One Moonlit Night

by Caradog Prichard

  By now, there was a row of people filling the railings in front of the Altar and Hughes the Parson was going along the row with Hughes the Curate. Hughes the Curate was putting the bread in everyone’s hand and Hughes the Parson was going behind him with the cup of wine.

  The body of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der, Hughes the Curate said to everyone. The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der, said Hughes the Parson after him.

  Huw and me used to look at their shoes while they were kneeling down to see who hadn’t had them soled. Will Ellis Porter’s and Little Harry the Clogs’ would always have holes in the soles; but it was Lisa Top House’s fox fur that attracted our attention that morning. We could see it’s head laughing at us from her shoulders with its black eyes shining like stars.

  Do you think it was Charlie, the dog from Waun Farm, that caught that fox on Lisa Top House’s back? said Huw.

  Quiet, you fool, I said. Humphrey her husband brought it back for her from across the sea. Mam and me are going there for tea this afternoon to get the full story.

  Oh yes, of course, said Huw. Jesus! Look who’s coming.

  By now, the back end of the queue was just arriving at the Altar, and we’d thought that Mrs Jones the New Policeman, the one who was a maid at the Vicarage when Mam used to go there, was the last. But who suddenly got up from her pew at the back of the Floor by the door, and walked up dressed to the nines with a white-spotted veil over her face, but Grace Ellen Shoe Shop.

  Who is it? I said before I saw who it was.

  Grace Ellen Shoe Shop, said Huw. Do you remember seeing her in the Sheep Field with Frank Bee Hive ages ago?

  Sure I do. When we were collecting pignuts.

  Yes. Well, she’s had a baby and nobody knows who the father is.

  You don’t say. But why not?

  She won’t tell anyone.

  Maybe she doesn’t know herself.

  Maybe not. She used to go to the Sheep Field with somebody or other just about every night, said Huw.

  Maybe it’s Frank Bee Hive who’s the father.

  Shut up. His dad’s watching us through the mirror.

  By now, Grace Ellen Shoe Shop had come up and was standing on her own waiting for someone to get up after their Communion to make room for her by the Altar railings.

  The body of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der, said Hughes the Curate. The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der, said Hughes the Parson until everyone had got up from the railings and Grace Ellen Shoe Shop was there on her own, kneeling with her head bowed. Hughes the Parson and Hughes the Curate had gone back to the Altar and were standing with their backs to us, doing something with the bread and wine, but we couldn’t see what it was they were doing.

  Then Hughes the Curate came and said: The body of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der and gave Grace Ellen a piece of bread and she cupped her hands and swallowed it and then put her head in her hands and prayed. By now everyone in the Choir and all the people on the Floor were sitting in their seats and looking at Grace Ellen all alone there waiting for Hughes the Parson to turn round with the Cup and bring her the wine.

  But Hughes the Parson didn’t turn round, he just stood right there with his back to us and his head bent backwards as though he was looking up at the angels and the picture of Jesus and his Mother in the coloured window above the Altar.

  Grace Ellen didn’t move from her knees for ages either, she just waited for the Cup with her head in her hands. In the end, when it was clear enough to everyone that Hughes the Parson wasn’t going to turn round and bring the Cup to her, Grace Ellen got up and turned round and started walking back down from the Altar, with the eyes of everyone in the Choir and on the Floor upon her.

  But you should have seen Grace Ellen. She was as proud as anyone in that Church. As she passed us, she took hold of the white-spotted veil on top of her hat and put it over her face and tied it under her chin. And instead of walking back to her seat, what did she do but walk down the middle of the Floor and turn left, and out she went through the door.

  Dew, it’s a shame for her, said Huw.

  Yes, boy, I said. But it’s her own fault for going to the Sheep Field.

  After she’d gone, everyone’s eyes turned back to the Altar. Hughes the Parson and Hughes the Curate were there with their backs to us, still doing something with the bread and wine and still saying: The body of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der and The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ der-der-der-der.

  Watch Hughes the Parson as he swallows, said Huw.

