And I am left an orphan
A pilgrim all alone
That’s what we sang at Griffith Evans Braich’s funeral, and Canon’s and all the others, too, but we were just singing cos we got tuppence for singing at those. It was different at Moi’s funeral cos he was our friend and the words were true. I couldn’t see anything when Hughes the Parson threw a handful of soil onto Moi’s coffin after they’d lowered it into the grave with a rope cos my eyes were just like two windows after it’s been raining.
But if you’d seen Moi’s Mam after Hughes the Parson threw the soil onto the coffin. Huw and me thought she was going mad. She was stooping down on the other side of the grave, with two men holding her, one on each arm. And when the soil was thrown in, she let out a terrible scream just like when Moi’s Uncle Owen was going to stick the knife in her neck ages ago, and she fell forward. And she would have fallen right into the grave on top of Moi’s coffin if the two men hadn’t kept a tight hold of her.
Dew, to think old Moi’s lying there in a coffin with all that earth on top of him, Huw said when we went to see the grave the following Sunday morning, after the service in Church.
And he was talking and laughing in bed a week last Monday, I said. Do you believe those things Hughes the Parson says about rising from the dead?
I don’t know, boy. But Hughes the Parson doesn’t tell lies, with him being a Parson and all.
He does worse things than tell lies, Huw. I’m sure Canon would never have refused to give the Communion wine to Grace Ellen Shoe Shop like Hughes the Parson did.
Dew, you’re a strange one, Huw said.
But I just couldn’t get the thought of Moi lying there out of my mind.
Do you think Moi will rise from the dead like Hughes the Parson says? I said to Mam that night. But Mam was tired and not in a mood to answer questions.
Go to bed now, chick, she said, so you can get up tomorrow morning. And don’t worry about Moi. He’s in a better place than you or me tonight.
But I could still see old Moi lying under the soil when I went to bed, and during the night too. And then I started dreaming. There was Moi in my dream, lying in bed in a grand room somewhere, smiling happily at me, with a lot of angels standing there and flying around him.
Dew, this is a fine place, he said when he saw me. But before I could say anything, all the angels took hold of his bed and started flapping their wings and making a terrible noise all through the place like the pheasants in the Sheep Field. And then all the angels and Moi’s bed suddenly started to rise up and up they went through the roof, and Moi kept smiling at me till he went out of sight. And I didn’t see anything else till I woke up at six o’clock to go and fetch the Tal Cafn cattle.
Moi would have been thrilled to bits to see Johnny South give Owen Gorlan such a hell of a hiding behind The Blue Bell. And I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t seen Robin Gorlan when I was coming down from Pen y Foel after fetching the cattle.
Have you seen Johnny South? Robin said as we walked through the Potato Field after he’d pulled up some potatoes for me to take home.
Yes. He talks funny, doesn’t he, Robin?
He’s opened a boxing booth behind The Blue Bell.
You don’t say, boy.
He has, really. And anyone, it doesn’t matter who, can go there to learn boxing for a shilling a week. I went there with Owen the other night to see Johnny South go through his paces. Dew, you should see him. He’s a good ’un, and no mistake.
Really?
Yes, really. He’s made a big square ring in the stables of The Blue Bell, with rope railings all around it. And that’s where the lads go every night to learn boxing. Johnny South calls them up one at a time and batters them, and he gets a good battering back sometimes as well. There’s room for about twenty lads to sit on the seats around the ring.
Did he give Owen a hiding?
No. Wait till I tell you what happened. After we’d seen one round between Johnny South and Frank Bee Hive and Frank getting a hell of a belting, Owen and me went out. Then Owen went into the bar and I went into the Chip Shop next door. And when Owen came out of the bar, he was all mouth. The southern bastard, he said, I’ll teach him to come up here showing off. Come back with me, Robin boy, and you’ll see.
And did you go back there?
