One Moonlit Night

by Caradog Prichard

  Telling stories they were, instead of eating. And after supper the two of them sang with us for hours and hours.

  Why have they gone on strike?

  They want more wages. And they were telling my Dad that they get twice as much as him now, and that they’re sure to get the rise, and that the strike will be over in less than a week.

  What did your Dad say?

  Oh, he was just listening and saying nothing. And they were telling us what a fine place the Rhondda Valley is, where they work, and that they go to Cardiff with their wives, shopping, every Saturday afternoon, just the same as we go down the High Street, and they can go and watch Cardiff City.

  Swansea’s in the South too, isn’t it, Huw?

  Yes. They were saying that’s a fine place as well.

  Is it better than Beaumaris?

  Yes, and a lot bigger. It’s nearly as big as Liverpool.

  Never, boy.

  That’s what they were saying last night, anyway. Dew, people will get a shock when they hear about Will Ellis Porter. What will your Mam say, d’you think?

  I don’t know, boy.

  But by the time we got home, Mam wasn’t in the house. She’d left the key under the mat, like she usually did when she went out, so I could get in if I got home before her. And Huw and me went in through the house to the shed in the back.

  Look what a good edge there is on this knife, said Huw, sitting on a stool and carving a piece of wood, while I was chopping sticks with the axe. I wonder why Will Ellis Porter killed himself?

  He’d gone out of his mind, for sure, I said.

  Why do people go out of their minds, d’you think?

  They lose control of themselves, you know.

  What makes them lose control?

  Oh, all kinds of things. Just like you and me get mad sometimes, except they go madder. Look what a mad ’un Moi’s Uncle Owen was.

  Yes, but he was good to Moi.

  But he used to get drunk too. Drunken men are half out of their minds, you know, Huw.

  Dew, I’m glad my Dad doesn’t get drunk. Do you remember that fight outside The Blue Bell ages ago between Owen Morris Llan and Bob Roberts Ceunant?

  I do, boy. Those two were out of their minds with drink as well, you know.

  But Will Ellis didn’t get drunk.

  No, he didn’t. He used to have fits.

  And he didn’t know what he was doing when he was having a fit. He must have killed himself while he was in a fit.

  He could have done. Do you know who came to our house last night while we were singing with the South Choir?

  No?

  Uncle Will.

  Never, boy.

  Yes, and he was drunk. But Mam didn’t let him stay with us. She told him to get away from us, just like she did the last time. And she was white and shaking like a leaf when I came home last night. And do you know what I’ve been thinking, Huw?

  No?

  You won’t tell anybody?

  No, I won’t, honest.

  I’ve been thinking that Uncle Will killed Will Ellis Porter while he was drunk.

  Jesus, I wonder?

  He’s a wild one, you know, Huw.

  He’ll get hung if he did.

  Serve him right, I’d say.

  Where would they hang him, d’you think? In Caernarfon Jail or in Liverpool? There’s a big jail in Liverpool.

  I don’t know what Mam would say.

  No, you’re imagining things, you know. He had a fit, Will Ellis Porter, I’m sure. Jesus, I’ll have to go now or I won’t see the South Choir men. I’ll see you this afternoon at the end of Lôn Newydd after tea. Bye now.

  Bye, Huw.

  When I finished chopping sticks, I went out and knocked Next Door to ask if Mam was there.

  Is Mam here? I said when Grace Evans came to the door.

  No, love, she said. But I saw her going up the Hill this morning. Have you had any dinner?

  Yes thanks, Mrs Evans, I said, lying.

  I’m sure that old Will Ellis Porter’s given you all a fright at School, you poor things. He’s an old so-and-so, doing such a thing.

  Have you heard, then?

  Yes, the coalman’s lad told me when he was passing earlier on.

  Perhaps Mam’s at Top House. I’ll go and look there.

  Yes, that’s where she is, you can be sure.

  But Mam wasn’t at Top House either. And Lisa Top House said the same as Grace Evans, that she’d seen Mam through the window going up the Hill.

