THE EX-MINERS’ HOLIDAY HOTSPOT
The Court Royal Hotel in Bournemouth has been part of South Wales miners’ lives for generations – first as a convalescent home and now as a place to meet up and enjoy the sea air. NATHAN BEVAN tagged along with a group of former pit workers, their wives and miners’ widows as they make their summer pilgrimage to the English seaside...
IT’S lashing down in Bournemouth. The palm trees on the sea front are bending into the shape of pick-axe heads in the strong wind, while the cars of the nearby empty ferris wheel swing wildly against the slate-grey sky.
Yet within the confines of the nearby Court Royal Hotel, there’s a sense, if you close your eyes and listen, that you could be anywhere between Baglan and Blackwood.
“Cheers, drive,” sounds the familiar chant as the passengers disembark, one by one, from the coach that’s pulled up out front, just in time to see the sun tentatively poke its head out from behind the clouds.
And, once inside, it’s on to the balcony out back to breathe in the sea air that has been a staple part of summer getaways for them and their kind for the past 72 years.
As the oil lamp emblem fashioned in wrought iron on the rear gates implies, you need two credentials in order to stay at the Court Royal.
First of all you have to be Welsh.
And, secondly, you need to have worked as a miner – or, at least, been married to one.
Formerly known as Madeira House, this 47-capacity three-storey building – not including the basement games room – started out in 1947 as a convalescent home for those from the South Wales and Monmouthshire coalfields who had suffered accidents or were coping with chest problems from years spent underground. Originally taking up to 60 patients at a time, it was run by a management board which included representatives of both the National Coal Board and the National Union of Mineworkers.
Thousands would come through its doors each year, all of whom were examined upon arrival by an in-house medical team who would recommend after-breakfast strolls along the promenade, lots of rest and recuperation, and early bedtimes.
However dwindling funds around the time of the Miners’ Strike 35 years ago saw the decision made to turn it into a hotel for current and former pit workers along with their families. Now run by the Coal Industry Social Welfare Organisation, restarted as a charitable trust by a multi-millionpound grant in the early 1990s, the Court Royal continues to thrive, enjoying 98% occupancy all year round with its subsidised all-inclusive breaks.
For some, the place has become little short of a lifeline.
“I’ve been coming here every year for the last quarter of a century,” says 74-year-old Thomas Williams from the Rhymney Valley.
“The only time I didn’t make it was when I was losing these.” He pats his legs, amputated just above and below the knee respectively, and tells me how he lost both limbs to MRSA while undergoing surgery several years ago.
“They tried harvesting the arteries from my arms in an attempt to save the legs but the stress of it was all too much for me and I also ended up having to have a triple heart bypass as a result.
“I swear to you I even went up to heaven at one point – but there was no one in reception so I came back down,” he says with a laugh.
“Everything around me was white, soft and fluffy and there were bottles of water everywhere.
“Not ale, water. Can you imagine? I thought, ‘I’m not having this.’”
Now the ex-head shaftsman from Taff Merthyr pit, who retired in 1991, comes here a few times each year to make up for that lapse.
“I turn up for the menonly fortnight during the winter months and the wife comes down for what used to be known as widows’ week in March.
“Then we visit together each August.
“I look forward to it and always book the next one the minute we get back home again.
“Everybody knows me here and it doesn’t matter what the weather’s like – it’s the people that make it.”
For others, like Beryl Thomas, staying at Court Royal is a way of feeling closer to the loved ones they have lost.
“My husband Phillip worked at Britannia Colliery in Pengam, which means I qualify to come here,” says the 82-year-old great-grandmother from Aberbargoed.
“He was underground for years but towards the end there’d be these little accidents and I’d get the dreaded phone calls telling me he’d been taken to hospital.
“I think he must have thought, ‘Right, let’s get out of here while I still can’ because he packed it in just before the strike happened in the 1980s.
“Even when he died from lung cancer in 2012 he still had a blue mark beneath his eye from where coal dust had got under the skin following an injury.
“So being here makes me feel closer to him in a
funny way – I say ‘funny’ because we never visited Court Royal as a couple, we preferred to travel around the country in the touring caravan he’d bought.”
Beryl adds that she first heard about the hotel after joining a local miners’ club in Fleur de Lys, near Blackwood.
“Ever since then I’ve come here with different friends,” she says.
“It evokes good memories of me and Phil’s times together and I really try to make it last because the worst part for me is going home to an empty house when it’s over.”
Also down for the week is 59-year-old Wayne Thomas, a Tower Colliery worker turned area secretary of the NUM who acts as a one of six trustees for the hotel.
He took the opportunity, just before the latest batch of guests started to turn up, to give me a quick tour of the premises.
“People come here the same time each year along with the same friends – been doing it for decades,” he says.
“For £560 per couple you get a week’s stay, which includes the coach journey here and back, all meals, entertainment and various excursions here, there and everywhere
“August Bank Holiday weekend, in particular, is chocka because that’s when they stage the local airshow – the view of that from the hotel balcony is pretty spectacular.”
As he leads me around he tells me about plans to transform the games area, changing the layout of the skittle alley and snooker tables to include a Jacuzzi and resistance swimming pool.
“That’ll be next year, though, as we’ve already spent around £400,000 over the last six years on the upkeep of the building’s outer fabric.
“You wouldn’t believe how much the sea air erodes stuff, so it’s a constant cycle of fixing things up.”
Keeping the salt in plastic containers to stop it clumping together is one thing – keeping an eye on a hotel full of former pit workers after the bar has opened is a whole other challenge.
“The old matron here was totally against the idea of alcohol being served to guests. ‘The bar goes in over my dead body’ is, I believe, how she put it,” says Wayne.
“But you have to move with the times – besides, cramming a load of old men into the back of a minibus and ferrying them across town every time they fancied a drink just wasn’t practical.
“You just have to watch it when the beer starts flowing, particularly with the men-only groups at the start of year, because there can be a lot of ‘The water in my pit was deeper than the water in yours’type arguments,” he laughs.
“By and large, though, the banter here is great and having a place to come to like the Court Royal is so very important.
“Think of all the institutes and clubs that have closed over the years – lots of these blokes have been left with nowhere to go.
“It might not sound like much but seeing a familiar face and having someone to chat to who knows where you’re coming from can be invaluable.
“So what we’re doing here is championing social inclusion.
“It’s really important to get these people out and enjoying themselves.
“And what we find is that, whether they’re from Carmarthen or Newport, they’ve similar upbringings, goals and challenges.
“They can be total strangers on day one but by the end of the week they leave as friends for life.”
Hotel manager Karen Mountford has certainly built some unbreakable bonds over the years with those who have come to stay.
“I started here as a waitress in 1999 and ended up applying for the thenmanager’s job when she announced she was leaving,” says the 51-yearold, who comes from the town.
“The best thing was that lots of the regulars had already got to know me, so when they found out I was taking over the running of the place they were really pleased for me.
“This isn’t a hard job at all because everyone who comes here is always really friendly and easygoing – I don’t know whether that’s because of where they’re from or what.
“What I will say is that I’ve grown very attached to them during the time I’ve been here and, before each new set of arrivals, I’ll look down the list, see some names I recognise, and think, ‘Oh good, soand-so is back again’.
“You tend to have your favourites and can grow quite attached.”
With that bond comes the occasional heartache, however.
“There was one old chap who came here called Edmund Otter who was deaf and could be quite a handful.
“He’d walk around with his shirt hanging out and you’d try to help him tuck it in and he’d be like, ‘Don’t fuss, girl, for God’s sake.’
“He was such a character – passed away a couple of years ago now. I miss him still.
“And, inevitably, you find you get that more and more as time goes on, fewer familiar names cropping up on the attendance sheet.”
Karen adds that having her daughter Stacey helping to co-run the place makes it a real family affair.
“There’s a wonderful atmosphere working here and if you were to ask me about my abiding memories I’d probably be here all night trying to list them all.
“I’m lucky to have a job I love and I know my guests enjoy their time here too.
“They come here to have a good time and know we’ll do everything in our power to make sure they get it.”