was gravely wounded by a shell burst whilst leading his men in a charge. Evacuated to the nearby hospital of Glanrhyd it is said that Mwynwen kept up the illicit courtship despite the horrendous nature of his wounds. No effort was spared in his care but it was soon evident that the young man would soon die and so she vowed that she would bear him a child.

How she came to conceive is never spoken of openly but it certainly required some external assistance and of that, there is no doubt.

Now I have it on good authority that the young man was taken on his sickbed to a secret place once known to be a former site of worship by ancient Druids. A number of local dignitaries including several from the Masonic Lodge, the local GP Dr Lance Boyle and even the Vicar of St Michaels were said to be present for there was much interest in the pioneering work of the eminent Russian Scientist and Principal amongst this entourage, Professor Ivor Torabollakoff and expert in the field of human and animal fertility and a leading authority on artificial insemination. (Poor Mwynwen though, never was there more trusting a person, she had thought him to be a rather fancy clothes designer because her best friend Dilys had told her she had heard that he had something to do with Jeans).

Decorum prevents any more detailed account of the conception and the extent of the so called medical intervention but suffice to say that it was a stormy night and thunder and lightning were heard and seen in abundance and to cut an increasingly long story short, Mwynwen was soon to be observed throwing up during intervals at subsequent organ recitals and the young lieutenant later died of his wounds but with a pleasant smile on his face.
Now before proceeding any further with the tale there is one thing that requires an absolute denial – there is absolutely no truth in the rumour that the fertility rituals led to the awakening of King Arthur himself and I swear on my Nan’s life that nobody called Merlin was present at the gathering.

Tragic is a word that hardly does justice to what happened next at the birth. Somehow the news of Mwynwen’s confinement leaked out and the authorities in Cardiff and London and even the Pope got to hear of it and so “The Authorities” organised a raid. They say it was bedlam at Maesteg General Hospital that night with Police and Militia and Clergy all over the place. (They say the news got out because somebody made the mistake of telling Flossy Thomas Jenkins Terrace about the pregnancy– everybody knows that if you want a bit of gossip to get around you just whisper it to Flossy and tell her not to tell anybody)

What happened next is again still shrouded in mystery. It is known that with the help of the midwife Gladys Emmanuel, Mwynwen delivered a healthy boy, though at the same time several shots were heard and then it seemed that Mwynwen’s best friend Dilys met her death. It was later discovered that she was killed whilst valiantly attempting to prevent the raiders from entering the delivery suite. After a lengthy delay and despite bludgeoning to death many of her assailants with her handbag she was eventually mortally wounded and overcome and so the Inquisitors burst into the delivery room with the intent of snatching this unusual child.

By this time mind you Mwynwen had been spirited away down the back stairs and fair play, old Taliesin overcame his scruples and took his grandson to safety. (They say the boy, named for his father – Verdun they called him – spent the first years of his life hidden away from the authorities in an old disused mine shaft – that’s probably why as you can see in the picture that he has to wear glasses – as you’d expect the light wasn’t very good underground.)



But the story doesn’t end quite yet, no, indeed to goodness, unknown to Gladys Emmanuel poor old Mwynwen had yet another bun in the oven and an hour or so later, despite the shock of her ordeal, transported in the back of a rickety old furniture van she pushed out another young handsome babe that she named Ypres.

Secreted in an old coal tram in an underground tunnel in Bryn for three days, she was eventually taken by Mr Wynford Vaughn-Williams the Colliery manager at Cwmdu colliery to the docks at Swansea and spirited off to New Zealand in the fast steamer “King Arthur”.

Now if you care to examine the hospital records of this day you will see that there is nothing official to be seen in the Maternity Annex visitors’ book, but if you look closely you will see that a lot of pencil marks have been rubbed out.

Sorry, where was I, yes I know I’m taking rather long time...... but a lot did happen and with so many rumours sorting out the wheat from the chaff is no mean thing I tell you....

After a few years things quietened down and Verdun was eventually allowed up from the mine shaft and went to school with the other boys. With his new glasses he could see the blackboard quite easily and quickly learned to master joined up writing and really useful things like Algebra. Though he did grow a little, he remained rather small but nevertheless developed into a very strong boy and was very clever and showed great signs of leadership. He developed a lovely voice and sang Alto and then Tenor in the choir. He was a champion boxer and played fly half for Nantyfyllon RFC and had an extraordinary sidestep. One thing that he did not quite master though was the drop goal, he had an uncanny ability to miss drop goals with either foot but I think on reflection that was to be expected because old Taliesin would never let him wear his glasses on the field.
But again I digress... under the watchful eye and tutelage of Old Taliesin (who doted on the boy and who by now was tee total) and having Mr Wynford Vaughn-Williams as his secret benefactor it seemed that the boy’s future was assured when he won a scholarship to study both Algebra and Politics at Cambridge University .



But then of course the tumultuous events of 1938 intervened, brought about of course by as my mam says “Edward VIII’s propensity to use his manhood as a compass and point it at that Wallis woman”.