  So I went back to the house then and put the saucepan on the fire to heat the lobscouse up. And I put a cloth on the table and plates and bowls and spoons ready for dinner. Maybe Mam’s gone to fetch some milk from Tal Cafn so we can have milky potatoes for supper, I told myself. But that’d be strange as well, because I usually bring the milk from Tal Cafn when I’ve taken the cattle. Or maybe she’s gone to Gran’s house, and stayed to have dinner with Gran.

  Anyway, after waiting for ages, with the lobscouse boiling, I had dinner on my own, and then sat down in the rocking chair to read The Pilgrim’s Progress. Dew, that was a wonderful book, with great pictures in it. At the time, I’d just started reading it properly, instead of just looking at the pictures, and that afternoon I’d come to the story where Christian goes into the Palace Beautiful, and passes the two lions at the door. But I’d eaten two bowls of lobscouse, and just as Christian passed the two lions, I fell fast asleep in the rocking chair. And instead of seeing the Palace Beautiful, what should I see but Caernarfon Jail.

  They’d caught Uncle Will, in my dream, after he’d cut Will Ellis Porter’s throat, and he was going to be hanged in Caernarfon that day, and Mam and me had been allowed to go to Caernarfon to watch. Davey Corner Shop’s Dad’s motor came to fetch us in the morning and when it came up the Hill, Little Will Policeman’s Dad was sitting in the front with the driver, and he came with us all the way to Caernarfon, with Mam and me sitting behind. And when we reached Caernarfon, the motor stopped by the door of a big castle.

  No, this isn’t a castle, said Little Will Policeman’s Dad, this is Caernarfon Jail. Come inside.

  And in we went along a long narrow passage with no carpet on it, and the men who were in jail were looking at us through railings on each side, just like monkeys in the Lion Show, till we came to the end of the passage and went through another door. And there he was, standing with a rope round his neck, with the hangman standing beside him.

  Sit down there, said Little Will Policeman’s Dad, and gave us both a chair, and Uncle Will was snarling at us and not saying a word.

  Right then, said the hangman’s voice. One … two … three. And the trapdoor opened and Uncle Will disappeared through it with the rope round his neck, without saying a single word.

  Serves him right, I said.

  But Mam had pulled her hankie out and was crying. He was my brother after all, you know, she said, wiping her eyes.

  Then Little Will Policeman’s Dad took us for a meal to a big place full of little tables and full of the smell of potatoes and meat. And a nice lady came up to us and asked us what we wanted. Potatoes and meat, said Mam, and the lady came back smiling all over her face with two big plates full of potatoes and meat. Dew, it was good food too. But Mam was upset and still crying on the way home in the motor, and I was still saying Never mind, Mam. And I was thinking and thinking how I could make her stop crying when I woke up in the rocking chair and The Pilgrim’s Progress had fallen onto the floor.

  The rain was pelting down on the window and it was lightning, and when I looked at the time it was four o’clock, and Mam hadn’t come back, and I was shaking like a leaf, frightened to be in the house on my own. But suddenly the rain stopped and within two minutes it was sunshining. I’ll go out and see if I can see Huw at the end of Lôn Newydd, I said, and then I’ll go to Gran’s to see if Mam’s there.

  Little did I know what Huw had to tell me when I met him at the end of Lôn Newydd.

  Jesus boy, Mam got
a shock when she heard about Will Ellis Porter, said Huw.

  I’m sure she did. My Mam doesn’t know yet cos she hasn’t come home. I’m going up to Gran’s house to fetch her. That’s where she is, for sure. Are you coming up Lôn Newydd with me for a walk?

  Sure, boy. D’you know those two men from the South Choir who are staying with us? When they came home at dinnertime, they’d had some good news. The Choir had had a telegram saying the strike was over and wanting them to hurry home.

  No, boy.

  Yes. And Dad had stayed home from the quarry today, and gone out with the two of them and the others to Salem Chapel where they were all meeting to practice. And that’s where they were when the telegram came. And do you know what he said when he came back to the house with them?

  No, what?

  Dew, Mam and me nearly had a fit, boy.

  What did he say, then?

  He said he was going with them to the South to work in the coal mine.

  Never. Did he mean it, as well?

