Ivor... fell under a tram, lower level.
Ivor!
- We have our first grandson, Gwil.
- Well, give one and take the other.
Tell that to that girl up there.
She will answer you.
- Hist now, Beth. Do not kindle the wrath.
- To hell with the wrath.
And I'm saying it plain to be heard.
'Tis good. With honours, then.
Our son is a scholar.
What is it, Huw? I can't make sense with it.
- Latin, it is.
- Latin, is it?
Why not good Welsh, or even English?
- It is the fashion.
- Fashion.
Frenchies, decimal points,
and bathtubs full of holes.
My poor Huw. They've stuffed
your head with Latin, then?
- Beth, my old beauty, you. A black eye, is it?
- Go ahead, shout. Wake up the baby, then.
There is beautiful.
The image of my father, he is.
What bloody nonsense.
Now then, Huw. What will it be?
To Cardiff to school, then the university
to be a lawyer, is it, or a doctor?
Dr Huw Morgan. Well, Uncle Huw,
that will be something special.
Yes, indeed, with a lovely horse and trap,
and a good black suit and a shirt with starch.
There is good, my little one.
Now, a glass of buttermilk for you,
with all your knowledge.
Yes, Mother. And some of Bron's shortcake.
And my shortcake is
to be fed to the pigs, is it?
No. Only I finished yours yesterday,
and today is shortcake day with Bron.
I'm sorry, Huw.
Only currant bread I made today.
Nobody to eat it now.
Mother. I am lonely without him.
I put his boots and clothes ready every night,
but they are there still in the morning.
There is lonely I am.
Gwil, I will have Bron
here to live if she will come.
Not Bron.
One mistress in the house.
Now, Huw, what will it be?
I will go down the colliery with you, sir.
Have sense, boy.
The colliery is no place for you.
Why not try for a respectable job?
Respectable? Are you and his brothers
a lot of old jailbirds, then?
Leave it now, Beth.
I only want the best for the boy.
If he is as good a man as you
and his brothers, I will rest happy.
I am thinking of the boy's future.
It was different in our day.
There was good money and fair play
for all. But Huw is a scholar.
Why take brains down a coal mine?
I would rather, sir.
All right.
Decide for yourself.
But blame yourself if you are wrong.
The colliery, sir.
- All right, the colliery it is.
- Good.
- Where are you going?
- To get drunk.
Bron?
- I am going down the colliery.
- The colliery, is it?
The old coal will be shaking in its seam.
Bron...
Bron.
Would you have me to live
in this house, and have my wages?
- Your home is with your mother.
- It was she who sent me.
- From pity.
- No, from sense.
If you put clothes night and morning,
let them be my clothes.
- Good old man.
- Yes or no, Bron?
- Yes.
- Good.
Good. I will get my bed.
- So it is a man now, is it?
- And could I carry such a man?
Lanto! No.
Five shillings.
Seven and tuppence.
- Move along.
- Thank you, sir.
Three shillings.
Two and nine.
One pound two.
Two pounds ten.
Discharged, Morgan.
Move along.
Two pound ten.
Discharged, Morgan.
One pound ten.
And so it came to lanto and Davy,
the best workers in the colliery,
but too highly paid to compete
with poorer, more desperate men.
- Will you read us a chapter, Father?
- Yes, my son.
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."
"He maketh me
to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters."
"He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths
of righteousness for his name's sake."
"Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me."
"Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
"Thou preparest a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil."
"My cup runneth over."
One line to Owen and Gwil,
down to Cape Town to Angharad.
Over here to Canada to lanto,
and down here to Davy in New Zealand.
And you are the star,
shining on them from this house,
all the