One Moonlit Night

by Caradog Prichard

  There you are, said the rosy-cheeked lady as she took the glass. You look a bit better now, my boy. Go straight home now or your Mam will start to worry about you.

  I’m going. Thanks a lot. How old is Toss?

  Fourteen.

  Lor, he’s older than me. Good afternoon.

  Close the gate after you, she said.

  It was great to walk along Post Lane after walking on grass all day cos it was a flat road for the best part of the way. It was there that they found Emyr on his knees, must be, I said as I was passing the wall by the side of Black Lake.

  Dew, it was hot after I’d walked about a mile and I took my coat off and walked in my shirtsleeves. The sun had melted the tar on the lane and my hobnailed boots were beginning to stick to it every step I took. I’ll take them off, I said, and sat on the grass by the side of the lane and stuffed a sock into each shoe and knotted the laces together and hung them round my neck over my shoulders.

  I was okay then, and could go like the wind and the tar was a warm slush under my feet until I got to the bottom of Allt Braich. I’d better put my boots back on now, I said, in case anyone sees me. So I sat down behind the bank where we saw Em going past. And I remembered that Em had his boots off, as well, when they found him. But there weren’t any blisters on my feet, though.

  It was lucky that I got home when I did, or there would have been a hell of a fuss just like when Em went missing. I’d only just gone over the doorstep, and I hadn’t even had a chance to sit down or say anything except Hello Mam when there was a knock at the door. And who was there when Mam went to the door but Huw gasping for breath and stuttering.

  I-I-I, he was saying, looking as though he was about to have a fit, and then he saw me behind Mam making faces at him to shut his mouth.

  What’s the matter with the boy? said Mam. But Huw just stood there staring at her.

  I’ve run up the hill and got out of breath, he said at last.

  Well, come in and sit down then, said Mam.

  I couldn’t bear watching Huw sitting there scowling at me as Mam was pouring tea out of the teapot. Poor Huw. He just didn’t know what was going on.

  Why were you running up the hill, Huw? said Mam.

  It was me, I lost my way, I said.

  Lost your way where?

  On Pen y Foel.

  Damn this old teapot.

  And lost the little pitcher, I said.

  You little monkey. Come and eat your food then you can go and get washed. You look like a chimney sweep. Would you like a cup of tea, Huw?

  No thanks, said Huw. I’d better nip off and tell Mary Plums and the others or one of them’s sure to tell Little Will Policeman’s Dad.

  Yes, you go in case he gets a search party out, said Mam.

  Yes, I’ll go now, said Huw, and he legged it out of the door and ran off down the Hill. I didn’t see him again that night. We were both too tired to go out to play, and Moi was in bed with a cold.

  Nothing, I said, washing myself in the bowl at the back when Mam asked what had happened on Pen y Foel. Nothing apart from me going to sleep cos I was tired, then waking up and going to look for the little pitcher and not being able to find it or the tuck box. I lost them both through walking about trying to find the little pitcher and then I started walking along the sheep track to try and find them but I just couldn’t. Lor, I’d better go home, I said, or Mam will be worried. I’ll go home along Post Lane so I can be home quicker and I ended up going down to Black Lake.

  Black Lake? said Mam from the kitchen. You weren’t near Black Lake? she said, very slowly as though she was frightened.

  I got a glass of milk and some bread and butter from the lady at the farm, I said, combing my hair in the mirror. They’ve got a dog and he’s fourteen. His name’s Toss.

  I was just trying to keep talking in case she was cross with me. But when I went back to the kitchen, spotlessly clean with my hair combed, she took hold of me and lifted me up in her arms and gave me a great big kiss on my cheek that lasted for ages.

  My little chick, she said, I don’t know what I’d do if you went missing. And the tears were rolling down her cheeks. I didn’t understand what she was crying about.

  Someone knocking at the door made her put me down, and who was there when Mam went to the door after drying her eyes but Mrs Evans Next Door, Ellis Evans’ wife. Hello, stranger, said Mam, cos Mrs Evans hadn’t been in our house for two nights. Come in, Grace Evans.

