But she wasn’t laughing that evening when I went home thinking I’d been converted. She’d been crying, and she looked crazy, and her eyes were going through me like steel pins, like the time before.
What is it, Mam? I said, frightened.
Your Uncle Will’s been here, she said, still looking at me with her steel pin eyes.
The swine, I’ll kill him if he comes here again, I said, losing my temper and forgetting all about being converted.
Uncle Will was Mam’s brother. He’d lived with us ages ago, when I was a little baby, and he used to play the organ sometimes in Church in those days, in place of Frank Bee Hive’s Dad, till he started getting drunk and got thrown out of the Quarry cos he’d been on a drinking spree. After that, he became a tramp and Mam never mentioned him again and nobody knew anything about him. Until that night he came to our house about a year before the evening of the South Choir.
It was midnight, and Mam and me were in bed, when there was a knock at the door. And Mam got up and went to the door.
Who’s there? she said, without opening the door. I was listening, frightened.
Open this bloody door, said a drunken man’s voice outside.
Uncle Will, I said to myself, shaking like a leaf.
And I heard Mam shout: Get away. Get away from here. You’ll never set foot in this house again.
And Uncle Will was making a noise like a dog growling outside. And then everywhere was quiet. And Mam came back into the room shaking like a leaf. Afterwards, we both went to sleep without saying a word.
Did he come into the house? I said on the evening of the South Choir.
Yes, said Mam, and started crying quietly.
After that, I couldn’t get any sense out of her. She didn’t take any notice if I spoke to her. She just kept looking through me, and talking to herself, or to someone she thought was standing behind her.
You old devils, she said, looking behind her. Yes, it was you that brought that swine here.
And she just carried on, arguing with someone who wasn’t there.
I went to bed, very downhearted.
12
WHY THE DEVIL did I come this way along Post Lane tonight? I could have gone for a walk over the Mountain or over the side of the Foel. I’m sure it would have been nicer going on either of those two roads than it is here on Post Lane.
In the summer holidays, I used to go with Mam over the Mountain to visit Auntie Ellen at Bwlch Farm. Dew, it was a nice little farm she had, too. Two cows and a calf in the cowshed, and two sows in the pigsty, and lots of hens running around the place, and a field in front of the house with a plum tree in it, full of big black plums. And a swirling lake and a hay barn. It was in the hay barn that I broke my arm.
Mam used to go over the Mountain to see Auntie Ellen every week, but I was only allowed to go with her in the School holidays. And she always went on a Wednesday cos by Wednesday the food would be running out and the parish money didn’t come till Friday. She used to take a big net shopping bag with her, and bring it back full to bursting with all kinds of things to eat, things Auntie Ellen had given her to bring home.
Dew, it was a lovely day, as well, when I broke my arm at Bwlch Farm. Mam and me had set off across Stables Bridge first thing in the morning cos it was four hours’ walk over the Mountain to Bwlch Farm. And it was only just beginning to get light as we were climbing up through Rhiw Woods and coming up to the Mountain Gate.
It’s only just getting light, I said when we stopped to catch our breath by the Mountain Gate.
No. It’s been light for over an hour, said Mam. It’s all these trees that make it dark.
Is it true that there are bogeymen in Rhiw Woods?
Oh yes. People have seen them.
We didn’t see one, though.
Well, it was too dark.
Lor, look, there’s County School down there. It looks nice from here, doesn’t it, with the sun on it?
Yes, that’s where you’ll be going if you pass your scholarship.
Dew, yes. And I’m sure to pass.
After walking along the Mountain for about half an hour, Mam pointed to a little old building with broken windows on the side of the mountainside.
Do you see over there? she said. That was the school I used to go to when I was a girl.
Lor, it’s small. No one goes to school there now though, cos all the windows are broken.
No, there’s a new school now, on the other side of the Mountain. And do you see that row of houses, in the valley over there?
Yes, I see.
That’s where I used to live when I was a little girl. That’s where I was born.
No. What did you do when you left school?
I went into service in Manchester.
Lor, I didn’t know you’d been as far as that.
Yes. Manchester’s a fine place. I’ll take you there one day so you can see the Lion Show at Belle Vue.
After we’d walked for about another hour, and gone through the next Mountain Gate, we could see Bwlch Farm ahead of us, a long way off in the distance. There was a narrow track going up the mountainside and by the side of the track, halfway up, was Bwlch Farm.
There’s Auntie Ellen, I said. I can see her standing in front of the house in her white apron.
You’ve got better eyes than me, said Mam. She’s feeding the chickens, I expect.
And there’s someone in the Big Field too.
That must be Guto, your cousin, picking up stones.
Dew, I was thrilled to bits when Bwlch Farm came into view. I completely forgot that I was tired, and thought about the proper dinner we’d get from Auntie Ellen and the fun I’d have with Guto.
Hello, Gel, I said when we’d gone up the Hill and turned into the little track that led to Bwlch Farm. Auntie Ellen’s dog was really called Gelert but everyone called him Gel. And Gel started jumping all over us and barking like mad. He was a great one for giving you a welcome, old Gel.
