Up until 8 years ago I had lived in Burry Port in West Wales all my life.
When younger I would look for messages in bottles and chase imaginary pirates across the beach.
It was (and still is) a wonderful place to grow up.
I have heard Burry Port being called dull. Boring. It is untrue, those who call it dull and boring do not look hard enough for the beauty, and it stares them in the face each day.
This is a short story based in the town. Excuse my having taken the liberty of changing its name. From here on Burry Port will be known as Tref Y Ceiliog. (Pembrey has become Penglas. Pwll is Cwmllais.)
I do not know if this fictional name exists except to say that it was the most fitting name my mind stumbled on.
Also I would like to say that were it not for Barnet Philips, my uncle, this story would have been harder to write as it was through listening to his brilliant stories that the idea was concieved. I thank him dearly.
I have now moved away from this sweet little town but the memories and scenery stay with me always.
Steven,
January 5th, 1998
Wednesday 16 September 2009
A Sunny Mess (The Idea)
A Sunny Mess
The Idea
'Roundabout Walkabout' short walks seemed a good but scruffy idea. I knew the town well but an idea surrounded by bright lights, well sometimes the lights can dazzle the idea.
'You're mad.' Gwyn had told me. 'Its not a bad idea as it stands, Tref Y Ceiliog has some wonderful little spots for tourists but they won't look too wonderful if we are going to be their guides.'
Gwyn and I had been friends for years, longer than I could recall. We shared shared a detention in school together, he did my hundred lines and I did his. He was a trusted friend but not a great boost in the confidence department, and a born again worrier.
'Look, we both know the town well.' I assured him. 'We've lived here all our lives.'
'Spent most of it in the pub.' He muttered.
It was true enough, the only knowledge I had of the town was through listening to drunk old men spitting into the local brew of times when chocolate was aluxury and bad things never done.
Tref Y Ceiliog was a small fishing town with a population of too many. The heart of the place was the main street lined with shops and pubs, the road began from nowhere and led to everywhere. Every day people would bubble along, yapping away and bumping into one another. It was quietly busy, honest yet rogueish.
Gwyn and I were sitting around a table in my living room discussing the idea of a walking tour for visitors, to keep our empty pockets full.
There was an echo always in this room, and when Gwyn spoke in his loud, rich Welsh voice, he sounded like a preacher in full swing at his pulpit.
'Look and have some sense.' He told me, turning the pages of a local guide to points of no interest. 'The harbour is our main attraction, the shops we have might as well be empty. And what do we know of the harbour? Duw its cold in here!' He said suddenly changing the subject and rubbing his hands.
How he could have been cold in the middle of July I shall never know, but that was him all over.
'We can read up on it,' I told him turning on a small gas fire. 'Tourists won't want to know every little detail, its the sights they want. Food for their cameras.'
Gwyn looked uncertain. 'We have to tell them something mun! We can't just march them down the harbour, show them the lighthouse and expect money. Which is another point,' he went on. 'How much are we going to charge for this stroll?'
'Five pounds each.' I replied.
Gwyn looked at me and then at a photo of the harbour in the guide. 'Five pounds!' He nearly exploded. 'You're joking surely? You can't expect grockles to pay five quid for a bit of useless information and a look at some boats.'
Grockles was his word for tourists which he'd picked up from another sea side village.
I thought it over for a second. 'Okay maybe fives a bit steep, how about three pounds?' I asked, 'If we make it any less it won't be worth doing at all.' I searched his eyes for approval.
'Aye alright, im with you. Although I don't think anyone will come mind.'
'So its settled then?' I said brushing his doubts aside. 'We'll put adverts in shop windows announcing to people "Roundabout Walkabout" short walks.'
'Aye.' Gwyn looked at the gas fire on maximum heat. 'Duw its warm in here.'
The Idea
'Roundabout Walkabout' short walks seemed a good but scruffy idea. I knew the town well but an idea surrounded by bright lights, well sometimes the lights can dazzle the idea.
'You're mad.' Gwyn had told me. 'Its not a bad idea as it stands, Tref Y Ceiliog has some wonderful little spots for tourists but they won't look too wonderful if we are going to be their guides.'
Gwyn and I had been friends for years, longer than I could recall. We shared shared a detention in school together, he did my hundred lines and I did his. He was a trusted friend but not a great boost in the confidence department, and a born again worrier.
'Look, we both know the town well.' I assured him. 'We've lived here all our lives.'
'Spent most of it in the pub.' He muttered.
It was true enough, the only knowledge I had of the town was through listening to drunk old men spitting into the local brew of times when chocolate was aluxury and bad things never done.
Tref Y Ceiliog was a small fishing town with a population of too many. The heart of the place was the main street lined with shops and pubs, the road began from nowhere and led to everywhere. Every day people would bubble along, yapping away and bumping into one another. It was quietly busy, honest yet rogueish.
Gwyn and I were sitting around a table in my living room discussing the idea of a walking tour for visitors, to keep our empty pockets full.
There was an echo always in this room, and when Gwyn spoke in his loud, rich Welsh voice, he sounded like a preacher in full swing at his pulpit.
'Look and have some sense.' He told me, turning the pages of a local guide to points of no interest. 'The harbour is our main attraction, the shops we have might as well be empty. And what do we know of the harbour? Duw its cold in here!' He said suddenly changing the subject and rubbing his hands.
How he could have been cold in the middle of July I shall never know, but that was him all over.
'We can read up on it,' I told him turning on a small gas fire. 'Tourists won't want to know every little detail, its the sights they want. Food for their cameras.'
Gwyn looked uncertain. 'We have to tell them something mun! We can't just march them down the harbour, show them the lighthouse and expect money. Which is another point,' he went on. 'How much are we going to charge for this stroll?'