  And as he said it, Hughes the Parson began to drink from the cup and his head went further and further back until it looked as if he was looking at the roof with the Cup upside down on his mouth.

  I wonder if he’ll be drunk now, I said to Huw.

  No, course not. Communion wine isn’t the same as the beer in The Blue Bell, you know. And he has to drink every drop that’s left over once it’s been consecrated.

  Then the two of them, Hughes the Parson and Hughes the Curate, were still kneeling with their backs towards us. Our Fa-a-th-e-r, said Hughes Parson. Our Fa-a-th-e-r, we all said together in the Choir and on the Floor. And we said The Lord’s Prayer together.

  When Hughes the Parson got up and turned round, his face was as white as his surplice. And he was looking straight ahead as though he’d seen a ghost at the door, but there was nothing there.

  Oh Lord and Heavenly Father, we said after him, although we be unworthy through our many sins to offer unto thee any sacrifice, we beseech thee to accept this our bounden duty and our service, while not weighing our desserts but forgiving our sins…

  But by now I’d lost my place in the book and I was peeping through my fingers at Ceri and thinking about Mam making dinner. Meat and roast potatoes. I could almost smell them already and I was dying for the service to end so that I could run home up the Hill.

  The peace of God which surpasseth all understanding, said Hughes the Parson at last in the Vestry. Amen, we all said, and then it was off with our surplices and cassocks on the pegs and out we went.

  Are you coming to help me pump the organ for the English service this afternoon, Huw? I said when we got to the Graveyard gate.

  Yes. And afterwards we’ll go for a walk to the Sheep Field before tea.

  Alright then, I said, and ran home up the Hill.

  Dew, that smell’s good, I said to Mam as I sat in the chair to watch her put dinner on the table. D’you know who was at Communion this morning?

  No. Lots of people, I’m sure.

  Yes. The Church was full. Lisa Top House was there with Humphrey, but Humphrey didn’t come up to take Communion. D’you know who else was there?

  No.

  Grace Ellen Shoe Shop.

  She never was. The dirty little madam. People like her aren’t fit to take Communion.

  She didn’t get it.

  But I thought you said she was at Communion.

  She was, but she didn’t get it.

  Mam was putting peas on the plates with a big spoon, but she stopped and looked me right in the eye.

  What do you mean, she didn’t get it?

  Hughes the Curate gave her the bread but Hughes the Parson wouldn’t give her the wine.

  You don’t say. Mam was still looking at me as though she was in a dream. You don’t say, she said again slowly, and went on putting peas on the plates.

  It’s a shame for her, isn’t it?

  But perhaps he was in the right, she said.

  But why did they give her the bread but not the wine?

  Well, that’s what they do, you know. Come on now, to the table. I’m sure you must be nearly starving, and she changed the subject.

  I didn’t ask any more about it.

  It was lucky that Huw came with me to help pump the organ for the English service that afternoon too. Little Owen the Coal had asked me to go instead of him cos he wanted to go catching rabbits with Owen Gorlan. I’d been in the organ pumping room once b
efore, and that was with Owen, when he’d shown me how to push the blower up and down and make sure the organ didn’t run out of wind. Owen would always come out of the room whenever it was time for the sermon and sit in the seat under the pulpit resting his head on his hand, listening. You can stay inside during the sermon in case people see you, Owen said to me that time.

  And I said the same thing to Huw that afternoon. The English service was a right miserable affair. Only about a dozen people went to it. Mister Vincent the Bank and his wife and their little boy, Cyril, who was growing his curly hair just like a girl. They didn’t understand Welsh, that’s why they came. And because they came, that’s why Mrs Ellis the Bee Hive and David Evans Snowdon View’s wife and one or two others came, not cos they couldn’t speak Welsh.

  It was Hughes the Curate, not Hughes the Parson, who took the service, and this was the first time he’d been in an English service. It was lucky that Huw had come to help too, cos the organ bellows were so heavy, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to pump them up and down on my own.

  Dew, Little Owen the Coal must be strong, I said to Huw when we were pumping away to Nunc Dimitis.