Yes, and when we got to the door, Johnny South was standing in the middle of the ring in his shorts and vest and wearing his boxing gloves. Now then, he said in his Southern Welsh. At eight o’clock next Tuesday, there’ll be a special show here—Johnny South against whoever wants to challenge him, over three rounds. And if there’s anybody here with a big enough punch to KO Johnny South, he’ll get ten shillings for his purse.
Dew, you speak South Walian really well, Robin.
And Owen shouted from the door: Okay, you Southerner, I’ll see you next Tuesday. And everybody turned round to look at us. At eight o’clock then, said Owen, pretending to talk like Johnny South.
Taken, said Johnny in English, with a big smile on his face. He wasn’t scowling like Owen was.
Next Tuesday, Robin?
Yes. And our Owen’s asked Little Owen the Coal to be his second and they want me to help. And Johnny Beer Barrel will be Johnny South’s second. Johnny South wanted three rounds but Owen insisted they made it four. So I’ll have a chance to give him a proper pasting, if he isn’t flat on his back before the end of the first round, he said. Him and Little Owen the Coal have been boxing in the loft over the stables at Gorlan every night since then, to make sure he’s really fit. Little Owen the Coal’s got a black eye, but no one can see it cos it’s under the coal dust.
You don’t say, boy, I said, I thought he looked a bit weird going to work this morning.
Tuesday night came, and the lads had completely filled The Blue Bell yard long before eight o’clock, and a lot of them had to stand by the door and the window cos there was no room inside. But Robin had saved a seat for me cos I was one of the first there, with Huw, and Huw had a seat beside me.
Jesus, it’s hot in here, said Huw. You wouldn’t think he was a boxer, would you? he said then when Johnny South climbed into the ring through the ropes. And you wouldn’t either. His skin was white and he was dancing on his toes in the corner, holding on to the ropes with his back to us.
Yes, but look at his muscles, I said.
They’re not a patch on Owen Gorlan’s muscles. And look at Owen’s skin. It’s brown, just like a black man’s.
It’s sunburned through haymaking.
And there was Owen sitting in his corner facing us and scowling and growling like a mad dog.
Frank Bee Hive was the referee and, after shouting for quiet, he called Owen and Johnny South together and spoke quietly to them for a minute. Then they pretended to shake hands and went back to their corners. Then Roli Pant, who helped Little Owen the Coal at work, hit the big tin lid they were using for a bell and the two of them, Johnny South and Owen Gorlan, jumped to the middle of the ring for the first round.
For the first minute, nobody hit anybody. The two of them just danced about in front of each other with their left arms shooting out as though they were trying to tickle each other’s nose. But Johnny South was dancing around Owen, and Owen was watching him like a cat watching a mouse. Then suddenly like lightning, Owen’s right arm swung out like a sickle cutting a hedge and his fist caught Johnny South on the side of his ear and he went down on his backside with his legs in the air in the centre of the ring.
One … two … three … Frank Bee Hive shouted into his ear. But before he got to four, Johnny South had jumped to his feet and he was dancing round Owen like before.
Jesus, that was a good punch, said Huw, standing up and then sitting down again all the time, like something gone mad. And by now, everyone was shouting with all their might, especially those at the door and the window.
Another like that for the Southerner, Owen, someone said. But that was the only proper belt that Owen managed to give him. Even though his arms w
ere waving about like a windmill, and shooting straight out sometimes, Johnny South was running rings round him, and wherever Owen Gorlan’s fist was, Johnny South’s head wasn’t.
Then Roli Pant gave the tin lid a bang to say that the first round was over, and the two boxers went back to their corners, neither of them much the worse for wear.
That’s science for you, boy, said Huw when the second round started. Owen went at Johnny South like a man cutting hay with a scythe but Johnny South had jumped back. And before Owen had time to get back on the soles of his feet, Johnny South’s right hand went straight into the middle of his stomach. Heeerch, said Owen and fell to his knees with his hands on the floor as though he was looking for something. And Frank Bee Hive started counting One, Two, Three but then Roli hit the tin lid to say it was the end of the round.
