Author: merthyr.history@gmail.com

The Dark Side of Convict Life – part 23

by Barrie Jones

Chapter XX. Henry recounts the day of his discharge from Parkhurst Prison, after serving a period of imprisonment just three months short of his nine year sentence.  

The Dark Side of Convict Life (Being the Account of the Career of Harry Williams, a Merthyr Man). Merthyr Express, 11th June 1910, page 9.

Chapter XX

I do not think that, after the events related in my last chapter, you would care to hear more of them, so I will give an account of my liberation. I was released from Parkhurst Prison in August, 1907, having served eight years and nine months of my sentence, the remaining three was all I was granted. On the happy morning of my discharge I left the prison at 6.30, together with a gang of convicts who were escorted to Dartmoor Prison to serve the remainder of their time. We all got into a four-wheeler, which was to carry us to Cowes, and a nice journey it was, too, at least, for me – the other poor fellows had their chains on. After the six miles had been covered we arrived at Cowes pier-head, where we were taken into a waiting room. It was some time before the boat arrived which was to take us across to Southampton. She arrived at last, and the chained gang was led aboard, and I followed.

But how about my ticket-of-leave and the few shillings gratuity? This is where the stringent part of the rules governing discharged convicts comes into force.

No convicts are allowed to be in possession of anything until the boat moves from the landing stage, and not until then can a convict say he is a free man. An officer who accompanies him stands on the pier-head after seeing him safely on board, and as soon as the boat glides away from the side he stretches forth his arms and hands over to the convict his ticket-of-leave together with his gratuity sealed in a n envelope, and he is then left to fight in the world against sin. I can well remember when on board ship one of the convicts who was being escorted to Dartmoor asked me if I would pay for a drink for him. “Certainly,” I said, and going over to the bar where drinks were sold, I was on the point of ordering a glass for all six of them, when up came the  warder in charge saying, “Now, I cannot allow this, Williams; it is strictly against the rules.” It was a very hot day, and the poor fellows were almost dropping with thirst, so I up and said, “shall I order a cup of coffee for each of them.” “I have my rules, and I must obey them,” replied the officer, and at the same time he had a glass of beer before him. Certainly, he was on duty, and was not supposed to eat or drink while on duty, and he, knowing this, refused the poor fellows a drink. They would receive nothing till they arrived at Dartmoor Prison, and then it would only be a pint of water. one or two of the convicts when they heard this, called him cruel. Convicts are all accustomed to ill-treatment, and do not mind, especially at the time of escort, to pour some sweet words into the ears of the officer, and in the hearing of the public, and a good thing, too, if a newspaper reporter had been on board that day to have heard the request and refusal, and seen the officer enjoying his own glass.

Arriving at Southampton the gang bade me good-bye and wished me luck, and in return, I said, “Cheer up, for there will come your time someday,” and with that I left them. I arrived at the railway station, but had no sooner done so than two gentlemen who had seen me waving good-bye to the gang, entered into conversation with me, asking me if I had been serving time at Parkhurst, and several other questions, which I felt was no harm to answer. I had purchased a pipe and some tobacco and the gentlemen seeing me trying to burst myself at the first draw, asked me if I would like a nice cigar or two, which, of course, I accepted. Instead of smoking them I rolled one of them up in a small plug, and put it into my cheek, but I was sorry after that I had done so for they both gave way to a fit of laughter, which caused the other occupants of the carriage to do the same. Anyhow, I took it all in good part, and seeing that one of the gentlemen said to me, “Why do you chew it instead of smoking it?” “God bless you, sir,” says I, “this is the first chew of genuine stuff I have had for nine years.” They very nearly jumped from the seat of the carriage when they heard the sentence I had undergone and the offences I had committed. One said, “Poor fellow,” and turning to his friend said, “That’s where the injustice of the laws of this country come in. That poor chap has no earthly chance whatever.” I think they said it was a thing that wanted badly looking into. I received good advice from these gentlemen, and one of them left me his address, but somehow or other I dropped it.

Thus the train steaming into Newport Station put all end to our conversation, when they wished me good luck. I stepped out of the carriage on to the platform to await the motor train, which was to convey me to Merthyr Tydfil, and to the home of my childhood.