'Five pounds each.' I replied.
Gwyn looked at me and then at a photo of the harbour in the guide. 'Five pounds!' He nearly exploded. 'You're joking surely? You can't expect grockles to pay five quid for a bit of useless information and a look at some boats.'
Grockles was his word for tourists which he'd picked up from another sea side village.
I thought it over for a second. 'Okay maybe fives a bit steep, how about three pounds?' I asked, 'If we make it any less it won't be worth doing at all.' I searched his eyes for approval.
'Aye alright, im with you. Although I don't think anyone will come mind.'
'So its settled then?' I said brushing his doubts aside. 'We'll put adverts in shop windows announcing to people "Roundabout Walkabout" short walks.'
'Aye.' Gwyn looked at the gas fire on maximum heat. 'Duw its warm in here.'
A Sunny Mess (The Wait)
'Shall we draw a little lighthouse in the middle of the poster to give it an artistic look?' Asked Gwyn inbetween mouthfuls of a cheese and pickle sandwich.
We were again sitting around the table trying to decide on a design for the posters. Gwyn had already sketched a small lighthouse on scrap paper, which looked more like a dalek from Dr Who than anything else.
I gave it a quizzical look. 'Erm, no best keep it simple eh Gwyn?' I said hiding my amusement in a suggestion.
He looked down at his drawing. 'Its not that bad. Im not that Money chap you know.'
I turned to him suddenly. 'Who?'
'The French bloke mun! The one with a big beard who painted smudgy pictures.'
His comic descriptions always had a childlike innocence which never failed to raise a chuckle. I coughed a laugh into my hand. 'You mean Monet?'
Gwyn clicked his bony finger and thumb. 'Thats the chap! Im not Moonie you know.'
'Nevertheless,' I went on not wishing to confuse him further. 'I still think we ought keep it simple. Just print the name of the walk in big letters with the starting point of the tour and my telephone number underneath.'
My friend looked disappointed. 'What time should we begin the walk?' He asked. I was forever decision maker.
'Oh about ten o' clock say. We'll be back by tea then.'
'Long walk,' he said as he began stenciling the words on paper.
We had made twenty posters between us during the afternoon. Four too many I thought as I counted the shops in my head. By the time tea time had come around Gwyn and I had put posters in the windows of every shop and pub, with the exception of 'Modern' Megan, so called because of her dislike of 'new fangled technics' as she'd put it.
Megan had run the bakery since before the invention of sellotape, and was proud of the fact that she didn't sell pizza in her shop. Neither it seemed did she approve of tourists because when Id asked if I could put a poster in her window, her reply was 'no bach, im sorry but I don't want people in sunglasses ordering strange food in funny accents and confusing me.' I left the shop with a slight taste of insanity on my lips.
In the evening Gwyn and I called in our local pub, The Needle and Haystack, which some wag had once said was so called because finding a sober man within its portals was a similar task.
It was an old fashioned Inn with low oak beams on the ceiling and walls, to which photographs of Tref Y Ceiliog in olden times were nailed. Along with brass spoons, tassled trumpets and a gleaming Welsh dragon in pride of place above the bar.
Caradog the landlord, was the proudest of Welshmen and every morning before opening time he would polish the dragon while singing 'Calon Lan' in his booming tenor.
'Two pints of the usual please Caradog.' I asked, looking around the pub. It was quiet but it always was in the Haystack. It seemed time stood still within the confines of its stone walls, where here and there empty bottles had been cemented in but were too dark to reflect on anything but memories of long ago.
'Ive got one of your posters behind the bar!' Caradog informed me as he poured the pints. 'Good idea, a bit more custom for us publicans and shopkeepers if it draws visitors. Mind you I do enjoy the peace and quiet.' He added as if a second thought had changed his mind.
'Yes, although Megan in the bakery doesn't agree.' I said adding, 'she isn't too keen on funny accents as she put it.'
'She's one to talk,' Caradog chuckled as he handed me the delicious looking drinks. 'Her father was from Birmingham!'
** **
The following morning saw Gwyn and myself reading various papers, waiting for the telephone to bring our first customers.
'The town council is thinking of renovating the harbour it says here.' My partner in crime announced from behind the local paper. 'Lets hope they don't start straight away or it won't be boats our grockles will see, but a load of bulldozers and men asleep on shovels!' He chortled to himself.
He had little respect for any council matters and I knew what was coming next.
'Did you know they left my granny without warm water for two weeks?'
'Aye' I replied quietly to his near legendary gripe with officialdom.
'Two weeks!' He repeated. 'Her bloody kettle was worn out from being used so often, idle buggers.'
I put my paper down. 'Well if it took them that long to sort out that little problem I shouldn't think we need to worry about them starting on a new harbour for at least five years.' I reasoned.
Gwyn looked out from his paper. 'Oh the bigwigs look after themselves,' he warned. 'Its us, the little people who suffer.'
I was just about to explain that a new harbour would benefit the entire community when the telephone rang.
'Ah that'll be our first Marco Polos!' He trumpeted.
I hesitated for a second or two, wondering how I should answer. Should I adopt a different tone or keep my usual West Walian one? I opted for the former and picked up the phone.
'Hello, Roundabout Walkabout short walks. How may I help you?' My heart went out to secretaries the world over.
'Ah hello,' said the caller. 'I do have the correct number I hear. I see you are doing guided tours of the area, and since my wife and I are holidaying here I was wondering how one should book places on the walk?'
The voice was clearly cultured, posh as Gwyn would say, and its enquiry about booking places took me by suprise.
I looked into the phone cradle. 'Booking isn't necessary sir, just turn up at the starting point stated on the poster and we go on from there.' I was beginning to feel uneasy.
'I see,' continued the voice. 'And the starting point is at a monument opposite a garden of rememberance?'
'Yes thats right, if you have any trouble finding it just ask someone, you'll find the locals are very helpful around here.'
I looked at Gwyn who was standing beside me wearing a broad smile.
'I think I know the place,' said the man. 'If im not mistaken we are staying in a bed and breakfast just down the road from it. Its a monument dedicated to Amelia Earhart isn't it?'
Sudden relief washed over me. 'Thats it. We commence our walk from there at ten o' clock this friday.' I felt as if I were speaking to the invisible man. 'If I could have your names I'll note them in my book so that we don't have any mix ups.'
'Its Crenshaw', stated the voice. 'Brian and Doreen Crenshaw. And thers Grayson of course.'
A dog coming along would not be a problem I thought as I jotted the names on a memo pad on the table.
'I think the country air will do him good. Its not healthy for a twelve year old to be stuck in front of a computer screen all day.'
The penny dropped like a brick.
'Oh you're brining your son along too?'
'Yes yes. That won't be a problem will it?' He asked as if detecting something in my voice.
'No not at all, children are quite welcome!' I said quickly.
'Very well then, we'll see you on friday.'
I was about to put the reciever down when the voice piped up again.
'Oh one last thing..'
All kinds of'last things' ran through my mind.
'Is it three pounds each or...'
'Yes thats right,' I cut him off swiftly. Gwyn had already knocked two pounds off the original five.
'Right you are then, my family and I shall see you on friday. Goodbye.'
'Goodbye.' I said it more to myself than anyone else.
As soon as I had put the phone down Gwyn pounced. 'Annwyl Duw! What was all that chatter about? You sounded like Enoch Powell mun!'
I fell back into my chair. 'You can answer the next one.'
'No fear, I can't talk like that! Anyway what did the person sound like?'
I gave him what little information I had.
'They sound like part of the green wellington brigade to me. Ych Y fi.' He spat.
'I don't care what they are as long as they're paying.'
'Why did you say children were welcome?' It was as if he'd been put on death duty.
'Look at it as an extra three quid.' I urged.
'Yes but we're not babysitters mun!'
'Its hardly babysitting, the child is twelve for Heavens sake. And anyway his parents will be the ones looking after him.' I pointed out.
That seemed to reassure him and I glanced at my watch which had just reached afternoon..
'Do you fancy a beer?' I asked getting up from my chair.
'Aye, think I need one.' Came the reply.
I fetched two cans of Felinfoel Ale from the fridge.
'Ah! Chilled to perfection!' Gwyn smiled, clasping the tin with two eager paws. 'This will be like an angel dancing on my tongue!'
We opened our cans and drank to our first customers.
'This is the finest beer you can get.' Remarked Gwyn inbetween swigs. 'If there's two things that us Welsh have mastered, its song and ale!' He loudly claimed.
We sat in silence for a while. I kept wondering about Brian and Doreen, and about how many more people would call.
'Friday!' Shouted my friend suddenly as if he'd been sharp shocked. 'You told that bloke the walk was on friday!'
'So?' I asked calmly.
'Why didn't you say it was next tuesday or something?'
I was beginning to think a madness had washed over him.
'What difference does it make Gwyn?'
'This!' He waved his dribbling can in the air. 'Friday is our drinking day, always has been mun!.'
'Every day is our drinking day.' It didn't put him off.
'Yes but not like friday. We go over the top and round the bend on friday. So why did you have to say friday?' He repeated.
I understood his concern; our friday nights in the Haystack had become special, when even the shine on bottles guided us home but the walk was during the day.
'We'll be back by a decent enough time to have a drinking session.' I reassured him. 'And we can take a four pack with us on the walk.'
'Drinking on the job you mean?'
'We'll hardly be drunk on four.' I finished my can.
The suggestion of bringing ale along seemed to settle him.
Friday would prove to be an interesting day.
We were again sitting around the table trying to decide on a design for the posters. Gwyn had already sketched a small lighthouse on scrap paper, which looked more like a dalek from Dr Who than anything else.
I gave it a quizzical look. 'Erm, no best keep it simple eh Gwyn?' I said hiding my amusement in a suggestion.
He looked down at his drawing. 'Its not that bad. Im not that Money chap you know.'
I turned to him suddenly. 'Who?'
'The French bloke mun! The one with a big beard who painted smudgy pictures.'
His comic descriptions always had a childlike innocence which never failed to raise a chuckle. I coughed a laugh into my hand. 'You mean Monet?'
Gwyn clicked his bony finger and thumb. 'Thats the chap! Im not Moonie you know.'
'Nevertheless,' I went on not wishing to confuse him further. 'I still think we ought keep it simple. Just print the name of the walk in big letters with the starting point of the tour and my telephone number underneath.'
My friend looked disappointed. 'What time should we begin the walk?' He asked. I was forever decision maker.
'Oh about ten o' clock say. We'll be back by tea then.'
'Long walk,' he said as he began stenciling the words on paper.
We had made twenty posters between us during the afternoon. Four too many I thought as I counted the shops in my head. By the time tea time had come around Gwyn and I had put posters in the windows of every shop and pub, with the exception of 'Modern' Megan, so called because of her dislike of 'new fangled technics' as she'd put it.
Megan had run the bakery since before the invention of sellotape, and was proud of the fact that she didn't sell pizza in her shop. Neither it seemed did she approve of tourists because when Id asked if I could put a poster in her window, her reply was 'no bach, im sorry but I don't want people in sunglasses ordering strange food in funny accents and confusing me.' I left the shop with a slight taste of insanity on my lips.
