TIGER CUB

CHAPTER 65

TIGER CUB

1969-70

(Photo 1) A triumph tiger cub, 200cc, 4 speed, 4 stroke.

I knew this boy who was commonly known in the valley has non, his birth name was John Rees, I had another friend also called John Rees, he went by the nickname of shuna, Non was a casual friend, but never a close one.

We all knew each other in one way or another in the valley, it did not matter if you lived at the top end of the valley at Pwll Carn or at the base of the valley at Llangeinor, we all grew up with each other, We went to the same schools or we were all friends of friends or just related in some way to each other, like I have said in the past it is a very small valley with a community that did not alter much, it was very rare to see a new family move up into the valley, when this did happen it was a very curious event for everyone, in no time the reason why they moved, who they knew, who they were related to, and their family history would have been the topic of conversation for a short time until the novelty of new people wore off.

The youngsters of around my age hung around the square in Pontycymmer in the evening after school, we only had a very short list of places to go after school, one option was Hughes fish and chip shop in Waun Bant, which was just off the square, my grandparents lived in Waun Bant, so I used to pop into their house on the pretence of saying hello and hope they would give me a small amount of money, so I could buy a six pence bag of chips, I did not get any pocket money, so I had to rely on handouts from my Bampie or Mamgie occasionally.

There was always the FFaldau colliery canteen which we were allowed to use, we would walk up to the canteen from the square and buy a hot pasty, and a huge mug of strong tea, and watch the colliers come and go off their shifts all covered in coal dust with their blackened faces, some would stop and wash down a mug of tea to wash away the black dust in their throats before they walked home, on the weekends there was the Disco run by a local boy called Dicko Harris at the ambulance hall across the black railway bridge from the square.

Apart from the cinema at the end of the valley at the village of Blaengarw, there was nothing else to do but play football and hang around the square until the streetlights came on, and that was the sign that you had to make your way home.

I was always tinkering around with bikes from a very young age, and I was always interested when I hear a bike was available, one evening my friends and I were sitting on the old black railway bridge on the square watching the railway trucks trundle slowly below us loaded to the brim with coal.

And out of the blue, Non came up to me and offered me a Triumph Tiger Cub.

He said I could have it for nothing as long I took the bike away at that very moment, I jumped at the chance and said yes without seeing it, I was not aware at the time that the bike was in bits and came what seemed like 1000 separate parts, a bike is a bike even if it is a basket case.

As we all walked up the steep hill to his house, Non continued to tell me what condition the bikes was in, he started with the engine, saying it was partly stripped down, he was not kidding when he told me this, and vastly underestimated the state of the engine, his dad had told him he had to get rid of the bike because it was taking up too much of his shed and he wanted to keep pigeons in there.

He added that he did not know who stripped the bike down, I'm not sure if he was telling the truth, I got the impression that he started a project that he had absolutely no knowledge or skill to undertake, even after hearing the rough description of the state of the tiger cub, I was still eager to have it, I did not hesitate and jumped at the chance of having another bike to tinker with, with great enthusiasm.

So, it was arranged right there and then to remove the bike and the sum of its parts in one effort, we would need to transport the bike across the valley to my house, carrying and pushing the bike up the steep hills.

So, the two of my friends that I was with were roped into helping myself and Non pick the bike up.

The old shed that the bike was stored in was high up on a hill on the Garw FFachen side of the valley near to the old farm track that led to Tudors farm.

The engine was out of the frame, so we plonked it un-ceremonially back in the frame with no bolts holding it in place, I then strapped an old short piece of rope around the engine, I did the same with the loose parts, they were put into an old oily heavy duty cardboard box that once held butter and then strapped the box to the seat area of the bike, Non was to carry the seat and the front mudguard, and myself and my other friend Shuna would push the bike across the valley.

The shed the bike was kept in was in an area called Mount Pleasant at the top of a steep hill in the valley, the shed was so high up you could look down on Pontycymmer square and the people looked like ants, the cars and the western Welsh buses resembled dinky toys.

Luckily the tires still held air in them, so we started our journey down the hill, we had to hold the bike back as we entered the steepest part of the hill with all our combined strength as we approached the Royal Oak pub, both the front and rear brakes did not work very well, they may well not have been fitted at all for the good they did, the hill was not the steepest in the valley, but to two14-year-olds built like racing snakes found the task a great effort.

Once we arrive at the bottom of the hill, we needed to rest awhile to get our breath and strength back, once rested we crossed over the old steel black railway bridge that connected the square to the Graw ffachen side of the valley, and then we had the long haul up the steep FFaldau hill.