To be continued….

Merthyr Y. M. C. A.

by Carolyn Jacob

The former Y.M.C.A. is a striking four-storey terracotta building occupying a commanding and elevated position at the northern end of the town centre at Pontmorlais, where it joins the Brecon Road. It is a Grade II listed property, which was re-listed on 13 January 1998.

Originally the Y.M.C.A. buildings at Pontmorlais cost £8,400 and, following a competition, they were constructed from the competitive designs of Ivor Jones and Sir Percy Thomas, architects from Cardiff.

The official opening was on 5 October 1911 by Mr Mervyn Wingfield.

The stated purpose of the building was to provide a place where youths and young men could congregate for healthy amusement, recreation and health giving exercise.

On the ground floor were offices 2 shops and a café, the first floor had a lecture hall which could seat 150 and also a billiard room with 2 tables, the second floor had a lounge, reading room, games room and a library, and on the upper floor there were

Other games rooms, a rifle range and gymnasium.

The Y.M.C.A. when it was the Labour Exchange.

In later years the building was occupied by the Board of Trade and the Labour Exchange and then became the District Education Offices. The Y.M.C.A. played a major role in the educational and sporting life of Merthyr Tydfil.

King Edward VIII visited the building when he stopped off in Merthyr Tydfil on his tour of South Wales in 1936. After seeing the Labour Exchange in the former Y.M.C.A. building, Edward journeyed to Dowlais, where he made the historic statement,  “Something must be done”.

The British champion boxer and later manager, Eddie Thomas had a gym there and there was also a very active boxing club. The building was also used for further education courses before the present Merthyr College was built. This historic building ceased to be used as a District Education Office in 1989. During the 1990s there were concerns for its future and it was purchased by Nazir Mohamed in 2001. The building was sold by him in 2006 to property developers.

Jack Jones (1884-1970)

by Mary Owen

‘…he has made for us a tender, deeply understanding picture of the      home-life of simple, patient, incredibly diligent workers in the mining towns of South Wales, and the regal heroism of their wives and mothers.’  D Lloyd George. (in his 1937 preface to Jack’s autobiography, Unfinished Journey)

‘…no other Anglo-Welsh writer’s experience comes near to Jack’s in variety, pace and richness.’ Glyn Jones (eminent Merthyr-born writer in his book, The Dragon Has Two Tongues – 1968)

Jack Jones was born on 140 years ago today, November 24th 1884 in Tai Harry Blawd, a row of small cottages on a bank of the Morlais Brook, a squalid area of Merthyr Tydfil. His father, David (Dai), was a collier and his mother, Sarah Ann (Saran), was typical of her kind, who, having worked as a young girl in the local brickyard, continued her life of hard labour in the home, struggling to bring up a large family, especially when money was scarce at times of pit strikes and lock-outs. Saran gave birth to fifteen children of whom nine survived. Jack was the eldest. His education at St Davids Church School and Caedraw Higher School was sporadic because his mother often needed him at home. He left school at the age of twelve to become a collier with his father. Always energetic and eager to help the mother he adored, he worked in his spare time as a butcher’s delivery boy and as a pop and orange-seller at the new Theatre Royal, where his love of the stage and the literary life was born. Fortunately, he grew up strong and healthy, surviving to tell and to write countless tales of his life, the working-class life of families particularly in Merthyr Tydfil and in South Wales in general. In his wordy, simply stated recollections of his long and eventful life he presents us with a true social and cultural history of the times of our grandparents and great-grandparents. His writings, first published in 1935, comprise eleven novels, three plays, a biography of David Lloyd George, newspaper articles, radio scripts, speeches and much material that was unpublished. Those considered his best are the novels: ‘Black Parade’, ‘Bidden to the Feast’, ‘Off to Philadelphia in the Morning’; the autobiographies: ‘Unfinished Journey’, ‘Me and Mine’, Give Me Back My Heart’ and the screenplay of the film ‘Proud Valley’ in which Jack also had an acting part.