As for Verdun he never quite made it to Cambridge when the civil war broke out but became a local hero following his exploits at the little known battle of Llety Brongu Farm when coming to the aid of the local sheep farmers under attack by a BUF sheep rustling party, he singlehandedly killed 3 and captured 4 including the attacking leader whilst armed only with a pen knife and a lump of coal. Of course after this exploit was regaled in the pubs and chapels fame beckoned and there was no doubt he was to become a leader of men and of course a few unusually brave ladies for that matter.
This tale is getting rather long isn’t it, but look, I can hardly regale the tale of Verdun without a mention of his half twin Ypres now can I?

[valleyboy]

What about Ypres then? It is said that following an arduous journey of several months that the King Arthur docked in the Port of Tauranga in the North Island of New Zealand. By this time of course the boy was a few months old but again like his half-twin rather small – it takes little imagination to realise that all that throwing up on the choppy seas would forever impair his growth.



Details of his formative years are somewhat sketchy but it is certain that he too was a consummate sportsman and a sheep breeder of some renown. It is said that his legendary ability to live off side was a reflection of his ability to pull wool over any referee’s eyes and have him pass for a native New Zealand open side flanker any day.

Starting with a small sheep station he worked diligently and acquired more land. His wealth grew and it is rumoured that finding few men with any sort of intellect in the nearby land of Australia he quickly and simply outthought his competitors and became the largest wool, lamb and mutton exporter in the Southern Hemisphere.

Deep in his heart though Ypres knew that there was something missing in his life, he had a yearning to visit the land of his birth to find his half-twin and his grandfather and find a good Welsh girl who could make a real cawl and play the organ like his mam and who he hoped would eventually bear his children. There was one hopeful candidate, a girl by the name of Rebecca with whom he had been corresponding for a number of years. She could not play the organ, that much was true, but she had in 1937 been the leading harp soloist at the National Eisteddfod and regularly played at the Esplanade hotel In Porthcawl where her father was the manager.

But war is an awful thing; he had landed at Cardiff aboard the liner “Merlin” and spent a day looking for a suitable ring with which to impress this young lady but on arriving by train at Bridgend learned that only an hour earlier she had been caught in the crossfire and killed in a terrorist attack on the Esplanade Hotel.

Heartbroken he vowed to find and punish those responsible and in a telegraph to New Zealand summoned the countrymen with whom he had surrounded himself in New Zealand -the North Island Welsh





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I’m afraid I shall not be able to regale the tale of the reunion of the errant grandfather and half-twins for I will become far too emotional I know.

Suffice to say that by the time several months of 1938 had passed by, the half-twins had quite a following in the Old Parish and surrounding district. They had by this time established close bonds with farmers in the Brecon Beacons by means of an overland route through the mining village of Abergwynfi and over The Bwlch and Rhigos to the Rhondda, Merthyr and beyond. With similar links and safe routes down the Afan valley and into the port of Swansea, Mutton, Lamb, Wool and Anthracite was moved with considerable ease. Of course acting with wisdom and distributing this wealth generously within the valley and district further enhanced both their popularity and reputation. Ypres considerable financial backing meant that in pursuing business interests he could ensure the safety of his freight columns by paying a tariff to pass safely through a surrounding district if needed. A small army seemed to be in the making and of course one would be needed to protect their interests over such a precarious route increasingly the focus of attention for the BUF, the Cardiff based Royalists, those rich landowners or warlords from Cowbridge and the Vale of Glamorgan and perhaps God forbid even the Welsh Nationalists and enemies from as far afield as New Zealand itself. What if the whole of the South Wales valleys could be united with a common aim? Now that would be a force to reckon with.
Here is a photo of some of our men





There’s Mr Jones the Butcher and Mr. Jones the Milk on the left, then Dafydd Jones, William Jones, John Jones, Dafydd William Jones, Elfed Jones & John William Jones but William Williams is easy to recognise with the machine gun on the left





The Lesser players



The Professionals: Sergeants “luverrly boy” Windsor and Tefor “traffic” Thomas



Now Sergeant Windsor is without a doubt the best singer in the valley with a loud and clear voice that can be heard over the din of the battlefield and the boom of the guns as he orders his men about. In one early engagement, when his men were under fire and wavering he tried to rally them by singing Men of Harlech. Of course nobody listened and they ran – they weren’t from Harlech were they.  Ingeniously after battle he realised it would be better to change the words and now when fortitude and courage are needed when things go wrong he sings “Men of Llynfi stop your dreaming.... and so on, so that now all the men listen because they know that he is talking to them.

His other literary works “Lloyd George knew my father, my father knew Lloyd George” (sung to the tune of Onward Christian Soldiers) has not really achieved the acclaim it deserves but his most recent ballad “Fathers pants will soon fit Willy” is often sung by the men when on the march.



Now Trefor is not held in such regard by the ordinary men because he used to be a traffic warden in Bridgend and was rather liberal when handing out tickets if a horse and cart was parked for too long on the double yellows outside the Full Moon or Lamb & Flag. Of course one of the first things that he did when he joined up was to get himself a special gaudy uniform of his own.



