Narrator (0:09)

The hushed voice and the prowling step in the dead of night, the crime that is almost committed, the stir of nerves at the ticking of the clock, the rescue that might be too late, or the murderer who might get away. Mystery and intrigue and dangerous adventure. We invite you to enjoy stories that keep you in suspense. Hello and welcome to Stars on Suspense with another Hollywood legend in radio's outstanding Theater of Thrills. Our leading man this week is Donald Crisp, an English actor whose career on the big screen stretched from the silent era all the way up through the 1960s. During the 30s and 40s, Crisp appeared alongside some of Hollywood's biggest stars as characters both kindly and cruel. He played Elizabeth Taylor's father in National Velvet. He could also be seen in the Seahawk, Mutiny on the Bounty and the Uninvited, but he's perhaps best known for his Oscar winning performance in John Ford's How Green Was My Valley. Donald Crisp made three appearances on Suspense. We'll hear two of them today, beginning with Banquo's Chair originally aired on CBS on June 1, 1943, a show that pairs Crisp with actor John Loder. It's adapted from a story by Rupert Krofft Cook. We've heard a version of this already starring James Mason. It centers on a Scotland Yard inspector who comes up with an ingenious way to close his final unsolved murder case. It involves a dinner party where the prime suspect will be the guest of honor, as well as a supernatural interruption to the meal. Two interesting notes of trivia for this episode. First, Messrs. Crisp and Loder would star in an encore production of Banquo's Chair a year later on Suspense. And second, this episode begins with a brief message to listeners explaining the end of Sorry, Wrong Number, the classic suspense play that had aired for the first time the week before. Due to a flubbed queue at the climax, some members of the audience were confused as to how the show ended. It's great that CBS provided this explanation, but somehow the ending of Sorry, Wrong Number loses something when it's being dryly summarized and not being performed by Agnes Moorhead. Then we'll hear Donald Crisp in Another Suspense two hander. He co stars with Thomas Mitchell in Case History of Edgar Lowndes. Originally aired On CBS on June 8, 1944, just a few days after the D Day landing, and announcer Frank Martin gives a heads up that the show will be interrupted with any breaking news from the front. Mitchell plays a railroad tycoon whose frequent bad dreams and headaches compel him to visit a psychiatrist played by Donald Crisp. As their sessions play out, the sinister reasons for the tycoon's troubles become apparent. And finally, we'll hear Donald Crisp recreate his Oscar winning role as the Screen Guild Theater presents How Green Was My Valley. Originally aired on CBS on March 22, 1942. But first, you're invited to a dinner party you won't soon forget. We'll kick things off with Donald Crisp in Banquo's chair right after these messages. All work and no play makes Jill a tired housekeeper. But any homemaker can have enjoyable leisure time to spend as she likes when she depends on the three great Linux home brighteners, those efficient new shortcuts to the care of woodwork, furniture and floors. Linax Clear Gloss, the modern brush on finish, Linex Cream Polish for fine furniture and Linax Self Polishing Wax, the amazing new quick drying wax product. Yes, the three great Linax home brighteners are the modern way to save household drudgery. They'll do your work in record time and do it with spick and span thoroughness. So start now to enjoy new leisure. Ask your hardware, paint or department store for the three great Linux home brighteners. The efficient shortcuts to new home beauty. Here's a poor chap who could be anyone you know. Including you, Francis. What are you doing stretched out on the couch? You better get ready if you're going to that meeting. I'll have to miss it tonight. Too much supper. My stomach's got me down. Well, don't blame supper. You stuffed yourself like a glutton. I'm not just stuffed, I feel awful. I can imagine. You've got a good old fashioned upset stomach and I've got just the thing for it. Pepto Bismol. Oh, I don't want to take anything. I can't afford to stay home tomorrow. You won't have to. Pepto Bismol is not like that. It won't add to your upset, but will help to soothe and calm it very quickly. Oh, nothing could be that good. No, just try it. Here. Take a good swallow of Pepto Bismol and you'll begin to feel better in no time. Why, you might even get to that meeting tonight. After all, Pepto Bismol is a gentler, better way to help an upset stomach. In fact, it's better in many ways. Pepto Bismol helps bring relief almost from the first moment. It begins to calm and quiet the upset right away. Then, because the Pepto Bismol formula is gentle and soothing, it doesn't interfere with normal digestion and doesn't add to the upset. Yes, Pepto Bismol is the dependable, speedy, pleasant tasting way to care for common stomach disturbances. Remember this when your stomach's upset, don't add to the upset. Take Pepto Bismol to soothe it, calm it and feel good again. Make your bath a real pleasure and a beauty bath at the same time. With white floating Swan soap you can because Swan's exclusive super creamed blend gives you a wonderful new kind of beauty lather for your bath. Rich, creamy lather that cleanses gently then rinses away so completely your skin. Skin is left fresh, smooth, lovely as ever. Yes, it's the perfect bath soap. Super creamed Swan soap. And now a tale well calculated. To keep you in suspense. In just a moment, CBS will present its weekly program of the world's outstanding thrillers. Suspense. Before we begin, the producer as feels it incumbent upon him to reply herewith to the many inquiries concerning the solution of last week's story of the woman on the telephone called. Sorry, wrong number. Due to a momentary confusion in the studio. An important line cue was delivered at the wrong time. And some of our listeners were uncertain as to the outcome of the story for them. Be it known that the woman so remarkably played by Miss Agnes Moorhead. Was murdered by a man whom her husband had hired to do the job. We should also like to announce that in response to many hundreds of requests. This suspense play will be repeated within a few weeks. And now, this is the man in Black here again to introduce our performance tonight of suspense. Our stars this evening are two distinguished gentlemen from the Hollywood sound stages. Mr. Donald Crisp and Mr. John Loder. Mr. Crisp and Mr. Loder are here to enact for us a strange and startling drama. In which they, in the interest of justice, made use of an unusual method. To wring a confession of guilt from a criminal. The story is by Rupert Croft, cook. And is called Banquo's Chair. And so with Banquo's Chair and the performances of Donald Crisp as Sir William Brent. And John Loder as Arthur Grange, Sir William's friend, who relates the story to us. We again hope to keep you in suspense. I would like you to look at this photograph. It's the picture of Sir William Brent, ex head of the English Criminal Investigation. I knew Sir William well, and he always terrified me. Not in the sense that he was brutal or evil. He was none of that. But look at that cold face. Particularly his eyes when he looked at you. You flushed with Guilt. Every misdeed you ever committed in your life floated over your face. A glance from him made you feel as if you were stark naked. He saw you with all your defenses down. Sir William was the scourge of criminals. Coldly unemotional, utterly without fear or passion. He tracked them down mercilessly and never lost a case. There was no feeling in him, no pity, no hate. Nothing but terrifying, cold intelligence. And he was deadly to everyone he went after. I'm gonna tell you about his last case. A case that. Well, even recalling it sends real shudders through me. I swear it's true. I saw it with my own eyes. I wish I never had. I witnessed it in all its dreadful details. One night at the club, about 11 o'clock, a boy came up to me. Telegram for you, sir. I ripped open the envelope and read the telegram. Dear Arthur, will you come and dine with me at Turret House, Sydenham on Thursday? There will be several guests and I think I can promise you an unforgettable evening. It was signed by Sir William Brent. I was annoyed. I don't like to receive telegrams so late in the evening. And so William could easily have phoned. Unless he didn't want to go into details with me. I decided to phone him. Hello? Hello, this is Arthur Grange calling. Yes, I know. Did you receive my telegram? Yes, Sir William. What's all the mystery about? Well, I'll tell you about it on Thursday. Are you coming? Yes, I'll be there. Very good. I particularly want you to be there. You sound so mysterious. I'm thinking of coming armed or bringing several bodyguards? No, won't be necessary