How Green Was My Valley Page #3

The deacons shall hear that

you have been preaching socialism.

- Mr Parry...

- Loose the old devil.

- Mr Parry...

- Stop now. He is our guest.

- Beth, a pint of home-brew for Mr Parry.

- I'll give him a clout with the frying pan.

Miss Jenkins. A sweet song. The harp, is it?

Come on, men. Get in here.

Now look, a little song...

Angharad.

Mr Gruffydd, will we always be in your debt?

Now you have made us a family again.

Here. Let me.

Your hands. There's a pity.

No matter.

Have you ever been down the collieries?

- Ten years.

- Ten years?

While I was studying.

- A bit of soap now.

- Don't bother, please.

There's a man for you,

spoiling his good handkerchief.

Look now, you are king in the chapel,

but I will be queen in my own kitchen.

You will be queen wherever you walk.

What does that mean?

I should not have said it.

Why?

I have no right to speak to you so.

Mr Gruffydd?

If the right is mine to give,

you have it.

Then the strike was settled,

with the help of Mr Gruffydd and my father.

Work again, work to wipe out

the memory of idleness and hardship.

The men were happy

going up the hill that morning.

- One and nine.

- One and ten.

But not all of them, for there were

too many now for the jobs open,

and some learned that never again would

there be work for them in their own valley.

It is the same all over South Wales, it is.

Father, in Cardiff the men are standing

in line to have bread from the government.

Not for us, eh, lad?

We will have our share of the box

and go, if you please, sir.

- Where will you go?

- America.

- My share too, Owen.

- And mine.

No. Our own.

- We will take no charity.

- Not charity, man. Sense.

No, only our own.

Say nothing of this to your mother.

Let this day be over first.

Never mind saying nothing.

I heard.

America.

My babies.

Shall we have a chapter, my sons?

What shall we have, sir?

Isaiah 55.

Those two gone. This is only the beginning.

Then all of you will go,

one after the other. All of you.

I will never leave you, Momma.

Huw, boy, if you should ever leave me,

I'll be sorry I ever had babies.

Why did you have them?

Indeed to goodness, boy, why?

To keep my hands in water

and my face to the fire, perhaps.

For Mr lvor Morgan.

From Windsor Castle it is.

"Mr lvor Morgan is commanded

to appear before Her Maj..."

"Mr lvor Morgan is commanded to appear

before Her Majesty at Windsor Castle,

with chosen members of his choir, on 14

May between the hours of three and five."

To sing before the Queen.

My son, I never thought

to see this beautiful day.

Idris, Owen, all of you.

Fetch everyone from all the valleys round.

Davy, over to the other collieries.

Invite everyone.

Lanto, down to the Three Bells for beer.

Open house tonight for all who will come.

My sons, you shall have

a sendoff worthy of the Morgans.

Our Heavenly Father, I give thanks

from the heart to live this day.

I give thanks for all I have,

and I do give thanks for this new blessing.

For you are our Father,

but we look to our Queen as our mother.

Comfort her in her troubles, O God,

and let her worries be

not more than she shall bear at her age.

And grant that sweetness

and power and spirit

may be given to these voices

that shall sing at her command.

- Amen.

- Amen.

# God save our gracious Queen

# Long live our noble Queen

# God save our Queen

# Send her victorious

# Happy and glorious

Gwilym. Owen.

# Long to reign over us

# God save our Queen

Good morning, Mr Gruffydd.

Angharad is down to the market.

Angharad? I've come for Huw.

For Huw?

- The daffodils are out, Momma.

- Where are your clothes?

Under my pillow.

For these months, ready for today.

Come you, then, and you shall

bring back a posy fit for a queen

for your brave mother.

Indeed I will, sir.

- Almost there, Huw.

- Yes, sir.

- Low bridge there. Watch out.

- It's fun.

- All right?

- Yes, sir.

- All right?

- Yes, sir.

Easy it is, now.

There.

Cwm Rhondda.

You can walk, Huw, if you try.

Come, lad. You can walk.

Huw. Walk.

There's a good lad. Come on.

See?

There's a good old man.

You've been lucky, Huw.

Lucky to suffer, and lucky to

spend these weary months in bed.

For so God has given you a chance

to make spirit within yourself.

And as your father cleans

his lamp to have good light,

so keep clean your spirit, huh?

How, sir?

By prayer, Huw.

And by prayer I don't mean

shouting and mumbling,

and wallowing like a hog

in religious sentiment.

Prayer is only another name

for good, clean, direct thinking.

When you pray, think.

Think well what you're saying.

Make your thoughts into things that are solid,

and in that way

your prayer will have strength.

And that strength will become

a part of you, body, mind and spirit.

And the first duty of these new legs

is to get you to chapel on Sunday.

- Indeed they will, sir.

- There's a good old man again.

Give me your hand.

Come on, now.

Will you please remain in your places?

There's to be a meeting of the deacons.

Meillyn Lewis.

Step forward.

Your sins have found you out.

And now you must pay the price

of all women like you.

You have brought a child into the world

against the commandment.

Prayer is wasted on your sort.

You shall be cast out into the utter darkness

till you have learned your lesson.

Meillyn Lewis, do you admit your sin?

Yes.

Then prepare to suffer your punishment.

Stop it. Leave her alone, you hypocrite.

- Leave it now, Mr Morgan.

- Sit down.

Angharad.

How could you watch them? Cruel old men,

groaning and nodding to hurt her more.

That is not the word of God.

"Go thou and sin no more," Jesus said.

Angharad.

- You know your Bible too well, life too little.

- I know Meillyn Lewis is no worse than I am.

- Angharad.

- What do the deacons know about it?

What do you know about what

could happen to a poor girl when...

when she loves a man so much that even to

lose sight of him for a moment is torture?

- Does it hurt you, Huw?

- Easy, now.

Huw?

Angharad.

I am a man now. Kindly leave the kitchen.

So you're a man now, is it?

Beth. Blasphemy, sacrilege and hypocrisy.

Can't a man smoke

and read a paper on the Sabbath?

Go and blow your nose.

Come in.

Come in.

What under the blazes...

- Good morning, Morgan.

- Good morning, Mr Evans.

- Sit down, sir. Sit down, sir.

- Thank you.

Mr Evans.

The mine owner himself.

Angharad.

- Now to business.

- Yes, sir.

I've come here on

a very delicate mission, Morgan.

- No trouble, sir?

- No. No trouble.

- But it worries me.

- Yes, sir.

I'm here to get your permission

that my son lestyn

may have permission...

- Bless you, Morgan.

- Thank you, sir.

- Now where was I?

- "Permission"?

Yes. That my son lestyn

may have permission,

with your daughter's permission,

to call upon her. There we are.

We are a very proud family, Mr Evans.

Yes, I know. I know, Morgan.

But this is not my doing, Morgan.

It's that young whelp of a...

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