Catrin Dafydd on her path from random deaths to random births

I can see Sam now. Sitting opposite me in a little cafe in Pontypridd, swigging back some Coke. “Describe Random Births and Love Hearts? It’s obvious, innit? It’s my life. Warts and all. Including all the funny bits. Mind, some of those funny bits aren’t half tragic if you think about it. Only don’t say that, or they won’t buy it.”

Random Births and Love Hearts is Sam Jones’s take on life. A young twentysomething’s account of what it’s like to live in the South Wales valleys today. With her own unique way of looking at things, Sam is testament to the fact that all of life can be found in Pontypridd. She is resilient, amusing and caustic, despite the fact that her life is not without its struggles. For one, Sam is forced to bring up her young daughter, Gwen, on the money she has in her purse. While Sam may be poor financially, she is rich in many ways. From her eccentric octogenarian Aunty Peg to her best mate Arse, her world is populated with colourful characters, one of whom turns Sam’s life upside down when she suddenly disappears.

Sam Jones and I have known each other for a good few years now. When I first sent her out to meet the world, all dressed up in words and bound by a cover, I remember feeling nervous. Protective of her, even. I also remember feeling thrilled as readers took her to their hearts just as I had. Even today, I continue to spend a lot of my time in Sam’s company as I’m in the process of writing a screenplay of Random Deaths and Custard.

My first language is Welsh and having already published in Welsh, Random Deaths and Custard was my first foray into English language publishing. Just like me, Sam Jones went to a Welsh-medium school in the south Wales valleys but whereas I come from a Welsh-speaking home, the language Sam spoke at home was English. Just like the majority of young people in Welsh-medium education in the South East of Wales, Sam spoke quite a lot of Welsh in primary school but in comprehensive school she spoke Welsh with her teachers and hardly ever with her peers. This complex cultural experience was the backdrop for both our lives. And yet, just like so many lives and communities in Wales, these perspectives are rarely explored in literature or in the media.

Sam herself represents a generation of young people across Wales who have learned the Welsh language through the education system. Since the 1960s Welsh language education has experienced a huge revival. In Wales in 2013, 22.4 per cent of seven-year-old children were assessed in Welsh. By year nine in comprehensive school the figure was 17 per cent. About two out of every three pupils who study in Welsh-medium schools do not come from Welsh-speaking homes.

The Welsh language plays a significant role in our national identity, whether we speak the language or not, but the subject is rarely discussed in depth in the media. When it is discussed it is usually through the medium of Welsh through the sterling work of the Welsh language television channel, S4C, and BBC Radio Cymru but it also needs to be discussed through the medium of English. The most perplexing fact that needs to be addressed is that the majority of young people in Wales are denied the opportunity to become fluent in Welsh, English as well as other languages. And this despite the overwhelming evidence that bilingualism is beneficial to a child’s educational development.

As well as her relationship with language, Sam has plenty of other stories to tell. In Random Deaths and Custard she has just left school and has started working in the local custard factory. Consumed by the idea that the Grim Reaper is going to kill her off in a random way, she tries her best to avoid his grasp and ends up falling into the arms of a young catalogue salesman who administers the Heimlich manoeuvre as she chokes on a fish finger. You don’t need to have read Random Deaths to enjoy Random Births. And you won’t need to have read either of the novels to enjoy Random Deaths and Custard the film, if my dreams come true and the story is brought to the screen.

By the time we meet Sam again in Random Births she is less obsessed with death and more consumed with life and its responsibilities. For one thing, her partner is no longer on the scene and she is suddenly forced to take decisions about her daughter’s future, on her own. It’s a no-brainer that she should go to a Welsh-medium school but speaking Welsh to her at home is another matter entirely and Sam is highly aware of these contradictions.

As Sam testifies, Wales is a complex creature and yet this is rarely reflected in our media as our issues are either ignored or over-simplified. Post-devolution Wales exists in a democratic and cultural vacuum with very few opportunities for citizens to scrutinise political decisions made about Wales and with few opportunities to explore our rich and varied identities through the creative industries.

For too long we have had to be thankful for small mercies, such as Doctor Who being made in Wales and throwing ourselves over-zealously into celebrating the life and work of Dylan Thomas. But what do Dr Who and Dylan have to say about life in Wales today? What do they tell us about Welsh communities struggling in an age of austerity? And what light do they shed on our existence? Wales is not a theme park or a museum. It is a living, breathing and evolving entity and needs to come out of the shadows.

Even if it is merely a drop in the ocean, Sam Jones’s story is a contribution towards a sea change. It is a light read written with a heavy heart. A heart still hoping that one day, our voices will be represented.

[ Random Births and Lovehearts ]