to bring any bodyguards. But you'd better come armed. Well, armed, yes. Bring a revolver. Good night. Early Thursday evening I made my way to Turret House. A windy November rain slashed at the streets. Turret House is a huge red brick, unpleasantly somber mansion. An ugly product of Queen Victoria's time. There it squatted, back of the road, almost hidden to view by several dripping pine trees. The neighborhood had known better days. I walked up along the unkept path until I reached the great oaken door. I let the knocker fall once or twice and the door opened. Good evening, Mr. Grange. I was waiting for you. Hello, Lane. Nasty night, sir, isn't it? There's not much warmer in here. There's a fire in the dining room, sir. Whatever made Sir William move into this draughty dungeon? Oh, we haven't moved in, sir. It's only temporary, Sir William. Just rented. We still live in the West End. I see. Have Any of the other guests arrived? Yes, Mr. Grange, Ms. Stone is here. Ms. Stone? Yes, the mystery writer. This way, Mr. Grange. I'll show you to the dining room. Sir William will be down shortly. Oh, hello. I'm Roberta Stone. How do you do? I'm Arthur Grange, an old friend of Sir William. Yes, I know. I've read some of your mystery stories and enjoyed them very much. Thank you. Mr. Grange, just what is going on here tonight? I don't know. Sir William sounded awfully mysterious. But then, I've known Sir William for a long time. He never lets anyone down. If anything, he understates. I know. He told me to come armed. He told me the same thing. Here's my gun. I must admit I've never fired it in my life. This house is certainly a proper background for anything unpleasant. It's already been the scene of a crime. Oh? What crime? Murder. A particularly unpleasant one. Really? I must say, the murderer couldn't have picked a more ideal spot. Isn't it a fact? You know, I once wrote a story. Good evening, Roberta. Yes, Arthur. I'm glad you're both on time. Hello, Sir William. Hello. A nice apartment you have here. A sort of mausoleum and dining room combined. You're a bit afraid, aren't you? Of course not. Why should I be? Your eyes give you away. What's all this about? You invite us to this godforsaken dungeon and tell us to come armed. Don't be upset, Arthur. I'm sure you'll come out of this all right. You mean we may be in some danger? Naturally. I wouldn't tell you to come armed otherwise. Who is this other guest, Sir William? There are two more guests. But first we'll have a drink, and then I'll tell you both all about it. Lane. Yes, Sir William? Will you serve the drinks? Yes, sir. Now, I'll tell you what's going to happen tonight. This house, turret house, was the scene of the Sydenham murder. A very famous case. Yes, I know about it. That's right. No offense, old man, but wasn't it the only case you never sold? You're wrong, Arthur. I solved the Sydenham case. But I couldn't bring the criminal to justice because of insufficient evidence. You mean you knew who the murderer was? Oh, yes, of course. It was the nephew. The police knew it, too. Then why in the world didn't you bring the case to a conclusion? Because the nephew had an absolute and unimpeachable alibi. To have arrested him would have meant waste of time and money and release in the end. Besides, according to English law, a man discharged can never be arrested again on the same murder charge. Well, this is all very fascinating. Has it anything to do with our being here tonight? Yes, Roberta, it has. In a short while, the nephew, John Bedford, will be here to dine with us. And oh yes, the victim, Ms. Ferguson. What? Well, wait. You mean Ms. Ferguson wasn't actually murdered? Ms. Ferguson is quite dead. Has been dead these two years. You mean you're going to have the body of Ms. Ferguson here at dinner? Oh, this is a little too much. If you'll excuse me, I'll dine elsewhere tonight. Not so fast, Roberta. Perhaps you'd better wait until you hear the rest of the story. This promises to be a very gay dinner. Oh, yes. Now, as you both know, I've never lost a case except the Siddon murder, which will be finished tonight. Now, I'm an egotist. I don't believe there's a criminal in all England that can outwit me. As a matter of fact, I've resigned from the criminal investigation for the sole reason of trapping Mr. John Bedford. It's hard to believe. Well, I told you I was an egotist. No criminal has beaten me yet. And no one ever will. You have an awful lot of patience. Infinite patience. I devoted two years to this case. And now that my moment of triumph has arrived, I wanted to have some witnesses. A writer who will record the event, and an admirer who will applaud with awe the trickiness of my scheme. Well, if it's as gruesome as I think it is, I won't be here to watch it. Oh, yes, you will. Horror has a way of fascinating and hypnotizing people. Besides, Arthur, you'd be ashamed to run out now. I'll stay, of course. So will I. Good. Now, before I tell you my scheme, let me first acquaint you with the details of the murder exactly two years ago tonight. Old Ms. Ferguson. Where is that foolish maid? Yes, Ms. Ferguson? Why don't you answer when I call? I was in the kitchen, ma'am. It's after 10 o'clock. You should be on your way home. I was just about to leave. Has my nephew called? No, ma'am. Mr. Bedford hasn't called since yesterday. I told him he couldn't come in, just like you said. I don't ever want to see him again. He's no good. He's an evil man who will come to an evil end. You're never to let him in here, Hilda. He won't ever come in this house, if I can help it. No, ma'am. Now, you'd better run along and make sure all the doors are bolted. Yes, ma'am. Good night, Ms. Ferguson. Good night, Hilda. A pity about that nephew of mine. I'll change my will. Won't leave him a penny, I won't. In the morning, I'll change the will. That's. Who's there? Who is it? I. Aunt Martha. Your own affectionate nephew. What are you doing in my house? You're not at all pleased to see me. You're only living relative, too. I'd like you to leave at once or call the police, Uncle. I'd rather not, Auntie. I want to have a talk with you. You don't want to talk to me. All you want is money. Yes, Auntie, I do want money, and lots of it. You've got all the money you'll ever get out of me. You won't even get a penny after I die. I'll see to that. Perhaps you'll appreciate the value of money after you've worked for it. You know, Auntie, you're. You're wearing gloves. What are you up to? I've made up my mind. What are you doing? Keep away. You're an old woman. All that money's no good for you. Can never use it. I'm young, and money means life to me. A rich and gay life. You're old, and you're going to die soon anyway. No. No, it can't be. You're not going to do that. Yes, Auntie, I am. You don't want to live anywhere. You're lonely, you're sick. And you're old. I'm going to do you a favor. You. Nobody can hear you now. I'm your heir. Your only heir, Auntie. Your next of kin. The estate is going to be mine. All of it. Now, don't you worry, Auntie. We'll have a fine funeral for you. That's pretty much the way old Ms. Ferguson was murdered. Oh, how ghastly. Hilda found the body the next morning. I immediately went to work on the case. All the evidence pointed to John Bedford. Everyone believed he committed the crime. He almost admitted it himself. I had him brought to my office for questions. Oh, hello, Bedford. Come in. Thank you, sir. How'd you do? Cigarette? Oh, thank you. Well, how does it feel to kill your own aunt? May I have a light, please? Yes, of course. Thank you. I wouldn't know, Sir William. You see, I never killed anyone. Have you? I have, Mr. Bedford. And I've sent quite A few to the gallows, I understand. What was your relationship to Ms. Ferguson? She was my aunt. Don't be flippant. Flippancy only proves your guilt. Well, to tell you the truth, my aunt didn't like me. She thought I was a spendthrift and a useless parasite. And she was quite right. Would you mind telling me where you were the night your aunt was murdered? Not at all. In jail. I had drunk a little too much and gotten into a bit of a tiff with someone, that's all. Have you ever been arrested for drunkenness before? Never, Sir William. This was my first offence. It's quite an alibi. Quite a fact. It would hardly be possible for me to be in jail and kill my aunt at the same time, you know. Unless, of course, my aunt came into my cell and allowed me to murder her. After which she walked back to Turret House as a ghost. Dragging her body behind her. According to my reports, Mr. Bedford, you drink very little. No one who knows you has ever seen you drunk before. You probably got drunk in joyful anticipation of murdering your aunt. As a thoroughgoing criminal investigator, don't you think you ought to check my story? I already have. You've done a very skillful job. Too bad you couldn't use your talents for something constructive. Well, why don't you arrest me, sir William? No, Mr. Bedford. I