The Demon Drink Love in a Welsh pit village

It had been the downfall of so many. Maggie couldn’t bear to think of her beloved Emrys going the same way…

Maggie clicked the side gate shut behind her and stepped out of the colliery manager’s garden, onto the road. Looking down towards the obscured buildings, she spied the faint glimmer of lamps moving among the deep shadows of the buildings. Above, the moon picked out the pit wheel, giving it a benign glow that was absent in daylight when it seemed merely a metal giant.

It would be the end of the evening shift for the men. Mrs Davies had kept her late tonight, for the dinner guests. Her last duty had been to make the cocoa, while poor Charlotte Evans, the live-in maid, washed up the crockery.

Heading off down the path that cut across the hillside onto the road below, she breathed in the cool evening air, so welcome after the stuffy kitchen. She had no love for this job, but the offer of it had been a relief to her mother who was glad of the extra money. Mam had assured her it was only till she married, that it would be good experience for keeping her own home in the future.

She shuddered – not at the idea of marriage, but at the possibility of ending up with a man she could not respect. She’d seen too many girls her age stuck with babies, while their husbands drank their wages away. The “demon drink”, the minister at their chapel had called it.

She reached the road that skirted round the pit, glad of the moon’s illumination. It wasn’t lit with the new electric lamps, unlike the streets of the village. Da may well be home before her, his route from the pit being shorter than hers. And she might see Emrys. The small jolt in her stomach made her catch her breath. He’d be easily recognisable despite the sooty layer that was a uniform, concealing most men’s identities. Emrys’s eyes would give him away, shining out as they did like two dancing cornflowers among the coal smuts.

Arriving at the first house on James Street, she started the walk down two long roads of whitewashed terraces. Her house was right at the other end.

As she approached the crossroads, the sound of men’s shouting and laughter filtered into the street from the public house there, The McKenzie Arms. It was named after the colliery and filled with its men.

Maggie considered crossing the road. She’d been grabbed by a reveller once when she’d passed by this late. It seemed all good natured, his friends laughing as he released her, but what if one day it wasn’t?

Annie Hughes on Owain Street had come a cropper that way and was now married to a man who treated her like a slave. Mind, Mam said the story of how she became pregnant was as big a pile of rubbish as the slag heap and that Annie’s mother had made it up to hide her daughter’s shame.

About to place a foot on the road, she was aware of the door opening, heard the rowdy camaraderie get louder for a second before a tall man stepped onto the pavement. She turned to regard him. Emrys. Maggie told her feet to walk on, but they disobeyed. She gazed up at him, unmoving. His eyes seemed larger than usual as he considered her, before the glimmer of a frown narrowed and dulled them. He touched his cap with his

The THRILL of seeing him FOUGHT with the crushing DISAPPOINTMENT

thumb and forefinger, nodded slightly, saying nothing. She nodded in reply, then walked away with a new vigour.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest, making her breathing laboured and uneven. The thrill of seeing him fought with the crushing disappointment. Fancy him, of all people, wasting his time and money in such a place.

It wasn’t as if he’d ever shown much interest in her, even less made any kind of approach. Still, she gulped down the tears as she hurried past the terraces.

She pushed open her front door, moving quickly through the chilled front room. In the kitchen beyond, her mother was boiling water on the range, a zinc bath set up on the floor.

“Ah, there you are, cariad. Madame kept you late tonight, didn’t she?”

Her mother looked drawn. She’d got skinnier recently.

“I told you this morning, Mam. Matty and Jimmy not in?”

“Gone to a friend’s house, apparently. More like drinking their wages away. Only got ‘alf the money from them I should today. You wait till their father hears. Ah, Davey, thank you. One son I can rely on.”

Maggie’s younger brother brought a bucket of water in from the scullery. He’d started at the pit a few months back, just after his fourteenth birthday. “Here’s my pay, Mam.” Maggie emptied out a selection of coins from her coat pocket, onto the scrubbed table.

“You’re a good girl, cariad,” said her mother, pressing a florin back in her hand.