In the evening Gwyn and I called in our local pub, The Needle and Haystack, which some wag had once said was so called because finding a sober man within its portals was a similar task.
It was an old fashioned Inn with low oak beams on the ceiling and walls, to which photographs of Tref Y Ceiliog in olden times were nailed. Along with brass spoons, tassled trumpets and a gleaming Welsh dragon in pride of place above the bar.
Caradog the landlord, was the proudest of Welshmen and every morning before opening time he would polish the dragon while singing 'Calon Lan' in his booming tenor.
'Two pints of the usual please Caradog.' I asked, looking around the pub. It was quiet but it always was in the Haystack. It seemed time stood still within the confines of its stone walls, where here and there empty bottles had been cemented in but were too dark to reflect on anything but memories of long ago.
'Ive got one of your posters behind the bar!' Caradog informed me as he poured the pints. 'Good idea, a bit more custom for us publicans and shopkeepers if it draws visitors. Mind you I do enjoy the peace and quiet.' He added as if a second thought had changed his mind.
'Yes, although Megan in the bakery doesn't agree.' I said adding, 'she isn't too keen on funny accents as she put it.'
'She's one to talk,' Caradog chuckled as he handed me the delicious looking drinks. 'Her father was from Birmingham!'
** **
The following morning saw Gwyn and myself reading various papers, waiting for the telephone to bring our first customers.
'The town council is thinking of renovating the harbour it says here.' My partner in crime announced from behind the local paper. 'Lets hope they don't start straight away or it won't be boats our grockles will see, but a load of bulldozers and men asleep on shovels!' He chortled to himself.
He had little respect for any council matters and I knew what was coming next.
'Did you know they left my granny without warm water for two weeks?'
'Aye' I replied quietly to his near legendary gripe with officialdom.
'Two weeks!' He repeated. 'Her bloody kettle was worn out from being used so often, idle buggers.'
I put my paper down. 'Well if it took them that long to sort out that little problem I shouldn't think we need to worry about them starting on a new harbour for at least five years.' I reasoned.
Gwyn looked out from his paper. 'Oh the bigwigs look after themselves,' he warned. 'Its us, the little people who suffer.'
I was just about to explain that a new harbour would benefit the entire community when the telephone rang.
'Ah that'll be our first Marco Polos!' He trumpeted.
I hesitated for a second or two, wondering how I should answer. Should I adopt a different tone or keep my usual West Walian one? I opted for the former and picked up the phone.
'Hello, Roundabout Walkabout short walks. How may I help you?' My heart went out to secretaries the world over.
'Ah hello,' said the caller. 'I do have the correct number I hear. I see you are doing guided tours of the area, and since my wife and I are holidaying here I was wondering how one should book places on the walk?'
The voice was clearly cultured, posh as Gwyn would say, and its enquiry about booking places took me by suprise.
I looked into the phone cradle. 'Booking isn't necessary sir, just turn up at the starting point stated on the poster and we go on from there.' I was beginning to feel uneasy.
'I see,' continued the voice. 'And the starting point is at a monument opposite a garden of rememberance?'
'Yes thats right, if you have any trouble finding it just ask someone, you'll find the locals are very helpful around here.'
I looked at Gwyn who was standing beside me wearing a broad smile.
'I think I know the place,' said the man. 'If im not mistaken we are staying in a bed and breakfast just down the road from it. Its a monument dedicated to Amelia Earhart isn't it?'
Sudden relief washed over me. 'Thats it. We commence our walk from there at ten o' clock this friday.' I felt as if I were speaking to the invisible man. 'If I could have your names I'll note them in my book so that we don't have any mix ups.'
'Its Crenshaw', stated the voice. 'Brian and Doreen Crenshaw. And thers Grayson of course.'
A dog coming along would not be a problem I thought as I jotted the names on a memo pad on the table.
'I think the country air will do him good. Its not healthy for a twelve year old to be stuck in front of a computer screen all day.'
The penny dropped like a brick.
'Oh you're brining your son along too?'
'Yes yes. That won't be a problem will it?' He asked as if detecting something in my voice.
'No not at all, children are quite welcome!' I said quickly.
'Very well then, we'll see you on friday.'
I was about to put the reciever down when the voice piped up again.
'Oh one last thing..'
All kinds of'last things' ran through my mind.
'Is it three pounds each or...'
'Yes thats right,' I cut him off swiftly. Gwyn had already knocked two pounds off the original five.
'Right you are then, my family and I shall see you on friday. Goodbye.'
'Goodbye.' I said it more to myself than anyone else.
As soon as I had put the phone down Gwyn pounced. 'Annwyl Duw! What was all that chatter about? You sounded like Enoch Powell mun!'
I fell back into my chair. 'You can answer the next one.'
'No fear, I can't talk like that! Anyway what did the person sound like?'
I gave him what little information I had.
'They sound like part of the green wellington brigade to me. Ych Y fi.' He spat.
'I don't care what they are as long as they're paying.'
'Why did you say children were welcome?' It was as if he'd been put on death duty.
'Look at it as an extra three quid.' I urged.
'Yes but we're not babysitters mun!'
'Its hardly babysitting, the child is twelve for Heavens sake. And anyway his parents will be the ones looking after him.' I pointed out.
That seemed to reassure him and I glanced at my watch which had just reached afternoon..
'Do you fancy a beer?' I asked getting up from my chair.
'Aye, think I need one.' Came the reply.
I fetched two cans of Felinfoel Ale from the fridge.
'Ah! Chilled to perfection!' Gwyn smiled, clasping the tin with two eager paws. 'This will be like an angel dancing on my tongue!'
