Author: merthyr.history@gmail.com

Merthyr’s Boxers: Joe Johns

The latest boxer featured, Joe Johns, was born 130 years ago today.

Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

Joe Johns born Joe John (18 September 1892 – 18 September 1927) was a professional boxer from Wales. Born in Merthyr Tydfil, John was notable for becoming the Welsh lightweight champion in 1915. He was successful at a domestic level, but his career was curtailed by ill-health.

John’s early professional career was based mainly in Wales. His early successes normally came through points decisions, his victories rarely ended by a knock-out.

He won his first competition at the age of 15, weighing in at six stone. By the time he won his first recognised national fight, a disqualification win over Young Walters at Cardiff’s Badminton Club, he weighed eight stone eight pounds. On the 12 September 1910 he took the Welsh 9 stone 4 pounds title, which resulted in an invitation to fight at the National Sporting Club in London. The next year Johns undertook more fights outside Wales, including bouts in Liverpool, and a win over American Fred Sidney at St James Hall in Newcastle.

Towards the end of 1911 his health was affected by rheumatism and defying medical orders, he continued fighting; losing to Tommy Mitchell in Sheffield and a month later he was outpointed by Nat Williams in Liverpool. Even when he took breaks from professional contests, he continued fighting in charity matches, usually with his mentor ‘Peerless’ Jim Driscoll. In 1913, with the now properly constituted Welsh lightweight title set at a nine stone nine pound limit, he fought Arthur Evans in a twenty-round eliminator for a shot at the current title holder, Dai Roberts. He and Evans fought in front of a crowd of 4,000 at Merthyr’s Drill Hall with Johns winning by points after the bout went the full distance.

Johns’ challenge against Roberts ended in farce. The twenty round bout only reached the seventeenth round after the referee, Mr J.W. Thwaites of the National Sporting Club, declared the match a ‘no-contest’. He stated that the protestations from a member of Johns corner, trying to bring to his attention infringements by Roberts, distracted him so much that he was unprepared to risk his reputation by giving a verdict.

Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

Despite being married with a family, and suffering from rheumatism, on the outbreak of the First World War Johns joined the British Army, being assigned to the Royal Engineers. In 1915, Roberts moved up to welterweight, vacating the lightweight title. This led to Johns and Arthur Evans meeting for the title on 22 May at the Cardiff Arms Park. Johns took the fight by points decision making him the Welsh lightweight champion. Johns held the title for just two months, when he again faced Evans this time at Liverpool Stadium where the two men were now stationed. The match, refereed by reigning British welterweight champion Johnny Basham, was halted in the 16th round, when Johns was unable to continue fighting after being knocked down late in the previous round.

Johns undertook one more fight after the end of the First World War, a defeat to Danny Arthurs in Merthyr. Johns died of pneumonia in Merthyr Infirmary on his birthday in 1927. He is buried at Cefn Coed Cemetery in Merthyr.

As boxing isn’t my region of expertise, this article has been transcribed from Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Johns_(boxer). I’m sure that there lots of people out there who know a lot more about boxing than me, so if anyone would like to write something about Merthyr’s great boxing tradition, please get in touch at merthyr.history@gmail.com.

The Railways of Romance – part2

The engines of the “Rhymney” Railway do not stand out clearly in my memory. I fear that, in my enthusiasm for the “Taff”, I never did justice to a line that dared to compete by taking folk to Cardiff. It had its advocates, however, and I recall that it was commended for an honest turn of speed. The “London North Western” also suffered the same injustice. In those days of restricted geographical knowledge we were unable to put the credit of the “London North Western” its importance on the way from London to Lancashire. As I remember it then, in its black coat and sleek contours, the “London North Western” engine carried an air of restraint and culture, suggesting, perhaps, an elegant curate. It came among us kindly, but it was never really of us.

