The Proud Valley

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They can't stop us singing

They can't stop us singing

Overhead

the stars are shining

All through the night

They can't stop us singing

They can't stop us singing

All through the night

So still keep on singing

They can't stop us singing

For in the darkness

we are singing

Morning sun we'll

soon be greeting

All through the night

They can't stop us singing

Through the night

Here, here, here.

What the hell do you think you're doing, eh?

- Sorry, friend. I didn't see you.

- Didn't see me? You ought to have known I was here.

I've been catching this train up the valley

regular for the past 10 years. Anybody'll tell you.

My fault.

I've never been up this way before.

All right.

But don't let it happen again.

- Okay, chief.

- Hmm.

- Off a ship by the look of ya.

- Yeah. Stoker. Seagull. 13,000 tons.

- Laid at up at Cardiff three months ago.

- You've been looking for work ever since. I know.

Think there's a chance

to get a job in one of these pits?

Well, maybe. There was a colored bloke.

Blackie Ellis they called him.

Used to work in the Glen Colliery.

Work!

Now, you wouldn't think I was

a rich man, would you?

- No, not to look at.

- I'm married, and how much do you think I pay my old woman?

Two quid a week.

Yes. I was surprised myself

when the court made the order.

How do you manage it?

Company promotion?

No, chum.

I toils not, neither do I speak.

- Grinding's my game.

- Grinding?

- Blimey, don't tell me you've never heard of it.

- No.

Art related to psychology.

That's what it is.

You touch people's feelings

by offending their ears.

I find a nice little stretch of gutter

in front of the right kind of houses.

Off comes me hat - humble -

and I start singing.

I pick a well-known tune,

and I murders it.

Now listen.

And when your friends desert you

At the time of your downfall

You'll find that your mother

Is the best friend of them all

Surely the people in these valleys

won't stand for that noise.

Why, this is one of my best districts.

The more you work 'em,

the quicker they pay you to go away.

These Welsh are daft about music...

and as open-handed as the sun.

- Why don't you join me, eh?

- No, thanks.

I'd rather work for my living.

- Work? It's a disease.

- Well, I wish I could catch it.

That's why I'm on my way to that new

armament factory in Darren Valley.

Well, the special will take you

as far as Blaendy Colliery.

But you're leaving Egypt

where the corn is, my son...

and going right into the winds.

That hooter means they're changing shifts.

You're telling me. I worked down in the mine

for five years back in the States.

Well, we better lie doggo for a bit, son.

- Here. Have a bit of cheese.

- Thanks.

They're coming up.

- Why did we lose the last competition then?

- We didn't get fair play.

I never knew a losing choir who did.

- Too many flaming crooners in the choir. That's what's wrong.

- Who you getting at?

Get out of that cage. Do you want to

go back down, stead of these chaps?

Aye, go on.

Snip-snapping like a lot of kids.

More neck oil.

That's what the choir wants, boy.

Neck oil be damned!

It was you basses that let us down

at the last competition.

- Look here -

- Give it a rest, you two.

- I'm fed up with you and - - And I'm fed up

with this fellow chewing the fat about us basses.

- And haven't you been chewing the fat about us tenors?

- Oh, shut up, man.

What I want is more singing

and less talking in the Blaendy Choir.

I'm going through that Elijah chorus tonight.

See that you're all there at practice at 8:00 sharp.

- I'll be there.

- Yes, and so will I.

Stop gabbing then.

I'll be able to use all the voice you've got tonight.

Oh, Jim, tell my boy, Emlyn,

that I've gone on home, will you?

- All right, Dick.

- Like a lot of kids.

- My dad up yet?

- Aye. He's just gone on with Nick Evans and Seth Jones, arguing the toss.

What? Are they at it again?

I'm entitled to my say.

If the choir's no good, neither is the conductor.

- You wasn't man enough to say that when Dick Parry was here.

- I'm man enough for two Dick Parrys.

It'll pay you to

keep your mouth off Dick Parry.

It's all right, Em.

I'm attending to him.

- No, no, Nick. Don't bother with him, for he's not worth it.

- Not worth it?

- Why, you-

- Nick.

My turn now.

Hey, Dick.

What's wrong over by the pit?

Oh, a couple of them hotheads of mine

got stuck into each other.

Mam, there's fighting

over at the pithead.

Yes, and I wouldn't be surprised

if it wasn't that Emlyn of yours again.

- Oh, dear.

- Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Gwen. Gwen, come back here!

Go on, Em.

You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,

behaving like a pair of blackguards.

I don't see anything to laugh at either.

- I expect it was you started it.

- Not him. He couldn't start a toy train.

- Now, Emlyn.

- Go on. Take him off home to mother.

- Why, I'll -

- Em, please.

- That's a nasty cut over your eye.

- Oh, that's nothing.

Come across to the shop

for me to see to it.

You silly boy.

I'll give that fella such a plastering

before the night's out.

Drop it now.

- Thought you were taking me out tonight.

- I've got to attend choir practice, lovely.

- Well, the competition's only a month off.

- Yeah.

With choir practice,

mining classes in the night school -

If it isn't one thing it's another.

Never mind, lovely.

Everything's going to be all right soon.

Not if you keep on

getting into scraps all the time.

You like a bit of a scrap yourself, don't you?

You'll know more about that

when we're married, my boy.

- I'll be ready to take you on any day.

- But not in my working clothes, eh?

Don't talk soft out here, Em.

Coming in for a minute?

Oh, no, for your mother

wouldn't like it if I came in like this.

Oh, Emlyn. Here's that letter

from the School of Mines.

- Come in and read it.

- Yes, yes. In you go, my boy.

In here. It's more private than the shop.

- It looks fat enough to hold a certificate.

- Oh, no such luck. You open it, Gwen.

It is. It is!

Look, Mam!

His manager's certificate.

Yes. Be careful with it, my girl,

for you'll want to frame it one day.

- Don't I get a look? It took me three years to get that.

- No, I'll hold it for you.

Oh. It isn't much to look at, is it?

There's only one place we could hang that.

Of course. In the front parlor of your little

house when you get married, my boy.

Well, it's glad I am that you'll be

getting a good job now soon.

But as I was saying to Gwen,

what a difference there is...

between Mrs. Bowen,

the manager's wife, with her nice little car...

and the wife of a collier, like your mother,

with a house full of children.

- Oh, Mam, you mustn't.

- No disrespect to your mother, Emlyn bach...

- for she's a hardworking woman who's had to

make one shilling do the work of two.

I'll go, Gwen bach.

You mustn't take any notice of Mam,

for you know how she talks.

Oh, I don't mind her.

Not now anyway.

Wash your face then,

and I'll give you a kiss.

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