The Melting Pot – Merthyr Tydfil's History and Culture
In Association with the Merthyr Tydfil & District Historical Society
I have received the photo and message below from Suzanne Frederick-Bird.
Hi, Would love to know more about this photo. My grandfather is second from the right back row. i.e.,first man on right back row without a shirt. His name was Jake Frederick of Georgetown. He earned a few shillings as a fist fighter, sometimes walking to Rhymney to fight.
If anyone has any information about this photo, please contact me at merthyr.history@gmail.com and I will pass it on to Suzanne.
Here is a little story to make you smile, courtesy of Mansell Richards……
Two Merthyr miners in the days following the First World War, met regularly on Brecon Road, after a day’s work underground, and the relaxing tin bath scrub, in front of the fire. One hailed from the community of Caepantywyll, the other from Georgetown. The conversation went something like this:
“Tom you had a tough time at Gallipoli but I had it even worse on the Somme. Did you know I was captured, taken to a German prisoner of war camp, where I was interrogated regularly and even tortured from time to time? I was regularly questioned by a fine-looking German officer, a large man topping six feet in height, whose English was perfect, not surprising perhaps, as he had been educated at an English private school. But do you know Tom, really he was quite dull….HE COULDN’T SPELL CAEPANTYWYLL!!”
We continue our serialisation of the memories of Merthyr in the 1830’s by an un-named correspondent to the Merthyr Express, courtesy of Michael Donovan.
In a cottage in the row, say 6 or 8 doors up, there was an old blind man, Thomas Evans, who had been a hammerman at Cyfarthfa. He was of the scientific society at the ‘Dynevor’, and was pleased if anyone would sit and read to him (this said advisedly and from experience).
Two dwellings followed owned by Mr David Williams (known as Williams of Pontyrhun). He was a widower, and had a family of two sons and two daughters. One of the later kept a school, but became Mrs John Jones (druggist etc.) of Aberdare. One of the sons, John, was the editor of the Silurian paper, which started at Brecon in the Whig interest, to whom the late Mr Peter Williams, of the Merthyr Telegraph, was apprenticed. The other son emigrated to Australia.
At the top, not many doors from the gate house, Mr Thomas Shepherd, then the cashier at Cyfarthfa Works lived. He removed to Navigation House after the death of Mr George Forrest, and then became superintendent of the Glamorganshire Canal.
Restarting from the bridge and crossing the tramroad, some short distance up on the left, a Mr Walter Morgan resided. He had been brought up as a solicitor, but was then in the brewery business. The brewery was situated behind the house, and had entrance from a road at the back.
Mr Morgan had two daughters and one son. The eldest married, but her painfully sudden death seemed to show that she was not happy. The youngest became Mrs Macnamara, wife of a barrister, who became judge of one of the East Indian courts. Her brother, who also was a barrister, became the same, but whether both were in Calcutta or elsewhere cannot be recalled.
The ascent was steep shortly after passing Mr Morgan’s residence. A Captain Oakey lived in residence on the left and overlooked the flat portion of Georgetown etc. He had been at sea for many years and then lived retired.
Upon Mr Crawshay – the grandfather of the present generation – buying a lot of old stores from Woolwich, they were sent to Cyfarthfa to be manufactured into bar iron, and there were some pieces of ordnance as well as round balls amongst the lot. Mr Robert Thompson Crawshay had one at least of the cannons taken to the tip above Nantygwenith and fired them (for I think there was more than one). The good old captain, who was enjoying his siesta upon the first firing and stretched upon his sofa, from association of his past life rolled himself off the sofa and on to the floor. So strange is habit.
Above Captain Oakey’s was the house occupied by Mr Jeffries, the blast furnace manager at Cyfarthfa. There were then no other houses except an isolated cottage or two until Penyrheolgerrig was come to.
To be continued at a later date……
By the mid 1800s, the only bridge of any note across the Taff in central Merthyr was the Iron Bridge at the bottom of Castle Street, the only other bridge being Jackson’s Bridge further up the river. It soon became obvious that the Iron Bridge was not adequate for the amount of traffic needing to cross the river.
In June 1860, the Surveyor of the Local Board of Health submitted a plan for a new bridge to be situated downstream of the Iron Bridge to carry traffic from the town to Georgetown. His proposal stated:
“The proposed bridge to be erected….is the continuance of the line of Victoria Street and its terminus by Ynysgau Chapel, and crossing the river Taff on the skew at an angle of sixty-five degrees – thus forming a direct communication between Victoria Street and Penry Street, which will effect greater facility of traffic that the inconsistent turns at the present site”.
