The Tides Between
Page 29
Fortunately, Rhys didn’t seem to notice Ma’s odd behaviour. He pulled back the shawl, his face softening. ‘He’s a handsome boy, Mrs Bustle.’
Ma nodded, snatching Dylan back, clearly not trusting herself to speak.
Tom stepped forward. ‘You’re off then, Welshman.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, good luck.’ Tom thumped his back. ‘Looks like we’re all going to need a bit of luck.’
‘Bridie.’ Rhys touched a hand to her shoulder.
She couldn’t speak, only nodded, her throat tight. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Rhys smiled, passing her his hanky. She buried her face in its folds.
‘That’s it,’ she heard him say.
And it was. He was going to disappear forever into the immense wooded land they’d seen from their passing ship. Violin in hand, he hefted his canvas bag to his shoulder and trudged along the beach.
Bridie could have sat down to wait for the punt, like Ma, or walked to the river mouth like Pam. But for some reason her feet were rooted to the spot. The rest of her felt soft and fluid as the seaweed she’d seen wafting in the water beneath their ship. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. Or how long it took for her mind to register the approaching punt. Only that she knew it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
‘I’m going to say goodbye,’ she called as her legs began to move of their own accord.
‘Bridie!’ She heard Ma’s shout.
‘Leave her be, Mary, love.’
‘No, Alf. She’s making an exhibition of herself.’
‘She’s fine, love, fine.’
Bridie didn’t hear Ma’s reply. She ran, feet pounding, arms flailing, dodging driftwood and sand ridges, until her lungs were lit by an inner fire. As if she had run a great distance. All the way from England to this place on a black sand beach.
‘Rhys!’ she called out. ‘Rhys, wait for me!’
She stopped, bent double, watched him walk back towards her. His face so drawn and sad that she wanted to cup it in her hands, as she’d seen Siân do so many times. To hold him, rock him, whisper words of comfort in his ear.
He lowered his bag and fiddle. ‘I’ll miss you, Bridie Stewart.’
‘I’ll miss you too, Rhys.’
‘I’ll have your notebook, though, lending me strength. That means a great deal … unless,’ he stopped, head to one side, ‘you’re wanting it back again?’
‘No. It’s yours … for as long as you have need.’
‘Are you sure, now, bach?’
‘Yes. Only promise me you’ll read it, Rhys. All of it. Right to the end.’
He paused before answering, his dark eyes searching her face. She swallowed, not daring to meet his gaze. Wondering what he saw, whether he could still read her mind. Perhaps guess at the hurdy-gurdy of emotions playing inside.
‘It’ll take time, bach.’
‘I don’t care how long it takes. So long as you bring it back to me.’
She watched him walk away, the shells a tiny white crunch beneath his feet. Crabs scuttled along the sand. A tumble of weeds blew in the wind. Oars dipped and pulled as the longboat made its way back to the ship. He halted at the far end of the beach, hefted his bag a little higher, and raised a hand. Bridie’s heart took flight, trusting she would see him again, one day, in the not too distant future, if fairies were real and magic still happened, and that by then his vision would have altered.
Glossary of Welsh words
Arhoswch > Wait
Baban, babanod > Baby, babies
Bach > Little, used to convey the term ‘little one’
Bechod > Shame
Ble gest ti hi? > Where did you get it?
Bydd popeth yn iawn > Everything will be fine
Canwyll corff > Corpse candles
Cariad > Love, sweetheart, dearest
Cawl > Broth
Crist > Christ
Cwch > Boat
Cwtch > Cuddle
Daeth tair angel fach o’r gorllewin > Three small angels came from the west
Diawl > Devil
Duw > God
Heddwch > Peace
Hist > Hush
Gelli di wneud e > You can do it
Iesu Grist > Jesus Christ
Llyn y Fan Fach > Lake of the Small Beacon
Nadolig Llawen > Merry Christmas
Na fydd > No, it won’t
Nage > No
Nefi > Heavens
Nid ti sydd ar fai > You are not to blame
Noswyl Mai > May Eve
O Arglwydd, dyma gamwedd > Oh Lord, here is injustice
Pidyn > Penis
Prydferth > Beautiful
Pob un ohnyn nhw yn profi ’r tân > Each one tried the fire
Seisnig > English
Sut wyt ti, cariad? > How are you, sweetheart?
Tad > Dad
Twp > Daft, stupid
Twti > Squat
Y Fari Lwyd > The Grey Mary
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For a recorded pronunciation guide to these words, visit http://elizabethjanecorbett.com/novels
Historical Notes
Ar Hyd y Nos’ is a traditional Welsh folk song sung to a tune that was first recorded in 1784 in Edward Jones’ Musical and Poetical Relicks of the Welsh Bards. However, the Welsh words now associated with the tune were written by John Ceriog Hughes, much later in the nineteenth century than the setting of this book. In his useful reference book, Caneuon Enwog Cymru/Famous Songs of Wales, Hywel John describes its use in The Beggars Opera. I can find no evidence of its inclusion in modern versions of the play but, as it was a ballad opera and therefore subject to change, I have decided to trust Hywel’s research. Especially as, according to Arfon Gwilym of Cwmni Cyhoeddu Gwynn, it was a well known tune in nineteenth century England and used in other operas such as Dibdin’s Liberty Hall.