The Natural Born Killers

Now these two gentlemen are probably the meanest men in the valley. (Well they are not exactly gentlemen and to put it politely it is certain that neither of these men had a father if you see what I mean)
On the left in the picture is Idris “killer” Ifans and Lenny “the Lion” is on the right



Now Idris is something of a man of mystery, they say that he was once a Royal Bodyguard and is often called away for special missions and will disappear for weeks on end. Nobody really knows what he does but he does admit to having a special hatred reserved for what he calls the lowest of the low – you know- Rugby League Scouts and International ticket touts. Some say that he once ate the heart of a Rugby league Scout from Widnes while it was still beating but that can’t be true as everybody knows that Rugby League Scouts don’t have hearts. They say the he gets his special mission orders from the WRU and last night he told me that his next special mission is to somewhere called Saint Helens
Now Lenny is said to be even meaner, not mean as in nasty like but just in a very frugal with his wallet sort of way. On hearing his name all the new recruits think that he must also be some natural born killer.........But actually most of us older boys know that somebody gave that name to him because he spends so much time in the Red Lion.

Mr Davies the Co-op  



Now just to show that not all of the men in the Old Parish defence force are nasty ruffians, Mr Davies the Co-op is a rather genteel sort whom is nice to old ladies and small children and quite a natty dresser buying most of his clothes from Paris House in Cowbridge where they say it costs two and six to open the door. His trusty manservant Gwilym accompanies him in this photo. As you can see Gwylim has got a rather big gun that he carries for Mr Davies every time they go clay pigeon shooting and duck hunting – mind, all the locals know that if Mr Davies is hunting you had better duck.

Muriel



Poor Muriel, everybody knows that Muriel isn’t his real name but they’ve all forgotten what his real name was. Muriel of course is enormously strong but very gentle and timid. It’s all his mam’s fault because she cossets him so much, always following him around with a scarf or balaclava or a cheese and onion sandwich and telling him to tie his laces up tight so he doesn’t fall over with a loaded gun and shoot his testicles off.

His uniform is also a little unusual and rather bright in patches as you can see. When he joined up his mam was very worried about him and couldn’t sleep at night when he was away fighting because being so big she thought he’d be an easy target. Naturally she decided to knit or crochet him a camouflage uniform of his own to make him nearly invisible. I actually think it looks nice and really works.

The problem was that she couldn’t find the right sort of green and was sacked from her job as a cleaner at the Workingmen’s Club when it was discovered that large holes had been cut in the cloth covering the Snooker table. Called before the committee she was sine died and given a life ban despite her plea that she had done it all for the war effort.

Blodwen



Do you know that we’ve even got ladies in our merry band? Only one or two have joined up mind you because the rest are busy at home supporting their men folk like all good women should. The most famous of the lady fighters is of course Blodwen.
 
Now Blodwen’s tale is a very sad one indeed. One day she just turned up out of the blue – she said she had come to take the place of her brother Nigel Wyn. Now poor Nigel had been on an undercover mission in London in a place called Harley Street in London, (he was a bit of a strange one he was) but he went missing and was never seen or heard of again.

The rest of the men were really pleased when she arrived because they didn’t feel so sad because Blodwen reminded them very much of Nigel and even has big hands like he did. The only let down was her singing, we had hoped she would be a good soprano but her voice is too deep so she sings in the back of the choir with the rest of the men. The saddest thing though is that she said that she didn’t have any childhood photos of her and Nigel together because they had all been burned in a house fire.

Ianto “Full Pelt” Morgan



Now Ianto, or Fullpelt as everybody calls him is one of our technicals.

He is always running around or whizzing past on a bike or skates. Verdun and Ypres gave him a promotion last week and they say he is going to be in charge of transport. At the moment we’ve only got a horse and cart or two but they say we are going to buy something big like a bus if we can find one the right size.  The really big news though is that we have already bought two armoured cars but they are still lying around in bits waiting to be put together. Mr Parker who used to be a chauffeur will be looking after those I expect.



Well, I think that will do for now, I’ll tell you some more later and take more pictures when the rest of the men are fully clothed

(Ypres of course and the North Island Welsh were all painted by Giles Allison Of Tarleton's Quarter fame and given to me as a Christmas gift In December 2013 - this is what started all this off! Thank you Giles)

[jp1885]

Now that's some good VBCW eye candy - bravo!

[Mason]

Now that's some good VBCW eye candy - bravo!

A serious blast of it!
 

A jolly good show, sir!
 

[Etranger]

You're a wicked man VB! Lovely work.

[von Lucky]

Gorgeous. Can't say any more for now.

[valleyboy]

Thanks Gents
I've had fun painting these and maybe more in writing the background bullshit which I will add is almost based on fact

[huevans]

Duw, duw, duw is all I can say, boy! I had no idea whatsoever about them sort of things. But MY family came from the Rhondda where things are done more proper. Not like Maesteg, you do know.

[Hu Rhu]

I've had fun painting these and maybe more in writing the background bullshit which I will add is almost based on fact

Almost.....but not quite? 

Great figures and a cracking background storyline.

[Romark]

Brilliant background stories,laughed out loud several times,lovely collection of minis too.