One Moonlit Night

by Caradog Prichard

  I would lift up my hands begging to the firmament to pray for his munificence; but it is ordained that they should clutch only the dew about my resting place.

  I would awake, if my Beloved willed it, to dazzle him with the lustful radiance of my eyes; but my eyelids must not rise from their relentless sleep to gaze upon his glory or to drink in the magnificence of his form.

  I would walk to meet him upon the steps of the wind; but feet do not stir which have inherited the shackles of the rock.

  The hurricanes roar above my paralysis, and the rain saturates without cleansing; but is there not mercy in the sun, nor pity in the spring breezes?

  They amuse me with their petty vows, their empty promises grate upon my ears; the odour of their feeble begging fills my nostrils.

  She, the moon of my night-day disturbs my sleep with her shrill laughter; and, in the jealousy of her impotence, shines her fury upon the fruitfulness of my womb.

  Come again, my Beautiful One, come again and take me, before the sun rises from his resting place, before we are disturbed by the bleating of the lamb; fully possess your chosen one before the withering of the moon’s candle; prepare before me the joy of my afternoon.

  And I shall again offer thee my sacrifice; and my sweet incense shall ascend to thy abode.

  * * *

  The early light breathes o’er the darkness of my eyes and I am filled with bliss; for in the afternoon shall come my firstborn.

  My arms shall not embrace him neither shall my feet instruct him in his early promenades; yet my breasts shall nourish him and his kiss shall be warm upon my cheek.

  I shall show to him the freedom of the high and low expanses; and shall make him expert in the captive methods of the earth.

  I shall plant my longing in his bowels; and shall build towers of hope within the city of his skull.

  I shall fill the corners of his eyes from the secret wells of my tears; and shall take from the sun and moon his share of laughter.

  His form shall be fairer than the unseen day; stronger than the whirlwind shall be the strength of his loins.

  I shall push his young one from my womb as a conqueror and demand that he proceed to conquer the world.

  The virtue of my breasts shall be for him a light upon his pathway; the wisdom of my clay shall guide him to the ends of the earth.

  Kings and princes shall bow in his presence; and the multitudes shall raise their voices in his praise.

  Lands and kingdoms shall be his by right; and great will be the pleasure in his palaces.

  His enemies shall grovel for his mercy; pure white virgins shall beg for his lips.

  His name shall flit from mouth to mouth; his deeds shall radiate from the writings of the bards.

  I shall rejoice in his conquests; I shall call upon the low clouds to celebrate his feast.

  * * *

  The afternoon has come; and the spring breezes send their tender waves to caress my blessed burden.

  They whisper their tiny dreams into my ears and nostrils; but they bear no tidings of my firstborn.

  The sun plaits its silence around the ropes of my hair; its sweat weeps silently upon my brow.

  But again the pain of childbirth does not come to make me happy; no pangs of relief gladden my bowels.

  I thirst. But I thirst only for the repentance of the rain shower.

  The earth rejoices; but the hour of my own rejoicing is not yet at hand.

  The lambs leap upon the slope of my shame; bleating and begging for their birthright.

  Their music amuses the foothills of the low clouds; but it stirs not, neither does it shear the lamb of my happiness.

  How long? How long till my appointed time? How long shall the firmament divert from me the verdure of its mercy?

  How long shall the mountains shake their heads; and the hills laugh their scorn upon the childless?

  How long shall I wander upon the barren plains of my womb; and the horizon hide the palmtree of my promise?

  In vain shall I call upon my comforter; deaf is the earth and deaf are its gods. And dumb are the love-messengers of the Beautiful One.

  I lie upon the bed of my humiliation; and beg to be alone in the solitude of the night.

  * * *

  Night’s watchfulness is long; and my solitude escapes not the fury of the moon.

  Her laughter beats upon my blind eyelids; her scorn penetrates the depths of my captivity.

  But hope shall not die; for the sun is not deflected and naught delays the warm progress of the dawn.

  But does the Beautiful One not return like a thief in the night to console me? Do I not hear the measured sound of his walking on the floor of the valley?

