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my fringe. ‘Don’t worry about Father. I’ll tell Mam.’
    â€˜That you, Ant?’ came a call from the kitchen. ‘I want that tub out!’
    â€˜It’s me too, Mam!’ Bethan shouted out. ‘I’ll get out of my uniform and come help! Come on,’ she added, looking back down at me. ‘I’ll lend a hand. And leave telling what happened to me. You’ll get flustered and it’ll come out wrong. Go get the tub. I’ll start the water.’
    She kicked off her shoes, pulled on her slippers and headed up the stairs.
    The tin tub hung on the outside wall in the back garden. It was bigger than I was, and I always had to carry it with the top end hooked over my head. Being the youngest, it was my job to get it in front of the fire and filled with water so that Father, Alwyn and my other brother Emrys could get washed when they came back from the pit. If they had to wait around, I’d catch it.
    I flipped the tub over onto the rug in front of the hearth. Mam tipped more coal onto the fire from the scuttle, a grand clatter followed by a blast of heat, and then placed the coal soap, the bar that was only for Father and the boys, into the bottom of the tin bath. ‘Get a lick on,’ she said, wiping her hands on the bottom of her housecoat. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’
    I ran through to the kitchen, almost bumping into Bethan. She was carrying the first of the large pots of water that had been boiling on the stove. ‘Look out, Ant!’ she yelled, lifting the pot above my head. I took a tea cloth from the front of the stove, doubled it over and lifted the second pan of hot water, taking care not to spill any. It took four pans to get the water to a reasonable level, with one pan of cold so that Father wouldn’t have to wait for it to cool down before he could get in.
    Mam stood, hand on hip by the parlour window, gazing out. ‘Have you got something you want to tell me, Anthony?’ she said, not looking at me.
    I shot a glance towards Bethan. ‘It’s all right,’ she mouthed.
    â€˜I went underground, Mam,’ I said, my voice soft and quiet. ‘Father wasn’t pleased.’
    â€˜No. I expect not. I’m not pleased, either,’ she said. ‘That Alf Davies is reckless. An idiot. The best favour you can ever do yourself is to pick out the idiots and steer well clear of them. Do you understand, Ant?’
    â€˜Yes, Mam,’ I said, leaning against the arm of Father’s chair. ‘Will I get a leathering?’
    She turned and looked at me, her eyes resigned to the inevitable. She gave a small sigh. ‘Probably. I’ll do my best.’
    My heart sank. Mam could never bear to see us beaten, but Father said it was the only way we’d learn. You got his belt over your upturned palm five times. There was no escaping it. It hurt like hell.
    â€˜Here they come!’ Mam said, as miners began pouring past the parlour window. ‘Paper down!’
    Bethan grabbed yesterday’s paper and began laying out the double sheets, creating a temporary bridge from tub to door. Two sheets were laid next to the paper trail, small islands for Alwyn and Emrys, who would have to stand, waiting for their turn in the tub. All eyes on the parlour door and then in they came, three great, blackened men, the smell of coal dust filling the air. Helmets were tossed in my direction, Davy lamps lined up, clothes peeled off to be surgically removed to the back room washtub by Mam, every day the same, the household moving as one slick machine until Father was in the tub and my two elder brothers were standing in their long johns.
    But today’s routine was to be different.
    â€˜Hand out, Anthony,’ said Father, pulling his belt out from his trousers.
    â€˜It wasn’t his fault, Davey,’ said Mam, stepping towards me. ‘It’s Alf Davies’. He took him down.’
    â€˜Hand out.’
    I