But there was one engine that we classed apart from all others. It was the dear old “Brecon and Merthyr” in its faded coat of brown. What degree of precision that line has now acquired I do not know. Since those old days it may have grown meticulous, and, like the “Cambrian”, begun to sub-divide its breathless minutes. But in the period of which I speak nobody ever asked the “Brecon and Merthyr” to run to time. It was not even expected. People were, in the main, quite satisfied if it came in on the proper day. It had, no doubt, good reason for its tardiness; and when it arrived at last the general relief was so charged with fine emotion that pity and forgiveness floated easily to the top.

A train on the Brecon and Merthyr Railway approaching Torpantau in the 1940s. Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

Looking back I am driven to believe that, for us small boys, the “Brecon and Merthyr” fulfilled a literary purpose quite outside the intentions of its directors. In that stage of literary taste we were, most of us, given to the assiduous study of Deadwood Dick and the whole fraternity of Canyon, Gulch and Bowie Knife. All our young romanticism, which otherwise might have hung loose in the air, centred about the “Brecon and Merthyr”. It was our stage-coach, moving through the terrors of the wild and woolly West. The other railways went through the civilized and ordered belts of Glamorgan; but the “Brecon and Merthyr” wound its way through lonely places in the frowning hills. When, long after the appointed time of arrival, it had not even been signalled, who knew that some “foul-play” had befallen it? Desperadoes might have sent it crashing into the lake at Dolygaer, or it might be that at Cefn masked men had boarded it, covering the driver with their “derringers”, while others looted whatever the guard’s van held as the equivalent of the gold nuggets of our literature.

Many of those who, in that long ago, kept with me the vigil of the trolleys are now staid citizens with small boys of their own. It may be that, with the hypocritical virtue of age, those old companions now chide their youngsters should they come home a little late, bringing with them a faint odour of fish and vegetables. But it may be, too, that if any of those little boys of former time chance to read what is here written they will temper paternal judgement with new mercy, for so they must do if they can remember the thrill of those dark winter evenings when, from that far romantic void, the “Brecon and Merthyr” came home at last – with driver and stoker lit by the glow of boiler-fires to the semblance of heroes more than mortal.

This article was transcribed from the book ‘The Legend of the Welsh’, an anthology of J. O. Francis’ writings published in 1924.

I would recommend anyone to try to track down a copy of the book – it’s a fantastic collection of some of the short works by one of Merthyr’s best, but sadly forgotten. writers.

 

The Railways of Romance – part 1

Today marks the 140th anniversary of the birth of one of Merthyr’s greatest writers – J. O. Francis. To mark the occasion, one of his excellent short essays is transcribed below, following a short introduction by Mary Owen who wrote a marvellous biography of him.

John Oswald Francis (J.O.) was born at 15, Mary Street, Twynyrodyn in 1882, and lived later at 41, High Street, next door to Howfields, when his father, a blacksmith, opened a farrier shop in the busy shopping centre. In 1896 he entered the County Intermediate and Technical School on the day of its opening and benefited greatly, like many others, from the education he received there. It formed the grounding for the rest of his life. A blacksmith’s life was not for him. In 1900, he gained a scholarship to University College of Wales, Aberystwyth, where he graduated with first class honours in English.

He lived for the rest of his life in London, where he was well known as a dramatist, journalist, broadcaster and a popular public speaker. He found fame in 1913 with his play, Change, about ordinary Welsh working-class people and the problems they were facing as changes were taking place in politics, religion and education. It was the first of its kind and gave a new genre to drama, which influenced writers for decades. Although he lived away from Merthyr Tydfil for most of his life, his knowledge of it in his youth inspired him to write about it in the years that followed until his death in 1956. His many short comedies helped to bring about the popularity of amateur dramatics, especially in Glamorgan. He was a pioneer and he became a leading member of the First Welsh National Drama Movement. He was regarded as ‘a distinguished dramatist, ‘a gentle satirist, and ‘always a Merthyr boy’.