The proposed new bridge would cross the river in one single 80 foot span, and would be built of wrought iron plate girders six feet deep. It would be 24 feet wide, five foot of which would be set aside for a pedestrian footpath on the north side. The cost of the new bridge was estimated at £1,700, and would take about four months to complete.
The Board of Health decided to hold over the report for a month to allow them time to consider the proposals. Ten years later, the bridge still hadn’t been built.
It was in 1879 that it became obvious that the situation at the Iron Bridge was critical and that a new bridge was needed straight away. The Board finally dusted off the old plans, and the new bridge was begun. The work was entrusted to Messrs Patton and Co of Crumlin Viaduct Works, and the bridge was finally completed on 17 March 1880.
The bridge remained the primary road bridge in the centre of Merthyr until the 1960s, by which time everyone was becoming increasingly concerned by the way the bridge would move and spring alarmingly every time heavy vehicles passed over it. It was decided that a new bridge was required, and a new concrete bridge was built 50 yards upstream (the present bridge near the Fire Station).
The old bridge closed in November 1963 when the new bridge was opened, and the structure was dismantled in 1964.
We continue our serialisation of the memories of Merthyr in the 1830’s by an un-named correspondent to the Merthyr Express, courtesy of Michael Donovan.
Taking the Nantygwenith Road first, with the exception of one occupied by David Evans, the master carpenter at Cyfarthfa (father of the Thomas Evans whose brewery has been mentioned), there was not another right away up to the gatehouse of the Turnpike on the right hand side, but there were dwellings on the other (the left) side all the way, and persons who resided there who should be mentioned.
Before doing so, however, it may be proper to state what kind of scientific society met at the Dynevor Arms, and what was then called philosophical instruments, made by W. and S. Jones, of High Holborn, kept there in the meeting room. Amongst other things attempted was the formation of a duck, which it was reputed they nearly accomplished, but extravagancies aside I can from recollection say there were very good instruments there, one being a telescope of about five inches in diameter.
Notwithstanding much that was desirable for sanitary conditions, there was a good deal of intellectual activity, and if any exceeding strong temperance advocates, deride the statement he can be told of a somewhat analogous one held near Birmingham that was frequented by persons whose names are world known, to wit, James Watt, Priestley and the time of meeting as near as may be to others whose forethought went so far as to have the time of meeting as near as may be to full moon, and were called in consequence the Lunar Society. There are few of any offices that that do not today benefit from one or two of their meetings.
On the left, the corner house of the Aberdare and Nantygwenith Roads, a grocer’s shop was opened by Mr Beddoe, next was a “gin shop”, so called, subsequently kept by Mr Lewis Lewis, superintendent of the Dowlais Stables previously, and afterwards of Pontyrhun; a few cottages followed and then a road. It was up this, and on the first opening to the left the Rev David John, the Unitarian Minister, taught his pupils. He was, I think, a good Welsh scholar, but I am certain of him being a good mathematician. He Had three sons and one daughter, the eldest Mathew, some years after carrying on the iron foundry business in Bryant’s old brewery premises.
The upper corner of this road was the grocery establishment of a Mr Edward Roach. He was a fine powerful man, and they used to say that seeing a woman, with a child in her arms, pursued by a bull, he rushed out and boldly attacked it.
Next above was the Patriot Inn, kept by Mr William Howells. He had two daughters, the youngest of whom was wooed by Mr William Spiller, then travelling around the hills selling flour on behalf of himself and a Mr Browne. The flour was called “Spiller and Browne”. The latter name seems to have passed, but the former has developed into a ‘household word’ in the quality of their product, and extension of business at Cardiff. The firm Spiller and Browne was then at Bridgwater.
To be continued at a later date……
WILLIAM CUTHBERT TAYLOR – 1909 – 1977
A matter of black and white.
A Merthyr Tydfil story of racial exclusion.
by Irene Janes
Now there’s a name to conjure and in a way it was as his first name of William was dropped, and he was known as Cuthbert Taylor. He was born to Cuthbert Taylor and his wife Margaret Anne in 16 John Street, Georgetown, in 1909. By 1920 the family had moved to Mary Street, Twynyrodyn.
