Music. Music. Music

A CHOIR OF FIVE HUNDRED MEN SANG IN THE CEMETERY - IT WAS MUSIC TO WAKEN THE DEAD

Being born and brought up in the Rhondda Valley I was deafened at an early age by people in the street talking themselves hoarse, brass bands and silver bands playing loudly enough to be heard far away in Taffs Well, if not Woolworths in Queen Street, Cardiff, and choirs, male, female and mixed, singing for the sheer joy of it.

The Rhondda, shortly after the Coronation, was a very busy place once again. Less so than when it was the leading producer of the best steam coal in the world in the early years of the last century in my grandparents’ times. However, by the nineteen fifties with rationing trailing off and (almost) full employment there was an air of prosperity gently breezing down the streets.

To add to the hustle, bustle, noise and energy there was always the sound of my particular favourite: the clash- bang - bang - clash of coal wagons in the railway sidings being prepared to leave the valley with coal which had been hiding in a very dark place for hundreds of thousands of years.

Adding to all of that, there were still a number of horse-drawn carts delivering to households. Milk, probably the first to call in the very early morning, and, do you remember the birds pecking the silver foil lids and helping themselves to the cream? Milk was not homogenised in those days - but it was delivered, and, in glass bottles! Fruit and vegetables; Thomas and Evans with crates of fizzy pop including American cream soda, limeade, and dandelion and burdock which I thought was only for fathers. That is what I was told. Telling fibs to kids seemed to be perfectly acceptable in those days.

In the 1950s with life returning to normal there was time and energy to enjoy what the Valleys had become famous for - Music. In various forms to suit all tastes, including choirs, brass bands, light opera, and musical evenings as well as professional theatre and operatic companies from the rest of the United Kingdom, They offered a cacophony of sounds.

How did this all come about I wonder? Dean Powell writes in his latest book, “Victorian Wales was a heartland of competitive choral singing, galvanised by a musical intensity the likes of which had never been witnessed before”. (‘A Royal Choir for Wales’ Caxton Press 2021) Buy it and devour it!

The Industrial Revolution was well underway in the Merthyr Valley In the early 1800s. The furnaces lit up the night sky and could be seen and smelt for miles around. The Aberdare Valley was developed by mid-century and in the 1870s seams of coal were being won in what had been known as Ystradyfodwg and Glynrhondda which soon would be known, worldwide, as The Rhondda Valley.

Parallel with all of this were the many fervent Religious Revivals that swept South Wales. There was just one Anglican Church that began as an early Christian settlement in the sixth or seventh century. There was one non-conformist Independent Chapel in Cymmer, Porth and a big stone chapel called Nebo in the hamlet of Heolfach in what is now known as Ystrad. The stone steps at the back of the site lead directly to the river bank. Adult total immersions in the river were performed by the Minister. I was taken to one such service by my grandmother as a child. It was very dramatic! The Rhondda River ran black and shiny in those days. The warning from parents was firm and frightening - go anywhere near the river and you will be taken to Pontypridd market and sold to men from away. So? I wondered to myself how could those ladies and gentlemen dressed in long white linen robes take the risk of treading in the river? I was very young then and years and years away from reading The Book of Revelations.

Young men, many from Pembrokeshire, Carmarthenshire, Cardiganshire, and the west of England, flocked to find work and lodgings in the valleys. The Valleys were crying out for manpower. The country had had a hard time after the Wars against the French, the business of the Corn Laws, and the decade that became known as the Hungry Forties.

by Sara John

Interestingly, the benefits of migration and emigration went both ways.

Young people from elsewhere who saw no possibility of honest paid employment in their home areas discovered, through the chapel networks, the way to help them achieve an opportunity to move to areas

seeking workers. This would lead towards a settled life with family, a home and some financial security.

From my own family research, I discovered that Joseph John left Mynachogddu in Pembrokeshire in the late 1860s for Ton Pentre. He was a young man, married with small children and had been working at a substantial farm in his village.

The networking links between the local Chapel (Welsh Baptist) Hebron, in Ton Pentre and Great Grandfather’s Pembrokeshire chapel, Bethel, meant that he could come to the Rhondda to fill a job that was actually waiting for him. He had a warm welcome, and dry, warm, Christian lodgings, yards from his new workplace. Plus the musical welcome from the highly active congregation of Hebron. Could he sing? He was asked. “Oh yes”, came the reply”. Another tenor for the choir!