(Photo 2). The hill to Mount Pleasant, with the old Royal Oak pub on the left, photo taken in 2022.

We did consider only going halfway up the hill and then turning right into Waun Bant at the junction directly opposite the FFaldau colliery, the Waun Bant diversion was a much longer route but not so steep as the hill we were looking up at, after a short while we put our heads down and pushed the bike up the hill.

I don’t know how long it took us to get to the top of the hill, but it had started to get dark, the sun was disappearing behind the tree covered mountain, the mountain cast a grey shadow over the valley, the dusk made everything look very grey.

We kept pushing, passing the occasional adult bystander with an amused look on their faces, we pushed the bike for another half hour in the dark, that’s the problem with valleys, they have a very large complement of steep hills, and I seem to be living at the top of all of them.

By the time we bundled the bike and the bits and pieces into the coal shed we were all knackered, and it was totally dark.

All of us were around 14 years old, and we all looked as if we needed a good cooked dinner inside us to fill us out a bit, I can honestly say that I cannot remember anyone of my age group being overweight during this time in my life, none of us youngsters spent any time watching TV, children's hour was literary the one hour of TV catered for children which comprised two programs, Blue Peter, and possibly The Magic Roundabout, there were no computers, no mobile phones to stare at for hours, and the only thing that was electronic was a hand held transistor radio and a calculator, which you could play a limited number of maths games on.

Once school was over, we would head straight home, have some food, change out of your school clothes and into your street clothes, and your parents would not see you until the streetlight came on.

The tiger cub and its box of bits would stay in the coal shed until the coming weekend.

When the long week of school was over, I never liked school I found it to restricting and oppressive, even back at that young age I felt that the education authorities were slotting us into boxes and deciding our future prospects without any idea what they were doing, they wanted us to be human drones, follow the rules and not make any fuss in life, to be like everyone else, work, sleep, marry, have kids work sleep, well that is how I saw things, the problem I had was being a14 year old people ignored you, and they could not see a different future except for the one that they were being conditioned to except as normal.

Anyway, I had a full weekend of tinkering with a new project, my first task was to find out what was missing.

On inspecting the engine, I found that both sides of the engine were missing the side panels had been removed exposing the clutch, I did not notice this before as it was very dark when the bike was put away in the shed.

The cylinder head and the barrel had been removed, the piston was still attached to the con-rod, it looked very scorched with black soot covering the piston.

I checked the box of bits and rummaged around a bit and thankfully found that all the missing engine parts were in the box.

My next step was to check the condition of the engine parts, I discovered that the clutch push-rod was bent, I had an idea how to get this important part of the engine back into working order, the FFaldau colliery machine shop was just across the valley from me, there was no restriction at the colliery, you could wander anywhere on the colliery site, and nothing would be said to you, which thinking about it now was very dangerous, but we seemed to have more common-sense back then, then kids today.

So off I went and spoke to one of the maintenance engineers I showed them the rod and in no time at all they had it straightened for me and cleaned it up, they also re-annealed the head gasket and gave me a half full tin of light grease to use on the bike, they did not want anything for doing the jobs as they knew my bampie (grandfather) who was well-known and respected in the valley, he worked for 43 years underground and was one of the main people involved with the Blaengarw rugby club.

I had no idea why the head and barrel were removed from the bike, I could see absolutely nothing wrong with them, there was no scoring inside of the barrel, and the head looked perfect, it was a little grubby with mud and oil, but nothing that could not be cleaned away, so I put the engine back together, it had taken me over week to do, it took me all that time just to find all the bits and pieces that were scattered around everywhere.

I cannibalised a B.S.A. D7 Bantam for spare parts, there were at least three of these bikes at different spots in the garden.

I used the cables off the Bantams and a selection of nuts and bolts off a Francis Barnett.

Everything fitted some shape, the bike was ready to be used, all we needed was some petrol, so off we went down to Pat husemans garage on Bridgend Road around half a mile away all downhill with two empty glass milk bottles to put the petrol in, at this point we did not even know if the bike would start, there was only one way to find out.

Once at the garage, we found the tall wooden doors were closed shut, this was normal, it was necessary to call out Pat's name to get some attention and service.

After calling out at the top of our lungs, we could hear the bolts behind the doors being snapped back and then the wooden doors folded back on themselves and Pat emerge from the dark recesses of the inner sanctum of the large garage, I could see an old car sitting over a maintenance pit, in the shadowy darkness of the garage, it was a very old car with what looked like massively huge bulbous wings with headlights set very low in the wings with running boards running alongside the doors, the car was black in colour and looked very old, I did not know at the time, but I was told it was from the 1920s and never seemed to move off the maintenance pit.