Merthyr boxing enthusiast may recognise his name others for racial discrimination. During his career, Cuthbert fought two hundred professional bouts. He won one hundred and fifty one. Lost sixty-nine and drew twenty two times and only knocked out once, a worthy opponent for anyone.
He was selected to represent Britain in the 1928 Summer Olympics in Amsterdam but was defeated in the quarterfinals of the flyweight class to the potential silver medallist Armand Apell. At this time, the Olympic Games competitors were strictly amateur status.
Cuthbert may not have won a medal but was and still is celebrated as the first black boxer to compete for Great Britain in an Olympics. He was only the third black British Olympian. The others were Harry Francis Vincent Edward and Jack London, both athletes.
After the Olympics Cuthbert returned home and turned to the professional side of the sport. On 29 December 1929, his first professional match was in Merthyr, the contest was a draw. Nevertheless, his next fight was a win over Armand Apell. By the middle of this year, he moved up a weight division to Bantamweight. He went on to defeat defeated Dan Dando to gain the Welsh Bantamweight Championship.
Although being recognised as one of the best in Britain there was one hurdle that his perfection at his craft could not overcome. He could not fight for the British title, and why? The colour of his skin.
His father was of Caribbean decent, his mother white welsh, the championship was closed to non whites regardless of their established good character, record and skill. As an amateur, he was good enough to represent Great Britain in the Olympics but not as a professional to claim the title of British Champion.
Later he passed on his boxing expertise onto another great Merthyr boxer Howard Winstone.
Cuthbert died on 15 November 1977 and still living in the town of his birth.
N.B in 1911 the then Home Secretary Winstone Churchill succumbed to pressure when Jack Johnson an American black boxer was billed to fight British white boxer ‘Bombardier’ Billy Wells in London. There was uproar that a black boxer and a white boxer would compete on British soil. At this time, there were anxieties over the future of the ‘white race’ and concerns over how a coloured fighter defeating a white opponent would affect the colonies. This rule of racial exclusion was not reversed until 1948. In June of that year boxer Dick Turpin defeated Vince Hawkins, in Birmingham, to win the British middleweight title. So not only did Dick win the title fight but is credited to be the first non- white man to win it since the ban was lifted.
The central library in Merthyr Tydfil holds a black file containing photocopies of many letters sent to Cuthbert Taylor him from agents.
A book has been written about our Champion think it is titled ‘Just a Little Bit of Brown’. I don’t know the author but would love to find a copy.
From the South Wales Daily News 130 years ago today (20 September 1889).
by Sarnws
Ivor Street in particular had a reputation for being generous to beggars, who in those days would just walk up the middle of the road, often silent, cap in hand, and the children would run in to tell their mothers, who in turn would spare a few coppers.
This was in the thirties. By now we had moved from “Merthyr” which generally describes Merthyr itself, Dowlais, Penydarren, Heolgerrig, Pant, Georgetown Twynyrodyn etc. One day I dashed in from the street, quite excited, to tell my mother that there was a beggar, cap in hand, walking down the middle of the road just chanting “Ho Hum, Ho Hum” repetitively. She was as excited as I was and in turn dashed out to put something in his hat. It was a link with “home”, for he was well known to her.
I remember that beggars were quite a common sight. My father in the very early nineteen hundreds, before going to work as an apprentice blacksmith, worked in Toomeys. He was paying in to the bank one day when a beggar who used to push himself around, mounted on a small flat trolley with the aid if two short sticks, was paying in. When he reached the counter, the clerk checking in not an insignificant amount asked if he had had a good day. The reply was, “Average”.
On a few occasions at about 8.30 pm on a Saturday there would be a message from one of the houses in Pontsarn or Pontsicill, to the effect that some friends had dropped in so would Mr. Toomey send up the brace of pheasants he had hanging. My father would be sent on the errand, having been given two-pence for the tram, and with the kind instruction that he needn’t come back.
Until the day she died, sadly quite young, if someone asked my mother when making her way to the train for her weekly visit, where she was going, the reply was always the same, “Home for the day”.
I remember my father, when on a visit to Merthyr when Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles were still there, showing me the Trevithick memorial in Pontmorlais, and being brought up with knowledge of the social and industrial heritage of “Merthyr” and its contribution to the world.
Is it possible when the light is just right that a mirage of the Coal Arch can be seen?
Does the glow from the Bessemer converter still light the night sky?