  Only for a minute, she said, closing the door behind her. My kettle’s nearly boiling.

  Sit by the fire, said Mam. What is it?

  I thought you wouldn’t have heard with you being out all day, said Mrs Evans, sitting down in the chair after I’d made room for her and gone to sit on the fender to listen. You’ll be surprised when you hear about Lisa.

  Who, Lisa Top House? I said, not catching what she’d said.

  Yes, the poor creature, said Mrs Evans without looking at me.

  Oh, that one, said Mam, collecting the crumbs from the tablecloth and folding it, and pretending that she didn’t want to know anything about Lisa Top House. But I knew she was all ears, really. Things hadn’t been too good between her and Lisa since that day Lisa burst through the door and told Mam to stop gossiping about her.

  Some people do nothing but gossip all day while other people have to work hard to earn a crust, Mam said to Mrs Evans.

  Poor Lisa’s been very lonely, said Mrs Evans.

  What’s she been up to now, then? said Mam, sitting down and starting to poke the fire.

  Nothing, said Mrs Evans, but you’ll be surprised when you hear.

  Hear what, Grace Evans? Mam said, but don’t tell me another of those bloomin’ stories they’re always telling about Lisa, no matter how much truth there is in it. Anyway, she won’t be able to say it’s me who’s gossiping about her this time.

  But Grace Evans was in a good mood. You listen now, she said, and gave Mam a friendly prod. She was always much more familiar with Mam when she was in a good mood. I say, this boy’s all ears on the fender. Now listen so you’ll hear. And she gave Mam another prod.

  Hear what?

  And Mrs Evans said: Ellis had just finished his Quarry Supper and he was sitting in the chair by the window putting his glasses on to see what the Herald’s got to say this week, the gossip and that. That’s the first thing Ellis does after Quarry Supper every Monday night, goes and sits in the chair by the window and puts on his glasses to read. And no one can get a word out of him once he settles down with his paper until it’s time for him to go to bed. This cat’s better company than you when you’ve got your head in that old paper, I always say to him. But Ellis always was a great one for reading.

  Yes, well then? said Mam. What were you saying about Lisa?

  Well, yes, my girl, said Mrs Evans, putting her hand on Mam’s knee. That’s what surprised me about Ellis tonight. He’d just sat down and put his glasses on when he suddenly got up from his chair and took his glasses off to look out of the window. What’s the matter with you, Ellis? I said, surprised.

  Dew, he said, with his glasses in his hand, and turned to look at me like a man in a dream. I must be failing, and that’s a fact, he said.

  Failing what, Ellis? I said. Failing to read? Dew, he said again, still looking right through me. I’ll never believe it wasn’t him.

  Who wasn’t him? I said.

  Him who passed by the window just now, said Ellis.

  Who did you think it was? I said.

  Humphrey, he said. But I must be wrong, surely, he said, and put his glasses back on and sat down.

  Which Humphrey? I said.

  He was very much like him, anyway, he said and picked up his paper again.

  Which Humphrey do you mean, Ellis? I said again. Humphrey, Lisa’s husband. He was just like him. And he had a big bag on his back going up the Hill.

  Good Heavens, I wonder, I said, and I ran through the door to see.

  Surely it wasn’t him, sai
d Mam.

  Wait a minute, said Mrs Evans, and began rocking in the chair. When I went to the door, who was standing at the top of the Hill in front of Lisa’s house but the man Ellis said was the image of Humphrey. There he was knocking at the door and the next thing we heard was Lisa’s voice shouting loud enough for the whole street to hear her. My darling Humphrey, my dearest love, she said, tell me, is it you? Come home to your Lisa? And we could hear her shouting and crying until we went back into the house.

  Well, you don’t say, said Mam slowly, staring into the fire.