Mary Owen

The Railways of Romance

None of us can determine which of the impressions we are always unconsciously receiving is being most deeply written on our minds. What abides is, often enough, that which might least be expected to remain. It is, too, sometimes a little incongruous, as if memory were in part jester, playing tricks with recollection – perhaps in kindness – lest the past should have too grim a visage.

Setting up to be a serious and philosophic person, I must confess to some perplexity over my remembrance of South Wales. There is an interloping thought that persists in creeping into the midst of more exalted memories. I cannot think of the high places of my early destiny – my home, my school, the houses of my more generous relations, and the chapel of my juvenile theology – but that a railway station crowds unasked into the mental scene. In the station of that Town of the Martyr in Glamorgan, an there, no doubt, small boys, stealing away from the harsh realities of the High Street, still snatch a fearful joy upon the trolleys, and staring away past the signal box, weave for themselves the figments of young romance.

Merthyr Railway Station in the early 1900s. Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

The small boy’s zest in railway stations has, I may argue in self-defence, a basis in the deep instincts of humanity. In the old primitive world the barbarian, looking up on the sun, was overwhelmed by a sense of its vast power. He made a god of it, and bowed in reverence. So, also, that unequivocal barbarian, the average small boy, beholds in a railway engine an example of power well within the range of his understanding. It is, perhaps, the same old instinct of adoration that kindles in every healthy youngster his burning desire to be a railway-guard.

Even in this riper stage, when life holds joys more attractive than the right to blow the whistle and to jump authoritatively upon a moving train, I find that a railway station can still exercise a certain lure. To every good Welshman, Paddington and Euston are wondrous places. He may not be one of the happy pilgrims, but it is a pleasure merely to look at carriages that go out under such banners as “Cardiff”, “Fishguard”, “Aberystwyth”, “Dolgelley” or “Barmouth”, and if he is not quite a curmudgeon he can find a vicarious delight in the blessedness of those departing.

But Paddington and Euston have a strenuous air. They do not encourage people to loiter upon trolleys and watch the pageant of the trains. In that station of the Martyr’s Town there was more tolerance. Over Paddington and Euston it had also this other advantage – it did not monotonously receive and despatch the rolling-stock of a single company. Oh, no! It had trains in a variety that I have never since seen equalled. Almost all the lines in Glamorgan gathered to it, just as all paths are said to lead to Rome.

Simply to enumerate the companies that sent their trains to pause under that grimy but catholic roof is to recover something of the rapture of the schoolboy “with shiny morning face”. We had the “Great Western” and the “Taff”; the “London North Western”, the “Rhymney”, and the “Brecon and Merthyr”. I am sorry that, by some kindly roundabout way, the Barry Railway did not run in also. But I am sure that it was then much more than a project.

We small boys of the station-hunting breed knew the different types of engine point by point. We had each of us a favourite. Bitter indeed were our disputes on the question of comparative worth, and devotion went occasionally to the chivalry of fisticuffs. Squeaky voices were raised in partisan abuse. Young eyes shone with the light of a noble championship. (Grown-up people, I have since learnt, land themselves in the law courts for issues less important than those falsetto controversies).

The engine of each company had its own characteristic quality, fully appreciated in our loving study after school hours and in the joyous emancipation of Saturday. The “Great Western” arrived from some vague place called “Swansea” – made after the “local” model, and with its well-known “tick, tick!” rather like a stout lady in a dark-green costume catching her breath after exhausting movement. To many of us the “Taff” was the most impressive of them all. I daresay that on a general suffrage, with a secret ballot to nullify the influence of some of our brawnier members, the “Taff” would have been voted the finest thing that ever went on wheels. How big and burly was the “Taff” engine as it swung past the signal box! How cheerfully it whistled, and how inevitably did it suggest a robust representation of John Bull!

Often did we wonder what would happen if it failed to stop before it reached the buffers. About our expectant platform hung the legend of a day when an engine had crashed right through and gone in mad career almost to the door of the Temperance Hall without. But not for us were such catastrophes! They were the story of an older era, a reminiscence of giants before the flood.

