Songbird (2 page)

Oh,
do get on with it, I groaned.  I had heard this speech before.  Sitting in the
fifth row from the front, I quickly glanced at Stephanie.  She hadn’t flinched
when the word ‘disappointment’ had been mentioned.  In fact, she had just
smiled at me and reached across and squeezed my hand.

“Good
luck, Isabelle.”

“And
you,” I answered back, my heart starting to beat furiously.

“So,
now we reach the moment you’ve been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen.  These
are the three students who have been chosen…”

I
squeezed Stephanie’s hand tighter and held my breath.

CHAPTER
TWO

D
aniel
Asquith was a tall, rather lean young man with bright blue eyes that gazed
through spectacles that made him look more like a bank clerk than a
mineralogist.  His fair hair was too long and framed his face, the unruly curls
caressing his forehead and giving him the appearance of a boy rather than a
man.  He was twenty-three and I was only sixteen when his overlarge feet
introduced us.  I was Miss Isabelle Pritchard then and thoughts of romance and
marriage were far from my mind.

I was
hurrying across a field that cloudy but warm morning in early June, just a week
before my seventeenth birthday, on my way to singing lessons with the
minister.  Mr Price had been a Doctor of Divinity and Professor of Music at
Cambridge before deciding to become the minister of our chapel in Cwmdare in
the Rhondda Valley.  He had encouraged my singing for the last five years,
training me to a much higher standard than I had hoped to expect.  However, Mr
Price had told me that he was now at the limit of his knowledge and suggested I
go to The Royal Academy of Music in London and he had advised me to talk it
over with my father.  Papa had rubbed his chin and told me that I was far too
young to travel so far from home, but he would think it over provided I could
get more information about this academy.  And so that morning in June, I was
hurrying to see Mr Price for my next lesson and to ask him more details.

Daniel
was reading a book, sitting on the grass, his back propped up against a tree. 
He always said later, that it was a complete accident that he decided to stretch
out his leg just as I was running past, but I never believed him.  Even so, his
clumsiness made me tumble, as my mama would say, boot over bustle into the
grass. 

He
was on his feet in an instant.  “I do beg your pardon,” he said in a voice that
was as smooth as syrup.

I was
angry even though I took his arm as he helped me to stand.  “You did that on
purpose.”

“I
assure you I didn’t!  I didn’t even see you.”

“Well,
what a stupid thing to do,” I said, rubbing my bruised elbow and trying to
remove the bits of grass from my mouth.

He
smiled and pulled a daisy from my hair.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes,
but no thanks to you.”

That
was our first meeting and we went our separate ways.  But he was in chapel that
Sunday when I sang the first verse of the final hymn and after the service,
Papa introduced us and I was more than surprised to find that Mr Daniel Asquith
had come from Leicester to work for my father as the mineralogist in his mine.

The
village of Cwmdare was small and consisted of only fifty-three families.  Of
these, eighty-nine of the men worked down my father’s coal mine.  It wasn’t a
big mine by any standards, but it was the only means of income for the families
and I had been born and brought up in a large house that was set back and
further up the hill from the village.  From the side of the house, we could see
the tiny miners’ cottages and in the distance the large wheel that winched the
miners up and down the main shaft.  Anyone would have said it was a dirty place
and very grim, but I didn’t notice.  It was all part of the fabric of my life.

My
mother had been a governess and met my father when he was visiting Swansea. 
She was English and had no family and Papa said they had fallen in love
immediately.  He brought her back to Cwmdare where they settled down happily
together.

Gwilym
was born first and then I came along two years later, but my mother was
determined that she would tutor us and I believe we had an excellent education,
learning all the basic subjects including French.  But from being very small we
were bilingual, learning English from Mama and Welsh from Papa.  Eventually,
Gwilym was sent to Eton, but I missed him terribly while he was away and lived
for the holidays when he came home.