Eventually he became a Deacon and his wife, Sarah a Deaconess.

He was my great grandfather. Within a year of his arrival he was able to send for his wife and children. He was also, by being a member of a Friendly Society, (a forerunner of Building Societies) able to buy a newly built house. remember, told me a number of times of the thrill and pleasure of having flagstones in the kitchen! That was so modern, their Mynachclogddu 16th century family farmhouse had earth floors. They also had running water IN the kitchen itself, in Ton Pentre.

And, AND there was a Ty Bach at the bottom of the garden plumbed into the district sewerage system.

As I was too small to really understand what life was like then, not just in the Rhondda but all over South Wales, my father spent a lot of time answering my unanswerable questions. Yes. Everyone could sing. Many people could play an instrument. From harps to harpsichords. From Aeolian harps to zithers. How do people in chapel know all those words? What is tonic sofa? Is it like Mamgu’s Sanatogen Tonic Wine on the sideboard?.

By this time there had been a number of Housing Acts passed in Parliament. For many parts of the Eastern Valleys the legislation for improved rules came too late. Housing conditions were appalling. It took a very long time for there to be improvements in particular in the Merthyr and Dowlais Valleys.

After the disgrace of the Report on Education in 1847 (known as The Blue Books,) there was slow improvement in the provision of education. Although some of the earliest Rhondda Pits had schools built

close by for the workmen’s children to learn to read and write and answer their catechism. The situation was further complicated because so many of the workforce had come, worked and settled with the majority of them being monoglot Welsh speakers. Their children, in their new classrooms had to absorb another language, English. But only heard Welsh at home. The language of the freshly funded and newly built chapels was, of course, Welsh. Hymns were and always will be, sung in Welsh. Hymn-rich funerals played their part in recalling hymns from the previous century.

Music and Welsh. Welsh and music. The perfect partnership was further enhanced with the success of Tonic Solfa, a simple, clever system, perfect for learning new music very quickly and it was a system of sounds not words. If you were not literate, and could not read the music you were no longer disadvantaged.

It was the making of many outstanding success stories. Ultimately the Valleys of South Wales gained the reputation of being the Land of Music and Song. It continues today.

This is not about the language. The language IS the music. When the Welsh language itself was in decline in the Valleys two or three generations back non -Welsh speakers just learnt the words. I have seen crib sheets with the Welsh words copied out phonetically. Some years ago I attended a funeral, in Edinburgh of a very well known and loved child psychiatrist who was well into her eighties, and she had been still active, lecturing. She had printed out phonetically, the Welsh National Anthem, with a kind note to the reader/singer that it was “about time……..just this once! She had planned to have a performance of the Welsh National Anthem sung properly. With no mumbling.

To illustrate what is still a big part of Welsh Valleys culture combining drama, music, storytelling, dressing up (or down in this case) against the background of an event with one hundred special guests. I offer a brief version of just one part of the day when the Friends premises at the Lewis Merthyr Colliery celebrated the opening of their offices in the early days of creating The Rhondda Heritage Park.

We had thousands of homing pigeons to be released into beautiful cold blue skies; it was February. We had the Lewis Merthyr Brass Band playing outside to welcome our visitors, where one of the players who was then fourteen, had written a special piece of music for the occasion. At precisely twelve noon Mr Davies who was then manager at Maerdy Colliery had organised the now repaired pit hooter to hoot loud and clear across the valley. Local people came In the heyday of mining there were regular fixed times for the hooter to hoot; marking the end of a shift for example. If the hooter sounded at any other time, it was bad news, usually proclaiming an emergency.

Members of the Friends of the Heritage Project acted as hosts on the day of the event. They looked after the guests and answered their many questions. Gradually and eventually, easing everyone safely indoors.

The buffet lunch was catered by Mrs Evans. Porth. Caterers of Distinction. First Class of course. As always!

The press fully utilised a photo opportunity with three invited speakers, Llew Smith the M.E.P. at the time, Ray Smith the actor down specially from London and Professor Dai Smith.