An old print showing the terrible accident mentioned above at Merthyr Station on 16 May 1874

To be continued…….

Jimmy Edwards, Nancy Whiskey and an 11 year old Boy

by Brian Jones

The  atmosphere  in  the  red  double-decker  bus  was  a  mixture  of excitement and apprehension – the experienced pupils were pleased to renew old acquaintances, whilst the nervous first year boys and girls tended to quiet reflection. The bus, with the conductor keeping a watchful eye, meandered down Twyn hill, up the High Street to Pontmorlais, then skirted Merthyr General Hospital and finally reached its destination at Gwaelodygarth, near the  top gates of Cyfarthfa Park.  A mass of buses disgorged hundreds of Cyfarthfa Castle Grammar School pupils, 120 of whom were about to begin the first day of a new adventure.

The ten minute walk through the park would be repeated innumerable times over the next seven happy and eventful years. Amongst the wave of children, some marched at a brisk pace, others moved slowly and deliberately, whilst a few set off on a hurried race ignoring the beauty of the park. Soon each of the four seasons would pass leaving each of their distinctive colours and smells lingering in the memory – the odour of wet leaves crushed underfoot in autumn, the snow and ice of winter, the showers of  rain  that  heralded  a new  spring, and finally the shade of the trees providing some relief on the occasional hot days of summer.

Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

The girls peeled away – on the path to the rear of the school while the boys from 11 to 18 years of age followed the gentle downward slope to the front of the school. Only the sixth form and teaching staff could enter through the quadrangle, while the Lower and Middle schools walked a little further through the yard and into the long school corridor.

In 1957 Jimmy Edwards (left) was the star of the B.B.C television comedy series “Whacko” which was shown on small black and white television sets with poor picture and sound reception. Jimmy’s trademark handlebar moustache, mortarboard and black academic gown marked him out as the incompetent schoolmaster, forever jousting with that errant pupil “Taplow”. Their fictitious school mirrored some of the features of “The Castle” – the academic dress of the staff; the occasional corporal  punishment;  the management of the pupils by the school prefects, all of who seemed like giants to that very small 11 year-old boy. The prefects would dish out lines for the slightest perceived misdemeanours saying “100 lines by tomorrow boy” then to rattle off at breakneck speed, “Deep harm to disobey seeing as obedience is a bond of rule”.

In other respects the school where Jimmy Edwards ruled the roost was very unlike “The Castle”. There all pupils were “posh” whereas at Cyfarthfa the school was a delicious mix of children of professionals, tradesmen and unskilled workers – the sons and daughter of teachers, · electricians and fitters, production operatives at Hoovers, I.C.I, B.S.A and Triang Toys. In the comedy series all of the children were English through and through, with appropriate English surnames. In my class there were Bernstein, Lozano, Jones, Walsh, Robertson, Olsen and Muller reflecting the local ethnic mix, as a result of immigration spread over the previous century.

A few months earlier the 120 new entrants to the school had passed the  11 Plus Examination whereas on that first morning of term they assembled in the old school hall, which would soon be converted into extra classrooms. The stern looking Headmaster, Mr W.  Lloyd Williams M.A. (right) began the introductions and commenced the allocations to forms by asking, “All those who wish to study Welsh hold up your hands!” Then thirty or so pupils were placed into form 2A and the remainder allocated into three streamed forms of 2B,  2C and 2D.

Mr Bernard Jenkins (English) took charge of form 2B. A lover of golf he proved a humorous, if strict form master. Later that day we would meet our new teachers such as May Treharne (Latin); Mr  J H Davies (French) a short man nicknamed “Twiddles”; Mr  A G Harris (Geography) known as Gus who prior to World War II  had married a former school P.E mistress, Miss Florence Price, and set up home near Penydarren Park; Maud Davies (Biology) who lived in Treharris and was a cousin of the Headmaster; the History teacher, Mr G L Williams nicknamed “Nero” and Mr Trevor Jones (English) who lived in Twynyrodyn and who joined the staff in 1952.