have time. Plenty of time. Well, you'd better work fast. By the time you get around to me, I'll have spent all of my aunt's beautiful money. It's not the money we're after. It's you. Your beautiful life. Good day, Mr. Bedford. That's how matters stood. I refused to let any of my men arrest him. But how in the world could he have murdered his aunt while he was in jail? Perhaps he bribed the prison guard to let him out for an hour. Yes, Roberta, I believe he did. Unfortunately, the guard died of pneumonia soon afterwards. Which left us no further source of evidence. As far as I can see at the moment, Sir William, you haven't a leg to stand on. You're quite right, Arthur, I haven't. Except that every man, particularly a criminal, has an Achilles heel. I discovered John Bedford's weakness. What is it? He's superstitious. And it annoyed me tremendously that John Bedford was my first failure. Here was a clever, calloused criminal who laughed at me. No one had ever done that before. Bedford knew I could do him no harm, and he made the most of it. Carefully and patiently, I thought it over. I looked upon Bedford as you Would look on a Chinese puzzle. There is no such thing as an impregnable defense. A few months later, I went to visit Bedford. Well, Sir William Brent, what a surprise. Won't you come in, please? Thank you, Mr. Bedford. Well, I'm honored to have the great Sir William Brent pay me a visit. You're not after any more clues, I hope. It gets rather tedious, you know. No, not at all. I know when I'm licked. Well, I don't want to appear smug, sir, but everyone has his Waterloo. Would you have a drink? No, thanks. I suppose you're curious about why I came here. Well, I'd hardly imagine it was a friendly visit. On the contrary, it is. You see, I admire brilliant people, no matter what they're calling. Oh, you're very flattering, Sir William. I've resigned from the criminal investigation. I'm a private citizen now. Yes, I've heard about that. Most people misunderstand me. It wasn't my love for justice that made me pursue my profession with such tenacity and success. With the sole exception of your case, of course. It was a game of skill to me. My wits against all comers. I lost in your case. But then we've all got to lose some time, haven't we? I don't believe you, Sir William. You're still out to get me. Well, there isn't much of a chance, is there? I'm afraid not, Sir William. I've kept out of trouble so far. Knock wood. That's an odd habit for a man like you, knocking on wood. You're not superstitious, are you? Of course not. Just a habit since I was a child. I see. Well, now to the reason for my visit. I noticed in the papers that you're looking for a tenant for turret house. Yes, I am. I'd like to rent it. Well, the scene of the crime. Well, of course, why not? There's no harm in it. As a matter of fact, I'll let you have it very cheaply. And that's how I rented this house. The house where the murder was committed. Well, what's your plan? It had better be a good one. Mr. Bedford sounds like a hard customer. Yes, it's a strange plan, but an effective one. I saw Bedford frequently. Our acquaintance blossomed into a kind of friendship. An armed friendship. Of course. He knew I was out to get him. And I wanted him to know that he's vain. Very vain. And this game intrigued him. I also learned that he was very superstitious, although he denied it vigorously. Tonight is the anniversary of the murder. And tonight Mr. Bedford dines with us at 8:00. It's nearly 8 now. Now, this is the plan. You know May Wakefield, of course. She's the famous Shakespearean actress. That's right. During dinner, she will enter the room in the Precise likeness of Ms. Ferguson, the murdered woman. We of course, will pretend not to see her. We remain outwardly unconscious of her. Only Bedford will be aware of her presence. I believe Bedford will confess. I'd imagine he'd keep away on this night. Especially if it's the anniversary. He's giddy with success. And also the fact that Roberta Stone, the famous writer, is here with us tweaks his vanity. He'll be here promptly. I don't like this. Well, this is just like one of your stories. It doesn't become you to be frightened. I won't run away. Well, there's one more thing. During dinner, the electric lights will be switched off at the main and candles will be lit. We must have the correct atmosphere, you understand? Now, you're not to see May Wakefield. She doesn't exist for us. Is that clear? I'll look right through her. Oh, it gives me the creeps. That I am sure is our Mr. Bedford. The appearance of John Bedford suddenly made the whole scene grimly real. He was a tall, well built man in his late 30s, immaculately dressed and perfectly groomed. At first sight his face seemed pleasant enough. But on closer scrutiny, his gray eyes were hard and cold. He looked us over, all of us, with arrogance and superiority. I heartily wished I was elsewhere. This was one scene I had no desire to witness. After the introductions were over, we sat down to dinner. Is it still nasty outside, Mr. Bedford? Yes, and getting worse. Looks like we're in for a few days of this. Too bad. I was going to do some writing tomorrow. The soup is excellent. Yes, your cook should be congratulated, son. The soup's a masterpiece. Poor Alice. She's been my cook for 20 years, but she's given me notice. Absolutely refuses to stay here. Says this house is haunted. Sir Roberta, this might make an interesting story for you. Yes, William, you should speak to her. Alice swears that she has seen the figure of an elderly lady with finger marks on her throat walking about this house. Come now, Sir William, this is too good. Such an obvious attempt to frighten me. Sir William is convinced that I murdered my aunt. Please, William, a little more subtlety. Surely I deserve it. Perhaps the cook did see the figure. As you very well know, Mr. Bedford, I don't believe in ghosts and I'm sure my cook never saw this elderly figure. It's all in her mind. Well, I'm afraid your little attempt didn't work, sir. But I must admire your graceful admittance of its failure. I suppose I'd better give up, shouldn't I? Oh, no, no, no. Never give up. If at first you don't succeed, you know. Do you live very far from here, Mr. Benson? Thank you, Ms. Stone, but there's no need to change the topic. I hope you find this game as amusing as I do. I'm sorry, Mr. Bedford, but this isn't my idea of pleasant dinner conversation. Oh, we'll talk of pleasant things then. I saw a very exciting play last night. Excuse me a moment. It's really fearfully hot in here. Do you mind if we get a little air, please? Oh, I'm sorry. It is rather warm. Lane, open one of the windows, please. Yes, sir. Awful weather, isn't it? Yes. I don't know how we're going to get home, really. That's a bad month of the year. I'd intended to go to the Riviera. What's the matter, Lane? What on earth is wrong with the lights? I don't know, sir. Well, don't stand there. Light the candles. We can't sit here in the darkness. And get the chauffeur. He knows something about electric lights. I'll call the chauffeur right away, sir. I'm terribly sorry about this. We've had trouble with the wiring before. The chauffeur will have it fixed in a few moments. Now, let's get on with our dinner. If this is one of your tricks, Sir William. I will have some more wine, Mr. Bedford. It was a tense and terrible moment. I looked at Roberta. She was pale and frightened. Bedford, for all his poise, was uneasy. He didn't know whether Sir William was planning anything or whether this was really an accident. My heart was pounding away and my palms were moist with perspiration. Only Sir William appeared cool. There was not a trace of emotion in his face. Oh, Mr. Bedford. You were saying about visiting the Riviera? It's quite a change from England at this time of year. I suppose I'll make the trip next month when I. What's the matter, Mr. Bedford? Nothing. Nothing at all. I. I wish we could have some light. Rather difficult to see. I'm terribly sorry this had to happen just at dinner. Have a little more wine, Mr. Bedford? Yes. Yes, thank you. The figure of a woman had entered the room. She had come in silently, like a Ghost. We all saw her, but not one of us moved or made a sign of recognition. In the dim candlelight, she looked ghostly and unreal. Bedford looked at all of us to see if we also had seen the figure. But we ate our dinner grimly. He looked again, then shook his head and gulped more wine. Don't any of you see anything? See what, Mr. Bedford? This is another one of your tricks. Can't any of you see her? What's got into you, Bedford? It's my aunt. My aunt. Perhaps you've had too much to drink. Your aunt's dead, Mr. Bedford. You're not seeing ghosts, I hope. Perhaps I drank too much. Yes, of course. She's coming toward me. Calm yourself. I've never seen you like this. There's no one else here. Do you see anyone, Roberta? No. No, Sir William. I don't either. I'm leaving. I can't make you