GET THOSE DAMN COWS OUT OF HERE

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The novel, set in the industrial South Wales of 1904 sees Buffalo Bill and his Wild West Show turn up in the town of Pontypridd. Inspector Frank Parade is a tough, no nonsense policeman who couldn't care less about, what he calls, silly cowboys and Indians  . It is not a view shared by the young Constable Davies who idolises Cody and is totally overawed in his presence. Soon the trio are investigating a string of murders that have their origins in Whitechapel, London when the killer know as Jack the Ripper prowled the streets.

Cody

Below is a short extract from chapter two of the novel:

The biting cold forced Parade to dig his hands deeper into his pockets. He listened for the whistle that would signify the train was on the last leg of its journey, cornering at Treforest before coming into Pontypridd Train Station. He peered across the Tumble, where the constable was waiting; manning the other end of the rope cordon they set up to allow the cattle safe passage across the tramway and onward to the slaughterhouse. The irony in this was not lost on the police inspector.
Two pieces of rope were tied to each side of the station entrance and then run across the Tumble, and secured to the stockyard gates. At regular intervals, they had tied colorful ribbon to the rope in order for it to be fully visible to the cattle and keep them within its field of containment. For the moment all traffic along the Tumble was stopped, including the trams, which usually passed every fifteen minutes, so they had to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
“Shouldn‟t be too long,” Parade shouted across to the constable.
He hoped the train was on time, as it was difficult enough keeping the thoroughfare clear at the best of times, let alone on a bustling market day. A day when thousands would swarm into the town, coming from miles yonder to shop in a market that was world famous for its range of goods. The crowds coming to town for the circus would only exacerbate the situation.
Pontypridd was a vibrant cosmopolitan town and had all the problems that went with such prosperity. Alongside the great wealth there existed extreme poverty, and the streets were often lawless – river traders, gypsies, pickpockets, drifters, even escaped convicts ranging from petty thieves to crazed killers would come up the canals and make for the plentiful alehouses. There they mingled and lost themselves among the sea of faces.
The town, once a rural backwater village, was born out of the industrialization of the surrounding areas and benefited from its close proximity to the Glamorganshire Canal. This allowed access from Merthyr‟s coalfields to the docks in Cardiff and from there the world beyond. Eventually the Taff Vale Railway linked Pontypridd to the Rhondda, creating a fast and efficient artery into the coal scarred hills.
Each year would see over 57 million tons of steam coal shipped down from the Black Klondike, as the valleys were now known. The coal would then be transported down to Cardiff and Barry and sent around the world. Fires, the industrialized world over burned bright with Rhondda coal.
Suddenly the train whistle sounded and Parade gave Davies the thumbs up. At last things would get moving, and as soon as they saw the cows across the Tumble, and down to the stockyards, they would be able to get about their business. They were policemen, not cattle drovers, but Parade knew they had no choice but to secure the streets for the cattle to cross.
One time a bull went berserk and rampaged across the Tumble and down to Mill Street, where it smashed through a fence and went straight into the market, tossing vendors‟ goods every which way. Miraculously no one was hurt other than an old woman who‟d sprained an ankle in her clumsy, terrified escape from the creature‟s path. The financial damages however ran into hundreds of pounds. Damages which had to be paid for by the district, which was something Parade still heard about whenever the chief constable was in town. They waited ten more minutes before they heard the whistles of the drovers and then a rumble, like thunder, as the cattle were led across the narrow bridge that took them above the tracks.
A few more minutes went by and then the cattle were spewing out of the station and onto the Tumble. They veered to the left but were driven back into order by Davies jumping up and down, blowing his whistle, and waving his arms about above his head.
“Good man,” Parade shouted, but it was useless. There was not the remotest possibility of his voice carrying above the thunderous, earth-shaking roar of the cattle as the brainless creatures surged forward, unsure of where they were going, but going all the same. At times it looked as if they would try and break through the rope cordon, but its movement drove them back into some sort of line.
Two men came out of the station behind the cattle and walked on either side of the herd but just inside the cordons. They had wooden rattles, which they shook to move the cattle forward, and thin canes, which they used to swipe the air behind the cattle. The creatures surged with all the grace of an epileptic in full seizure.
Parade saw a cow coming toward him, a particularly large beast with red markings like blood upon its face, which served to give it a demonic look. It seemed oblivious to the rope blowing back and forth in the wind and didn‟t seem to want to stop. The policeman blew his whistle and drove the cow back into line with the others.
“Bloody dumb animals,” Parade said and looked across the Tumble when something caught his eye. There was a dog, a damned terrier, and it was running, yelping, toward the cows that were barely contained within the rope cordon.
Parade turned and was about to lunge for the dog when one of the cows struck him from behind and he was thrown face down to the ground. Although he couldn‟t be sure, he thought he heard a high-pitched laugh come from Davies as his helmet clattered across the ground.


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The Welsh Ripper Killings

The process of producing an eBook is obviously quite different to that of a physical book, but the editing process for The Welsh Ripper Killings has been just as strenuous - however the book will finally see ePrint later this week. I've written about many aspects of the novel in previous posts and so I thought I'd tell you all a little about Police Inspector Frank Parade's town of Pontypridd.

Parade's beat is the Welsh town of Pontypridd - "Pontypridd was a vibrant cosmopolitan town and had all the attendant problems that went with such prosperity. Alongside the great wealth there existed extreme poverty and the streets were often lawless – river traders, gypsies, pickpockets, drifters, even escaped convicts ranging from petty thieves to crazed killers would come up the canals and make for the alehouses and taverns of which there were plenty. There they would mingle and lose themselves among the sea of faces. Though it had not always been so and the town, once a rural backwater, had been born out of the industrialisation of the surrounding areas and had benefited from its close proximity to the Glamorganshire Canal, which allowed access from Merthyr’s coalfields to the docks in Cardiff and from there the world beyond."

One area of Pontypridd featured heavily in the book is The Tumble - the modern day Tumble is pictured left and the pic above is the same area as it was in Parade's day. Note the trams that ran the length of the town during the days that Frank Parade walked the cobbled streets.

Today the Tumble is made up of a busy main road but sadly the town is no longer the thriving attraction it once was. The main building in the picture is today known as The Soul Suite but in Parade's day it was The White Hart and behind that is the River Taff and the beautiful Ponty Park.

I have tried to remain accurate with Ponty's georgraphy in A Policeman's Lot although I have taken some artistic licence in the name of telling a story. For instance in the novel the fictional alehouse, The Butcher's Arms is situated opposite the White Hart and it is here that much of the action takes place. The landlord is one Eli Jenkins, a small wiry man who is always on the lookout to make money, legal or otherwise.

"Eventually the Taff Vale railway had linked Pontypridd to the Rhondda creating a fast and efficient artery into the coal scarred hills. Each year would see over 57 million tons of steam coal shipped down from The Black Klondike, as the valleys were

now known. The coal would then be transported down to Cardiff and Barry and once again sent around the world. Fires, the industrialised world over burned bright with Rhondda coal."

The Welsh Ripper Killings is available now from Amazon, Smashwords and anywhere eBooks are sold.

IN THE PRESS

They may have got the facts a bit topsy-turvy but it's a good write up in the local newspaper. Click on any image for a readable version.

Arkansas Smith is actually my new book and Tarnished Star was the first. A Policeman's Lot will be out later this summer, but in all fairness it's a nice little piece. It was a kick to get higher billing than my MP on the front page and have a bigger write up inside - MP's are not the Archive's most favourite people at the moment. Mind you I would like to make it clear to any MP's reading that I'm sure you could swing a copy of Arkansas Smith on expenses, put it down as entertainment to be read next to the duck-house. Just a thought, guys!





The Jack The Ripper aspect of my forthcoming, A Policeman's Lot -actually available in eBook format late summer 2010 and in print around ten months later, has sparked their interest. The South Wales Echo - a paper that covers the entire region want to talk about the alleged Welsh Ripper connection that the book throws up. And local radio are requesting an interview.

Pretty exciting times indeed.

MY TOWN MONDAY - THE FILTH AND THE FURY

This post is part of Travis Erwin's meme - check others HERE

This is Pontypridd - It's feeling a little run down these days.

Business' are closing left right and centre. The pubs are all becoming run down and the council don't seem to know what to do with the town.

There are talks of redevelopment bandied about but nothing seems to actually happen. The latest grand plans were recently unveiled but people in town seem to be doubtful that anything will actually happen. The once famous market is in a shocking state of disrepair, Chavs rule the streets, the train station was called by the local MP - the filthiest in Europe and each Saturday night the streets resemble some apocalyptic movie.

It's time to clean up your act, Ponty Town Council.

Once described as the "Wild West" Pontypridd has had a turbulent past. A small, dirty, market town, run down after years of under funding and mismanagement by the local and regional councils, situated 12 miles north of Cardiff along the A470, "Ponty" is the gateway to the famous South Wales valleys and has a rich cultural and historic past: The Welsh National Anthem, Tom Jones, the Lost Prophets, the Old Bridge, Brown Lennox, Sir Geraint Evans, Neil Jenkins, William Price and Stuart Burrows all hail from Ponty or close by.

Ponty's past
The name may come from a contraction of Pont-y-ty-pridd, bridge of the earthen house in Welsh, or the Welsh for "bridge of earth", since in earlier centuries, people took advantage of the shallowness of the River Taff here to cross it. Pontypridd marks the confluence of the rivers Taff and Rhondda and at the junction of the Cardiff to Rhondda and Merthyr railway lines and thus has a fascinating historical and cultural background.The development of Treforest and Pontypridd as commercial centres began with the opening in 1795 of the 25 mile long Glamorganshire canal, between Cardiff docks and Merthyr. At the same time, William Crawshay opened a new forge and nail works and coal was discovered by Dr. Richard Griffiths in Gyfeillion in 1790. Another new industry which thrived with the excellent transport now available was the original Newbridge Chain Cable and Anchor Works founded in 1818 - now Brown Lenox. Later, collieries were opened in the areas of Graig, Hopkinstown, Trehafod and Cilfynydd.