  Yes. Mam wasn’t happy about it for a long time, and they were arguing all dinnertime. And it was the two South men who persuaded Mam in the end. Dew, they’re really nice blokes. Dad’ll get twice as much money as he gets in the Quarry, you know. And do you know what else?

  No.

  By this time, we’d arrived at the Crossroads, and Huw was going down to Stables Bridge, and I was going up Allt Bryn to Gran’s. And we’d stopped for a minute by the hedge to talk.

  He wants to take me with him, said Huw, looking over the hedge into the field.

  You, Huw? I said, and a strange feeling came over me.

  Yes, said Huw, still looking into the field.

  Will they let you leave school?

  Yes, Dad says. Jesus, look, a rabbit.

  And there was a rabbit, sitting in the field, staring at us, with its ears stuck up.

  Pity I’ve not got a gun, said Huw.

  Will you be able to work in the coal mine, Huw?

  Yes, sure thing.

  Dew, you’ll be talking like Johnny South when you come back.

  I’m not coming back.

  And there we both were, leaning on the hedge, staring at the rabbit, and I could hear Huw’s voice as though he was in a huge tunnel with an echo in it, still saying: I … am … not … coming … back. And nobody said a word.

  What will your Mam do without the two of you? I said in the end.

  Oh, we’ll get a house in the South, and she’ll move down to us.

  When are you going, Huw?

  Tomorrow morning, on the eight o’clock train from the station.

  Tomorrow?

  Yes.

  You won’t be in School tomorrow, then?

  No, boy.

  I’ll never see you again, then?

  I’ll write to you when I get there and start working. You’ll get the full story, all the details.

  Dew, you remember, now.

  Course I will. I’d better go now. We’ve got a lot of packing to do. Bye now, lad, and I will write, honest. And you remember to write to me.

  I will, Huw. Goodbye now.

  And we shook hands for a long time and kept telling each other to remember to write, then Huw turned back down to Stables Bridge and I set off for Gran’s house. But after I’d taken a step or two, I turned round to take another look at Huw before he went out of sight. And he’d turned round too and was running back to me.

  Look, he said, when he’d come back to me. You have the knife I got from the South Choir men. There’s a great edge on it, you know.

  Dew, thanks, Huw, I said. Look, you have this knife I’ve got. It’s only a toy, but you’ll have lots of fun with it.

  I’m sure I will, boy. Well, goodbye then.

  Goodbye, Huw. Remember to write.

  And then we shook hands, and Huw went very slowly down towards Stables Bridge and I stood and watched him till he went out of sight. Then I set off very slowly up Allt Bryn.

  It’ll be strange in School tomorrow morning without Huw, I said, and started thinking all kinds of things as I went up the Hill. What if he gets killed in the coal mine. I’ll never see him again then. But maybe I won’t see him again, anyway, after today. And then I remembered that nobody had said who was going to write first, and I was going to run back and ask him, but he was too far away. I won’t go to School tomorrow. I’m going to play truant, I said. I couldn’t stand being there without Huw being there too. He’ll be writing first, of course, because I won’t know where to write to. The South’s a long way away, too. What will I do now? Huw and Moi have gone, and I’m all on my own. Dew, I was feeling miserable when I got to Gran’s.

  But things got even worse when I looked through the window and saw Gran sitting in a chair on her own with her glasses on her nose reading the Bible.

  Hello, Gran, it’s me, I said when I’d knocked at the door and gone inside. Has Mam been here?

  Eee no, lad. There hasn’t been a soul near me all day.

  You haven’t heard about Will Ellis Porter then?

  Heard what?

  Killed himself.

  Heavens above, no. Where?

  Behind the School. It was me that found him, lying on the floor with his throat cut this morning. And Price the School sent us all home. But when I got home, Mam wasn’t there.

  She’s not come home since morning? said Gran, closing the Bible and standing up, and looking at me in a strange way.

  No. And she wasn’t in Grace Evans’ or in Lisa Top House’s, and they’d both seen her going up the Hill this morning. But she’s sure to have come home by now.

  I’d better come up with you, said Gran, and she went to get her hat and cape. You wait, I won’t be two minutes.