out, Bedford. You don't seem to be drunk. You're not wearing your gloves today, John. She's real. Claudette. If you see her, can't you hear her? What's come over you, Bedford? I'm leaving here. She's at the door. She won't let me out. Now. I'm an old woman. Money is nowhere good for me. I'm lonely, John. I'm lonely. Let me pry on. Mouth. Out of my way. There's no one in your way, Bedford. Come sit down. Get away from that door. I'll murder you again. Dear me and mother. I'll murder you again. You always. I'll murder you again. All right, switch on the lights. Now, Officer Graham. Come along. What? Arrest him. You've heard the confession. Put the handcuffs on him. I've got him, sir. I have never seen anything so horrible. Well, Bedford, it seems that I finally caught up with you. I'll kill her again. I'll kill her again. That wasn't your aunt. It was May Wakefield, the actress. I'll kill her again. I'll kill her again. Take him away, Graham. He's in a state of shock. Well, shall we continue with our dinner? I hope you're fully satisfied, Sir William. Quite. It's been a long job, but it has ended as I knew it would. I'm most grateful to you both for your help. I thought it was a pretty grim affair. Oh, your methods repel me. But I suppose you know your job. May Wakefield certainly knew hers. That was a finest piece of acting I've ever seen. Her makeup was incredibly good. We must congratulate her. She's probably gone to her room. Lane. Yes, sir? Please call Miss Wakefield. Miss Wakefield, sir? Yes. The lady who's been assisting us this evening. Well, I look for her, sir. Yes. Tell her to come down and join us. We have a fine dinner waiting for her. Excuse me, sir. This telegram came a little while ago. I didn't want to disturb you during dinner. Oh, yes. Let me have it. Good heavens. Sir William, what's wrong? I'll read it to you. Severe influenza makes it impossible for me to leave my bed tonight. Will tomorrow night do? Signed, May Wakefield. Lord help us. If it wasn't May Wakefield, Then who was that figure here tonight? There was no answer. I looked at Sir William staring at the telegram. His face was gray and stony. On his left temple, a crooked blue vein stood out. It twitched once or twice and then was motionless. He looked as though he'd seen a ghost. And so closes Banquo's chair, starring Donald Crisp and John Loder. Tonight's tale of suspense. Now, you may want to make a note of a change of time in these programs. Beginning next Tuesday, suspense will be heard a half hour later or 10 to 10:30 Eastern war time. This is your narrator, the man in black, who conveys to you Columbia's invitation To spend this half hour in suspense with us at our new time next Tuesday, when Vincent Price, Ona Munson and OSA Masson will star in the suspense play Five Canaries in the Room. The producer of these broadcasts is William Smith Spear, with Ted Bliss, the director, Lud Gluskin and Lucian Marowick, conductor and composer, and Sigmund Miller, the radio author, collaborated on tonight's suspense. This is cbs, the Columbia Broadcasting System. In the event of any important news developments, the sponsor will interrupt this program. Roma Wines presents suspense. Roma wines made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. Salud. Your health, senor. Roma wines toast the world. The wine for your table is Roma wine made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. The Roma Wine Company of Fresno, California, welcomes you again to this weekly half hour of suspense. Tonight, from Hollywood, Roma Wines bring you as stars two of the screen's most distinguished actors. Mr. Thomas Mitchell and Mr. Donald Crisp. They appear this evening in a play written for suspense by Robert Tallman, in which psychiatry is called upon to deal with a sick mind which has unknowingly been tempted thrice by murder. And so, at the performance of Thomas Mitchell as the millionaire tycoon Edgar Lowndes. And of Donald Crisp as the psychiatrist Dr. Aronson, we again hope to keep you in suspense. Yes, there's Mr. Edgar Lowndes. Here to see you, Dr. Aronson. Lowndes. Lowndes. Edgar Lowndes. When did we get him for patient? I. I think you'd better talk to him, Doctor. Yes, and I think he'd have to go through the usual routine. I don't go through usual routines. I'm Edgar Lowndes. I dare say you've heard the name before, Doctor. And who hasn't? Edgar Lowndes, the railroad magnate. Sit down, sir. Thank you. Well, I'm a man of a few words, doctor. Frankly, I'm at my wit's end. Why, if my business associates had any idea I was consulting a psychoanalyst, I'd be lapped off the floor of the stock exchange. But we'll never mind that. It's these headaches, doctor, I've been having. And aspirin, codeine, nothing seems to help. How long has this been going on? Little over a month. Since the death of my wife, in fact. We were very attached, you know. Very attached. Her death was a shock to you? No, I wouldn't say a shock precisely. She's been an invalid for years. Bad heart. Wasn't so much what happened the night she died, but the way it happened. Oh, but why shoot off my mouth to you about it? I've told the story a thousand times till everybody's sick of hearing it. Well, perhaps you haven't told all the story even yet. Well, as a matter of fact, that's the truth, doctor. There's one little thing I left out. But the funny part of that is I didn't know it myself till yesterday. And what was that? Well, I was dressing for dinner. I was getting ready to go out when in comes my wife's servant. You know, her nurse. She's all aflutter about something. El, Mr. Lowndes, I hope you will forgive me for bursting in like this, but Mrs. Lowndes. Yes, yes, speak to me. Well, she's resting quite well, Mr. Lowndes. But she did have that little attack this afternoon and I can't be here this evening. And what with the servants night out being tonight, I thought. Yes, you thought I'd better stay with her, and I certainly will. Now, you just go along about your business. I look after Mrs. Lowndes personally. I knew you'd see it that way. You're a good, considerate man, Mr. Lowndes. Edgar. Feeling a little rocky, darling? Well, old Edgar's not going to let you down. Not even if it means losing that war contract. Oh, I'm going to sit right here with you. Sweetheart and Lowndes Reed and Company can go hang. Oh, no, Edgar. There's no reason for you to stay. Really, there isn't. Just the same. I'm going to stay right here with my little wife this evening. Really, Edgar, it's not necessary. If you'll just get the brown bottle out of the medicine chest, the digitalis. And leave it here by my bed with a glass of water. And leave you here alone in this big house feeling the way you do? Not much. Not for 100 war contracts. Now, Edgar, do as I say. Just leave the medicine here by my bed and everything will be all right. Now, go on, darling, and do as I say, please. It's the brown pot. Now, Dr. Aronson, what would you have done under the circumstances? After all, I'd left her alone before and nothing had happened. And this dinner was important in a business way. That night was my big chance. Your big chance? Yes, I suppose it was. Well, to make a long story short, she died while I was out. Now, if only I'd stayed with her. That's what I kept telling myself. And people I told the story to kept telling me that I shouldn't reproach myself. After all, it could have happened to anyone. And then yesterday. Yesterday, I was packing up her things and I came across this bottle in the medicine cabinet. It was the digitalis. I'd left the wrong bottle by her bedside. That was what drove me nearly crazy, Doctor, finding that bottle. It was bad enough leaving her alone, but making a blunder like that on the medicine, why, it made me feel almost like I, you know, I murdered her. But as you say, it was your big chance, huh? What do you mean? What are you trying to tell me? You mean you think I wanted to get rid of her? You say that, Mr. Lowndes. I didn't. But I see our time is up. I can't talk to you anymore today. Oh, but you've got to. You can't leave me up in the air like this. Why, you practically accused me of wanting to murder my wife. Perhaps we'll understand your feelings towards your wife better, Mr. Lowndes, when we've discussed the others. What others? Hey, what are you trying to give me relief, Mr. Lowndes, for those headaches of yours? Tonight, for suspense, Roma Wines are bringing you as stars Mr. Thomas Mitchell and Mr. Donald Crisp, whom you have heard in the first act of case history on Edgar Lowndes. Tonight's tale of suspense. Far from the scene we have just left. Far to the south, across the equator, is another scene I ask you to visit with me. It's just before the dinner hour on the beautiful roof terrace cafe of the Hotel Metropolitano of Guayaquil, Ecuador. We're finishing our appetizers. An excellent sherry. And lifting your glass, you remark to our host that you envy him such wine. He laughs. You're very kind, he says, but I'm afraid