I had been asked, weeks before to organise what I thought was deemed to be appropriate for the event. I read my ToDo list many times; dates, invites, catering, pigeons, Press, Radio, (we were on World Service!) TV, timetable, alert police, parking, and so it went on. But then what?, something is missing. I played the planned event through in my mind for the hundredth time. Bang, smack, obviously, it cannot just end with a cup of coffee, even if it is from Mrs Evans. Porth. Caterers of Distinction.

There were speeches, thanks, laughter, and as expected a lot of talk. ‘Something’ was needed to happen next. Something guests would enjoy and remember. Something appropriate to the location and the events so far. It cannot just end with a cup of coffee, even if it is from Mrs Evans. Porth. Caterers of Distinction.

Going back in time to about three weeks before the Lunch it came to me.

There is no music! The Band would have gone off back to work or school. I imagined the event would die on its feet and me with it. Died of Shame it would say on my gravestone. In a migraine inducing flash it came to me. Now I had to get on with. And FAST. We needed Music!

I needed tenors, about a dozen I reckoned.

But such was the demand for singers the big guns of the music world were frequently on tour. They were always booked up very far ahead. They were also, and rightly so, available for fees not for fun. Well fees

I needed a group of experienced tenors who would be willing to co-operate. They needed to arrive in secret and then hide until cued. I wanted them to be rigged out as if they had just come off shift. Wearing orange overalls covered in coal dust, safety helmets and carrying miner’s lamps Seeking realism, they needed dirty hands and faces, the clean eye areas being the giveaway.

But where were those tenor-miners to be found? In true Valleys fashion I put the word out. I was told that the remains of a male voice choir in Penyrgraig, Rhondda might still be active. “No sorry I do not know the name. Or the address. Or the phone number. Or where to find out. Or anything else really, I hope that helps”.

Off I went. Stopped at the garage on Penyrgraig hill and asked the man I was paying if he knew any tenors? “Oh yes” he said, “You want my father, he lives across the road, with the pink curtains, they weren’t his choice”. “Thanks” “He knows plenty of tenors, he does”.

Cross the road. Knocked the door. Fingers crossed. Door opened by a surprised senior gentleman. “Had I come about the curtains?” Invited me in. Kettle on.

I explained about the event and making it as simple as possible I mentioned “singing one song”. I nearly lost the deal! “Just the one song?”

He looked as disappointed as I have ever seen a grown man be.

“No.No.No.” I quickly blurted, We would be delighted if you sang 3 or 4.

The deal was done. I was satisfied, he had shown me prizes, silver of course, from years ago in, from I thought to myself, their blazer years.

Returning now, to this story of the Lunch, a very slight lull came up, in the general conversation. It was exactly what was needed for the Finale!

I gave the signal to open the door at the back of the large hall and in came thirteen or fourteen elderly tenors and their conductor. Dressed and made up to perfection. They sang ‘We’ll keep a welcome in the hillsides, we’ll keep a welcome in the Vales’. I promise you not a dry eye in the place!

Standing in a semi-circle they sang four songs to rapturous applause. Finishing with ‘Myfanwy’ as they silently left. Thunderous rattling of Mrs Evans’ cutlery and china. The tenors returned to enjoy the fervour The Lewis Merthyr colliery was now closed for good. Millions of tons of coal had gone around the world. Thousands of the workforce suffered for years with, ‘The Dust”.

There was still, music.

Our tenors proved it.

Music and tenors moved one hundred plus people to tears at that event. The tears dry themselves up.

The Music endures.

But why the strange title to this article you wonder? It refers to Tom Stephens the founder and conductor of the Rhondda Royal Glee Society who sadly died at the age of only fifty in 1906. My grandfather, whom I never met was the Society’s Secretary.

Tom Stephens was greatly loved, as he in turn loved the music at the countless festivals, competitions and concerts he conducted. Chicago, Paris, Edinburgh. Cash Prizes in four figures were won. The Glee Society was invited by Queen Victoria to sing at a glittering evening concert in Windsor Castle. They sang God Save the Queen. She, The Queen that is, asked them to sing it in Welsh. One of the tenors spoke up and explained that singing it in Welsh was out of the question.

Tom Stephens was buried at Aberdare cemetery. A choir of five hundred male voices sang at his graveside. The Rhondda Royal Glee Society was never the same again.

A CHOIR OF FIVE HUNDRED MEN SANG IN THE CEMETERY

- IT WAS MUSIC TO WAKEN THE DEAD