The sun was beating down on the welsh valley. The farmer and his few farmhands toiled the soil with immense effort.
The previous years crop had been bountiful, and the optimism of the year was rife among the farmer and the farm hands.
Meanwhile, clandestine behaviour was bubbling in the mine. The elites were making a fortune off the miners. And the miners were struggling to get by.
Living a life of subsistence for their hard labour.
It was the late 18th century and the mines were in full swing. The miners would rarely see the light of day. Guided by whale oil lamps they crevassed the deep dingy dark mine.
Discontent brewed and soon the miners found themselves on a picket line.
The elites resorted to not only removal of pay but attempted to starve them into submission.
All food was cut off from the neighbouring towns no trade was permitted by the order of the English authorities.
The farmer by this time with his band of merry farmers had created a bountiful surplus. And, so,
The farmer offered the food to the striking miners in exchange for a promise that when the strike ended, they would return the cost of the food.
The strike went on for some months and the British colonies were suffering from the absence of the raw materials from the mine.
The British caved in and gave the Welsh miners a meagre pay increase.
Though that meagre pay increase was enough to double the standard of living for the miners.
They rejoiced and lavished themselves in luxuries. The farmer and his family were pleased to have contributed to the miner's success. And eagerly waited to be repaid.
A day went by they were drinking and horsing around with the new-found wealth. A week went by still no return of the cost.
The snide elites began a smear campaign on the farmer knowing that he had been the crutch of the strike the one whom made it all possible.
Playing the miners against him demeaning the farmer and his hard work. Despite both the miner and the farmer tilling the earth. The miners turned away.
The miners colluded and said the farmer gets to see the light of day we never see the light of day let us spend our hard-earned money and forget about his kindness.
A month went by now after giving all that he had earned and worked for in favour of the community and standing up for economic justice the once hero of the village was left alone on his farm.
He couldn't pay the farm hands their wage they too were in dire disappointment. They trundled to the village and demanded that the miners pay the money back.
The miners laughed and said you men see the light of day not like us whom go down that god forsaken mine.
The farmer and his family high on the hill were starving, they looked down on the village below and the Farmer said we did the right thing, yet kindness doesn't put food on the table.
The elite that saw him as the bane of the strike demanded their land tax and took the remaining grain the farmer had for his family.
The farmer looked out across the 18th century village the cobbled roads and the dim lit oil lamps lighting the streets. And said kindness never pay.
I didn't expect much in return but I didn't want to see my family starve. Weakened by the betrayal of his village kin and the days without sustenance his heart gave in.
He died of a broken spirit.
When he had died, and the miners found out there was no jeering and no laughing. There was shame in his death they remembered his good spirit before, during and after the strike.
They remembered he was the bedrock of the community and had helped them achieve so much as well as being the source of most of their food. The Church was full of every member of the community.
The reverend said I should say be ashamed but by the looks on your faces I can see you are. You work in the mines and you rarely see the light of day. Well, you hardly see the light of life...
They all returned some money to the family who had lost the farm. The children and the family gave up the farm and laboured for the church.
The following year there was a famine brought about by the Irish problem. And this time the old farmer was not present to be the crutch of the village.
The miners though with pennies paid their penance.