Mr Harvard Walters (Welsh) (left) had been at the school since 1936 and much later became the Deputy Headmaster. One of his tasks was to begin the long and frustrating attempt to teach the Welsh National Anthem and school song, the first 2 lines of which were:-

Ienctyd y Castell, Caer I Ddysg a Hedd,
Gloewn Ein Harfau I’r Gad Ddi-gledd.

Many a time he would despair at the “Wenglish” of most of the pupils moaning that they were “a lot of Dowlais Cockneys”.

At lunchtime we marched to the canteen sited in its own ground to the rear of the school where under the keen eyes of the prefects we were taught dining room etiquette. Each pupil was careful to walk slowly to each of the afternoon lessons with leather satchels becoming heavier as the day progressed. New friends were quickly made and by the end of that school day new groups ambled back to the buses, however most of the pupils soon had their school tie askew, and gold trimmed school cap set at an angle.

The journey home on the bus was light-hearted although the prefects still remained in firm control. The older boys whistled the catchy tune of the song  “Freight  Train”  which  had  been  recorded  by  the  singer  Nancy Whiskey, just at the end period of the Skiffle craze. The new boy alighted from the bus at Penuel Chapel on Twyn Hill, with his school satchel seeming to “weigh a ton”, however as each of the years passed it lost its shine and became as “light as a feather”.

I remember with affection Jimmy Edwards, Nancy Whiskey and that first day at “The Castle”.

Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

Merthyr’s Chapels: Ebenezer Chapel

Ebenezer Welsh Baptist Chapel, Plymouth Street

Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

In 1793, a schism occurred at Zion Chapel, Twynyrodyn and a group of worshippers left the chapel and began worshipping in a house in Plymouth Street.

Within a year it was decided to build a chapel. A plot of land was acquired opposite the house where the congregation had been worshipping and a chapel which they called Ebenezer was built. Although the official name of the chapel was Ebenezer, for many years, it was known as Capel Isaf (Lower Chapel), with Zion known as Capel Uchaf (Upper Chapel).

Rev William Price, who had not been allowed to preach at Zion Chapel, became Ebenezer’s first minister. Following several prosperous years, Rev Price embarked on a number of collection tours around England on behalf of the chapel funds. As such he was allowed 25% of the funds towards his personal expenses, but questions arose over the authenticity of his expense claims.

Although it was never conclusively proved that there had been any malpractice regarding the funds, and the Baptist Association gave Ebenezer no authority to dismiss him, the congregation, led by a deacon named Evan Lloyd, excommunicated Rev Price and he left the chapel.

In 1808 Rev Maurice Jones was ordained as minister at Ebenezer, and in marked contrast with Rev Price proved to be very devout and popular amongst the members, and under his leadership the congregation grew steadily, and by the time of his death in 1830, it had become obvious that a larger place of worship was needed.

Following Rev Jones death, his assistant Abel Jones became minister and the members decided to build a new chapel. It was soon discovered however that the chapel could not be rebuilt in the same place as the lease on the original plot of land had become invalid due to Rev William Price illegally sub-letting the ground to build several cottages.  A new piece of land was obtained for £30 and a new chapel was built in 1831 at a cost of £850

Ebenezer Chapel was plagued by a number of disagreements – in 1834, 52 people left the chapel and eventually established Tabernacle Chapel. In 1902 another serious schism occurred when a number of the congregation left to establish Jerusalem Chapel in Court Street.

In the 1930’s the chapel housed Merthyr’s first ever soup kitchens.

By the 1980’s the congregation had dwindled and the chapel closed. It remained derelict for several years until it was demolished to make way for the Trevithick Gardens housing estate.

Ebenezer shortly before demolition. Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive