“Go on, Dai,” Ceri Griffiths said. “We can come back here later, but the hotel was where she collapsed so maybe something there will jog her memory.”
Dai started the Land Rover. “I’ll drive slowly so not to frighten her too much. There’s little traffic on the way now.”
It was a fifteen-minute drive normally but they took half an hour over it, pointing out the woods and fields as they drove up into rural Monmouthshire. Gwendolyn took it all in – different but not so as to be completely beyond her understanding this time. The gravelled, curving drive rose up into the Camelot Hotel grounds and was there something vaguely familiar about the lie of the land?
Dai Mervyn stopped the car, got out and held the door open for his two passengers. As he did so, a great bounding Celtic wolfhound appeared and came bouncing over, barking a welcome.
“Morgan! ‘Tis Morgan my faithful and devoted friend!” the Lady Gwendolyn squealed in delight. “Come here and say hello to me. You bad animal – see how you savaged my poor finger the last time I saw you!”
She held out her hand to the dog, her voice warm and affectionate, far from castigating him for his past deed. The wolfhound came straight to her and nuzzled her outstretched palm, his tail wagging furiously.
“Well would you believe it!” marvelled the old groundsman. “These two know each other. And I swear Morgan has never given this sort of welcome before to anyone but me. Most visitors stay well back from him, as did Gwen when she was here last.”
Ceri Griffiths was just glad that there was something, some creature here that her daughter could relate to and relax with. “Well, Dai, this is an unexpected find. At least it makes Gwen happy. Let’s go and see what else is here.”
They entered the hotel. Reception was staffed by Victoria and Freddy, both still learning their roles and both surprised by the appearance of Dai Mervyn and especially Gwen Price, who they had last seen being taken to hospital unconscious.
“Mr Mervyn, good afternoon, sir. And Gwen! You are back out of hospital…how are you?” Freddy was polite and well-mannered as always.
The Lady Gwendolyn smiled and curtsied prettily but she did not recognise this person who seemed to know her. She looked up at her mother to answer for her.
“My daughter has just been released from Newport General, but she has not yet fully recovered from her coma. Her memory in particular has been affected so please do not take offence if she does not seem to know you.”
Freddy and Victoria looked at one another. Then they both looked at Gwen and could see no flicker of recognition in her face.
“We’re very sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do for you, and for Gwen?” asked Victoria.
“Good of you to ask but leave it to us,” said Dai Mervyn. “I’ll be showing her around this place and we will see if there is anything here which she begins to recognise. Just tell Tom Hughes, can you, that we are here? Thanks.” He led his guests away through to the large banqueting hall behind the reception desk.
Lady Gwendolyn stopped mid-stride. Her hand went up to her mouth. “Is…is this the banqueting hall where I fell?” She looked down at the stone floor, then up and around on all sides. “But ‘tis much different now. My, how it is changed! See how smooth the flagstones are! Those walls are too close – I do not recognise them, but there are parts of the fireplace that I seem to know – though much looks as if it has been rebuilt. The staircase! ‘Tis the same!” She ran over excitedly, then stopped, examining the stone stairs. “This leads to my bedchamber…but see how worn are these steps! How can that be?”
She tentatively began to climb but came to a door, opened it and entered the next floor. Disappointment marked all her features.
“What is it, Gwen?” Her mother and Dai Mervyn had followed right behind her.
Lady Gwendolyn looked lost. Her face turned back to her mother and then looked at Dai Mervyn. Tears filled her eyes.
“‘Tis all gone! I know nothing of this here. The stairway should continue higher and higher but there is no more. The castle walls? Where are they? Mine own quarters? Gone! Gone with all who lived here bar thee, Merlyn. What tragedy has befallen this place? What could have happened here?”
“Gwen, it’s nothing but the passage of time. The Camelot that you dream of was long, long ago. This place contains the barest relics of that time. You have seen the world we live in now – it is all very different from the place that lives in your mind.” He tried to say it as gently as he could.
“But it was here, large and solid as stone and filled with life and love and honour and chivalry and everything good and worth striving for…It cannot all have fallen! Merlyn, please tell me its spirit still survives…”
“Well the stories live on – of that there is no doubt. How much of its spirit still survives I cannot say. You must judge that yourself. Come away from here, young lady, see the world around you now and tell us what you think of it – tell us how much of what is in your dreams you still recognise today.”
“Come away, where to?” Her voice was trembling; her dreams were shaken to their core.
“We will walk a little first – take Morgan back to my cottage – and then you must go with your mother, Gwen, to the home you’ve forgotten all about. C’mon, my precious, back down out of here.” He led her along the first floor of the hotel, past guest rooms she did not recognise, to another staircase at the north end of the building and then down and out into the surrounding grounds.
Gwen’s mother stopped and looked at the majestic spread of fields that rolled away downslope until they met woods some distance away. To the north and west could be seen the brooding hulk of Black Mountain, where clouds as usual seemed to be building above it.
“Take a look around here, Gwen. Is it familiar?” It was an impressive view on a clear afternoon and Ceri hoped that, even if she did not recognise anything, the beauty of these surroundings might nonetheless lift her spirits.
“There is something here that speaks to me, Mother. As all else I have seen, there is much that has changed – the farmland is now lush and green and devoid of people working their strips. The forest is much reduced. But the distant mountain, yes, I recognise. The air smells different but the wind…the wind…it tells of the same stories that I know. The very skies…they welcome me as always with a familiar face. Oh, but, Mother, there is much sadness within me that I cannot contain!”
“I know, I know, my love. But you must try to come to terms with all that seems so new to you. Let’s catch up with Dai Mervyn now. Look, Morgan is with him! Come on!” Ceri walked her daughter as quickly as she could along the footpath that crossed over to the nearest field.
The lawns around the hotel finished in a line of hedgerows that gave on to fields that may have been farmed many years ago but were now grassy recreation grounds and, lower down, meadows that fell away to a stream that marked the beginning of woodland. There was a gathering of people in a far corner of the recreation ground and as the three visitors and dog reached the first hedgerow a team of hoop-jerseyed young men came trotting over from the hotel and passed in front of them en route to where the crowd had gathered.
“A rugby team,” called back Dai Mervyn. “Look, the other team are already over there, warming up.”
Lady Gwendolyn looked round with interest. “Is this a tournament?” she asked. “I want to see!”
As they arrived at the touchline, the two teams of players were separated in rival groups at either end of the pitch. Various cries emanated from each team as they psyched themselves up for the imminent battle, and shouts of encouragement were aired from the number of supporters that were lined up alongside. The Lady Gwendolyn did not understand the significance of the lines on the playing field, nor the tall white goalposts at either end but, when the whistle blew and the ball went up and two teams of men ran and hurled themselves at each other, she didn’t need to know any more. No armour or weapons seemed to be at hand, she noted, so this must be a trial of just strength, speed a
nd aggression. Different, but familiar enough to anyone accustomed to seeing men training for battle.
The atmosphere was infectious. Great cries from the spectating crowd went up if any player of either side broke through the opposing defence and ran some distance before being tackled and brought crashing to the ground. Lady Gwendolyn was caught up with the enthusiasm – clapping and cheering particularly when one mountain of a man put his head down and charged full tilt at a ruck of others trying to stop him. She turned to look at Dai Mervyn, her eyes shining with excitement.
“How brave he is! How noble a sacrifice!” She watched as the grounded warrior tried to get the ball back to teammates following, despite being trampled upon by the opposition.
“What is this sport, Merlyn?” she asked. “Is this some sort of military training?”
“It’s a rugby game, Gwen. The University of Wales hires this pitch from the hotel on occasions. Teams from rival colleges come here often and they bring plenty of their friends along to provide moral support. Look, they’re forming a scrum!”
Two groups of eight men linked arms, hunkered down and, from Lady Gwendolyn’s perspective, they took the form of battering rams intent on demolishing each other. Crash! Irresistible force was pitched against unmoveable object. Great cries from the onlookers rent the air: “Heave!” “Harder!” “Go on!” etc. The Lady Gwendolyn was mesmerised by the contest.
Suddenly the scrum broke, the ball was away, players were running and then the action switched direction and quickly came back towards the touchline. The mountain man seen before gathered the ball from a fallen comrade and, again, lowered his head and thundered forward like some angry bull. Bang! Past one. Crunch! He shrugged off another tackle; then desperation and determination from the opposition led to three men smashing him to the floor just yards from the line where Lady Gwendolyn was standing, leaping and cheering him on.
The ball was somehow sent back, a teammate collected it and flung it to another and again the action swiftly moved off with twenty-nine warriors cantering away across field following the play, leaving behind the line of spectators…and one man groaning and crumpled motionless in the dirt.
With her heart in her mouth, Lady Gwendolyn watched as the injured soldier slowly came back to life, struggled onto his knees and crouched bent over, shaking his head. He crawled on all fours towards the line. A tracksuited individual appeared from somewhere with a bucket of water and a sponge. The poor rugby player, first having been beaten into the mud and almost knocked unconscious now had to contend with another man grabbing hold of him and dousing him in cold water. The unfortunate victim shook his head once more, water splashing everywhere. Lady Gwendolyn could not stand-by watching this any longer. She ran forward and caught hold of the face of this mountain, looking deep into his eyes, ignoring his broken nose.
“Thou art truly a brave and noble knight! Such strength, courage and sacrifice! Thou art an inspiration…” carried away with the emotion of it all, Lady Gwendolyn suddenly stopped mid flow. “Why! ‘tis Sir Gareth” she exclaimed. “Of course – the most gallant, loyal and faithful of them all! Thou hast won my heart, Sir Knight, and thou shalt take it with thee into battle…”
Gareth Jones, second-row forward in University College Swansea’s first XV rugby team was still shaking his head in the attempt to gather his senses. He didn’t know what this girl was talking about …but then he recognised her. “Gwen! It’s Gwen, isn’t it?” He smiled in recognition before turning to run off and rejoin the game. He waved back, grinning as he trotted away – then his broken features refocused on what was going on with his teammates and so he galloped off once more to the melee in the distance.
The two teams were equally matched; the game was finely poised with neither side gaining the upper hand. As play progressed, Lady Gwendolyn was hopping up and down in excitement and Morgan the wolfhound, normally a silent animal, picked up on these sentiments and became increasingly active himself, barking enthusiastically as the rugby players charged to and fro. The antics of these two became quite noticeable. Knowing now that her favourite was participating in this contest of the mighty, the Lady Gwendolyn was completely consumed in watching him and trying to understand what was going on. Her cries of support and encouragement became more agitated if she saw him fall or if another seemed to strike him. Being rugby, of course, and him being one of the biggest in the pack, Gareth Jones was frequently in the thick of it, tackling others and being struck himself.
“Watch out! Ho there! A foul blow, sire! How darest thee stoop so low!” The Lady Gwendolyn was reeling as if she felt every blow herself. Morgan reacted similarly – leaping, twisting and running up and down the line, barking, growling and howling in turns. Dai Mervyn had never seen his dog react so before. Likewise, Ceri Griffiths wondered at the intensity of emotion coming from her daughter: so thoroughly caught up in a rugby game that she had never before shown the slightest interest in.
When half time came, Lady Gwendolyn turned to her companions full of questions: What was going on now? Had they finished? Were the bravest knights awarded prizes? It took a little time to explain that the teams would change ends, the game would soon restart and there were no individual prizes – the team that had won the most, erm, territory by the end of the game were declared victors. Dai Mervyn understood perfectly that he was not going to get Gwen, and therefore Morgan, to leave this match until it was all over. He looked at Ceri. She had come to the same conclusion.
The next half went much the same as the first. A lot of the play took place in the middle of the pitch as neither team could dominate. The final result when it came meant nothing to Lady Gwendolyn, she was only concerned with how her Sir Gareth had fared. He walked slowly off the pitch with all others of his team, though he remembered to look for one particular female fan. In amongst the spectators, she waved, smiled and held out one arm, as if proffering her heart. He smiled and waved back – her generosity of spirit was not lost on him.
Nor was it lost on her companions. Ceri was beginning to wonder if this really was her daughter; the change in her personality was so dramatic. Her fear and ignorance of people and events in the hospital and on the journey home; her childish delight in showering; her instant friendship with Dai Mervyn; her devotion to and desperate need for her mother, and now her interest in rugby and no hesitation in showing her affection for one particular player – none of this was like her daughter before her coma. She had transformed from a being a cold, materialistic, self-centred and frankly not-very-friendly human being into a warm, naïve and highly emotional young woman who evoked feelings of love and affection from everyone so far who had come into contact with her. Even Morgan the wolfhound was attracted to her. Ceri couldn’t explain it. She just hoped that as Gwen became increasingly accustomed to the world she had forgotten then this loving persona that seemed to have emerged from her subconscious would still remain. For some reason she feared that it would not.
It was time to walk on. Morgan knew his way to Dai Mervyn’s cottage and Ceri watched as Gwen walked happily with him, talking to him all the time, telling him how she had enjoyed watching these valiant knights battle it out on the rugby field. Morgan clearly thrived on the attention she was giving him; he lifted his head frequently to be caressed, his tail wagging as he did so. Ceri nudged Dai Mervyn as they followed after the girl and the dog that was half her size as if to say – ‘Look! Have you ever seen anything like it?’
As they neared the stream and the edge of the woods, Dai Mervyn heard a voice cry out. It was Tom Hughes.
“Wait up, Dai!” he called.
Half walking, half sliding down the meadow as it steepened towards the stream bed, Tom Hughes caught up with the party and introduced himself.
“Ceri Griffiths? Gwen’s mother? I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Tom Hughes, assistant manager here.” He looked at the back of Gwen and her accompanying wolfhound disappearing across a small footbridge and into the wood. “I’m delighted to see Gwen back with us. I
s she fully recovered now? I heard that she had fainted and was knocked unconscious, we were all so worried…”
Tom did his best to be polite, concerned and welcoming. He was effusive in his greeting of Ceri Griffiths because most of all he wanted to make sure that she and Gwen were happy with the way everything had turned out. After the accident, he had been given a thorough briefing from Elizabeth Morley, head of human relations, to ensure that Gwen and her mother had no complaints about everything the hotel had done for them. Providing as much first aid as they could, calling the emergency services, contacting the hospital to ensure that anything that could be done for Gwen was done – Tom had to do as much as possible to cover his employers and ascertain if mother and daughter considered Camelot Hotel and the World Traveller Group were in any way liable for what had befallen Gwen.
Dai Mervyn just sniffed at seeing Tom Hughes’ desperation at trying to please. He could guess what was going on. Ceri, however, did not catch this. She was just anxious to explain her daughter’s current situation and did not want the hotel removing the offer of employment from her, or causing any other difficulty.
“Thank you for your concern, Mr Hughes. Gwen is much better now, thank you, but she has only just been discharged from hospital and she is not fully back to being herself yet. In particular, she seems to have lost part of her memory, so we are here now to see if walking over your estate helps jog things back into place for her. Dai Mervyn here has been particularly helpful.”
“I’m very pleased that Dai has been of assistance.” Tom looked up at Dai and thanked him on behalf of the Hotel Group. Dai just sniffed again. “But I do hope that Gwen makes a complete recovery. We are all very concerned about her,” he added nervously.
“Thank you, Mr Hughes. I’ll call Gwen back and you can judge for yourself how she is,” said her mother. “You did interview her originally and offer her the job here, didn’t you?”
Welcome to Camelot Page 8