Daddy was a Bevin Boy

If it wasn’t for Hitler I wouldn’t be here.
My Dad met my Mum when he was billeted at her south Wales home in the final year of the second world war.
He was one of the thousands of young men called-up to be miners when the nation’s coal stocks dropped to just a few weeks in 1943.
Known as Bevin Boys after the minister for labour they were plunged into an alien and hostile environment, their demobbing was messed up, and no-one ever said thank you.
Until today when the survivors – all over 80 – were given a commemorative badge.
To qualify you had to be alive in June 2007 when the decision was taken.
My Dad died in January 2007.
He was working in the pit on the day the coal mines were nationalised. He paid into the miners’ medical fund that financed doctors and hospitals for everyone in the valley, and was one of the models for national insurance when the MP for neighbouring Tredegar, Nye Bevan brought in the health service.
By the age of 21 those young men had defeated worldwide fascism, taken control of the commanding heights of the economy, and created the welfare state.
Now that’s worth a commemorative medal.