You go to the Big Field and help Guto collect stones, said Mam as soon as we’d gone into the house and sat down.
Let the little lad sit down for a minute, so he can have a cup of tea and get his strength back, said Auntie Ellen.
Auntie Ellen was a nice woman, but I never saw her laugh. Even when she was talking happily, she had a sad look about her. And her mouth always looked as though she was complaining about something. And Catrin, my cousin, Guto’s little sister, was sitting in the corner as usual, not speaking to anybody. Catrin had burned her face when she was a little girl when a kettle fell off the fire and scalded her, and her face looked terrible with the skin all shiny and pink and wrinkled. She never went out or said how are you to anyone even though she was nearly fifteen. She just sat by the fire all day reading or knitting stockings.
Can I go to the Big Field to help Guto now? I said when I’d had a cup of tea and got my strength back.
Yes, you go now, said Mam, and don’t get into mischief.
Guto was a big strong lad, with jet-black hair and a thin white face, and dark eyes, and a bit of red on his cheeks just like Moi used to have. But Guto didn’t have TB cos he passed the test to go into the army the next year, and he didn’t get killed by the Germans until the last day of the War. But Auntie Ellen and Catrin were dead by then, and he would have been all on his own at Bwlch Farm if he’d come back.
Whenever Guto came to visit us, he’d be wearing knee-breeches with shiny brown leggings. But when I went to join him in the Big Field, there he was with a wheelbarrow picking up the stones in his long trousers that he’d made short by tying two pieces of string round his knees, just like the Quarrymen.
How goes it, Guto? I said.
Hello, lad. I see you’ve come at last, and here’s me almost finished collecting the stones. If you go over there, we’ll be finished in less than half an hour.
Can I take the wheelbarrow, Guto?
Sure, if you can roll it.
Course I can. Dew, it’s heavy.
Th
e barrow was almost full of stones and when I tried to lift it, it fell over on its side.
You careless little devil, said Guto, coming to turn the barrow straight again.
Dew, it was heavy.
You’d better eat more bread and milk to make your muscles grow. Lift all the stones back into the barrow, now.
And there I was lifting the stones, and by the time I’d finished, Guto had finished gathering up the stones on the other side of the field.
Come on, he said, and took hold of the barrow handles as though it was as light as a feather, and rolled it to the rubbish heap near the cowshed, and emptied it. And I was walking alongside and watching everything he did.
Would you like to go for a dip in Swirling Lake?
Dew, yes.
And off we went to Swirling Lake, and stripped naked, and Guto ran about ten yards and dived straight into the middle.
Come on, he said when he surfaced again, wiping water out of his eyes and with his black hair all over his face.
But for a while I stayed sitting by the shallow part with just one foot in the water, shaking like a leaf. Then Guto swam up to me and splashed water over me. Then I dived in, too.
I can’t swim, Guto, I said laughing.
Come on, I’ll teach you.
And there we were, having fun for ages and ages, with Guto shouting: Don’t be scared, and Come on now, as he tried to teach me how to swim.
I’ll teach you properly next time, he said after we’d come out of the water and were sitting in the sun, drying off. And when we were dressed, we went to the house for dinner.
Gel was lying under the table with a big bone, too busy to take notice of anyone.
There was a smell of lobscouse all through the house, and Mam was wearing her apron cos she’d been working with Auntie Ellen, and she was ladling the lobscouse out of a saucepan onto the plates with a cup. When we’d finished eating, there was a big bowlful of bones that had come out of the saucepan, with lots of meat on them. And Auntie Ellen picked up the bowl.
I’ll take these out, she said.
Where are you taking them? said Mam.
They’re Gel’s supper.
Heavens above, don’t give those to the dog, Ellen love. There’s too much meat on them. I’ll put them in the bag to take home.
And into the bag they went, and poor old Gel had to make do with the bone he had under the table.
After dinner, Guto and me went to pick plums from the tree in the field in front of the house. And within half an hour we had a big basketful, and they were all black, and nice and soft. Guto and me had eaten about a dozen each. We couldn’t eat any more cos we’d eaten so much lobscouse.
These are for you and your Mam to take home, said Guto. Do you see that field there on the other side of the path? It’s packed with bilberry bushes and they’re all full of bilberries. We’ll go over there picking bilberries next time. We’ll go in the hay barn when we’ve been back to the house, so you can see our hayrick.
And that’s where the accident happened.
The Big Field sloped down past the side of the hay barn, and by climbing up the field, we could go in by the top door which was level with the top of the hayrick. But there was a wide gap between the wall and the rick.
Come on, said Guto and jumped straight across the gap onto the top of the hayrick.
Oh, I can’t, I said, standing on the edge of the doorway, my nostrils filled with the sweet scent of the hay.
Course you can. Now, jump. I’ll catch you.
Alright then, I said, and took a leap. But I didn’t reach the top of the rick, or Guto’s hand either. And down I went along the side of the rick to the ground floor. And there I was, lying there dazed, and when I opened my eyes I could feel my arm hurting underneath me. And Guto was kneeling by my head.