When I retired, thirty years ago I took the elderly aunt of a colleague to lunch in the Teapot Cafe at the end of the Station Arcade, which was the main exit from Brunel’s station. A lady came in with her husband, nodded to me and smiled. She turned to her husband and I could see her say, ”I know that gentleman”. I could not place her, and just nodded as we left.
A little while later I saw her again in the company of friends or family one of whom I knew. I was drawn into their company. The lady had been living on Orpington as teacher and then head teacher for thirty-five years, so had not encountered me in that time. It transpired that she remembered me from Dowlais school, fifty years before.
My son has a silver pocket watch and chain, given to me by my uncle, of the same christian name just before he died. It was bequeathed to him by an 
uncle, again of the same name. His aunt had it serviced for him by the clockmaker half way up the arcade. That must have been about 1920.
As you entered that clockmaker’s premises, facing you was a huge grandfather clock. Integral with the pendulum was a cylinder of mercury. This expanded and contracted with temperature change, compensating for the temperature variation in the length of the pendulum rod, seemingly so simple a concept, but how brilliant.
I was telling a colleague, who had been brought up in Dowlais, but previously unknown to me, that I could remember standing under the railway bridge at the end of Station Road, sheltering from the rain, and watching the Fish and Chip shop opposite, in Victoria Street I think, burning down. He turned and said that he had been there too. That had happened, I think, in the winter of 38/39. Thirty-five years or so before.
I have tooted the car horn many times on Johnny Owen, out for his morning run. I always got a wave of the hand in return. What a number of boxers and other sportspeople Merthyr has produced. The last years of my working life were in Merthyr, and being steeped in its history by my parents, it was interesting to encounter family names which were familiar to me, particularly the Spanish ones, as I was familiar with their family histories to some extent.
My parents are buried in Pant Cemetery, as are Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, Cousins and more. Whenever I visit I cannot but drive around Dowlais, now much changed, but a place to which I am still drawn.
Except for one year, October ‘38 to September ‘39, when I attended Dowlais Junior School, and was a patient for three months in the childrens’ hospital which occupied the original Sandbrook House, I have not lived in Merthyr since I was a baby. When I was discharged from Sandbrook House I had been indoors for nearly the whole of my stay and insisted on riding up as far as the Hollybush Hotel on the open top deck of the tram. The era of the tram ended very shortly afterwards.
I seem to have read or heard somewhere that nature has implanted within you a sacred and indissoluble attachment to the place of your birth and infant nurture, perhaps Tydfil’s martyrdom has created this aura about Merthyr which evokes such hiraeth.
by Clive Thomas
It was different when it was planted I suppose, whenever that was. Now it stands near a modern, regulated cross roads dedicated to ensuring the smooth running of traffic from one side of the town to the other. You see only a few pedestrians here and vehicle owners drive past, or sometimes frustrated, are required to halt and give their attention to the traffic lights. It does have some other green company now though from more recently Council-planted shrubs and small trees, but for many years it would have stood somewhat incongruously alone, alongside a very busy roadway. Its age is difficult to guess but it must certainly have been witness to many changes in the surrounding area. It stands sentinel with a strangely oriented boxer’s statue and the small but colourful memorial to a demolished chapel which only hint at the area’s rich heritage.
This thoroughfare was originally called Jackson’s Street, after the contractor who was commissioned in 1793 by the Dowlais Ironworks to build the stone arched bridge which still straddles the River Taff nearby. Although giving the rapidly increasing population of Georgetown and Heolgerrig, an alternative means of crossing the river from the more famous Iron Bridge, this bridge’s main purpose was to carry the tram road from the Dowlais Works to the canal warehouse and wharf on the Glamorganshire Canal. The tramroad would remain a vital link for the Dowlais Company for many years, and thousands of tons of iron would have been carried this way by teams of horse drawn wagons. As the town developed and more cottages built, junctions were created here, with Quarry Row leading into the riverside community of Caepantywyll and the Vulcan Road climbing the slope to Brewery Street and Sunnybank. Towards Pontmorlais, Bethesda Chapel had been built in 1811 and its name would eventually replace that of Mr. Jackson. Over a period of years, the area became overlooked by the tip of furnace waste from the Penydarren Ironworks, which continued to grow towards the river for most of the first half of the nineteenth century. It was between this British Tip, Jackson’s Bridge and the Taff that the notorious area of slum dwellings called ‘China’ would grow up.
Bethesda Street in 1967. The Holm Oak is clearly visible. Photo courtesy of the Alan George archive.