the compliment is misdirected. It is your own California you must praise for this splendid wine. And then he holds the bottle up and looking at the label, you see Roma California Sherry. This could easily happen in many far countries where discerning tastes have found Roma wines a luxury imported and treasured. For these are in every sense fine wines, excellent in flavor and character from the rich vineyard country of California, products of age old skills in winemaking, aided by modern scientific quality controls and tests. And here in the United States, Roma wines cost astonishingly little, mere pennies a glassful. Because here there is no import duty to pay, no overseas shipping costs. Such enjoyable flavor and quality, such low cost, such high wine value, have won tremendous popularity for Roma wines. They are by far America's largest selling wines, enjoyed by millions with meals. When entertaining anytime to enjoy these delights yourself, ask for R O M a Roma wine made in California for enjoyment throughout the world. And now it is with pleasure that we bring back to our soundstage Donald Crisp as Dr. Aronson and Thomas Mitchell in the title role of Case history on Edgar Lowndes, a tale well calculated to keep you in suspense. He's outside now, Doctor. Here are your notes on the case. Oh, good. Just leave them here on the desk. And. Oh, Miss Finchley. Yes, Doctor? From now on, when Mr. Lowndes is in the consultation room, I want you to keep an eye on my private office. Make sure that the recording equipment is in operation at all times. I want a record of every word he says in his own voice. Is this a criminal case, Dr. Aronson? I don't know yet. But hadn't you ought to. I'm sorry, Doctor. You can let him come now. If you will, Miss Finchley. Yes, Dr. Anson. The doctor will see you now, Mr. Lowndes. Thank you. Well, well, here I am again. Surprised to see me? How are the headaches, Mr. Lowndes? Well, sir, they evaporated just like that. I slept like a top. Don't know how you did it, but you sold me on this psychiatry deal. So I thought while we were at a doctor, I might as well straighten out a couple of other little things that have been worrying me. I rather Thought there were others. Now, listen, Doctor, don't start talking of riddles again. Maybe you were right. Maybe I did want my wife to die. Unconsciously, of course. Well, why not? She'd been an invalid for years. Always complaining, never really getting anything out of life. Yes, sir. After I left your office yesterday, I thought the whole thing over and I said to myself, edgar Lowndes, you look at this thing squarely. Maybe you killed her. Maybe leaving the wrong medicine by her bed that night was not so much of an accident as you think it was. So what? You did her a favor. You did yourself a favor. She never really loved you anyway. If Jim Bascom. Who's Jim Bascom? Why, he died in a railroad accident. We were brakemen together on the old nickel plate road. Jim and me were like twins. Roomed together, worked together, liked the same thing. Even fell in love with the same girl. Why, I remember the night of Happy. We believe you're on the Megan. We better climb on top, Ed. It's our signal. Hey, wait a minute, Jim. There's Virginia. Ah, bless her heart. I knew she'd come to see us. I'll hurry up, sweetheart. Oh, dear, Dad, I was afraid I'd be too late. There's not a trail in the whole nigger plate line. You would hole up for us, Virginia? Oh, Jim. Maybe. Hey, what about a kiss for me, too? Why, Edgar, you're jealous, I do believe. Well, why not? There, how's that? Like my own sister. Oh, come on, Ed. They're getting impatient up there. You've got to tell him this time. You hear me, Jim? Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell him. I promise. Virginia. Hey, come on, Jim. Coming, Ed. Coming. One more kiss, baby. Oh, darling. My darling. Take care of yourself, Jim. I will, baby. Don't forget to send out the invitations. I knew when I saw him kiss her like that it was all up for me with Virginia. Jim told me when we were crossing the divide he and Virginia were going to be married the minute they got back to Milwaukee. We were carrying an extra heavy load that hall. And when we started down the pass. Dad, for the Lord's sake, watch me close. Don't turn your wheel till you see me turn mine. Run jolt the way this train's rolling down the grade and we'll all land in the ravine. Sure, Jim. Don't worry. I gotta be in good shape for that weapon, remember? Yeah. Yeah, I remember. I watched him walk back along the cars. It was pretty dark and I had a cinder in my eyes. Since we left Salita, I thought I Saw him reach the brake wheel on the other car and signal to me. I grabbed the wheel in front of me and braked my car with all the strength of my body. We rolled free of the car behind. The coupling on Jim's car had broken. The light changed as we forced the switch and the runaway cars braced out and a dead end spur. I saw Jim's body jolt free of the splintering car and hurtle out over the gorge. Just then we plunged into a tunnel. I never found Jim's body. Well, so you can see why I think of trains in connection with death, can't you, doctor? Yes, yes, the association is quite clear. Uh huh. Now, you're thinking I killed Jim too, aren't you? Isn't that what you're thinking? Is that what you're thinking, Mr. Lowndes? I don't know what to think. Say, what are you trying to do to me anyway? I came here to get professional advice. You're trying to drive me crazy. If that's the way you feel, perhaps you'd better try another doctor. I will, by George, I will. That's just what I'll do. Well, good luck, Mr. Lowndes, huh? No hard feelings? Of course not. And you won't tell anybody about. About. Why, what is it? Mr. Lowndes, you're trembling. There it is again. It's happening again, doctor. Say, doctor, you've got to help me. You've got to forget what I said about getting another doctor. I need help, Mr. Lowndes. Calm yourself. What is it? What's happening again? I'm hearing it again. The train. Like in the dream. Make it go away, doctor. But I hear it too, Mr. Lowndes. It's just the commuting train that passes over the bridge out there. Look out of the window. You can see it. Oh, of course. Thank heaven. I thought the dream had. You never told me about a dream before. No, and I'm not going to. You know too much already. Yes, Mr. Lowndes. I'm afraid you're right. I know too much already. And I have kept a complete record of each interview with this patient by means of a recording machine concealed in my private office. There is no doubt that the patient has twice committed murder unconsciously. And on the day the patient stopped the analysis, he exhibited hysterical symptoms which were brought on by the sound of a railroad train. Yes. Go on from there, Ms. Finchley. New paragraph. The train is a death symbol for this man and appears to be the subject of a recurrent dream. The danger of the present situation lies in the fact that the patient's unconscious impulses have been brought to the surface without being rationalized. There is, in my opinion, a positive danger that the patient, in his present condition may commit one or even more conscious murders. Particularly should he take it into his head to board a railroad train. Yes, sir? Pardon me, but I. I noticed you were traveling alone too and I wondered if you'd like to join me in a little game of cards. Oh, well, that's a great idea. Come on in. Thank you, thank you. Railroads of my Line. Edgar Lowndes, not E.J. lawrence. Oh, this is in the nature of an honor, sir. You're something of a tycoon, Mr. Longs. Thanks. My name's Ellis. Neckwear is my line, Mr. Ellis. Say, I could use a couple of neckties. Got any samples with you? Oh, sure thing, Mr. Lance. Right here in this case. There you answer. Take your pick. Compliments of the Swallagon Cravat Company. Now, this one strikes my fancy. Well, go ahead, take it. See any others you like? Well, let me think. Oh, there's another three under there. Say, hey, look out the window. There. See it? I don't see anything. What are you doing? Come on. So his line was neckwear, was it, sir? Pardon me, but I noticed you were traveling alone, sir, and I wondered if you'd like to join me in a little game of cards. Oh, that's a good idea. Come in, Come in, come in. My name's Jenkins. Cutlery's my line. Knives, scissors and surgical instruments. What's your line? Police of five Midwestern states are on the lookout tonight for. For the homicidal maniac who stalked the corners of the Lightning Express transcontinental luxury train claiming the total of three victims murdered in cold blood. Edgar J. Lowndes, an executive of the railroad who was aboard the train on the fatal night has posted a personal reward of $50,000 to anyone giving information leading to the arrest of the murderer. Well, it happened. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, doctor. Even if you'd sent your report to the police, there wasn't enough evidence. And there still isn't enough evidence. Well, you run along. I'm going to stay here and finish these reports in longhand. You can type them in the morning. You sure you don't need me? Absolutely. I think I'll take your advice. Good night, doctor. Good night. Oh, Ms. Finchley, I almost forgot to tell you. She's gone. What a nuisance. Talking to yourself, Dr. Lowndes? How did you get in here? The door Was unlocked. Would you rather I'd come back during office hours? Why. Why, yes. Yes, I'd rather you did, Mr. Lowndes. Was it very urgent? It's the headaches, doctor. They've come back. It started again about a week ago. Well. Well, that's after what happened on the train. Doctor, tell me the truth. Did I commit those murders or didn't I? You're the only one who knows the answer to that. Something to do with the dream, I think. Oh, yes, the dream. We were getting around to that when you left here the last time. Now, tell me about it. Well, I hear the sound of the train and I'm sitting there beside someone. A stranger, I think. He's wearing a checked waistcoat. And there's a. There's a heavy gold watch chain with an elk's tooth suspended from it, like. Like the one my father used to wear when I was a child in Wisconsin. Tell me something about your father. He died when I was quite young. He'd been an invalid doctor ever since I could remember. He used to sit in an armchair in a wheelchair. It was really in front of the parlor window. He looked out into the street hour after hour. Sometimes when I came running into the house, he'd put out his cane and trip me. And I hated him for that. At one time, doctor, I. I think I was about 8 or 9 years old at the time. Edgar. Edgar, come in here this instant. Your father wants to talk to you. Oh, heck, Mother. I was gonna get up a ball game. Now, the ball game can wait. You come along with me. Can I ever have any fun? Mother, can I? Hush up. Here he is. Jonathan. Come closer, boy. Won't have a look at you. Yes, Father. Just as I thought. Grass stains all over the new suit I bought for you, huh? Where? There and there. There and there. There, there. Please. I won't have him get the idea just because his father's an invalid he can roll in the dirt like a gutter snipe and get away with it. Stop blubbering. Now go wash your face. I'm driving into town today. Want you to go along, run errands. The car my father drove was an all electric a battery job. His legs were completely paralyzed and my mother had to practically lift him into it. But the car itself was entirely controlled by hand. Driving it gave him a sense of power he needed. I used to dread those trips into town with him. The horrible spectacle of Mother helping him in and out of the car while the neighbors stared. And then riding along with him alone, without Anyone. Nothing to intervene for Me. That was the worst. Mom. Speak up, boy. Why don't you say something? Cat got your tongue? No, sir. I don't know why I had to raise a boy like you. You don't even keep me company on these trips into town. Poor helpless invalid. Your own father. I'm sorry, sir. Sorry? I think I'll give you another Canaan when we get home. Just to make good and sure you're sorry, huh? What'd you say to that? Oh, bother. Now look what's happened. Stalled batteries run down again. Get out and open the hood in the back, boy. You see a switch there? Turn it to the left where it says Reserve battery. Hurry up. We're stopped right on the railroad track. Turn the switch to the left where it says Reserve battery. Yes. Hurry up. There's a train along here any minute. Oh, yes, Father. Don't just stand there looking stupid. Go and turn the switch as I told you. What's the matter with you? Have you gone crazy? Don't you hear the train coming at you, Edgar? You want your father to be killed. I can't get out of here by myself, Edgar. Now, please do as I say. No. The train can kill you for all I care. I'm going back home. Son, don't you understand what you're doing? You're murdering your own father. Now, this is murder. Murder, I tell you. Murder. Murder. Murder. I walked home with those words of his ringing in my ears. I can hear him nearly yet. Son, don't you understand what you're doing? You're murdering your own father. Murder. It's murder, I tell you. It's murder. Murder. But I never felt a qualm. Those words were like sweet music to me, Doctor. Well, that's the end of the story. But it's only the beginning. When I walked into this office for the first time, I was a man suffering from headaches seemingly brought on by grief over the death of a loved one. Now I see myself as a man who murdered his father, his best friend and his wife, who must kill and kill again. Because every time I kill, I'm killing him. My father, whom I hated beyond all comprehension. And for whom one death agony was not enough. Now that you know all about these things, my dear Doctor, I'm afraid that you'll have to be the next on my list. Put that gun away, Edgar. You don't really want to kill me. I'd be a fool if I didn't. Well, the headaches will come back, Edgar. There'll be no one here to cure them. They won't come back. You showed me what caused them, didn't you, Doctor? You'll have worse things than headaches. You'll begin to hear things. You'll have delusions. You'll think you can hear a train passing outside at this very moment, don't you? But if you look out of the window, you'll see there's no train there at all. You won't trick me into turning my back. Come out from behind that desk. Keep your hands up high. That's it. Now then. What was that? Don't you understand what you're doing? Where's that voice coming from? You're murdering your own palm. There it is again. It's murder, I tell you. Murder. Stop it. Murder. Stop it. Stop it. I hear your voice. Stop it. I'll kill you. I can't stand it. I'll kill myself. Then give me the gun. Edgar. Please, Doctor, make. Stop. Take it away. Only here. Make it stop. That's enough, Miss Finchley. Shut it off. Are you all right, Dr. Aronson? Yes, thank you. You almost had me thinking I was hearing voices. Well, I did hear voices, and that's why I came back. And I remembered about your wanting Mr. Lound's interviews recorded. So I went in the other room and started the machine. When he became violent, I played back the last part of the record, thinking it might divert his attention. Good girl. We've got all the evidence we need now to put Mr. Lowndes where he can't do any more harm. You may have evidence, but you haven't got me. And you won't get me alive. Doctor. Answering the window. Stop him. Sorry, Doctor, I can't wait. I've got to catch a train. Hey, Jim, wait for me. 21 floors to the street. Or is it 20? Do they skip 13 in this building? It doesn't matter. To learn he's back with his friend Jim Baskin on the old nickel plate line. Listen. It's just crossing the divide. And so closes case history on Edgar Lowndes, starring Thomas Mitchell and Donald Crisp. Tonight's tale of suspense. Suspense is produced and directed by William Speer. To every woman listening tonight, I want to say a special word about making every dinner or supper you serve taste better. I want to urge you to start serving Roma wine with your meals. It's simple, the cost is very, very little, and it works magic in making food more enjoyable. You can serve Roma wine with any meal or any time in any kind of glass you wish. Serve it chilled. Try different kinds of Roma Wine. Until you find those you enjoy most of all. Try hearty red Roma California Burgundy. Or the delicately delicious Roma California Sauterne. The cost is mere pennies a glassful. But you'll find even a pickup supper tastes like a banquet. Get Roma wines today, and if your dealer is temporarily out of them, please try again soon. Just ask for R O M A Roma Wines. America's largest selling wines made in California. For enjoyment throughout the world. This is Donald Crisp. I'm sure I speak for both Mr. Mitchell and myself. In saying how much we have enjoyed appearing this evening as the guests of Suspense. Which I'm sure must be one of your favorite programs, as it is one of ours. Next week's stars of suspense will be Geraldine Fitzgerald and Richard Wharf. Who appear in one of the most extraordinary stories. By that most extraordinary writer, James Thurber. Thomas Mitchell will next be seen in the 20th Century Fox production of Wilson. Donald Crisp will be seen in the coming Metro Goldwyn Mayer production. National Velvet. Next Monday, same time, you will hear Geraldine Fitzgerald and Richard Wharf in Suspense. Presented by Roma Wines. R O M A made in California. For enjoyment throughout the world. The following message from our United States Treasury. Is brought to you by Roma Wines. The invasion is on, the biggest in history. And it needs backing that is equally big. So back the attack. Buy war bonds. Buy more than before. SA this is cbs, the Columbia Broadcasting System. How Green Was My Valley. Starring the original cast, the Gulf Screen Guild Theater. And now, here is your