  And Mrs Ellis got up from the chair. I just thought you’d like to hear, she said. Good Heavens, my kettle will have boiled dry, I’m sure. Ellis won’t notice anything. He never does when he’s got his nose in that old paper. And she shot through the door like a squirrel.

  Why are you crying again, Mam? I said. Aren’t you pleased that Lisa’s husband has come back from the sea?

  Hush you fool, I wasn’t crying, she said, drying her eyes with her apron and still staring into the fire. I was just thinking about your Dad.

  5

  SEEING MAM’S EYES all red when I woke up the next day made me remember it was Good Friday. Talk about miserable, that was the most miserable day of my life, until teatime anyway. And even then, after tea, nobody came out to play, cos Huw had gone away with his Mam somewhere, and Moi was in bed with a cold.

  I went gathering sticks for Mam to the Woods Behind the Garden after breakfast and even then I had a headache. Mam had told me not to be long cos she wanted me back to look after the house so she could be at Church by twelve o’clock. She went to Church at twelve o’clock every Good Friday and stayed there till after three in the afternoon.

  I didn’t tell her about the headache, I just said: Alright, Mam, I’ll come back in time to look after the house and then I can chop sticks in the back. I never used to say anything to her about it being Good Friday, not since that time ages ago when she told me why she always went to Church at twelve and stayed there till after three.

  Why do you always go to Church at twelve? I said to her that time.

  Cos it was twelve o’clock when they crucified Jesus, she said.

  I’d learned the story in Sunday School about Jesus being crucified, but it didn’t sound the same when Mam told it.

  So why do you stay in Church till after three?

  To suffer with him, she said. He took three hours to die, you know, after they knocked nails into his hands and feet with a hammer.

  They never did that to Him. It’s not true.

  It is, really.

  Do you want me to come with you to Church to suffer with you?

  No, chick, you’re still too young. You can come when you’ve been confirmed.

  What do you do to suffer there for three hours, Mam? Sing psalms?

  No. I say psalms. Nobody sings on Good Friday. Nobody except those bloomin’ Chapel people.

  I didn’t ask her anything else and she didn’t tell me anything else. But every Good Friday after that, for ages, I’d always stand still wherever I happened to be when the midday shot was fired in the Quarry, and I’d start thinking about them knocking the first nail into His hand with a hammer, two of them at the tops of two ladders, one holding His arm and the other knocking the nail in.

  I remember one Good Friday, we’d gone to the Sheep Field to gather pignuts and we were still at it when the midday shot went.

  What’s up? said Moi when he saw me stop gathering nuts and just stand there without saying anything.

  I’m remembering Jesus being crucified.

  It’s his Mam, she’s a very religious woman, you know, said Huw as I carried on standing still. She goes to Church every Good Friday.

  Would you like someone to knock nails into your hands with a hammer? I said to them. Course you would.

  Nobody did that, you stupid fool, said Moi. They just crucified Him.

  But that’s what crucifying is, though. And he didn’t scream or anything, he just prayed, while they were busy knocking the nails in.

  Dew, I’d squeal like a pig if anyone just stuck a pin in my hand, said Huw.

  I can stick a pin in my hand without shouting, said Moi. Have you got a pin? I’ll show you.

  And when he’d got a pin from Huw, Moi started sticking it through the skin on the palm of his hand as though he was darning a stocking, and then the point of the pin came out again from under his skin. And he didn’t make any sound at all.

  It’s fairly easy. You just have to hold your breath.

  I forgot all about the story of Jesus then, until Mam came home from Church. But on this particular Good Friday, I was on my own in the back chopping sticks when they fired the midday shot in the Quarry and I had a hell of a headache. And when I stood still, the longer I stood the more I thought about people hammering nails, and my head hurt as though someone was knocking nails into it, so I had to go inside and lie down. And when I lay down, I started shaking like a leaf and there was cold sweat on my forehead, and I began to think all kinds of things. Dew, I really wanted Mam. I’ll go and fetch her from the Church, I said, and got up and started walking slowly through the door. I was nearly crying I was so ill and I wanted to be sick but I couldn’t. I was feeling so weak, I went down the Hill holding onto the wall in case I fell over. Dew, it was a fine day, too. The sun was hot but I was covered in cold sweat and my eyes were hurting as though someone had gone behind them with a hot pin and was plucking away at the roots. Oh, and the pain in my head.