Pat looked middle-aged to us but most likely he was in his mid-thirties, everyone who was older than 20 years was old and geriatric to us.

Pat was quite happy to fill the glass bottles up to the brims, it was something he had done on a regular basis with everyone in the valley, He would sell any amount of petrol to anyone no matter what age they were, it was the same with cigarettes in the local shops if a parent sent a child down to a shop with a note and money the shopkeeper would give the packet of embassy number ten or woodbines to the child to take home, there were never any issues or fuss, everyone seemed to have common-sense back then.

The petrol pump Pat used was ancient it was a tall thin piece of equipment, tubular in shape with a dirty yellowish glass bowl at the very top, the pump was painted battleship grey and covered in patches of brown rust in numerous places.

Armed with our two bottles of petrol with the tops of the bottles covered over with used smith crisp packets we found in the gutter as walked across the black bridge, we entered back into Pontycymmer square, and then we headed back up the steep hills to the coal shed.

Everyone who wanted to have a ride on the bike was expected to put whatever money they had into the kitty to help buy the petrol, there were no ifs or but`s, they were rules, and they were rules to die by, no money, no ride.

Once we arrived at the shed, we immediately emptied the pint bottles filled with petrol into the tiger cub's tank, and then we spent up to two hours pushing and bump starting the bike up and down the gully at the back of my house, the bike started to splutter and make, “I may start any second now, noises”, and then to the great joy of everyone there, the bikes spat out a small cloud of smoke and revved to high heaven.

I cannot describe how happy we were at hearing the engine scream into life.

We kept the bike ticking over, and checked the brakes, which was a little late after we had already been pushing it around for hours, the clutch was a little on the stiff side and very aggressive, it was either on or off which resulted in numerous stalls.

But the bike now, would start from the second or third kick, what more can you ask for, after all it was a box of bits, the tiger cub kept us busy for weeks, the only thing stopping us riding was the lack of money to buy petrol, Pat Husman got to know us very well over the following weeks.

But there was a dark cloud on the horizon, the word got out about the bike being ridable and the word spread around the valley, and then out-of-the-blue Non wanted the bike back claiming it was still his bike and that we had only borrowed it, as you can imagine this caused a bit of a stir, and an argument ensued.

In the coming weeks, some older boys approached one of my friends and threatened him concerning The Tiger Cub, they requested in no uncertain terms that we give the bike back to Non, my friend had a couple of slaps off the bigger boys, and he was told to pass the message on or else, I do not know if they were family or friends of Non.

Back then adults were not interested in what they regarded as childish squabbles, it was a totally different world back then, there was no running to your parents or the police, you just had to get on with it, if a parent witnessed something they would intervene, if events were out of their sight, it was down to kids to sort it out themselves.

This changed everything for us, we were younger and smaller, and the bigger stick always wins out, we did not want to get into a fight that we knew we would lose with us getting the worst of it all, we were eventually pressured into giving the bike back to Non and his bullying mates.

But, before these older boys came to take the bike, I removed the pilot jet needle from the carburettor, so the bike would be impossible to start without it, I also removed the push rod from the rear brake assembly and the brake shoes from the brake hub in the front wheel, and to finish of the sabotage I removed the top roller bearings out of the steering column.

We knew when the boys were coming, so we left the bike in the gully, there were four boys in all and Non was not with them, two of the boys sat on the bike and the remaining two pushed the bike down the hill.

We watched them from a distance as they pushed the bike down the hill trying to bump start it, we watched with smiles on our faces as the bike wobbled all over the Gully because of the lack of bearings to help it steer straight, they did not check the bike before they took it away, which was a major mistake and only found out the bike had no brakes when they tried to stop.

They did not get very far, and they`re journey ended very quickly as the bike took them into a drystone garden wall where the riders went arse over tit, best laugh we had for ages.

After the bullies pushed the bike away nursing their bumps and bruises it was the last time, I ever saw the Tiger Cub, it looked like they never worked out how to get the bike started it again.

I lived in a small valley, and it was almost impossible to avoid anyone for any length of time.

A couple of years later, I was with a small group of friends, we were walking up FFaldau hill past the colliery after we had hung around the square for a little while and decided to make our way up to the colliery canteen to have a cheap warm pasty, the canteen was for the miners, so they could pop into the canteen for a mug of tea and a warm pasty or buy the soap they used in the showers or a packet of twist to chew, we visited the canteen mostly on the weekends.