Owen’s skin was shining with sweat as he sat in the corner waiting for the third round, and Little Owen the Coal was hard at it with his towel wiping the sweat off him and whispering to him. But Johnny South didn’t look as if he was tired at all. He was standing in his corner, holding the ropes and dancing about just like he was at the start.
Ping, went Roli’s tin lid and the two of them jumped out for the third round. Johnny South was a completely different man this time. He looked more serious and was moving more slowly, like a tiger, around Owen, and his eyes were like a dragon’s. But Owen was jumping quicker than before with his fists jumping out and waving around Johnny South’s head, but without getting a real blow in.
Owen’s really mad now, you know, said Huw. Can you see that red patch under his right eye?
Suddenly, Owen’s right hand shot out and caught Johnny South right in the face. And the tiger started to back away with Owen really going for him and getting another good punch or two into Johnny’s face.
But like lightning, Johnny jumped sideways and his left hand sank deep into Owen’s belly, and then his right hand caught Owen on the side of his jaw and Owen started to wobble around like a drunken man with his arms waving in the air.
And we were shouting at the tops of our voices: After him, Owen. Hit him, Owen. And somebody else, who wasn’t friends with Owen, shouted: Come on, Johnny South. Lay him out.
And Johnny South did lay him out. Johnny’s left arm was the sickle this time, and it caught Owen on the side of his head so hard that his feet left the ground and he landed on the other end of the ring.
One … two … three … said Frank Bee Hive but Owen didn’t get up till after he’d said eight. Then he got up very slowly with Johnny watching him like a leopard on the other side, but giving him enough time to pull himself together. Then Johnny South jumped in like lightning and gave Owen another belt with his left hand on the side of his head which lifted Owen off his feet again. But old Owen didn’t get up after that one.
One … three … said Frank Bee Hive, and after he’d counted ten, he went over to Johnny South and lifted his arm to show that he was the winner, and Johnny was all smiles and showing no sign that he’d been in a fight, and poor Owen was still like a flatfish on the floor, and Little Owen the Coal was throwing water in his face to try and make him come round, and then wiping his face with the towel.
There was a little bit of clapping, but not much, and we all went out before Owen came round, we were so ashamed of him. Some of the big boys went into The Blue Bell and Huw and me and the others went to the Chip Shop next door.
They’re good boxers, those Southern lads, said Roli Pant, with his mouth stuffed full of chips and peas.
You wouldn’t think he could give Owen Gorlan a hiding with him being only half his size, said Huw.
They teach them while they’re little lads, said Roli. You and me would be good boxers if we’d been taught properly when we were little lads. Dew, your chips are good tonight, Miss Jones, he said to Ann Jones, who was busy putting more fish into the fat.
Afterwards, Huw and me went for a walk up to Stables Bridge to see if Bob Milk Cart or anyone else was trying to catch salmon. But when we got to the Bridge, there was nobody there but us two, standing in the moonlight and leaning on the Bridge, staring down into the water. And we stayed like that for ages, leaning on the side of the Bridge and watching the current and listening to the sound of the water and the wind in the leaves, without saying a word to each other.
Is it us that’s going up or is it the River that’s going down? I said to Huw at last.
Dew, it’s great to get a ride on the Bridge for nothing, isn’t it? said Huw, laughing.
Have you heard the story about Will Starch Collar, Huw?
Who? That bloke that plays with the Salvation Army Band?
Yes.
No. What story?
The story about him seeing the wheel of fire.
You’re joking, boy. I never heard that. Where did he see it?
Right here.
No, boy.
Yes. That’s why he went to join the Salvation Army. The wheel of fire came out of the River up this side of the Bridge and spoke to him.
No.
Yes, really. And told him to stop getting drunk in The Blue Bell.
Who told him?
The wheel of fire, it’s true.
Shut up, you fool. A wheel can’t speak.
I know it can’t. But there was a Voice in the wheel and it was that that spoke to him.
Whose voice was it?
A spirit voice, of course.
Get away. Who told you?
Mam told me. It was the time of the Revival. Are you scared of spirits, Huw?
Jesus yes, boy.