  He is. Have you seen his muscles when he’s in his shirt sleeves? Pumping the organ’s good for building muscles, you know.

  Yes, I said and took over the pumping from Huw. But that wasn’t the only reason I was saying it was lucky that Huw had come with me.

  You can stay in the bellows room during the sermon if you like, I told him when Hughes the Curate went up into the pulpit and was saying: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.

  Alright then, said Huw. You go out.

  Alright, I said, and I went out and sat in the seat under the pulpit and settled down to listen, with my hand under my head like Little Owen the Coal. Hughes the Curate spoke English just as well as he did Welsh, and although I did my best to listen to him, I was still thinking about other things. I only remember one word of that sermon, and the reason I remember it is cos I couldn’t understand what it meant. Monotonousness was the word Hughes the Curate said, exactly as though he were speaking Welsh. Mo-no-to-nuss-ness, he said slowly.

  Dew, yes, it was lucky that Huw had come with me. It must have been just about the time when Hughes the Curate was saying Monotonousness that I went to sleep. The next thing I remembered was jumping up in the seat when the organ started playing Awake my soul and with thy strength, and flying back into the pump room. And there was Huw pumping away for all he was worth and laughing his head off at me.

  You’re a fine one, he said.

  Moi laughed his head off as well when Huw told him what had happened. After Church, I wanted to go the Sheep Field for a walk, but we didn’t go.

  There’s nothing there on Sunday afternoon, you know, said Huw. The nuts aren’t ready for gathering yet, and we couldn’t gather pignuts anyway in these Sunday clothes. We can go and see old Moi in bed.

  Alright then.

  We’ve come to see Moi, said Huw after we’d knocked at the door and Moi’s Mam had answered it with her hair in pins and looking as though she’d just woken up.

  Come in, chicks, she said. Go up to him in the bedroom. I’ll make a cup of tea in two minutes.

  We were feeling more comfortable than the last time we were both there when Moi’s Uncle Owen was alive, before he hanged himself, but as we were going up the stairs, Huw gave me a prod.

  Look who’s here, he said.

  And there was Moi’s Uncle Owen in a black frame on the wall looking at us, and his face was just like an angel’s.

  And I got a shock when I saw Moi in bed but I didn’t show it.

  Hello, how are you, old Moi? said Huw.

  How are things? I said.

  Hullo, lads, said Moi, sitting up. I’m okay, you know, but Mam won’t let me get up. She says maybe I can get up tomorrow after the Doctor’s been, but that’s what she said last time, too.

  That’s what you get for going to catch salmon with Little Owen the Coal, said Huw laughing. D’you know where we’ve been?

  No. But I wish I’d been with you.

  In Church pumping the organ for Little Owen the Coal cos he’s gone catching rabbits with Owen Gorlan.

  He’s a great organ pumper, you know, said Huw and started to tell him about me going to sleep. Old Moi was helpless with laughter.

  But even though we were laughing with him, I couldn’t for the life of me take my eyes off Moi’s face. Talk about eyes. His eyes were shining exactly like the eyes of that fox we saw on Lisa Top House’s shoulder in Communion, and his face was all white like Hughes the Parson’s after he’d refused to give the wine to Grace Ellen Shoe Shop, except that there were two red patches on Moi’s face, one on each cheek. And then, suddenly, as he was laughing his head off, he started coughing like I don’t know what.

  Get me the pot from under the bed, Huw, he said between coughs. And Huw put his hand under the bed and pulled the pot out.

  Hold it so I can spit in it, said Moi when he got his breath back.

  Jesus, you’re spitting blood, said Huw and the three of us stopped laughing, and Huw and me looked at the blood in the pot.

  It’s nothing, you know, said Moi when he stopped spitting and coughing and Huw had put the pot back under the bed. I always spit blood when I get a cold. D’you know who’s coming to stay at The Blue Bell, boys?

  Who?

  Johnny Beer Barrel’s cousin? said Huw.

  Yes, but how did you know? said Moi.

  I guessed. I’ve heard Johnny Beer Barrel saying that his cousin comes from the South and bragging that he’s a boxer and that he could give anyone in the Village a hiding. How do you know, anyway? You’ve not been out.