Sometimes in the canteen you could hear the working miners underground communicating with each other over the Tannoyed load speakers, including the bad language they used, I remember the ladies behind the canteen counters would look at us and shake their heads every time this happened.

On this day the canteen was very quiet with only two or three miners covered in coal dust with black coal dust around their eyes like pandas sitting in the canteen drinking tea and chatting to each other.

On this occasion Non tagged along with us, it had been a while since I had bothered with him, we were talking again now, well kind of.

As we walked, we talked about the Tiger Cub, the incident concerning the bike had not been forgotten, well not on my part anyway.

Halfway up the hill walking towards the canteen, Non was hanging back from our main group, he called me towards him, I broke away from my friends, they carried on heading towards the canteen.

Once I approached Non, he squared up to me and said “ let's have it out, and finish it here”, I answered “what you mean”? he said” you know what”, it looked like Non had not forgotten about the bike either.

He said “YOU KNOW WHAT, the tiger cub” he started shouting, he was winding himself up.

I was not aware at the time of the tiger cub incident, but the boys who had taken the bike were not happy that the bike was not working and blamed Non for lying to them, so they gave Non a couple of slaps for messing them around, he was also told by some others that he was out of order for having the bike back after he had given it away.

Non was a little wary of me, because a few weeks earlier I had a fight on a football pitch with another boy, who was a foot taller than me and physically bigger, during the fight I kicked the boy in the knee, which made him fall down forward on to both his knees, while he was down there I punched him repeatedly in the face until he was flat out on the ground screaming at me to stop, this kind of thing happened all the time, it was the kind of world we all lived in at the time.

Non was taller than me, possibly a year or so younger, but he was much bigger than me, he was not known as a fighter, and he knew I was not someone to back down, but I think he fancied his chances, me being smaller, and he had a taller advantage.

By this time my friends had gone out of sight, I walked up to him, he had his fist up ready to fight.

I simply kicked him straight in the balls, this ended the fight before it started, his knees buckled and he kind of crouched down holding onto his balls with both hands, he cried out loud and after a few seconds he said” you kicked me in the balls”, I answered “you started it” my reply was not exactly worthy of an Oscar Wild come back, but it worked for me.

I took a step forward, this made Non scamper away a few yards away from me still holding his balls in his hands and making whimpering noises.

On paper in a fist fight Non had the advantage with his extra height and weight, but I had been dealing with bullies all my short life, and I knew better than to get into a one-to-one fight with someone who had all the advantages.

This did not always work, sometimes I would get the worse end of it, but me being me, I would not back down, to be honest it was the only way I could deal with bullies, I never initiated a fight, but I would not back away from one, my life would have been a world were hell existed every day, I have seen this with some other more timid people, who were afraid to look any older kid in the eyes, that world was not for me, if I had been like that I most probably would never have left my front door, even now I get accused of having little man syndrome, which always makes me laugh, but what comes around, goes around, bullies become bullied as we progress though life, the bullies of yesterday become victim of bullying in later life through work, or at home almost anywhere really, it seems to be a human condition of dominance which is lying dormant inside certain type of people and comes to the surface in weak willed cowards who are missing something from their lives.

Well anyway, there was nothing else do now, but watch Non disappear back down the hill walking like a cowboy who had just dismounted of long cattle drive, he was still holding his nuts, I just turned and headed for the canteen to buy a mug of tea and a warm pasty.

When I caught up with my friends they were already in the canteen, they ask on the whereabouts of Non, I answered that I had kicked him in the balls, and he had run off home.

They did not believe me at first, and asked me again, I said I just told you, he wanted to fight, so I kicked him in the nuts, and he went off down the hill.

They all looked at each other and nothing else was said, Non was forgotten about.

I did see Non a few times around the valley in the coming years, he never spoke to me ever again and would not come more than 10 foot near me, he even crossed the street a number of times, always never making eye contact, I did not attempt to talk to him, he was just another bully that tried picking on someone he thought he could dominate and terrorise, like I say what comes around, goes around.

In my younger years I soon learned that pain is a good teacher and fear is the key to bullying, these cowardly people are more frightened than their victims.

I was smaller than most people of my age and if I had allowed them to run rough shod over me, I would be hiding like a scared rabbit in my home and never go out and enjoy life.

It is surprising how these types of people back off when, they realise you will fight back.

( Photo 3 ) . FFaldau hill with the FFaldau colliery on the left, showing the base of the hill, the photo shows how it begins to get steeper as it rises to its peak, which two skinny 14-year-olds pushing a bike with no brakes found almost impossible to climb, photo taken 1980`s.