A Million Tears by Paul Henke Page A

believe there was, if only for Sian’s sake, but no matter how I tried I found it impossible to reconcile my intelligence to the idea. And now with more problems coming . . . It was impossible for there to be some Supreme Being looking after our interests on earth.
    Sion came back for lunch. He talked of nothing else except his new design for a kite that he and Uncle James were building together.
    By now I was fed up with staying in and not being able to do anything. It was all the more galling because I felt much stronger. Mam was being over cautious, just in case. But even I knew that a relapse could be very serious.
    I woke with a start, the smell of Mam’s cooking filling my nostrils. My mouth watered when I thought of her pikelets and Welsh cakes, cooking by the hot plate. I went to see if she needed any help, like someone to test the texture and flavour of her baking. Unfortunately, she assured me my help was not wanted so I returned to my seat to think up another ploy. I sighed as Mam came in with a cup of tea and a Welsh cake.
    ‘Just one Dai, to make sure they’re all right, see’ she said, putting them on the table.
    I grabbed it, the spoils no less sweet because I had done nothing to earn them. Only after I finished did I remember Welsh cakes had been Sian’s favourite and the edge was taken from my enjoyment.
    Nothing of consequence happened at the mine that day nor for a few days afterwards. Meeting followed meeting. We were left on tenterhooks, the whole village wondering. On Wednesday, Da came home late. There had been another meeting at the Wheatsheaf and the men had voted to strike. The night shift, due to finish at five the next morning, would be the last before they came out.
    A short while later there was a knock at the door. Da answered. I heard voices and then Da came in followed by some of the men.
    ‘Your father will be along soon,’ said Lewis Lewis to Da. ‘Hullo Dai, feeling better boyo?’ he asked. He was a short, red-faced man running to fat. He was always pleasant and cheerful, but now his usually smiling face was uncommonly grave. With him were Huw Shepherd, and Peter Lloyd. I suppose they and Grandad were the village leaders. The committee. Nothing important happened at the mine or village without their involvement.
    ‘You know what happened today, Evan,’ began Peter Lloyd without preamble. ‘We realise the vote was carried by the younger men. Hullo, Meg,’ he broke off as Mam came in.
    ‘Hullo Peter, Lewis, Huw. What are you all doing here?’
    ‘I’m just coming to that Meg,’ continued Peter. ‘The three of us and Evan’s dad had a long talk and we want Evan to go round to the men, individually like, and try to persuade them to change their minds about the strike. Goodness Meg, you know Evan is virtually the spokesman for the younger men,’ he nearly smiled but didn’t quite manage it, ‘now that you’ve taught him to read and write better, aye and talk proper like. Well, they respect that and we thought he might be able to do something.’
    ‘That’s no good,’ said Da. ‘First of all I don’t think they’ll listen to me and secondly as soon as they get together again Thomas or Williams will bully them back to supporting the strike. I don’t think it’ll do any good at all, look you.’
    ‘Hold it a second, Evan,’ said Lewis Lewis. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that I’d like to smash the bloody owners financially and physically. I hated them before and now I feel . . . I just don’t know how to put it into words. I thought hate was the strongest feeling I could have and I thought I hated the owners. But by God the feelings I once had are nothing compared to now. Hell man, I wouldn’t walk across the street and piss on them if they were on fire . . . Sorry Meg, my feelings got the better of me.’
    ‘That’s all right Lewis. I’ll just go and make some tea while you men talk.’ She went into the kitchen, leaving the door ajar.
    ‘What I’m