by A V Awenna
***
As they sat with their drinks, Tom confirmed what Heledd already suspected – he knew the fairies of Tanybryn.
‘You’ll have heard of the winter of 1947?’ he said. ‘The longest and coldest of the century. Snow on the ground from January through to March, several feet thick, and all the rivers and streams iced over. So much wildlife and livestock died that year. And people didn’t have it much easier. It was just after the end of the war of course, rationing was still in force, and coal was scarce and expensive. Most people could only manage one fire for a few hours each day.
‘I was 16 then, just left school, still living with Mam. I’d got a job with the Post Office, delivering the letters. Well, I’d enjoyed it in the summer, out in the early morning with no-one else around. Felt like I had the whole world to myself. There’s nothing lovelier than early morning in midsummer, so pure and quiet. I used to sing ‘Morning has Broken’ to myself as I walked along – do you know that hymn?’
Heledd did. It was what she considered a ‘pagan hymn’, one where God and Jesus shouldered their way into a song of praise for nature. And wasn’t there a blackbird in the second line? She smiled to herself. ‘You make it sound heavenly, Tom.’
‘Oh, it was, when the sun was shining. It suited a loner like me. I had a lovely round – delivering to the new houses in Tanybryn – well they were new then. And the old farms on the edge of the city. Lots of fields and trees. But Autumn mornings weren’t as much fun, wind and rain lashing your face in the darkness. But then it snowed – and that was magical. Oh, the silence of snow – have you ever known that? Cold of course, but we wrapped up warm in those days. Hats, scarves and gloves, boots and coats – my Post Office coat was wonderfully warm. And one morning, after a fresh snowfall, the sky cleared and the full moon was shining, low in the west. Oh, I couldn’t begin to describe how beautiful that was. A whole world of silver-blue, all to myself. Just a few prints in the snow, cats out prowling, foxes, that sort of thing. My teeth were chattering, partly from the cold, partly from the wonder of it all.
‘I had a letter for Ffynon Ddu Farm – I couldn’t believe it when I heard Mary telling you stories about that place. Because that’s where I met Rusty – standing by the well in the farmyard, trying to break the ice with a rock, but so cold he had barely any strength in him. I couldn’t take it in at first – this boy, or so I thought, no coat or hat, wrapped in a cloak of feathers. Except, of course, I soon realised they were wings. He was wary of me at first, but desperate too, he was half-frozen. I could see he was never going to break that ice, so I wrapped him in my coat and took him home, so he could eat and warm up, and wait for the ice to melt. We waited a month and a half!’
‘You kept a fairy in your house for six whole weeks?’ Heledd asked. ‘Didn’t the neighbours notice?’ This was Wales after all, land of the pathologically nosey.
‘Well, it was so cold nobody went out unless they had to – so there was little risk of the neighbours spotting him,’ Tom said. ‘I had to introduce him to mother after a few days, but he soon charmed her around. We found a shawl to cover his wings. They fold down small, fairy wings. They’re not big things like the swans’ wings you see on angels – no bones in them, just something like cartilage which holds the feathers.’
‘But not like butterfly wings, either?’ Heledd said.
‘Oh, no, butterfly wings wouldn’t last five minutes. Fairies are born, remember, just like us, they don’t hatch from a chrysalis. Rusty told me fairies are born with stumpy little nubs on their shoulders, and they aren’t fully fledged ’til middle childhood.’
‘Rusty? He was a redhead then?’ Heledd said.
‘He was all the colours of autumn, in his wings and his hair. Even with his wings covered he was eye-catching. He stayed with us all winter long. He was such good company, full of songs and stories and tricks. And he was clever. Knew how to get the most out of everything – there was never any ash in the fireplace; he put a spell on the fire so it burned all the coal down to nothing, and he stopped all the heat going up the chimney. We used a quarter the coal we would have otherwise. And he ate so little – drank melted snow from the garden, and lived on bread and vegetables. Wouldn’t touch meat, but he knew everything that grew that was edible. Even in that harsh winter he managed to forage for us. So that winter passed a lot warmer and more enjoyably than if he hadn’t been there.’
Tom paused for a moment.
‘He left us when the ice thawed,’ he finally said, in a sad, quiet voice. ‘Used to come and visit occasionally, and taught me how to pick wild food – and how to recognise his kind. He never met my Chinese friends, but they knew of each other through me. But when they built Hillside estate in the late 50’s he left for good. Invited me to go to Annwn with him, but I couldn’t leave Mam on her own. I was her only family – she was a war widow, like so many others. And I could see which way the world was going, and I felt the natural world needed people like me to speak up for it. So we said our goodbyes, and Rusty promised me there was a welcome for me in Annwn as long as he was there.’
Heledd was silent, but touched her friend’s arm. She was thinking fast.
‘Would you go now? If there was a way?’ she asked.
‘Like a shot! If I could go without causing any problems, yes. I’ve a few years left in me, and I’d like one last adventure before it’s too late. And it would be so good to see him again. But even if I could get past all the safety features and into the well, how would you explain my disappearance? I really don’t want this place to be criticised for negligence.’
‘I know another way into Annwn. And I know some magical types who may know a way around this.’ She felt a rush of importance as she said, ‘Leave it with me.’