Maggie examined the coin, rubbing her finger over the head of Edward VII, wondering if it was enough to buy some fabric to make a skirt for Sunday best.

“Can I ‘elpffilling the bathath?” Despite her fatiggue, shehewanted something to do, to dilute the memory of what had occurred outside the pub.

“No – you get the bacon and potatoes out from the larder and warm it through for you and your da, would you? Ah, here he is now.”

They heard the clunk of the front door as it was closed behind him.

That night, Maggie lay awake in the tiny front bedroom, gazing at where the moon lit up the crucifix on her wall. Emrys filled her mind once more.

His father was a well known drunkard – drowning out the pain of losing his wife, some said. Was Emrys going to go the same way?

Perhaps that’s what they were all doing, the mine workers: blocking out the monotony of existence in a dark

hole, the tedium of each day lived hand-to-mouth. The chapels were doing their best to discourage drunkenness, but they’d achieved very little. If only there’d been –

Maggie sat bolt upright as a vision of her stirring the cocoa earlier that evening almost seemed to be drawn on the wall. She’d pinched a teaspoonful of the liquid a while back, after she’d made it up for Mrs Davies. Its rich sweetness had tempted her to make a small cup up for herself. But if Charlotte had caught her, she would have told

If only she could get Emrys some, maybe he’d prefer it to the beer. Then perhaps he wouldn’t end up like his father, a pathetic excuse for a man.

The terraces and hillside were bathed in a mellow light when Maggie left for McKenzie House at six o’clock the following morning. It added to her newfound hope, now she had a plan to save Emrys. As she passed his home, his fourteen-year-old sister was already out, scrubbing the front step.

“Morning, Gwen,” she intoned, smiling as she passed.

“Morning, Maggie.” Gwen stood and waved. “Just seen our Emrys off. He reckons the weather will be fine today.”

Maggie nodded in acknowledgment, the mention of his name momentarily making her mouth dry.

If they’d been closer in age, and therefore friends, she’d have got to know Emrys a little better. The fantasy sustained her till she creaked open the gate of her daytime prison.

Half way through the afternoon, Charlotte was sent to the stores in the village, a task that would take at least half an hour. It would give Maggie time to lift one of the tins of cocoa and secrete it in the pocket of her coat.

As she swept the floor, her eyes kept lifting to scrutinise the pantry door. How would she give the cocoa to Emrys?

She sucked in her lips and shoved the broom along the floor. Now or never.

“Well, it has to be now then,” she whispered.

Leaning the brush up against the table she made for the pantry.

It wasn’t like they’d miss it, she

The SCARLET of embarrassment CREEPING up her neck, she RAN HOME

convinced herself as she lifted it from the shelf. There were six tins here. They had plenty of everything – not like her family and all those in the village, stretching any meat they might acquire, filling their gardens with vegetables destined to be sprinkled with coal dust. She held the tin aloft, motionless for some seconds. Finally, she secreted it in her skirt and headed for her coat.

Her walk home that afternoon was hurried, her heart racing. If she were caught with the pilfered tin she’d be sacked on the spot.

It would be worth it, she told herself, yet an image of her mother’s disappointed face wouldn’t go away. Without her wage they might have to let the front room to another family.

She knew that Emrys had been on the early shift, that he would be finished by now. He might be at home alone…

No – Gwen would be there. How ridiculous she’d been. She’d risked her job and now she didn’t even know how to give the cocoa to him.

But he was in the same place she’d seen him yesterday, his slim hips jammed against the alehouse wall, long legs sticking out at an angle, his torso slumped forward. He was alone. It was surely a sign.

She felt suddenly bold. Hadn’t she had the courage to pilfer the cocoa? She could do anything. Nearly upon him, she hissed, “Why are you here again, wasting your money?”

His mouth opened as if to say something, but hung there, wordless. She looked round, lifted her coat to remove the tin from her pocket and plunged it into his hand.

“Hide this, Emrys. Make it up with some hot water, and a bit of milk, if you have it, and drink it instead of the beer. It’s nicer, and it’s good for you.”

