Free How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn Page A

feeling grew and grew till I thought I would burst.
    “What is that, Dada?” asked Davy.
    “We are all to be lodgers here,” said my father.
    I could hear from the sounds that my brothers were all sitting up and staring at my
     father, and I could feel the pale straining.
    “But, Dada,” said Davy, “how are you a lodger?”
    “Because I am staying here,” said my father. “But I am not a father because I have
     no authority. No man shall say he is father of a house unless his word is to be obeyed.
     Mine is not, so I am not a father, but somebody paying for his keep. I am a lodger,
     and so are you and the boys, and your mother will look after you and me. That is all.”
    “Dada,” Davy said, “I am sorry for this. I wish I could make you think as I do, only
     to understand.”
    “It is too late to-night even to wish, Davy,” said my father. “Tomorrow is Sunday
     and early Chapel. Good night all.”
    “Good night, Dada,” said Davy, and the other boys said with him, but quiet, as though
     they were so surprised they had lost their tongues.
    “So now then, Davy,” said my mother, after my father had gone up.
    “Yes, Mama,” said Davy, “I know.”
    “Good,” said my mother, “and when you go up, throw that old shirt down. You, Owen
     and Gwilym, too.”
    “Yes, Mama,” said the boys.
    “And no words round the table,” said my mother. “If I am the boarding-house keeper
     I will have things my way.”
    “O, Mama,” Davy said, and I am sure he kissed her. “I am for early Chapel, too. Good
     night, Mama.”
    “Good night, Mama,” said the boys.
    “Good night,” said my mother. “One more day in that sock, Davy, and you would be showing
     your legs. There is disgrace.”
    “You should see Owen’s, Mama,” said Gwilym. “One more step and you would see the back
     of his neck, indeed.”
    “Shut up, man,” said Owen.
    I am glad my mother was so happy going up to bed.

Chapter Six
    A FTER THAT there was peace in the house for a time, though I was too small to have the whole
     picture. I only know what I saw and heard, and I have often wished I had seen and
     heard more than I did. But there is nothing worse than a small boy with a sharp nose
     and a loose tongue, and thank goodness I was never that.
    The family sat down to meals just the same, but there was a different feeling in the
     room always. Even when Bronwen came in it was not quite what it had been. We all seemed
     afraid to say what was in our minds, I suppose for fear it might start trouble. So
     instead of the laughing and joking there had been, you would have thought there was
     a preacher at the table with us.
    Davy was still going up on the mountain and the boys were going with him, and coming
     back with him, openly now, not through the window but in and out of the front door.
     At that time Davy was meeting men of other valleys and coming to an agreement about
     forming a union of them all, so that if one lot came out on a complaint, they would
     all come out and put the coalfield at a standstill.
    Just as it happens now, so they were planning then. And after weeks of work, Davy
     got what he wanted. After that it spread like fire over all the valleys. All the younger
     men were in, but the older men like my father would have nothing to do with it.
    Davy argued with my father for hours, but he had to give up in the end. He knew he
     would have won most of the older men if my father had given way, and that is why he
     tried so hard.
    “No, Davy,” my father said one night. “Never will I put pen to it. I am a man and
     I will deal with my own problems my way. I want no help from anybody.”
    “But, Dada,” Davy said, “you were spokesman at the last strike. What is the difference?”
    “A great deal, Davy,” said my father. “We knew what we all wanted and we were able
     to point to it. It affected all of us, and I happened to be chosen to speak.”
    “But that is all we want to do,” said Davy. “We put our