In the 1970’s however, great changes were taking place hereabouts. The re-configuration of the road system and the construction of a new Taff bridge required the demolition of many adjacent houses. Lawn Terrace, Garden Street, Paynters Terrace, along with The Old Tanyard Inn and Bethesda Chapel all disappeared. The removal of a substantial portion of the British Tip meant that whole area underwent considerable change. Surprisingly and against all odds, the tree survived and remained healthy. As a result of representations from the Merthyr and District Naturalists’ Society, whose members became concerned about its survival, it was made the subject of a Tree Preservation Order under the 1974 Wildlife and Countryside Act.
Quercus ilex, the Holm Oak belongs in Mediterranean climes and unlike our more familiar Sessile (Qercuspetraea) and Pedunculate (Quercusrobur) species, it is evergreen. Holm is the ancient English name for holly bush and it is indeed so like a holly that it is often mistaken for one. Its sombre evergreen foliage casts a very dense shade that nothing can grow beneath it and reflects the climatic conditions found in its native lands. There, the winter is rainy but fairly warm, while summers are dry and hot so thick waxy foliage is required to check undue loss of moisture. The tree is also unusual amongst the oaks in that its acorns take two years to mature. The species was first introduced into Britain in the sixteenth century at Mamhead Park, Devon and a large population is to be found on the Isle of Wight. It has naturalised in a number of areas of southern Britain.
One can only speculate at how it might have arrived in Merthyr Tydfil. The fairly close proximity of Cyfarthfa Park might offer one explanation. Several exotic species were imported by the Crawshay Family to enhance the landscaped parkland which surrounded their newly built gothic home. There are numerous Turkey Oaks (Quercuscerrris) on the banks of the Taf-Fechan near Cefn Coed which might have had their origins within the confines of the park. It is possible that this tree might have arrived as part of a consignment of saplings or perhaps even grown from a single acorn. Ironically now however, the species is thought to damage aspects of biodiversity in this country and is listed as an alien invader. Despite our own specimen’s somewhat anomalous existence, I hope it remains in situ for many more years.
by Tudor Jones
Sorting out my Christmas stuff this year I came across decorations dating back to the 1950’s at least. These reminded me of my boyhood Christmases in Iron Lane, Georgetown.
Some survivors of the last half century and more include celluloid fairy light shades. I vividly remember my father struggling to get the lights to work, because if only one failed, there were no lights at all. They had to be replaced and tested one by one until the light worked. How fortunate we are today!
I will divide my memories into two sections –
FOOD
Perhaps the most unusual aspect of the food was the bird – always a goose, never a turkey. This was roasted on a spit in front of the coal fire as can be seen in the photograph below.
This tradition continued throughout my boyhood and beyond. It tasted delicious.
The Christmas pudding was always home-made. It was mixed by my grandmother and boiled in white earthenware pots covered with cotton on the top. One incident sticks in my mind – my grandmother, mother and I were mixing the pudding and beer was needed. For one reason or another I was sent with a jug to a pub a few minutes away on Georgetown Square (I don’t remember which one now). I remember entering the pub and being served the beer. This as a 10 year old! Not to be done today!
On the day itself, the pudding was covered with brandy or rum, then it was set alight. Christmas pudding remains one of my favourite foods. Afterwards, for the only time in the year, my grandmother, mother, father and myself drank alcohol. I remember its sweet taste – cider.
PRESENTS
As an only child in the 1950’s, I was blessed with many gifts at Christmas time, all wrapped – a tradition I continue to this day. Some of the presents I still have, especially the books: ‘Golden Encyclopaedia 1956’, ‘Golden Book of Bible Stories 1957’, ‘Pageant of History 1959’ & ‘Story of Ancient Egypt’.
I also have remnants of a toy zoo, and other odds and ends, but others have long gone. How much would they be worth today? Two remain in my mind. Firstly a Doctor’s set with stethoscope, thermometer, plasters etc, and secondly an electric Triang train set with lots of accessories. I wish I had kept that.
Another present I remember for other reasons. It was a big black box (not wrapped). I opened it, glanced at its contents, said thank you and shut it – never to use it again. The contents – Meccano, pieces of metal which you could use to build, a sort of metal Lego. I then turned to the rest of Father Christmas’ gifts. My father’s hopes of me becoming a draughtsman were dashed. By the way, I still have that box….but not the Meccano contents.
These memories flood back of an exceedingly happy Christmas time in Iron Lane. I remember it with great joy