  Luckily, the gate to the Graveyard was open. I could never have opened it, being so weak. And it looked a hell of a long way from the Graveyard gate to the Church door, although really it was only a few yards. I was hoping that Mam would be sitting in our old seat near the door so I could call to her quietly and ask her to come out cos I was ill. But I felt sure she’d have gone to a new seat halfway down the aisle. Dew, I just can’t go any further, I said.

  So what did I do but lie down on the grass at the side of the pebble path. Just to rest for a while, I thought, before carrying on to the Church door. I began to think all sorts of things when I lay down. I was looking at the Church tower and the stones in the wall and the slates on the roof. Dew, it must be old, I said. I’m sure it looked nice when it was a new church, before the wind and the rain and the frost and the snow and the heat from the sun dirtied it. It’s like that stone hen that used to be in our house before if got broken to bits, the one with all her chicks around her, and they were stone as well. But my headache was too bad for me to look for long, and my eyes hurt.

  I got a shock when I woke up and saw where I was lying. I wasn’t on the grass but on somebody’s grave that the grass had grown over. There was a wreath of white flowers that had gone yellow in a glass pot with rusty wires around it, and the pot had just about disappeared from view in the grass and the weeds. I couldn’t read anything on the gravestone except In Loving Memory and there were pictures of oak leaves. My eyes were hurting too much to read any more and I just wanted to close them. So I did close them, and started to think what if I died right there on Good Friday.

  It’d be a lot better than somebody knocking nails into your hands and feet, I said. But Dew, my head feels as though somebody’s knocking nails into that, though. And it would be great afterwards to be raised from the dead on Easter Sunday just like Jesus, and creep about the village without anyone seeing me, and not tell anyone except Mam and Huw that I’d been raised from the dead until Ascension Day. And then go up to Heaven like a balloon from the top of the Foel. I wouldn’t like to go and leave Mam and Huw though. Dew, my head hurts.

  It was just like being raised from the dead when I woke up, too. I didn’t have a clue where I was. But then I realised I was lying in bed in Mam’s bedroom, lovely and warm. And then Mam came into the room with a cup of tea and a hot-cross bun on a plate, and started laughing so much she nearly spilt the tea on the bedclothes.

  What are you laughing at, Mam? I said, beginning to laugh with her.


  Seeing your face when you woke up, chick, she said. You looked just like you’d come back from the dead.

  Lor, I said after drinking my tea and wolfing the hot-cross bun, it’s great to wake up without a headache. It’s just like being raised from the dead.

  And that’s what made me suddenly remember lying on the grave in the Graveyard. How did I get to bed, Mam? I said.

  You were asleep in the Graveyard when we came out of Church, chick, and I carried you home and undressed you and put you to bed. And you didn’t wake up once.

  Dew, I was ill.

  You’re alright now though, aren’t you, chick?

  Yes. Any more hot-cross buns? What time is it?

  Only half past five, said Mam, going out of the room to bring me another hot-cross bun. I jumped out of bed and started to get dressed, full of the joys of spring. Talk about me getting better, dew, she was better too after being in Church and suffering all afternoon. She wasn’t the same woman she was earlier on. She was laughing at everything I said to her and going all around the house, into the back kitchen and the front room and the loft, singing all the while. I could easily have forgotten it was Good Friday except that the oven was full of hot-cross buns. I was just about to remind her that it was only those bloomin’ Chapel people who sang on Good Friday, but then I thought maybe I’d better not.

  She called from the front room: Don’t you eat too many of those hot-cross buns, you little guts, or you’ll be sick again.

  I won’t, Mam.

  Go out for a walk up the Hill. It’ll do you good.

  Alright then, I said, and I put my cap on and out I went.