  He shall come, he shall come; and the moon shall hide her jealousy behind the low clouds.

  And when he doth return, I shall receive him with the firm breasts of my virginity; I shall know his lips though he comes in the guise of my lost firstborn.

  His Wife shall be to him a Mother; and the son shall take unto himself his birthright.

  The fires of the moon shall retreat from my heavy eyelids; darkness shall lie upon darkness; and from this night of my confinement to my solitude shall come light.

  9

  AFTER OWEN GORLAN got that hiding from Johnny South, everyone started calling him Owen Granny. And this is how he got the name. When he was lying flat on his back after getting that belt from Johnny, and Frank Bee Hive was counting (in Welsh, of course), there was no sign of Owen moving, but after counting eight, Frank Bee Hive suddenly changed to English for some reason. Nine, he shouted (which, when you say it, sounds exactly like nain, the Welsh word for Grandmother) and Owen looked as if he was going to wake up and half turned onto his stomach. But before Frank could say ten, he collapsed in a heap, flat on his back again, and some comedian pretended he hadn’t realised that Frank had changed to English when he said nine and shouted out: It’s no good, his Granny’s not here, Frank, and everyone fell about laughing, even Owen’s friends who’d been shown up because he’d had a good hiding.

  Owen hasn’t got a Granny, you know, said Roli Pant in the Chip Shop.

  He was an old Granny, anyway, letting Johnny South give him a belting like that, said one of the other boys.

  They’ll call him Owen Granny now, you’ll see, Huw said to me.

  And Owen Granny it was.

  But if you’d known my Gran, from Pen Bryn, all those years ago, you would have called me Granny’s Baby too.

  Gran was a good sort. Every time I get hungry, I think of Gran. Dew, I could do with a really good meal now, too. But it wasn’t that that made me think about her now, though. I remember her passing me right here on Post Lane ages ago. How are you tonight? she said to me as though I was a stranger and she’d never seen me before. Bitter weather, eh? she said, although it was as fine as it is tonight. She’d become confused, of course, with her being over ninety at the time.

  And when Gran was confused, she used to sneak out of the house without anyone seeing her, and make for Orchard Cottage over there, on the right of Post Lane, where she was born. Nobody lives there now and there are big holes in the roof that you can see the sky through. But in the days when Gran used to go there when she got confused, there were people living there. They were nice people too. And one of them would open the door when Gran knocked and say to her: Come in, Betsan Parry. And give her a cup of tea. Then after a little chat, Gran would nip smartly home again and Orchard Cottage would have a break from her for about a month or two, until she started to get confused again.

  Gran was a tough ’un, as well. It was her that came to look after us when Mam took ill. Talk about being frightened. Seeing Moi spitting blood was nothing to the fright I got that day when I came home from school and saw Mam sitting in the rocking chair, ill.

  It was the middle of winter, and it had been snowing all night. In the morning before going to school, I’d been busy making a pathway through the snow from the door of our house to the middle of the lane
and then helping Ellis Evans Next Door and the others to make a pathway down the Hill before they went to work in the Quarry. The snow was reaching higher than the front room window and I thought we’d been buried alive when I woke up. After we’d cut a path down the Hill, there were two high walls of snow on each side and neither Ellis Evans nor Humphrey Top House could see over them, never mind me.

  By schooltime, the Hill was like a sheet of glass between the two big walls of snow. Watch you don’t fall going down the Hill, chick, said Mam.

  I won’t, I said as I went out through the door. But before I got to the middle of the lane, there I was with my legs in the air and my head on the ground. I felt like some young animal who was trying to walk for the first time. Luckily, Mam had shut the door and didn’t see me come a cropper.

  After that, I got down into a crouch. I’d learned how to slide down the Hill ages ago when it had frozen before. We only had to stand in the middle of the Hill, and push a bit, very slowly, and then crouch down and we’d be going down the Hill like the Little Train in the Quarry. And there was no need to brake cos the Hill went down to Graveyard Lane, and that was flat, and we didn’t stop on the ice until we were at the Graveyard gate. Then we only had to go through the Graveyard to Post Lane here and we were at School.