  And off we went, Gran and me, back home. Dew, it was lucky that Gran came with me too, cos I don’t know what I would have done if I’d walked into the house and seen her like that. It was lucky that Gran went in first, too, cos I would have got an even bigger shock than when I saw Will Ellis Porter lying in the toilets with his throat cut. Cos there was Mam sitting in the chair with no hat on and her hair all over the place, and still wearing her coat and she was soaking wet.

  What is it, Mam? Where’ve you been? I said and ran to her to give her a kiss. But she took no notice of me, she just looked through me with her steel pin eyes, like she did that other night, and she was mumbling and really going on at someone she thought was standing behind her.

  You go next door and ask Grace Evans to come here straight away. Your Mam’s not well, said Gran, taking her hat and cape off. I shot out like lighting. They’d just finished their Quarry supper Next Door.

  You wait here, lad, said Grace Evans when I told her. Make him a cup of tea, Ellis. And there’s some bread and butter for you on the plate. I’ll be back soon.

  He was a quiet bloke, Ellis Evans, with his nose in his paper all the time. And after pouring a cup of tea for me, he sat down and went back to his paper. And I was gobbling up the bread and butter.

  She looked awful, I said.

  Who looked awful? he said.

  Mam.

  It’s a weakness that’s come on her, you know. She hasn’t been well for a long time, so our Grace says.

  Have you heard about Will Ellis Porter?

  Gawd, yes. I wasn’t at all surprised when our Grace told me. He always was a strange one, Will Ellis. And those old fits of his had been getting worse. How old was he, d’you know? He must have been around the fifty mark. I’ll get the full story in the paper next week.

  I’d better go now to see if they need the doctor fetching, or something.

  No, lad. You stay here till Grace comes back. She’ll say what’s to be done. Have another piece of bread and butter.

  By this time, it was seven o’clock and still belting down with rain, and it’d gone dark early because of the storm. Dew, I thought they were lucky Next Door. A great blazing fire and the kettle singing quietly on the hob and the cat sitting by the fender in front of the fire purri
ng away, and Ellis Evans sitting in the armchair in his stocking feet reading his paper, and a nice smell of tobacco smoke coming from his pipe.

  Dew, Mrs Evans is a long time, I said. Maybe I’d better go home now.

  No, it’s best for you to stay here like she said. She won’t be much longer.

  Alright then, I said. But every minute seemed like an hour as I sat at the table trying to make every piece of bread and butter last as long as possible and listening to the clock pendulum going to and fro tick … tock … tick … tock as though nothing had happened all day.

  You go home now, lad, said Grace Evans when she eventually came back. Your Mam’s in bed now and she wants to see you. And afterwards you can go down and fetch Doctor Pritchard, but you’re to say to Doctor Pritchard that your Mam’s really ill and that her and Gran are asking him to come. Do you understand, now?

  Yes, Mrs Evans.

  And I was out through the door as quick as a wink. And there was Mam lying in bed as white as chalk and looking at me in a strange sort of way, but not saying anything. And Gran was with her in the room.

  Did Grace Evans tell you what to say? said Gran.

  Yes. I’ll go now.

  And out I went through the rain to fetch the doctor, with my feet soaking wet cos my shoes leaked and the water had gone through the brown paper.

  I had to wait a long time to see Doctor Pritchard cos there were a lot a sick people there before me waiting to see him. And by the time I’d seen him and walked home again, it was nine o’clock. And Gran was in the kitchen washing dishes.

  Doctor Pritchard says he’ll be here between ten and eleven, I said.

  Alright, said Gran. Your Mam’s asleep now. You’d better go to bed now or you won’t be able to get up in the morning. I’m going to stay here tonight. Here, take this before you go upstairs.

  And she put some powder in a glass and poured hot water from the kettle onto it, and stirred it with a spoon.

  You drink that straight back now, she said.

  Eeeerch, what was it? I said when I’d swallowed it. Assifetta?

  No. Medicine in case you get a cold. Hurry up to bed now.

  And upstairs I went, and I was in bed the second I’d dried my feet. And I just had enough time to look through the roof window and see that the moon had drowned in the clouds before I fell into a deep, deep sleep.