Alright, mate, you’re here because you’re mulling over whether to grab a ticket for Mr Jones: An Aberfan Story at the Union Theatre. Fair enough—it’s not every day you stumble across a play tackling something as heavy as the 1966 Aberfan disaster, let alone one that mixes it with a bit of romance and rugby. So, let’s have a proper natter about what you’re in for if you go. I’ve seen it, and I’m going to walk you through everything—the story, the vibes, the acting, the lot—so you can decide if it’s worth your evening. Spoiler alert: it’s a bit of a rollercoaster, but I’ll get to that.
What’s It All About, Then?
First off, let’s set the scene. Imagine it’s 1966 in Aberfan, a little Welsh mining village. Life’s ticking along—kids at school, blokes down the pub, the usual. Then, out of nowhere, a massive heap of coal waste from the nearby mine collapses. It slams into Pantglas Junior School, burying 116 kids and 28 adults under 150,000 tonnes of sludge. Horrific, right? That’s the Aberfan disaster, a real gut-punch in British history, and it’s the backbone of this play. Now, fast forward to 2025, and here’s Liam Holmes, a Welsh lad who wrote and stars in Mr Jones, bringing this story to the Union Theatre—a cosy little spot in Southwark, London, known for punching above its weight with intimate shows.
So, why should you care? Well, it’s not just a history lesson. Holmes doesn’t plonk you in a classroom with a dusty textbook. Instead, he gives you Stephen Jones—call him Mr Jones—a cheeky rugby nut who’s living his best life in Aberfan before everything goes pear-shaped. You meet him mid-strut, fresh off a cracking rugby kick, trying to chat up Angharad Price, a nurse with a sharp tongue and a warm heart. It’s all laughs and flirty banter until that coal tip comes crashing down, and suddenly, you’re watching a village—and Jones—try to pick up the pieces. The play jumps between that fateful day and ten years later, showing you how life stumbles on, even when it’s broken.
The Story: What’s Jonesy Up To?
Picture this: you’re in the audience, lights dim, and there’s Jones—played by Holmes—bouncing about like he owns the place. He’s got that Valleys swagger, cracking jokes about his rugby skills, and you can’t help but grin. He’s after Angharad (Rhiannydd Andrews), who’s not falling for his lines as easily as he’d like. It’s proper sweet, and you’re rooting for them straight away. Then—bam—the disaster hits. You don’t see the collapse itself (no big Hollywood effects here), but you feel it. The mood flips, and suddenly Jones isn’t just a lad with a ball; he’s a survivor staring down a nightmare.
The play doesn’t linger too long on the wreckage—thankfully, it’s not that kind of grim slog. Instead, it whisks you forward to a rugby club a decade later. Jones is older, quieter, and you can tell the years haven’t been kind. The locals are still singing and having a laugh, but there’s this heaviness underneath, like a tune you can’t shake. It’s about how Jones—and Aberfan—keep going, mixing personal stuff (will he ever get over losing that carefree life?) with the bigger picture of a town scarred forever. You’ll find yourself wondering how anyone moves on from something like that, and that’s the hook that keeps you glued.
Big Ideas: What’s It Really Saying?
Now, let’s chat about what’s bubbling under the surface, because this isn’t just a story—it’s got some meaty themes to chew on. Grief’s the big one. You’ll feel it in every corner of the stage, from the way Jones goes quiet when someone mentions “that day” to the empty spaces where kids should be. It’s not loud sobbing or anything—it’s more subtle, like a weight he’s carrying that you can’t quite see. Then there’s guilt. Did the miners, the bosses, anyone, miss something that could’ve stopped it? The play doesn’t point fingers too hard, but it makes you think.
On the flip side, there’s this tough-as-nails community spirit. You’ll see it in the rugby club scenes—blokes belting out songs, raising a glass, refusing to let the dark win. It’s proper inspiring, mate. And it’s not shy about digging into the mess of industrial disasters—how greed or laziness up top screws over the little guy down below. You’ll leave asking yourself how much has really changed since ’66. Plus, there’s the long haul of it all—how trauma sticks around, shaping Jones and his mates years later. It’s heavy, sure, but it’s got heart, and that’s what keeps you hooked.
The Characters: Who’s Bringing It to Life?
Let’s talk about Jones himself, because he’s your way into this world. Liam Holmes plays him, and blimey, he’s good. You’ll love him from the off—he’s got this infectious energy, all big grins and quick quips. But when the disaster hits, you watch him unravel, bit by bit. There’s this one moment where he’s just staring off, not saying a word, and it’s like you can hear his head spinning. It’s proper powerful, and Holmes nails it. He’s your mate one minute, your heartbroken brother the next—you’re with him every step.
