My father was a Catholic, a coal miner in the Big Pit. My mother a Jew. A charwoman, when she could find the work. They didnt fit in Wales. Nor in the U.K., either. They didnt fit with each other all that well, for that matter. They fought every day for as long as I can remember and loved each other more than anyone Ive ever known. At least they did right up till a night when he looked right and not left at a train crossing in Chepstow and ended up half a mile from where hed started, dead as the Ghost. Looking for a job, he was. Turned out he didnt need one.