Jack made popular appearances on television in the 1960s and became known to many more admirers as a self-educated ex-collier whose love of writing had led him, after service and injury in the Great War, to realise his true calling. After his first successes he settled in Cardiff, where he made up for his lack of education by reading regularly at the central library and being allowed by an understanding librarian to borrow far more than the allotted number of books to read at home. With the knowledge he had gained of the history of South Wales and of his beloved Merthyr, he improved the book he had first called ‘Saran’ to honour his mother, the determined woman who steered her large family through many hard times. He told, honestly and without exaggeration, of the squalor and destitution that had existed in some areas of the then prosperous town, which Merthyr’s wealthy businessmen and professionals had helped to create. ‘Saran’ disgusted and disappointed much of Merthyr Tydfil’s reading public and this attitude, sadly, lingered – and still lingers! among people who recall what their parents and grandparents had regarded as the author’s treachery. The book, later renamed ‘Black Parade’, is now known as a Welsh ‘classic’. It is an impressive cavalcade of past times and a fine tribute to his people and his hometown. It was not written to shame and scorn his beloved Merthyr, but with great pride and compassion. In book-signings he always used the same two words above his name: Yours sincerely.

Unlike his father, who worked underground for half a century from eight years of age, Jack led a far more varied life. Before becoming a successful published writer when he was fifty Jack had been a soldier, navvy, communist agitator, political protagonist, trade union official, book salesman and cinema manager.  In the following thirty years he was a freelance journalist, playwright, author, fluent public speaker, film actor, script writer and television personality. Success bought him a comfortable bungalow home, which he named ‘Sarandai’, located in Rhiwbina, a pleasant garden suburb of Cardiff and close to a direct bus route to Merthyr. Amidst a community of noted Anglo-Welsh writers and academics, Jack, whose writing and character had so impressed Lloyd George in 1937, would cut a striking, silver-haired figure as he strolled and chatted easily with them, no doubt sounding sincerely every bit like the Merthyr man he was proud to be.

Timothy Evans: Wrongly Executed

Today is the centenary of the the birth, in Merthyr Vale, of Timothy Evans. To mark the occasion, transcribed below is a marvellous article by Rupert Taylor.

Timothy John Evans

Timothy John Evans was born in 1924 in Wales. He was sickly and had an intellectual deficiency; he never learned to read or write anything other than his name.

His father ran off when he was young and left his mother to cope with three children. This difficult childhood led to an adulthood filled with alcohol abuse and violent outbursts.

Timothy Evans Moves to London

In 1939, Evans settled in London’s then-seedy Notting Hill district.

In 1947, he married Beryl Thorley, five years his junior. The Watford Observer records that Beryl was “about as bright as [her husband]. When Beryl fell pregnant they needed more room so went to live in a squalid upstairs flat at 10, Rillington Place.”

Executed Today says the marriage was “tempestuous,” and the birth of baby Geraldine put an even greater strain on the relationship, with Evans finding it very difficult to support his family on a van driver’s wages.

When Beryl became pregnant a second time, she decided to seek an abortion, something that was illegal at the time.

Confession to the Murder of his Wife

The police file on Evans opened on November 30, 1949. Bob Woffinden in his book Miscarriages of Justice writes that was the day Evans “walked into the police station at Merthyr Vale, South Wales, and told the duty constable that he had put his wife’s body down a drain.”

The immediate investigation turned up no body and Evans changed his story. Now, he said, his wife died when a tenant in a flat in the same building in which he and Beryl lived had tried to abort her fetus; he named ground-floor tenant John Reginald Christie.

Timothy Evans under arrest

Police went to 10, Rillington Place and interviewed John Christie, who denied Evans’ allegations. Police decided Evans was unhinged and left.

Later, when it became obvious that Beryl Evans and Geraldine seemed to have vanished, police returned to the dwelling and during a search found the decomposing bodies of Evans’s wife and the child hidden in a small washhouse. Both had been strangled.

Trial in Old Bailey

Evans was charged with the murder of his wife and child and gave two statements to the police confessing to the crimes. Later, it turned out the “confessions” had been written by police; Evans signed them after they were read to him.

He was brought to trial for the murder of Geraldine only at the Old Bailey on January 11, 1950, where Katherine Ramsland, writing for truTV, says he got shoddy advocacy from his lawyer, Malcolm Morris:

“It was as if [he] thought him obviously guilty and had no reason to expend any effort.”