Angharad’s ace too. Rhiannydd Andrews gives her this quiet strength—none of that damsel rubbish. She’s the kind of lass who’d patch you up and tell you to stop whinging, and you’ll adore her for it. The two of them spark off each other brilliantly, making you wish they’d had more time before everything went south. There’s a small crew of others—locals at the club, mostly—and they’re spot-on, filling out the village vibe with little chats and songs. Jones is the star, no doubt, but he’s a window to everyone else’s pain too. You might wish you got a bit more from the others—sometimes it feels a tad too Jones-centric—but what you get is cracking nonetheless.
The Stage: What’s It Look Like?
Right, so you’re in the Union Theatre—it’s tiny, maybe 50 seats, tops. You’re close enough to smell the mud on Jones’ trainers (not really, but you get me). The set’s dead simple: a pair of beat-up shoes, a rucksack, a jumper. That’s it. But somehow, it works. One minute it’s a house, the next it’s a soggy rugby pitch, then a buzzing club. They do it with lights—soft yellows for the happy bits, stark whites when it turns grim. It’s clever, and you’ll be amazed how much they squeeze out of so little.
The director, Michael Neri, knows how to play this space. Before the main bit even starts, you get this “Evening at Aberfan RFC” warm-up—live tunes, a bit of banter, like you’re one of the locals. It’s a laugh, and it sucks you right in. Then, when the story kicks off, he keeps it moving—mostly. You’ll notice a few slow patches later on, where you’re twiddling your thumbs a bit, but it’s not a dealbreaker. The staging’s got guts, going from loud and lively to dead quiet in a heartbeat, and you’ll feel every shift.
The Actors: Are They Any Good?
Oh, mate, the acting’s top-notch. Liam Holmes is the standout—honestly, you can’t take your eyes off him. He’s got this natural charm that makes you want to buy him a pint, then he flips it to this raw, broken bloke who’s seen too much. There’s a bit where he’s talking about the past—or not talking, really—and it’s like a punch to the chest. Andrews is brilliant too—she’s got this lovely voice and a way of holding herself that says she’s been through it but won’t crack. Together, they’re magic, like a proper couple you’d meet down the road.
The rest of the cast—small as it is—brings the rugby club to life. You’ll hear them singing, joshing about, and it’s so real you’ll half expect them to pass you a drink. No one’s phoning it in here; they’re all in it, and it shows. If there’s a weak link, you won’t find it—they’re a tight unit, and you’ll feel like part of the gang.
The Extras: What’s with the Old Clips?
Here’s a cool bit: they chuck in some real-life stuff—old news footage, voices from survivors—like little windows to 1966. It’s not in your face; they flash it up now and then, maybe with a rumble of coal in the background. You’ll hear the chaos, see the headlines, and it hits home that this isn’t just a yarn—it happened. There’s one scene where Jones freezes as the sound kicks in, and you’re right there with him, feeling the ground shake. It’s not overdone, mind—it’s just enough to glue the play to reality without stealing the show. You’ll appreciate how it ties the live stuff to the past, making it all click.
How’s It Feel?
Buckle up, because this one’s a ride. You’ll start off chuckling—Jones is a riot, and the early vibes are pure fun. Then the disaster drops, and it’s like the air gets sucked out. You’re not crying your eyes out (well, maybe a bit), but you’ll feel this ache, like you’ve lost something too. It builds back up with the club scenes—hopeful, but not fake-happy—and leaves you with this mix of sad and strong. It’s respectful, never milking the tragedy for cheap tears, but it’s gripping too. You’ll walk out heavy but glad you went—proper food for thought, that.
Is It Real? Does It Matter Now?
So, how true is it? Spot-on with the big stuff—date, deaths, the coal tip mess. Jones and Angharad are made up, but they feel like they could’ve been there. Holmes grew up near Aberfan, so the accents, the slang, the whole vibe—it’s bang on. You’ll trust it’s the real deal, even with the fiction bits. And why care in 2025? Because it’s still kicking about—companies cutting corners, communities picking up the tab. Plus, it’s a slice of Welsh history you might not know, and you’ll feel smarter for it. It’s not preaching, but it’s got something to say, and you’ll be nodding along.
The Good, The Bad: What’s the Verdict?
Here’s the pros: it’s emotional, clever, and the acting’s ace. Holmes is a star, the story’s tight (mostly), and the way it blends love and loss with history is proper smart. You’ll feel part of something bigger, and the tiny theatre makes it personal. Downsides? It drags a smidge in the second half—could lose ten minutes, easy. And yeah, you might want more from the side characters—they’re great but don’t get much spotlight. Still, it’s a small price for what you’re getting.
Wrap-Up: Should You Go?
Look, if you’re up for a night that’s more than just a laugh—if you want something that sticks with you, makes you feel, maybe even teaches you a bit—Mr Jones is a no-brainer. It’s not perfect, but it’s damn close, and it’s doing something special: keeping Aberfan’s story alive in a way that’s raw and real. Theatre’s about connecting, right? This does that in spades. Grab a mate, get down to the Union Theatre (it’s only on till March 1, 2025, mind), and let it sink in. You won’t regret it—just bring a tissue, yeah?