His brow puckered as he looked down at the tin. He could have been confused or annoyed.

Maggie didn’t wait to find out. With the scarlet of embarrassment already creeping up her neck, she turned and ran up the road, not stopping until she reached her house.

It was only as she tumbled through the front door that it occurred to her: what if he were caught with it? What if they accused him of breaking into the house and stealing it? The imagined scenario was snatched from her as she heard the raised voices from the kitchen.

“You’ll empty out your pockets and you’ll do it now!” her mother was hollering.

Maggie unpinned her hat and placed it on the sideboard. She hadn’t got far undoing her coat when there was a firm knock on the door.

“You go and answer that, our Matthew,” said their mother.

He huffed and shuffled out, but was soon back to say, “It’s Emrys Jones. Wants to speak to our Maggie. Shall I see him off, Mam?”

“You’ll do no such thing!” She took Maggie’s arm and marched her through the two rooms towards the front door. “Mam, what are you doin’?” Emrys was the last person she wanted to see. Apart from Mrs Davies.

“When a nice, responsible young man like Emrys Jones turns up wanting your attention, you’d be a fool to send him away.”

“But Mam –” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t tell her she was wrong.

“Hello, Emrys, bach. Why don’t you take our Maggie for a walk? Been cooped up in the Big House all day. No more than ‘alf an hour, mind.” She nudged her daughter out onto the street. “What about my hat, Mam?” “You’ll do all right without it now,” she said, shutting the door before either had a chance to reply.

“Sorry – she doesn’t think,” mumbled Maggie distractedly. “About what?” She paused before saying, “Being down the black pit must be worse than being cooped up in a house all day.”

He shrugged. “We all have our crosses to bear.” There was a long moment of silence before Emrys cleared his throat. “How about a walk to The Green and up to the top field? Away from the pit?” “If you wish.” She followed him, half a step behind, until they turned onto The Green. There he waited for her to draw level and they walked together up the steep incline.

“Maggie, did you steal the cocoa from the Big House?” “Yes. But I took it ‘specially for you.” He stopped now to regard her, puzzled. “Why?”

She could hardly stand to look him in the eyes as she replied, “To help save you, Emrys, from the demon drink.”

“I don’t need saving! Do you really think that badly of me?”

“I didn’t. Till I saw you outside the McKenzie Arms. Twice now.”

A couple passed on the opposite pavement. Emrys delayed answering until they’d walked on. He didn’t look angry or confused, just – hurt.

“I was there trying to get my father out. I failed, both times.”

His head dipped down and he rubbed his forehead.

What a fool she’d been. He’d always been one of the nice young men – polite, looking out for the youngsters and the old folk.

“I’m sorry, Emrys, for jumping to conclusions. I’ve just seen what it’s done to families around here.”

He slowly raised his head, eyeing her for some seconds before saying, “Apology accepted. Really, I’m – I’m quite touched that you cared enough to do that for me.”

She bit the soft flesh inside her mouth till it hurt, folding her arms above her waist to stop her hands shaking.

He lifted his head upwards, indicating that they should carry on, then set off once more. Maggie scampered beside him in an effort to keep up with his long legs. At the top of the street they headed past the Workmen’s Institute, onto the green hill behind.

Half way up, Emrys halted. He pulled something from the inside of his jacket, opening her hand to place the cocoa tin in it.

“Here. Take it back tomorrow. I’d hate for you to lose your job.”

She stashed it back in her coat pocket, regarding him shyly.

“Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again,” he said. “I promise.” His mouth tipped up on one side into a lopsided grin. “Looks like it’s me saving you from the demon drink, Maggie Harris.”

She stifled a chuckle, feeling the heat flood her face.

“Would you like to go for a longer walk one day, up to the next village? A Sunday maybe?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’d bring my sister,” he added, hastily.

She examined his face, the way he looked straight at her. Not like her older brothers, their eyes never quite meeting hers, always up to something. A shame he had to bring Gwen – but that was the way it had to be.

“Yes, Emrys,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”

“PROMISE ME you’ll never do ANYTHING like that EVER AGAIN”