  Mam told me.

  Then Moi’s Mam shouted up the stairs: Come down now, boys, and have a cup of tea.

  You go, lads, said Moi. I’ll see you tomorrow in School.

  And we went downstairs to have a cup of tea with Moi’s Mam.

  We’ve been in Church, I told her. Pumping the organ in the English service for Little Owen the Coal.

  Yes, you’re good boys, she said. And Moi will be able to go to Church with you every Sunday when he gets better.

  Will he really? I said.

  Can he get up tomorrow? said Huw.

  I don’t know yet, till the Doctor comes.

  We didn’t say anything about Moi spitting blood.

  Were you in Chapel today? I said.

  No. I haven’t been since we lost poor Uncle Owen.

  You should have been in Church this morning, said Huw. Dew, I felt sorry for her.

  Sorry for who?

  Grace Ellen Shoe Shop. Hughes the Parson refused to give her Communion.

  Really? He’s a miserable old devil. Him and his Church. No, he can’t go, now I think about it, Moi can’t go to Church with you when he’s better. Not while that old devil Hughes the Parson’s there anyway. Poor Grace. Ooh, it’s an old devil he is.

  And Moi’s Mam was still cursing Hughes the Parson when we left.

  Jesus, I nearly forgot, I said to Huw after we came out. Mam and me are going to tea at Lisa Top House’s. I’ll have to leg it. Ta-ta now.

  Dew, the weather was lovely when Mam put her best hat on and came with me to Top House. And you should have seen Mam and Lisa when Lisa opened the door. There they were, hugging each other and laughing and crying at the same time, and Humphrey was standing behind Lisa and making all sorts of faces at me, shutting one eye and sticking his tongue out and twisting his nose with his finger and thumb until I was rolling about laughing.

  Dew, it was great listening to Humphrey telling wonderful stories at the tea table, and Lisa laughing at everything he was saying, and showing off her false teeth. And Mam was laughing too. And the door was wide open and the sunshine was streaming in. And there were all kinds of food to eat, and I was sorry I’d already eaten Sunday dinner at home. I nearly fell asleep in Church afterwards that Sunday night cos I’d eaten so much.


  7

  JOHNNY BEER BARREL’S cousin was called Johnny, too, and so we’d know which one we were talking about when he came to stay at The Blue Bell, we called his cousin Johnny South. And whenever anyone from the South came to the Village, everyone would look at them in the Street as though they had horns growing out of their head, and laugh at the way they spoke cos their South Walian Welsh was so funny.

  Jesus, the people in the South talk funny, don’t they? said Moi when we went to see him the following day. Pass me that pot again.

  And there was poor Moi, still in bed and still spitting blood.

  And that was the last time we saw old Moi. The following Sunday night, Huw called round and his face was like chalk.

  Have you heard? he said at the door without coming in.

  Heard what? said Mam.

  Come in from the door, Huw, I said. What’s up?

  Moi’s dead, he said quietly.

  Moi? No, you’re telling lies, Huw.

  But I knew by his face that Huw was telling the truth. I just needed to say something, just like ages ago when I used to whistle as I went along Post Lane after dark, pretending that I wasn’t frightened of bogeymen.

  And we were talking to him on Monday night, I said, as though I still didn’t believe it.

  He was spitting a lot of blood that night, said Huw.

  That bloomin’ TB, said Mam. It takes young and old alike.

  Then I started to cry like a baby. I couldn’t stop for the life of me, though I tried my very best to stop cos I was embarrassed with Huw and Mam watching me.

  Moi and him were close friends, Huw said to Mam. But, of course, Huw was making excuses for me crying cos he was as close to Moi as I was. You never saw Huw crying like I did.

  But Huw cried, too, at the funeral though nobody saw him that time except me. It was only one little tear that rolled down his cheek and even I wouldn’t have seen that if he hadn’t wiped his eye with the sleeve of his surplice, as we both stood with the Choir at the graveside singing:

  My friends are homeward going

  Before me one by one