What would you do if the wheel of fire came up out of the River right here and now?
Nothing. I’d just watch it, to see what’d happen. Look, the moon’s in the River down there exactly like a wheel of fire. Maybe that’s what Will Starch Collar saw when he was drunk.
Yes, but if the wheel of fire rolled up the side of the Bridge to where we’re standing and then spoke to you, what would you do?
Jesus, run home as fast as I could.
And then the moon went behind a cloud in the sky and it was pitch black. We’d better go home, said Huw, it’s nearly ten o’clock.
Dew, I said, when we reached Post Lane, it’d be great to be able to box like Johnny South, wouldn’t it?
Yes, boy.
I wouldn’t be scared of anybody then.
But you’re a good fighter, or you wouldn’t have been be able to give Johnny Beer Barrel a hiding, that time.
Yes, but that’s fighting—not boxing. I’d be scared of lots of things if I couldn’t fight. But if I could box properly, I wouldn’t be scared of anything ever again.
You’d be scared of ghosts, said Huw laughing, cos you can’t box them.
Post Lane was pitch dark, just like it is now, and the moon had gone behind a cloud. And there wasn’t a sound coming from anywhere, just the sound of Huw and me in our hobnailed boots, clanking on the Lane.
Jesus, a bogeyman, said Huw suddenly. Look, there it is lying by the side of the Lane there. And we ran for our lives when we heard a voice shout: Go home, you little devils.
When we got to the Lockup, Huw stopped running and started laughing his head off.
What’s the matter with you, Huw? I said.
But Huw was still laughing. That wasn’t a bogeyman, he said at last, it was Little Owen the Coal, drunk.
When we reached the Crossroads, there were a lot of big lads talking to each other. They were talking about Owen Gorlan getting a hiding from Johnny South, but Huw and me didn’t stay long to listen.
See you tomorrow, said Huw.
Are you coming with me after school? I said.
Where to?
To ask Johnny South if we can learn to box.
You bet, said Huw. Good night.
Good night.
Where’ve you been so late? said Mam when I got home. With that old Huw making mischief, I’ll bet.
No, really Mam. We went for a walk to Stables Bridge, watching salmon
leaping in the moonlight.
You’ll grow up a poacher, you know, if you go wandering to that old river like this every night.
We didn’t see one poacher there.
No, of course not. The old devils are too sly for anyone to see them.
But d’you know what, Mam? I said after getting a bowl of milky potatoes. The moon was exactly like that wheel of fire you were talking about.
What wheel of fire?
That one Will Starch Collar saw ages ago. Maybe it was the moon he saw, Mam.
Go to bed so I can get on with this ironing.
And maybe it was the man in the moon that spoke to him.
Go to bed, Mam said then, really sharply.
The moon had come out from behind the clouds when I saw it next, after getting undressed and lying in bed and looking out of the skylight. And the old man in the moon was laughing at me and the moon looked exactly like Will Ellis Porter’s face.
Then I shouted to Mam from the loft. Mam, I said, could Daddy box when he was a little boy?
There was no answer for a long time, just the noise of the iron going up and down on the table.
Go to sleep, you little villain, said Mam eventually, and stop asking silly questions.
And I went to sleep without asking her anything else.
8
IS THIS THE VOICE, I wonder? Or is it just the wind blowing through Adwy’r Nant?
*
I am the Queen of Snowdon, the Bride of the Beautiful One. I lie upon the bed of my ascension, eternally expectant, forever great with child and awaiting the hour of his delivery.
My thighs embrace the swirling mists and my breasts caress the low-lying clouds; they in their precocity explore the secret places of my nakedness, luxuriate amid the wonders of the deep, then rise again in guilty satisfaction to the Heavens.
Thou hast enslaved me. Thou hast enslaved me, my Beloved; and I submit myself unto thy will; with my every living breath do I desire thee.
I would raise my arms in supplication to the Heavens to implore thee my Beautiful One; were it not their fate to be confined to the earth and to remain creations of the clay.
One Moonlit Night Page 9