Our good friend Murray came from Bracknell in leafy Berkshire, but he loved South Wales. He died of lung cancer, and his will requested that we sing the miners' "gutter choir" union marching song When The Coal Comes From The Rhondda at his funeral. We journeyed across the Severn Bridge, and sang with gusto to our dear pal in the coffin:

You men of Tonypandy who dig the veins of coal
(With my little pick and shovel, I'll be there!)
The boss may own the colliery, but he'll never own your soul
(With my little pick and shovel, I'll be there!)

When the coal comes from the Rhondda,
When the coal comes from the Rhondda,
With my shovel and my pick and my little lamp and wick,
When the coal comes from the Rhondda, I'll be there!

The funny thing was that Murray was an arch-Conservative, but he really liked that song!

I take my name from Dr William Price, genius, visionary and self-styled Druid who lived in Caerffili and Llantrisant in the 19th century. Given that Dr Price opened the way for cremation, how about Fire by The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown?