Two teen-age girls peeped out from a darkened front parlor late one night last week in the coal-grimed Rhondda Valley of South Wales. They held their breath as a policeman paused outside, rejoiced when he tramped on past the bleak rows of miners' houses. From a lighted window opposite, a man nodded curtly to signal that BBC television was closing the day's transmission with God Save the Queen.
The girls dashed into the heavily curtained back kitchen, cried: "Now!" A grinning, red-haired schoolmaster called Glyn ducked between lines of drying laundry, flicked a wall switch, punched the playback button on a battered...
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