Evans’s defence centered on the withdrawal of his confessions and his assertion that “Christie done it.” He said he confessed because he believed police would beat him up until he owned up to the crime and he wanted to save himself the pain.

But Christie showed up as a prosecution witness and gave far more compelling testimony than Evans. In addition, police fudged some evidence that firmly pointed the finger of blame away from Evans.

The jury took just 40 minutes to pronounce Evans guilty, and the trial judge, Mr. Justice Lewis, donned the black cap and delivered the death sentence. Evans was hanged in Pentonville Prison three months later, maintaining his innocence to the end.

Christie’s Life Takes a Turn for the Worse

Following the trial and execution of Timothy Evans, life turned sour for Christie and his wife Ethel. Christie lost his job as a postman and the couple squabbled. In December 1950, Ethel disappeared; gone to live with relatives in Sheffield, Christie told her friends.

Christie sold his furniture to pay the rent and then moved out of Rillington Place when he ran out of money.

Another tenant, a Mr. Brown, was putting up a shelf in the Christies’ old flat when he found the wall to be hollow. The Watford Observer picks up the story:

“[Brown] shone a light inside and saw what appeared to be the body of a naked woman. He could not have known that he was about to uncover a horror story, that six bodies would be discovered at 10, Rillington Place.”

One of them was Ethel, stuffed under the floorboards of the front room, the others were women Christie had picked up and killed as part of a perverse sexual ritual. Another two victims were, of course, Beryl and Geraldine Evans, bringing his total to eight.

Bungled Police Investigation

Police had completely botched their earlier search of the property when they focused solely on Timothy Evans. Unbelievably, Christie had used the thigh bone of one of his victims to prop up the fence. Other bodies had been concealed around the property and investigators had failed to find them.

John Reginald Christie

Christie had also buried the head of one of his victims in the garden. When his dog dug up the remains, Christie hid them in a bombed-out building. The skull was found by some children and handed over to the police, who ignored it.

Evidence that would have saved Evans from the gallows was staring at the police and they failed to see it; a classic case of police tunnel vision, accepting only evidence that supported their theory and ignoring everything else.

Reginald Christie Goes on Trial

On June 22, 1953 Christie faced justice in the same Old Bailey courtroom in which he had played a part in the wrongful conviction of Timothy Evans.

Christie tried the not-guilty-by-reason-of-insanity defence; Katherine Ramsland writes that “His own attorney called him a maniac and madman.”

The jury deliberations took a little longer than in the Evans case (80 minutes), but the verdict and sentence were the same. On July 15, 1953, John Reginald Christie was hanged by the same executioner, Albert Pierrepoint, in the same execution chamber as Timothy Evans.

Final Justice for Timothy Evans

An inquiry was held to determine what went wrong and incredibly upheld the guilty verdict and sentence registered against Evans. However, a campaign to overturn this ridiculous outcome was waged by Evans’ sister and the journalist Ludovic Kennedy.

In 1966, Evans was given a posthumous pardon.

Even with the pardon, it was another 37 years before the family of Timothy Evans was able to clear his name. Lord Brennan QC was appointed to assess the case. In his 2003 report, he noted: “… the conviction of Timothy Evans is now recognised to have been one of the most notorious, if not the most notorious, miscarriages of justice.

“There is no evidence to implicate Timothy Evans in the murder of his wife … She was most probably murdered by Christie.”

In common with two other controversial cases, the wrongful execution of Timothy Evans led to the suspension of capital punishment in Britain in 1965 and its abolition in 1969.

Bonus Factoids

  • 10, Rillington Place was pulled down and a garden was planted in its place. The street itself was renamed Ruston Mews.
  • In 1971, Richard Fleischer made the movie 10 Rillington Place. It starred John Hurt as Timothy Evans and Richard Attenborough as John Christie. In 2016, the BBC dramatized the same story.
  • At his execution, Christie complained that his nose itched but he couldn’t scratch it because his arms were pinioned. The executioner, Albert Pierrepoint, comforted him by saying “It won’t bother you for long.”

Many thanks to Rupert Taylor for his permission to use this article. To see the original, please follow the link below.

https://discover.hubpages.com/politics/Timothy-Evans-Wrongfully-Executed