We opened our cans and drank to our first customers.
'This is the finest beer you can get.' Remarked Gwyn inbetween swigs. 'If there's two things that us Welsh have mastered, its song and ale!' He loudly claimed.
We sat in silence for a while. I kept wondering about Brian and Doreen, and about how many more people would call.
'Friday!' Shouted my friend suddenly as if he'd been sharp shocked. 'You told that bloke the walk was on friday!'
'So?' I asked calmly.
'Why didn't you say it was next tuesday or something?'
I was beginning to think a madness had washed over him.
'What difference does it make Gwyn?'
'This!' He waved his dribbling can in the air. 'Friday is our drinking day, always has been mun!.'
'Every day is our drinking day.' It didn't put him off.
'Yes but not like friday. We go over the top and round the bend on friday. So why did you have to say friday?' He repeated.
I understood his concern; our friday nights in the Haystack had become special, when even the shine on bottles guided us home but the walk was during the day.
'We'll be back by a decent enough time to have a drinking session.' I reassured him. 'And we can take a four pack with us on the walk.'
'Drinking on the job you mean?'
'We'll hardly be drunk on four.' I finished my can.
The suggestion of bringing ale along seemed to settle him.
Friday would prove to be an interesting day.
A Sunny Mess (The Route)
Wednesday afternoon and the pair of us sat at our usual table in the Haystack, next to a bay window but closer to the bar, plotting out a route of sorts.
It was proving to be a difficult task, and the two pints that we had ordered were probably the longest we had ever drank. The pub was empty apart from Caradog who was singing 'Myfanwy' to himself whilst checking the optics and wiping his brass heirlooms.
'Okay,' I said, still sifting through guides scattered on the table. 'We begin the walk from Amelia Earharts monument, then head straight for the harbour. Thats our best bet I reckon.'
'Aye, we can show them the old pickle factory.' Gwyn added with a smile.
'Nevermind the pickle factory! Its where do we go from there thats bothering me.' I was starting to feel sure we had bitten off more than we could chew and my companions carefree attitude seemed to cement the feeling. Like the bottles in the Haystack's stone walls I was beginning to feel stuck.
'Do we go towards Penglas,' I continued. 'Or go to the other side of the harbour toward the lifeboat shed?'
Penglas was Tref Y Ceiliog's neighbouring village. It was a small place with nothing to offer but history.
Gwyn sipped on his glass, pondering for a moment.
'I would head towards the lifeboat shed.' Offered Caradog who had finished with the brass and had evidently been listening to our plans. 'There's nothing in Penglas but gossip!'
'Thats true,' agreed my friend. 'Gossip and graveyards, thats all there is to Penglas!'
I looked at them both in turn. 'So its toward the other side then?' I asked.
'I'd say that would be better,' replied the landlord turning his attention to something else behind the bar.
'Are we settled on that Gwyn?' I asked him directly.
'Aye, although theres hardly anything that way either now they've blown the power station up! Where do we go from there?'
'Thats simple,' I stated with what little confidence I had left. 'We'll walk past the lifeboat shed and along the coastline toward the old ash pit ponds.'
The ash ponds had been created from coal dust and water that had poured through pipes from the power station many years ago. In earlier days the ponds had looked like the moon's surface, and many children had become spacemen after school.
'You want to show them the moon pits?' Gwyn asked incredulously.
'Sure, why not? Its history afterall.'
'Of which we know bugger all about!' He reminded me as he opened a packet of crisps.
'Okay but theres some beautiful scenery down there, along with the wildlife. Birds, rabbits, foxes and such.' I tried to put as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible because Doubting Thomas in the bible was compared to Gwyn the epitome of assurance.
By this time Caradog had steered his way back into the conversation.
'I shouldn't think there'd be much rabbits down there now.' He remarked putting a cloth over the beer pumps. 'I think Edwin Davies and his ferrets have seen to that. He'd shoot Bugs Bunny mun! Anything to put in his missus' cawl!'
'You must admit though,' Gwyn chipped in. 'Her cawl is the best in West Wales.'
I peered through the window. It was as if I was discussing a different topic. I should have realised that to try and get his attention in the pub would be useless. I resolved to finish the route at home, where we ought to have stayed in the first place should any more tourists happen to phone.
I finished my pint. 'We'd better get back to the phone Gwyn, otherwise we'll only have three people to take on the walk.'
He frowned. 'I thought we were going to have another few pints.' He sounded like a child being deprived of a treat. 'We don't want to leave Caradog here on his own.'
'Don't you worry about me,' the lanlord said happily. 'You boyos go and attend to the tourists, ive plenty to do here!'
Gwyn grumbled to himself and drained his glass.
'Thanks for the drinks, we'll see you soon Caradog.' I said opening the door to leave, with my partner following like a disgruntled dog. As soon as the door of the Haystack was closed I heard 'Myfanwy' pipe up again in glorious tenor.
** **
'Right then,' I told Gwyn back at the house, once more leafing through pages of local guides. 'We've got as far as the ash ponds. How about going onwards, crossing the railway track and showing them the estuary?' I offered.
Gwyn scratched his chin giving the impression that at last his cogs were turning. Partly because they'd had the required lubrication I thought to myself.
'I reckon it would be nicer to show them Looter's Cove,' he suggested finally. 'That way we won't have to cross the railway line, and anyway you can see the estuary better from the cove.'
It was the best idea he had made in days.
Looter's Cove as it was known locally, was directly beyond the ash ponds. One only had to climb down a tiny, steep hill and you were there.
'Great idea mun!' I patted him on the back. 'We can show them where the wind turbines used to be as well then.'