I am indebted to Marie Trevelyan’s Folk-lore and Folk-Stories of Wales for Siân’s folk remedies and lore. Faleiry Kockzar, my Welsh teacher, translated her charms into Welsh for me. She also made the Fairy Woman’s song so much better than the original Welsh learner’s version I wrote for the choir.
Rhys’s stories come from a number of sources. The most used of which were: W Jenkyn Thomas’ Welsh Fairy Book and the excellent National Galleries and Museums of Wales publication, Welsh Folk Tales. I read Sioned Davies’ new translation of the Mabinogion as well as the earlier Charlotte Guest version. I was also privileged to attend Dr Gwilym Morus-Baird’s Welsh language course on the first four branches of the Mabinogion and to hear Gwyn Evans talk about the Tylwyth Teg—Fair Family in Welsh. The specific links between incest and magic are the product of my own imagination. In W. Jenkyn Thomas’ chaste children’s version of the tale, Why the Red Dragon is the emblem of Wales, Myrddin (Merlin) is simply called a ‘boy without a father’. However, in Mabon and the Guardians of Celtic Britain: Hero Myths in the Mabinogion, Caitlin Matthews says: ‘The incestuous parentage of the hero is well attested in Celtic folklore. Such a union produces a special child with superhuman abilities, yet he is generally outcast by being thrown into the sea, as in the case of Mordred or Taliesin.’ I therefore felt justified in making the link.
I first heard about Dic Penderyn from the local history librarian at Port Talbot Library. Alas, it was so long ago (when I imagined this was simply a practice novel) that I have lost her name, so I cannot thank her publicly. You can read about Dic Penderyn online and in a number of publications. Though, of course, Rhys wrote his own version of the story.
Lady Sophia is an imaginary emigrant vessel, although I have tried to keep the conditions between decks as close to the historical reality as I have understood them to be. For those interested in reading about nineteenth century immigration to Australia, I can recommend: The Long Farewell by Don Charlwood; Life and death in the age of sail: the passage to Australia and Doctors at Sea: emigrant voyages to colonial Australia by Robin Haines; as well as Keith Pescod’s Good food, bright fires and civility: British emigrant depots of the nineteenth century
. Thanks to digitalisation projects, original documents such as Instructions for Surgeons on Emigrant Vessels are now available online.
The Tides Between is of course a work of fiction. If I have misunderstood, misquoted, or misrepresented, it has been without intention. Any mistakes are my own.

Acknowledgments
The journey to publication has been long and arduous. There are so many people to thank. I’ll attempt to do so in chronological order. With thanks to my husband, Andrew, who encouraged me from the outset. Carine who helped choose the names of my characters. My cousin Joyce who played tourist guide on my early visits to Wales. Cousin Gwyn who believed there would be another writer in the family. My Welsh class who have been such a huge part of this journey. Steve who believed in my potential before it was ever evident. Faleiry, who transformed my learners Welsh into the far lovelier versions of songs and charms you have read. The team at Say Something in Welsh, who turned me from a language learner into a Welsh speaker. The members of Balwyn Writers who put up with my truly dreadful first drafts. Salli Muirden for her early encouragement. Alison Goodman who did my first manuscript assessment. Euan Mitchell who taught me heaps about story structure. Anne Bartlett who assessed one of my later drafts. To my writing buddies, Denis, Leisl, Chris, and Laura who offered words of truth and mop-up support in equal measure. My colleagues at City of Boroondara Libraries who have supported me unfailingly. Damien who annually asked: So, Liz, how is the book going? Joe, Bea, and Ella who looked after my dog while I finished my novel in Wales. Veronica Calarco who founded Stiwdio Maelor, took me on as a coordinator, and mentored me as a creative artist. Cindy Steiler for my stunning blog header photo, Erin Curry who helped revamp my website, and all the other Stiwdio Maelor residents who walked the creative path with me during my time in Wales. Inge who proofread my initial submission. Adam and Andy for wi-fi and great coffee. Brian for letting me buy cups of tea in the Slaters Arms and never once muttering the words: stingy Aussie! My mum and brother for their unfailing love. My children, Jack, Phoebe, Seth, and Naomi Priya who let their mum spread her wings and fly in mid-life. Their partners who accepted the chaos of our household. My three overseas daughters for being part of my rocky path to publication. Michelle Lovi at Odyssey Books for believing in my manuscript. The God of grace who holds me together (not an easy task). Finally, back to my husband Andrew who has been with me almost since childhood—thank you, thank you, thank you for letting me grow up and become a writer.
About the Author
When Elizabeth Jane Corbett isn’t writing, she works as a librarian, teaches Welsh at the Melbourne Welsh Church, writes reviews and articles for the Historical Novel Society, and blogs at elizabethjanecorbett.com. In 2009, her short story, ‘Beyond the Blackout Curtain’, won the Bristol Short Story Prize. Another, ‘Silent Night’, was shortlisted for the Allan Marshall Short Story Award. An early draft of her debut novel, The Tides Between, was shortlisted for a HarperCollins Varuna manuscript development award.
Elizabeth lives with her husband, Andrew, in a renovated timber cottage in Melbourne's inner-north. She likes red shoes, dark chocolate, commuter cycling, and reading quirky, character driven novels set once-upon-a-time in lands far, far away.
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