  Dew, it was cold in School that day, too. And there’s one thing I remember very clearly. Price the School had fallen and broken his arm, and it was in a sling. And what was on my mind all day, and made me shake like a leaf sometimes, was Price’s hand sticking out of the plaster, just like a dead man’s hand, as though it didn’t belong to him.

  I was glad when the bell went for us to go out to play, so I could get warm. We were playing snowballs, of course, and there was a nasty accident in the school yard that day. Someone threw a snowball with a stone in it and it hit Johnny Beer Barrel and broke a hole in his head, and blood was pouring out of it. But he didn’t cry or anything, fair play to him, he just went and put his head under the pump to wash the dirt out, and then got a plaster to put on it from Price the School.

  When it got to dinnertime, I was really hungry and there was a lovely smell of lobscouse coming from Little Owen the Coal’s house and I wondered what sort of a dinner Mam had made for us.

  But when I went through the door, there was no cloth on the table or anything, and the house was just like it was empty, except Mam was sitting in the rocking chair. And when she turned her head to look at me, I nearly had a fit. Her face was white as chalk and her eyes were huge, as though they were about to come out of her head. And she couldn’t speak, she could only lick her lips and look at me as though she was in a daze.

  What’s the matter, Mam? I said, nearly crying. Then I ran as fast as I could to the kitchen to fetch her a drink of water, and when she’d drunk some of that, she got a bit better.

  Gran, she said, weakly. Go up to Pen Bryn and fetch Gran.

  I went like lightning through the door and ran over the ice to Next Door to tell Grace Evans that Mam was ill. And Grace Evans put her shawl on straight away without saying anything and went out to our house.

  I’ll go and fetch Gran, I said, and ran as fast as I could up to Pen Bryn.

  By the time Gran and me got to the house, Grace Evans had put Mam to bed, and the kettle was boiling on the fire and there was a cloth on the table.

  It’s that old rheumatism, Betsan Parry, said Grace Evans. We’d better get Doctor Pritchard to her.

  Can I go and fetch him? I said.

  No, she’s nice and comfortable now, said Grace Evans. You’d better come over to our house for dinner, and call in on Doctor Pritchard on your way to School.

  And that’s how it was. And Gran lived with us for three months till Mam got better.

  Dew, Gran was a tough ’un, too. I came home one day after being with Huw in the Sheep Field and I was really hungry.

  Can I have another piece of bread and butter, Gran? I said.

  Like Little Owen the Coal, when he went to help with the haymaking at Gorlan, and they were having their dinner. And Mrs Williams Gorlan asked Owen, just as she was about to cut a slice of bread for him: Do you want a full slice, Owen love?

  Yes please, said Owen, and another one to go with it. And everyone fell about laughing except Mrs Williams. She was scowling at him.

  But when I said: Can I have another piece of bread and butter, Gran? after eating four, one after the other, what did Gran do in her temper but throw the whole loaf at me across the table.

  There, you greedy little devil. You’d better take the loaf to make sure you get enough.

  Dew, Gran was a tough ’un. But she was a kind old thing, too. Talk about performing miracles. For ages, I didn’t believe the stories Bob Milk Cart told us in Sunday School about Jesus performing miracles. Turning water to wine, raising people from the dead and suchlike, and especially that story about him feeding the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes. But after that Tuesday when I went to the Church Fellowship Meeting with Mam, I didn’t doubt one of Bob Milk Cart’s Sunday School stories about Jesus performing miracles.

  It was before Mam fell ill, a year after Humphrey Top House went back to the sea after falling out with Lisa his wife and swearing he’d never come back to her.

  But he’s sure to come back, you’ll see, Mam said to Lisa when she came to our house to say that Humphrey had left her.

  But how am I going to live? Lisa said.

  Never mind about him, said Mam. You’ll get parish money like me if he doesn’t come back.

  What? said Lisa. Me live on the parish? Never.

  Well, there’s better folk than you and me had to go on the parish, you know, Mam said.

  But Lisa Top House just turned up her nose and went out in a sulk.

  She’s a strange one, eh Mam?