Are you hurt? his voice said from a long way away.
Lor, I don’t know. My arm feels funny.
Try and stand up, then we’ll go to the house.
I can’t, Guto. This arm’s just like a piece of wood.
After looking at my arm and seeing that it was swollen, Guto lifted me up onto his back as though I was a feather and carried me from the hay barn to the house.
He’s come a cropper in the hay barn and hurt his arm, Guto told Mam, who’d run out when she saw us passing the window.
You little devil, been up to mischief no doubt, she said when she saw me crying. But she wasn’t nasty really cos it was all My little chick this and My little chick that when Guto put me down and I was holding my arm with my right hand. And Mam put me on her knee and started looking at my arm.
Take him to the bedroom, said Auntie Ellen. He’d better go to bed, Guto. If he’s broken his arm, we’ll have to get Doctor Griffiths to set it. You go and get him, Guto.
And Guto shot off like lightning. And Mam helped me get undressed and put me to bed. Dew, it was a fine big bed, too, like the one we had in the bedroom at home. Except that this one was better. I could see the Mountain Path through the window, over the top of the plum tree in the far end of the field in front of the house. And over the fireplace was a big picture of a man’s face and he had a black moustache with a black frame round it, with In Loving Memory and a bit of poetry underneath. Mam told me afterwards that it was Uncle Harry, Auntie Ellen’s husband, but of course I didn’t call him Uncle Harry because he’d died a long time ago.
I went to sleep for the whole afternoon after the doctor came to put my arm in plaster. And I dreamed all sorts of strange things. I’d been for a swim on my own in Swirling Lake and I’d swum like a real expert right across the lake and I was lying flat on my back in the water, looking up at the clouds in the sky. And suddenly, a great big angel flew down from behind a cloud, and he had a black moustache, and landed on the grass at the side of Swirling Lake.
What are you doing in there? he said. You’ve got no right to bathe in Swirling Lake.
And there I was, swimming across the Lake to the other side and making for the rock where I’d put my clothes but, before I got there, the angel with the black moustache had flown there ahead of me, and taken my clothes. I climbed out of the water and dodged past him and ran away stark naked past the cowshed and up the Big Field to the top door of the barn, and the angel was flying after me. And when I was at the door of the barn, I could feel him breathing down my neck and his moustache tickling my back. And I just took a flying leap and landed smack on my backside on top of the hayrick. And there was the angel standing by the top door, snarling at me from under his black moustache, and I was laughing at him.
Don’t you think I can’t come after you? he said, and started flapping his wings like a great bird, with my clothes under his arm.
Hey, you can’t come over here, I said, pulling faces at him.
Can’t I, indeed? he said. You watch me.
And he flew over the gap to the top of the rick and fell on top of me. And there we were, rolling in the hay, trying to throw each other like that angel with Jacob that Bob Milk Cart told us about in Sunday School the Sunday before.
And I remember the Bible verse Bob Milk Cart taught us at the time:
And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.
But wow, the angel with the black moustache was much stronger than me, and I couldn’t do anything but hold on tight to him, until he grabbed my thigh and made me let go of him. And he threw me to the far side of the hayrick and I fell down into a great bottomless pit, and I kept falling down and down and down without stopping until I opened my eyes and saw Mam standing by the side of the bed with a cup of tea in her hand.
Here you are, chick, she said. You drink this now. Doctor’s said you have to stay in bed, so you can stay here with Guto for the week of the holidays. I’m going home
now. I’ll come and fetch you next week.
I don’t want to stay, Mam. I’d rather come home with you. I can walk okay with my arm in a sling.
No, you’d better do what Doctor says. You’ll be alright here for a week with Guto. And I’ll be back on Wednesday.
I started crying, and I couldn’t drink the tea, and I shouted: I want to come with you, Mam.
No, you’d better stop, chick. You stay right where you are, and remember to be a good boy.
And after putting my pillow right and tucking me up and giving me a kiss, Mam turned on her heel and went out through the bedroom door.
Mam, I said, looking for any excuse to bring her back into the bedroom.
What is it, chick? came her voice from the kitchen.
Come here for a little minute.
What’s up now?
Who’s the man with the black moustache?
That’s your Uncle Harry, chick. Auntie Ellen’s husband. He’s been dead for a very long time.
How can he be my uncle if he’s dead?
Now you go to sleep like a good boy, and stop asking silly questions.
Then the bedroom door closed.
Mam!
But she didn’t answer again. And I lay quietly and listened to them talking in the kitchen, until I heard Mam say: Well, I’m going now. Thanks very much. I’ll be back next Wednesday.
I threw the bedclothes off and got up to look through the window. She was just going out of sight past the end of the house in her black frock and her little black hat, dressed as though she’d been to a funeral, except that she had a pink flower on the side of her hat. And the bag was on her arm, full to bursting. Dew, it must be heavy, I said to myself.
One Moonlit Night Page 14