Mama’s
death when I was fourteen devastated us and Papa withdrew into himself for
almost six months leaving our care in the capable hands of Mrs Morgan, our
housekeeper.  Thankfully, he finally emerged from his shell of mourning and
picked up the pieces of his life.  My education might have come from a number
of sources, but my singing voice certainly came from my father.  His rich
baritone would echo round the house and if I were in the vicinity, I would sing
back in answer much to the amusement of Mrs Morgan and the other servants.

It
was only a matter of time before Daniel became part of my life too.  He was a
constant visitor to the house and would regale us with stories of his childhood
in Leicestershire.  I hadn’t been out of Wales and the furthest I had travelled
was when we spent a holiday at the seaside, but that was when my mother was
still alive and only twice at that.

By
Christmas Daniel and I had fallen in love and in May 1883 we were married in
the chapel and my new husband moved in with me.  It was at our wedding that I
first met Nan.

She
was a good seven years older than Daniel and lived in London, sharing a small
house with a friend.  I liked her the moment I set eyes on her and she
immediately gave Daniel and me an open invitation to visit her.  We would have
to stay in a hotel, she said with a stern expression, since her home was far
too small to accommodate guests.  But she would be delighted to show us the
sights of London.  We agreed it would be wonderful to see the capital,
especially since Daniel had never been there either.  Unfortunately, the next
time I met Nan it was under much different circumstances.

Those
first months of our marriage were so happy especially when Gwilym was home on a
visit.  He had just started his medical studies at St Bartholomew’s Hospital in
London, so it was rare when he could spare the time to travel into Wales.  When
he did, he would add to the stories I was constantly hearing from my new
husband and I began to believe that life outside my hometown must be exciting.

Daniel
loved my singing and after dinner he would insist that I sit at the piano and
sing for them.  The fact that Papa always dozed off didn’t trouble me one bit. 
He always did that and there was comfort in the familiarity of the event, a
familiarity I would sorely miss in time to come.

And
when Daniel and I were in bed together we would make plans for the future.  He
spoke of his ambitions for us to go to London, not only to visit his sister but
also perhaps, settle down there so that I could attend the academy and train as
a classical singer.  When I questioned him about what he would do while I was
busy with my studies, he pointed out that he could work in a school or
university or even a museum.  Whatever happened, he believed that I would
become famous and he would describe in minute detail, how I would be exalted
all over the country, perhaps even the world.  And he would sit in the audience
and clap until his hands were raw while I took my bow and was presented with
the obligatory flower bouquet.  His faith in me made me love him all the more
and as he wrapped his arms round me and we snuggled under the covers together,
I believed that I had a husband in a million.

When
I found I was pregnant we were ecstatic.  It had all happened so easily that I
was swept off my feet, my baby due only ten months after our wedding day.  We
looked forward to the happy event and Papa and Gwilym eagerly awaited the new
member of the family.

We felt the
explosion under our feet before the roar swept over the village.  And then the
wail of the siren told us what we had dreaded.  I looked out of the window and
the street below me was filled with women and children running towards the
pit-head.

I
made for the door but Mrs Morgan pulled me back.  “Oh no, you don’t, young
missy.  You stay here and I’ll let you know what’s happened.”

I did
as I was told and watched as she pulled a shawl over her head and headed for
the door.  She was down the path and away before I could think what to do. 
Soon she was swallowed by the mass of people hurrying towards the mine.  I
couldn’t stay still for long.  I was six months pregnant, but I was healthy and
I couldn’t see anything wrong with following her.

At
the pit-head it was chaos as the women begged for information and the men who
had volunteered for the rescue party prepared to descend the shaft.  Yes, there
had been an explosion we were told, although we already knew that, but no one
was sure what had happened.  The large wheel was turning bringing the cage up
and within minutes the doors opened and the men from the shift fell out into
the fresh air.  Their faces were black and yet I could still see the terror in
their eyes.  They thought it was methane gas seepage that had caused the
explosion, but through their garbled account we realised that water was pouring
in and the mine was starting to flood.