host. The director of the Star's Own Theater, Roger Pryor. Good evening, everyone. The Gulf oil companies and your neighborhood good Gulf dealer. Welcome you to the Gulf Screen Gill Theater. The Star's Own Theater. Because the money they would ordinarily receive for appearing here. Golf gives instead to the Motion Picture Relief Fund for its needs. And for the home now, well under construction. You know, just three weeks and two days ago. The prized Academy Award was given. To Darrell F. Zanuck's production How Green Was My Valley. And tonight, in tribute, your Gulf theater brings you. The first radio presentation of this beautiful picture. Our stars, the original cast, Walter Pidgeon, Maureen O'Hara, Irving Pitchell, Sarah Allgood, Roddy McDowell, Reese Williams. And Donald Crisp. Who won the Academy Award for his portrayal of Mr. Morgan. Before our curtain rises on Charles Tazewell's superb radio adaptation of How Green Was My Valley. I'd like to mention that when historians record the events of today. One of the most stirring chapters will be the story of how America's great industrial plants. Turned from peace to the production of weapons for the defense of democracy. And so it's only fitting that tonight we pay tribute to a group of men and women who have helped make this great work possible. They are the 2,496 employees of the Gulf companies who at this time are receiving awards for long service. Ordinarily, these men and women would be honored in meetings of their fellows throughout the land, but today is not the time to spare. So their recognition is taking place in the oil fields, in refineries, offices and laboratories, wherever their daily work takes them. In all, there are now more than 12,000 Gulf men and women who have received these awards for more than a third of Gulf's employees have from 10 to 40 years of service to their credit. The veteran employees and all Gulf employees today are using the experience and knowledge gained during the years for the production, manufacture and speedy distribution of ever finer petroleum products. Products that now help keep our planes flying, our tanks rolling and our ships sailing. And we feel that in paying honor to our own people, we're at the same time honoring all of the people of America who are applying their many skills to our present great task. And so we say to the men and women of Gulf everywhere, congratulations. Keep up the good work. And now, How Green Was My Valley, starring the original cast. Oscar Bradley's lovely score sets the mood for this beautiful story of a man's childhood in Wales. There is no fence nor hedge around time that is gone. You can go back and have what you like of it if you can remember. And so I can close my eyes on my valley as it is today and see it as it was when I was a boy. Green it was then. In all Wales, there was none so beautiful. Everything I ever learned as a small boy came from my father, Willem Morgan. And I never found anything he ever told me to be wrong or worth. Is not only green, but a brave valley. You, my son, a true man of Wales, has never bowed his head or bent his knee to any conqueror. Yes, Dada. And my mother seemed to be always on the run, always the last to start a dinner. And the first of all our family they can finish. If my father was the head of our house, my mother was its heart. Fight again. And when you come home, not a word should you hear from me. Not even a look. Now then, drink this glass of buttermilk to keep up your strength. Yes, Mama, yes. And this, clear as the memory of mother's voice, is the picture of all of us sitting around the table. We were a big family where I had five Older brothers. They, like my father, were coal miners, and on Saturdays they would wash off the grime of the mines in great tubs of water brought by my mother and my sister Anne. Harold. Wash your backs well, boys, or your mother won't let you in the house. All that was in the early days of the colliery in my valley, when money was easily earned, when the black slag, the waste of the coal pits, made only a small blot on the green of my valley. But as the slag pile grew, so grew the avarice of the owners. Then one day, the men gathered at the mine entrance to read a notice just posted, and their faces were sullen and their voices bitter. That night at the table, my five brothers were silent and unsmiling, but my father went on eating quietly, feigning not to notice them. Suddenly, my brother Davy jumped to his feet and said, his voice shaking with anger, do those fellows think we'll let them cut wages and that'll raise a hand to stop them? Dave is right, Father. The men are ready to strike if you say the word. Enough, Ianto, you'll not be a party to nonsense. Enough now. It is not enough, Sir Owen. I had no thought I would ever hear my own sons talking socialist nonsense. I'm sorry, sir, but. Quiet. Will you hold your tongue at table until you have permission to speak? I will speak against injustice anywhere, with permission or without it, Father. Not in this house. In this house and outside. Leave the table, Owen. I will leave the house. I'm with you, Owen. I, too. And I. And I will. All of you. Then you have one more chance. Sit down. Finish your dinner. I will say no more. Very well, then. Get your clothes and go. Dada. Dada. Yes, yes, you, my son. I am fully aware and happy that you are still with me. Yes, I was still with him, and I seldom left his side. During the bitter weeks that followed, the groan and creak of the mine machinery died away into silence and was replaced by the groan and creak of men's voices. 22 long weeks the strike lasted, and as it moved into winter, the mood of the men grew uglier. Any man who was not their friend became their enemy. And as my father had spoken against the strike, they came to blame him for what they themselves had brought about. At last their desperation conquered reason, and a stone crashed through the window to fall at my mother's feet. A rock through our window, is it? Or it is time someone talks sense to those men. Tell me, Hugh, is there a meeting tonight? Yes, Mother. Up in the hills. I Heard them talking about it. We go, you and I. But say not a word to your father. Tonight I do the talking. I remember how cold it was, how dark. As we came to the summit of the hill, the gale hit us with full force, blinding our eyes with a streaming downpour. The meeting was breaking up and the men were moving away. My mother called to them over the rising tumult of the storm. Wait, you men. Wait till you have heard me. Who is it? Who are you? I am Beth Morgan. I have come up here to tell you what I think of you all because you are talking against my husband. You are a lot of cowards to go against him. He has done nothing against you and he never would, and you know it. Well, there is one thing more I will say, and it is this. If harm comes to my Gwilym, I will find out the men and I will kill them with my hands. And this I swear by God Almighty. As Mother and I made our way back down the mountain, the wind shrieked through the trees over our heads and the rain came down in torrents. As we crossed a small bridge, Mother grasped the rail for support, but the rotten wood broke under her weight. She pitched forward into the icy water and I threw myself in after her to save her. So strong was the cold that for minutes I couldn't breathe. Help. Help. How long it was, I. I cannot tell. Before I saw a light and heard the voices of the men. An eternity of time, an eternity of pain, an eternity of cold before merciful oblivion. I awoke in my bed by the window. And the window was open and it was spring. Mr. Griffith, the minister, my sister were by my bed and whispering together. What did the doctor say when he left? He gave us small hope, Mr. Griffith. He said Hugh's legs were frozen to the bone. A year, two years, quiet in bed. But he wouldn't promise that he would ever walk again. And your mother? Oh, she is doing very well. Shh. I think he's waking. Hello, Hugh. Hello. Just hello. Is that all? Oh, I think I know what's the matter. You weren't asleep. You heard what your sister said about the doctor. Is that it? Yes. And you believed it? Yes. You want to walk again, don't you, Hugh? Then you must have faith. And if you have, you will walk, no matter what all the doctors say. Do you believe me, Hugh? Yes. Yes, sir. Good. Then when the first daffodil appears up there on the mountain, you and I will go up to see it, won't we? Huh? Indeed we will, sir. Indeed we will. Well, I must be going now. Bye bye, Hugh. Goodbye, sir. Good bye, anne. Harrod or Mr. Griffith? Yes. Will you be coming to supper soon? Later, when you are finished with doctors and such. I will hurry them away then. There is good you are. And you are very beautiful. Angharad. I. I'm sorry. I have no right to speak to you so. If the right is mine to give, you have it. I lay in bed and read books that Mr. Griffith brought me. All the noble books that have lived in my mind ever since. And