Coordinates: 51°40′22″N 3°29′00″W / 51.672653°N 3.483313°W / 51.672653; -3.483313
Maerdy (Welsh: Y Maerdy) is a village and community in the county borough of Rhondda Cynon Taf, and within the historic county boundaries of Glamorgan, Wales, lying at the head of the Rhondda Fach Valley.
"Maerdy" is a Welsh word meaning "house of the mayor", and may indicate a medieval origin. The "mayor" was the official also known as the reeve, usually the most affluent farmer in the area.However the original ancient Welsh meaning of Maerdy is Slave house (Maer -Slave, Dy - House). The name is found in several locations throughout Wales and may well indicate the site of Dark age slave markets.The use of the word 'Mardy' in colloquial English to describe a sullen and sulky individual would appear to stem from the old Welsh word for slave.
The area grew from a farming community to town around the coal mining industry and the development of Mardy Colliery in the late 19th century, but its last pit (Mardy Main) shut in 1990. Maerdy was not originally an area of industrial confrontation, with the Cambrian mines of Pentre showing far more socialist ideals. This view would change by the mid to late 20th century when Maerdy became synonymous with working class syndicalism and solidarity. In the mid-twentieth century Maerdy was associated with the Communist Party of Great Britain and radical miners' leaders such as Arthur Horner and was known as Little Moscow. By the time of the Miners' strike in the 1980s, Maerdy was the location of one of the last working mines in the south Wales valleys, and the pictures of the returning miners once the strike was resolved was one of the defining moments of late 20th century Welsh history.
Mademoiselle remembers too well
How once she was belle of the ball
Now the past she sadly recalls.
Mademoiselle lived in grand hotels
Ordered clothes by Chanel and Dior
Millionaires queued at her door.
Oh, she pleased them and teased them
She hooked them and squeezed them
Until like their empires they'd fall
She very soon learned
That the more love she spurned
The more power she yearned
Until she was belle of the ball.
Oh, Mademoiselle, such a soft machiavel
Would play bagatelle with the hearts of young men as
they fell
Mademoiselle would hide in her shell
Could then turn cast a spell on any girl
That got in her way.
She would crave all attention
Men would flock to her side
Woe betide any man who ignored
For she'd feign such affection
Then break down their pretension
When she'd won she would turn away.
Turn away, thoroughly bored.
Mademoiselle, long ago said farewell
To any love left to sell, for the sake of being belle
of the ball
Mademoiselle knows there's no way to quell
Her own private hell, just a shell,
With no heart left at all.
Poor old Mademoiselle.