  Yes, chick. She doesn’t know what it’s like yet, living on the parish. But that’s what she might have to do.

  Anyway, it was Tuesday night and I’d come home from school in the afternoon nearly starving, and Mam had made milky potatoes.

  We haven’t got any bread for you to have bread and butter, she said, and as I lifted up my head from my milky potatoes to look at her, I could see she was nearly crying.

  Never mind, Mam. Dew, these milky potatoes are good.

  We’ve no more potatoes, either.

  Never mind, Mam. I’ll get some tomorrow morning after I fetch the cattle. Robin Gorlan’ll dig me up a little sackful on the way home.

  But what will we do for bread?

  Don’t worry, Mam. Do you want me to come with you to the Fellowship tonight?

  Yes, you’d better come.

  And afterwards, we’ll go up to see Gran at Pen Bryn.

  Alright then.

  And off to the Fellowship we went after I’d had a wash and combed my hair after my tea.

  Hughes the Parson was at the Fellowship and there was no Choir on a Tuesday night so I sat in our pew with Mam. There was hardly anyone in Church and it wasn’t a bit like it was on a Sunday.

  After Hughes the Parson had said lots of prayers, he came to the one I liked best of all. That one where he’d pray for the boys who had joined the army and those who’d become sailors. And in the middle of the prayer, he’d say all the boys names in a row, like this:

  Elwyn Davies, Earnest Davies, William Evans, Herbert Fran¬cis, Robert Wheldon Griffiths, John Hughes, Arfon Jones, Idwal Jones, Hughie Lewis, Alfred Morris, Ifor Owen, Emrys Price, Robert Pritchard, Heilyn Roberts, Ithel Thomas, David Williams, Edgar Williams, John Williams, Ritchie Williams…

  And afterwards, everyone would keep their heads bowed quietly for two minutes, and think all sorts of thoughts. You could have heard a pin drop.

  He didn’t say Elwyn Top Row’s name tonight, Mam, I said with my head bowed.

  Killed yesterday, said Mam very quietly.

  And there I was with my head bowed remembering Elwyn Top Row coming home from France the month before, and Huw and me running to meet him coming up Lôn Newy
dd.

  Jesus, you look a mess, Elwyn, Huw said to him. Where have you been to get that muck on your clothes and shoes?

  Where d’you think, you daft little devil? said Elwyn. In the trenches, of course. Up to our knees in mud all day, lad, and all night too, for three weeks without moving.

  Dew, and he looked tired. But he was full of fun with us.

  Look, he said to Huw. Put this on your face and see how nice it smells.

  And he gave Huw the gas mask he was carrying on his chest.

  This is how it goes on, said Elwyn, and he put the gas mask on Huw’s face, and he looked just like a scarecrow.

  But it was only on his face for a second before Huw started struggling to pull it off.

  Jesus, I’m choking, he said, and started spitting and blowing his nose like I don’t know what, and his eyes were streaming. And there was poor old Elwyn falling about laughing at Huw.

  Look, you lazy little devils, he said, and stood by the side of the wall to take off the pack that was on his back. You can carry this up to Top Row for me.

  And the two of us went with him all the way to Top Row, taking turns to carry his pack, and his Mam came running out of the house like a madwoman and threw her arms round him shouting Elwyn love, Elwyn love, and she was laughing and crying at the same time.

  Poor old Elwyn Top Row.

  But I was talking about the miracle that happened to Mam and me at the Fellowship that night. It must have started to happen when we were all saying the Lord’s Prayer together after singing The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want.

  Our Fa-a-th-e-r who art in Heaven, said Hughes the Parson on his knees.

  Who art in Heaven, we said with our heads bowed.

  Hallowed be Thy name … ‘lowed be Thy name … Thy kingdom come …’ dorn come … Thy will be done in earth as it is in Heaven … Heaven … Give us this day our daily bread … bread.

  And after saying daily bread, I didn’t go any further with the others, I just started thinking. I remembered Mam telling me before we came to Church that we had no bread to make bread and butter with, and so I asked God for some more daily bread cos the parish money wasn’t coming till Friday.