young as I was, I also read the hearts of my sister anne hared and Mr. Griffith and learned that they were in love. Then one day, Mr. Griffith came home. I put on the clothes that had been waiting for so many months, and on his shoulders I rode up the mountain. It was a bright, windy morning, and nodding in the sunlight were patches of daffodils. Mr. Griffith put me down gently on my poor legs, walked a few steps away, then turned and said, now, Hugh, my lad, walk over to me. But. But I can't. Where's your faith, boy? Come. What? But I'm waiting. Hugh. Are you coming? Yes. Yes, sir. That's the boy. Easy now. Careful does it. Look, Mr. Griffith, look. Tis walking. I am. Of course you are. Didn't I say you would if you had faith? I did it. Oh, I did it. There's a good old man you are. You know, Hugh, you have been lucky. Lucky to suffer and lucky to spend those weary months in your bed. Or so God has given you the chance to make spirit within yourself. Just never forget that when you pray, think well what you are saying. And make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that manner, your prayer will have strength. And that strength shall become a part of you, mind, body and spirit. You've got your legs, Hugh. And the first duty of those new legs shall be to carry you to chapel next Sunday to give thanks for them. And so, because I had faith, I walked again. And on the mountainside I picked the first daffodils of springtime and took them home to my mother. In memory I can still see them standing in the doorway. My father and my brothers, their quarrel forgotten. And my mother, her hair now as white as the winter snows from that terrible night. All watching me as I walked beside Mr. Griffith, my face as bright and shining as my daffodil. And as the spring made my valley green again, that dreadful winter was forgotten and the strike at the mine was settled. Wheels that had grown rusty turned again, and miners laughed and called to each other as they went up the hill to the shaft. But not all the men, for there were too many for the jobs open. And they learned that never again would there be work for them in their own valley. So it was with two of my brothers. So they went off to America. America, my baby. They've made up their minds, Beth, my girl. And maybe it is for the best. Who knows now, so far away, Gwilym? There's no work in Wales. In Cardiff, the men are standing in line to have bread from the government. And that is not for a Morgan. This is only the beginning, Owen. And the Anthe. Now then, all of them will go. One after the other. All of them. I will never leave you, Mama. Yes, Hugh. But if you should ever leave me, I'll be sorry I ever had babies. Why did you have them? Why, goodness gracious, boy, why indeed? To keep my hands in water and my face to the fire, perhaps. Now go along with you and study your lessons for the school examination. That school examination. How I worked with Mr. Griffith's help to pass it. He came over to our cottage every evening, and sitting by the fire and watching him was my sister, Anne Harride, hoping for his smile or look or slightest gesture. But Mr. Griffith feigned not to notice her, for her hand had been bespoken by Yeston Evans, the mine owner's son. One night after lessons, Mr. Griffith went home to find her waiting at his house. Unharan. You shouldn't be here. I couldn't spend another night without knowing what has happened. Is something wrong? Wrong? Oh, you know what I mean. Why have you changed towards me? Have I done anything? No. The blame is mine. Tis good that you are going to marry Yeston Ivans. You could do no better, Yeston Evans. I don't want him. I want you. Angharad. When I became a minister, I knew what it meant. It meant making it my whole life. That I was perfectly willing to do. But to share it with another. Do you think that I will have you going threadbare all your life, depending on the charity of others for your good meals? Our children growing up in cast off clothing? No. I think I would start to kill if I saw the white come into your hair 20 years before its time. Why? Why would you start to kill? Are you a man or a saint? I'm no saint. But I have a duty towards you. Let me do it. Did I come here to hear sermons about your duty? Unhar? And so Anne Harrod married yesterday once and went away. And with her went some of the brightness of my valet. And Mr. Griffith seemed silent and strange. I remember thinking about them as I walked to school that first morning. I had my new pencil box and my books, but very little courage. What a frightened, miserable picture I must have been as I stood before the desk of Mr. Jonas, the master. I can still see his ugly face and still hear his oily, sneering voice as he spoke to me over the noises of the schoolroom. Quiet. Quiet. So, you are the new boy, are you? And what a dirty little sweep it is. What's your name, boy? You, Morgan. You will address me as sir. I'll put a stick across your back. I was very unhappy at the school, for in the classroom I was the object of Mr. Jonas disdain and tyranny, and in the schoolyard I was the victim of the class bully. But after I'd returned home with a series of black eyes and bloody noses, my father secured the services of die Bando, a prize fighter, and Di carefully taught me how to defend myself. Then there came the day when those lessons were put to use. It was in the schoolyard and I had bested my worst tormentor. Suddenly Mr. Jonas appeared, Cane in hand, and he seized my jacket. Softly now. Dear me, dear me. So our coal mining friend has been fighting with his fetters. I think I know the treatment for that, Master Mervyn, will you be so good as to make her back? Thank you. Now, my dirty little sweep, Please to bend across Mervyn's back. Now, I will teach you manners. Like this. And this. And this. And this. This. I fainted long before Mr. Jonas finished the beating, and I crept home that night, my back cut and bleeding. I was in bed for some days, but although my father wished to call on Mr. Jonas, I refused to let him. Then one day after I returned to school, the class was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Di Bando, the prize fighter, dressed in his Sunday best polar hat and all. 45 in your book. Good morning, Mr. Jonas, is it? Yes, I am Mr. Jonas. What is it you want, sir? Knowledge, Mr. Jonas. Now, how would you go about measuring a stick? By its length, of course. Then how would you take the measure of a man who would use a stick on a boy one third his size? Now look here. I have no time, Mr. Jonas. Boxing is my subject, and happy I am to pass my knowledge on to you. Are you ready? What do you mean? Good. Then on with the lesson. Get out of here. Now, no man can call himself a good boxer unless he has a good straight left like this. Help. Help. But always remember to follow up with the right, please. Don't ever lower your arm like that or you will leave yourself open for a right hook. Come, come, man. Up with you. Let go of me. Oh, you can't win a fight lying on the floor. Go as now, when you hit, put your shoulder into it like this. And this. And this. But don't ever use this because it's against the rules and breaks a man's nose. And remembering. Still, I could tell you of the years that followed, of how I graduated. And then, instead of going on to prepare myself for some profession, I chose to work with my father in the colliery. Yes. And go on to tell of my sister, Anne Harrod, who left her husband and came back to the valley pale, unhappy and still loving. Mr. Griffith. But those memories have almost been lost in one that still can be heard in my ears today. The hoarse screaming of the mine whistle. That dread warning of disaster that called people from their houses and sent them running up the hill. There had been an accident on the lower level and my father was among those missing. This is the tunnel where he was working. You better give him your hand. He's alive. He must be alive. Mr. Griffith. Listen. Now. There. Did you hear something? Yes. That way. It was past this slide of rock. Quick. Hurry. Die. Give me room to swing the pick. Careful. Here, you take this lantern and climb through. Yes. Dada. Yes. Who? Dada. We here. Dada. There is a good old man. You are. No, You. You. My son. I knew that you would find me. I knew, my boy. Dada. Oh, Dada. Yes, there it was. My father died. Died, did I say? Men like my father cannot die. They are with us still, real in memory as they were real in flesh. Loving and beloved forever. 60 bygone years of memory. And can I believe my friends all gone, when their voices are still a glory in my ears? Is my mother gone? She who knew the meaning of my family and taught us all to know it with her? And my brothers, with their courage and their strength. And my sister, Anne Harrod, of the quiet grace and breathless beauty? Are they not a living truth forever in my mind? And Mr. Griffith, that one of rock and flame, who taught the meaning of friendship? Did my.