The
rescuers descended the shaft and a while later more miners from the shift came
up.  They told us that a rock fall had trapped nine men and although they had
tried to dig them out they realised that there was a good fifteen feet of rock
to remove.  They could hear them tapping from behind the fall so they knew they
were still alive.  Fifteen feet of rock didn’t sound too much and I felt
confident that the rescuers would free them quickly.  When I looked around I
realised that my father wasn’t there and I would have thought his presence
would be sorely needed at that time.  I decided to climb the metal stairs to
the office and see what he was doing. 

Opening
the door, I collided with Mr Evans the mining clerk, who was just on his way to
the mine head.  His face was ash white.

“Where’s
Papa?”  I asked, looking round the untidy office.

Mr
Evans licked his lips.  “He went down, Mrs Asquith.  He went with your husband
to look at a new lode.”  I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t.  I turned and
started down the stairway.  Mr Evans gripped my arm.  “Steady there, we don’t
want you to take a tumble.”

He
returned with me to the pit-head and it was he who questioned a miner and
discovered that my father and husband were two of the nine men trapped behind
the rock fall. 

The
next few hours were dreadful.  Mr Price arrived and brought the comfort and
reassurance that only a minister can offer.  Mrs Morgan organised the women
into making tea and sandwiches and I helped a group to tear some old sheets
into bandages.  After two hours, a fresh group of rescuers went down and the
first group came to the surface, their black faces streaked with sweat, their
bodies shaking with fatigue.  They collapsed against the wall of the wheelhouse
while the womenfolk brought them hot drinks.  From them I learnt that they
could still hear the trapped men and they were digging a tunnel through the
rock in order to get them out.  It was slow but steady, their only concern was
the water level that was continually rising.  They were already working ankle
deep in the icy water that came down from the mountains.

It
was bitterly cold and as darkness fell the air became icy, turning our breath
into white mist.  It was only five days until Christmas and as we all worked
together, the grim expressions on people’s faces showed their feelings.  But I
kept a dogged faith in the rescue parties.  They would do all they could to
free the men and then we would all enjoy Christmas Day together.  I don’t
remember starting to sing
The First Noel
but suddenly everyone was
joining in and with our singing our spirits lifted.  It was Christmas and
surely no one would die at this special time of year?

The
rescuers worked in shifts, each group bringing more news when they came up in
desperate need for rest and sustenance.  The trapped men were obviously working
on their side as they could hear the sound of pick and shovel.  They would
break through in two hours or so they kept saying.  But two hours stretched to
four and then six.  Finally, eight hours had passed and still there was no sign
of the rescue coming to an end.

Thirteen
hours into the rescue the news was shouted that the trapped men had been
reached and they had crawled or been pulled through the opening in the rock
fall.  They were being brought to the surface and we waited for them to emerge
from the metal cage that carried them to safety.  Seven exhausted men appeared
all being helped along by a rescuer and their wives and mothers gave a cry of
relief as they ran to them.  Blankets were placed round quivering shoulders and
hot drinks forced down their throats as they all sank to their knees.  They had
stood to their waists in treacherously cold water, slicing and cutting through
the boulders that trapped them, desperately hoping that time would be on their
side.  I heard the winding gear turning again and knew that the cage was going
down for the remaining rescuers and also Papa and Daniel.  They would want to
see the men away first before coming up themselves.  I waited eagerly for the
lift to appear once more.  And when it did I saw only the last of the rescue
party, their Davy lamps glowing like dancing fireflies.

I
gripped the arm of one man.  “Where’s my papa and husband?” I asked, my heart
pounding in my head.  He didn’t answer so I repeated the question.  He still
didn’t answer.

Mr
Price took over the investigation for me and sought out the rescue leader.  “Mr
Pritchard and Mr Asquith?” I heard him say.