'Aye, what a waste of money that was. Still we can tell the grockles they were going to be used as props in the film 'War of the Worlds', they looked alien enough to me.' He grinned.
I thought the route through again in my mind. I did doubt if it would be sufficient enough but on the whole I was satisfied. If we went any further past Looter's Cove we would end up in the messy border which seperated Tref Y Ceiliog from the drive through village of Cwmllais. So that was it I determined to myself. That would be our guided walk.
I came out from thoughts. 'Well thats it then Gwyn,' I said as if shooing away all doubt. 'That will be our stroll on friday.'
He clapped his hands together. 'Amen to that!' He shouted. 'Now how about a can each to soothe our efforts as it were?'
'I think that can be arranged,' I told him heading into the kitchen. Gwyn might have been a little naive about certain issues but he was a dear friend who was all heart and ale, and with those qualities who could complain?
By suppertime we had booked two more couples to join us on the walk: Fredericke and Eva who were backpacking through Wales from Germany, and a Scottish pair who didn't sound Scottish, Robert and Suze who were engaged to be married after their trip.
'Lets hope that German couple have brought the right money.' Remarked Gwyn as he left for his house after supper that evening. 'We don't want to end up with a pocketful of dollars.'
I whistled the theme to A Few Dollars More as I shut the door on my dizzy friend.
It was proving to be a difficult task, and the two pints that we had ordered were probably the longest we had ever drank. The pub was empty apart from Caradog who was singing 'Myfanwy' to himself whilst checking the optics and wiping his brass heirlooms.
'Okay,' I said, still sifting through guides scattered on the table. 'We begin the walk from Amelia Earharts monument, then head straight for the harbour. Thats our best bet I reckon.'
'Aye, we can show them the old pickle factory.' Gwyn added with a smile.
'Nevermind the pickle factory! Its where do we go from there thats bothering me.' I was starting to feel sure we had bitten off more than we could chew and my companions carefree attitude seemed to cement the feeling. Like the bottles in the Haystack's stone walls I was beginning to feel stuck.
'Do we go towards Penglas,' I continued. 'Or go to the other side of the harbour toward the lifeboat shed?'
Penglas was Tref Y Ceiliog's neighbouring village. It was a small place with nothing to offer but history.
Gwyn sipped on his glass, pondering for a moment.
'I would head towards the lifeboat shed.' Offered Caradog who had finished with the brass and had evidently been listening to our plans. 'There's nothing in Penglas but gossip!'
'Thats true,' agreed my friend. 'Gossip and graveyards, thats all there is to Penglas!'
I looked at them both in turn. 'So its toward the other side then?' I asked.
'I'd say that would be better,' replied the landlord turning his attention to something else behind the bar.
'Are we settled on that Gwyn?' I asked him directly.
'Aye, although theres hardly anything that way either now they've blown the power station up! Where do we go from there?'
'Thats simple,' I stated with what little confidence I had left. 'We'll walk past the lifeboat shed and along the coastline toward the old ash pit ponds.'
The ash ponds had been created from coal dust and water that had poured through pipes from the power station many years ago. In earlier days the ponds had looked like the moon's surface, and many children had become spacemen after school.
'You want to show them the moon pits?' Gwyn asked incredulously.
'Sure, why not? Its history afterall.'
'Of which we know bugger all about!' He reminded me as he opened a packet of crisps.
'Okay but theres some beautiful scenery down there, along with the wildlife. Birds, rabbits, foxes and such.' I tried to put as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible because Doubting Thomas in the bible was compared to Gwyn the epitome of assurance.
By this time Caradog had steered his way back into the conversation.
'I shouldn't think there'd be much rabbits down there now.' He remarked putting a cloth over the beer pumps. 'I think Edwin Davies and his ferrets have seen to that. He'd shoot Bugs Bunny mun! Anything to put in his missus' cawl!'
'You must admit though,' Gwyn chipped in. 'Her cawl is the best in West Wales.'
I peered through the window. It was as if I was discussing a different topic. I should have realised that to try and get his attention in the pub would be useless. I resolved to finish the route at home, where we ought to have stayed in the first place should any more tourists happen to phone.
I finished my pint. 'We'd better get back to the phone Gwyn, otherwise we'll only have three people to take on the walk.'
He frowned. 'I thought we were going to have another few pints.' He sounded like a child being deprived of a treat. 'We don't want to leave Caradog here on his own.'
'Don't you worry about me,' the lanlord said happily. 'You boyos go and attend to the tourists, ive plenty to do here!'
Gwyn grumbled to himself and drained his glass.
'Thanks for the drinks, we'll see you soon Caradog.' I said opening the door to leave, with my partner following like a disgruntled dog. As soon as the door of the Haystack was closed I heard 'Myfanwy' pipe up again in glorious tenor.
** **
'Right then,' I told Gwyn back at the house, once more leafing through pages of local guides. 'We've got as far as the ash ponds. How about going onwards, crossing the railway track and showing them the estuary?' I offered.
Gwyn scratched his chin giving the impression that at last his cogs were turning. Partly because they'd had the required lubrication I thought to myself.
'I reckon it would be nicer to show them Looter's Cove,' he suggested finally. 'That way we won't have to cross the railway line, and anyway you can see the estuary better from the cove.'
It was the best idea he had made in days.
Looter's Cove as it was known locally, was directly beyond the ash ponds. One only had to climb down a tiny, steep hill and you were there.
'Great idea mun!' I patted him on the back. 'We can show them where the wind turbines used to be as well then.'
'Aye, what a waste of money that was. Still we can tell the grockles they were going to be used as props in the film 'War of the Worlds', they looked alien enough to me.' He grinned.
I thought the route through again in my mind. I did doubt if it would be sufficient enough but on the whole I was satisfied. If we went any further past Looter's Cove we would end up in the messy border which seperated Tref Y Ceiliog from the drive through village of Cwmllais. So that was it I determined to myself. That would be our guided walk.
I came out from thoughts. 'Well thats it then Gwyn,' I said as if shooing away all doubt. 'That will be our stroll on friday.'
He clapped his hands together. 'Amen to that!' He shouted. 'Now how about a can each to soothe our efforts as it were?'
'I think that can be arranged,' I told him heading into the kitchen. Gwyn might have been a little naive about certain issues but he was a dear friend who was all heart and ale, and with those qualities who could complain?
By suppertime we had booked two more couples to join us on the walk: Fredericke and Eva who were backpacking through Wales from Germany, and a Scottish pair who didn't sound Scottish, Robert and Suze who were engaged to be married after their trip.
'Lets hope that German couple have brought the right money.' Remarked Gwyn as he left for his house after supper that evening. 'We don't want to end up with a pocketful of dollars.'
I whistled the theme to A Few Dollars More as I shut the door on my dizzy friend.
A Sunny Mess (The Mess)
I had just finished breakfast that friday morning, (thursday having come and gone in its usual fashion like a cat about to pounce on the weekend) and was sitting in the kitchen enjoying a mug of tea. Today was the day I told myself. I had hoped a few more interested tourists might have called but none did, which made Gwyn happy as he believed the seven we had booked was already enough.
Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. I knew it was him without answering. It was as if by thinking about my friend I had whisked him to my doorstep like a genie out of a can of Felinfoel ale.
'You're early Gwyn,' I said bringing him through to the kitchen. 'Its only just gone eight, we don't start until ten.'
'Aye well, the early bird catches the worm. Or tea in this case!' He poured himself a cup, sat down and began sniffing the air.
'Ah,' he sighed, 'there's nothing like a fry up to get you going in the morning! Of course I had to do without sausages today because id eaten the last of them yesterday.'
I noticed a tattered sports bag slung over his shoulder. 'I see you've come prepared,' I pointed to the bag. 'Whats in it? The map to the hidden treasure of Tref Y Ceiliog? The one the men of the little hatchets missed?' In by gone years the town had been home to looters who raided ships in distress armed with small axes. The humorous comment fell dead at his feet.
'No mun.' He put the bag on his lap, unzipped it and took a peek inside. 'Ive got a packed lunch, a guide book of historical facts and a pack of Felinfoel beer. Mind you in this heat I don't imagine i'll get much refreshment from them.' As if to illustrate the heat he wiped his brow.
It was warm sure enough, even for this early hour. I looked out of the window at the rising sun and clear sky which promised to get warmer as the day rolled on.
'We couldn't have wished for a better day boyo.' I said rubbing my hands in excitement.
'Thats true. What are you taking?' He enquired.
'Same as you mostly. Few sandwiches, ale. But I won't bother taking a giude if you have one, pointless having two.'
Gwyn looked up from his tea. 'I might have know id end up with more to carry.' He moaned as if the weight of a book made all the difference.
'Anyway I stayed up until one in the morning reading some facts on the place,' I said standing up. 'So I shouldn't think we'll need it much. Come on,' I motioned toward the living room. 'Lets have a final look at that guide book of yours to make certain ive got the dates and facts right.'
Up until this walk I hadn't really bothered with the history of Tref Y Ceiliog. To me in my youth it had been a place of beaches and pirates, hills and dangerous rope swings, later to become a place of gossip and drinking haunts. But as I sat flicking through pages of the guide I began to taste the dust of its past and realised that Tref Y Ceiliog had soaked many years of quality times and memories into its rich soil and weary bone.
I turned to my Gwyn who was fiddling with the zip on his bag. 'Do you know something? I didn't know this village had so much to tell.'
'Aye,' he nodded. 'And i'll tell you something else. My grandfather used to say the community of Tref Y Ceiliog in the old days was so strong that if its ghosts were ever to come back, it wouldn't be a haunting but a reunion.' He stopped playing with the zip. 'Of course im not entirely sure what he meant, and he's a ghost himself now as you know.'
I looked at my watch. 'Righto then,' I said with a renewed outlook. 'Let us show these tourists what this town was carved from!'
'Right you are,' he agreed. 'And give me a signal when its time to open a can, im parched.'
** **
As we approached the starting point of the tour I counted seven figures milling around Amelia's monument, each with rucksacks and other knick knacks.
'That must be them,' I told Gwyn.
'Look at all that gear they've brought,' he nodded to the bags that surrounded them. 'You would think we were going to climb Everest mun!'
'Ssh!' I hissed as we got within earshot.
All seven stared at us curiously as we arrived at the monument, and for a second I felt intimidated but quickly regained confidence.
'Well,' I said clapping my hands together in poor immitation of a holiday camp host. 'You must be our ramblers. Allow me first to welcome you to Tref Y Ceiliog, I hope you've enjoyed your stay here so far!' They all nodded like choirboys then introduced themselves in turn.
Each couple stood out from one another in stark contrast. Brian and Doreen were the eldest by a number of years and smart, well spoken. Robert and Suze looked youngest and never seemed to let go of each other, while Fredericke and Eva made a very beautiful couple, blonde and tanned. And then there was Grayson, a wiry child topped with curls. Spoilt looking but polite. Twelve years of mischief and curiosity.
All wore hiking boots and carried rucksacks on their backs and cameras on their chests, primed to click at anything of interest.
'Okay then,' I started after the formal introductions. 'As you know this is a monument in honour of Amelia Earhart who landed in Tref Y Ceiliog harbour in the seaplane 'Friendship' on June 18th 1928. This monument was unveiled on August 8th 1930 by Sir Arthur Whitton Brown, KBE. You can see the plaque on the front.'
As the cameras blinked I tugged on Gwyn's sleeve. 'Tell them about the memorial hall across the road, you know more about that than me.'
'Aye alright,' he agreed. 'But Duw its a scorcher! We'll all be burnt to a crisp by the time we reach the ash ponds, especially the young lad in his shorts.' He said referring to Grayson who was wearing a baggy pair of shorts that went down past his kneecaps.
When the cameras had finished collecting their owners' memories my side kick spoke up. 'Okay then ladies and gentlemen,' he began as if he were a guest speaker at a mayoral ball. 'If you look beyond the garden of remembrance you'll see a building. That is the Tref Y Ceiliog war memorial institute, and was first opened in 1934. Inside is a Roll of Honour listing the names of brave local lads that fought in the Great War. It was reopened in 1949 after the second world war.'
'What was the building used for?' Enquired Brian Crenshaw, who had taken a particular interest. I left the question to Gwyn.
'Pleasure mainly. It has a billiard room, a smokers room I think, and behind it is another hall which was, and still is, used for concerts, operas and so on. A beautiful dedication to courageous boys really.' He finished with a hint of sad admiration.
It seemed to satisfy Crenshaw senior. I looked at the clock on the front of the institute. 'Okay, we shall now head to the harbour which will lead us to the breath taking scenery along the coastline.'
We walked in pairs on the pavement of the main street, Gwyn and myself taking the lead. 'We should have asked for the money up front.' My thirsty friend told me as we walked.
'Why?'
'Well if they don't think its worth the three quid we won't get paid.' He warned.
'Don't worry, im sure they're not that sort of people. And keep your voice down!' I ordered. In my my mind what little money we would earn was nothing compared to sharing the old towns history with strangers.
A lot of locals who knew Gwyn and I of old, pointed at us and the visitors and smiled as we strolled towards the bridge crossing the railway, and it made me wonder if our guests had noticed the pointing and would suddenly think of us as rogues. I comforted myself with the fact that we doing the village some good.
Arriving we regrouped on a recently built footbridge, that had been slapped onto the original bridges' side like a healthier, stronger looking siames twin. New sticking to old as always new should.
'This is the Co-op bridge,' I stated. 'And was built in 1839. It really is the heart of Tref Y Ceiliog, as you can see from the shops and bustle.'
'Are there any toy shops?' Crenshaw junior asked eagerly.
'Im afraid they've gone,' I answered. 'But if any of you need provisions Im sure the supermarket over there will have everything you want.'
They indicated no desire to add shopping to the tour, and it was a silly offer I said to myself, as everyone had bags bursting at the stitching.
Suddenly Gwyn decided to speak.
'If you look to your right,' he pointed. 'You will notice a car park. Many years ago there used to be a cinema there called the Adelphi. But it was knocked down in 1972.'
'Why was that?' Asked Suze, liked to her fiance.
'A good question,' he replied. 'But I can tell you that when it was first opened, a chap sitting in the front row thought the train on screen was going to come crashing into the cinema!' Gwyn guffawed.
We crossed the bridge, heading for the harbour.
'The Nep..tune hotel.' Fredericke read out slowly as we passed the hotel.
'We didn't see that advertised in the brochure did we dear?' Brian joined in. 'Does it still accomodate?' We halted again.
'No, it was a sort of nightclub the last time it was open. Its quite old, used be called the Carbay club and very popular. Built in 1841.' I offered.
'And whats that small building next to it asked Robert.
'Ah, thats the Clwb Bach!' Gwyn informed the group. 'Or 'small club' if you don't speak Welsh.' He added helpfully. 'It was opened in 1896, and we could take a look inside but unfortunately we're not members and no women are allowed.'
I cringed at this painfully true statement.
'Why on earth aren't women permitted?' Demanded Mrs Crenshaw.
I knew that my partner would tell her it was for husbands to escape nagging wives so I jumped in sharply to save the walk from ending there and then.
'Tradition I would imagine. The women then of course accepted it, and they still do to this day.'
I motioned that we ought walk onward in case Gwyn added something 'special' to my thin explanation.
We walked in more of a group as we headed for the East side of the dock. Grayson kept running a little ahead, filled with energy and excitement. I thought at first he might have been troublesome but he behaved well and had the healthy curiosity of all boys.
On arriving at the lifeboat shed the cameras went into action once again, filling the loaded films with images of sailing boats and the distant Gower.
'Its beautiful here!' Exclaimed Eva.
'Aye, the ships that have come and gone in this harbour is nobody's buisness.' Announced Gwyn. 'And this is where Amelia landed, hundreds of people gathered to see her. My gran was one. Told me she was a funny lady but she was American I suppose.' He quipped.
'Isn't that a lighthouse way out there?' Brian asked looking through binoculars.
'Yes it is. Its the Whitford lighthouse, the only off shore cast iron lighthouse in Britain.' I informed the binocular lens.
'Magnificent!' He said to no one in particular.
As the adults took photographs and took in the sea air, Grayson meanwhile had wandered down to the edge of the water.
'What are these metal things stuck down here?' He shouted up.
Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. I knew it was him without answering. It was as if by thinking about my friend I had whisked him to my doorstep like a genie out of a can of Felinfoel ale.
'You're early Gwyn,' I said bringing him through to the kitchen. 'Its only just gone eight, we don't start until ten.'
'Aye well, the early bird catches the worm. Or tea in this case!' He poured himself a cup, sat down and began sniffing the air.
'Ah,' he sighed, 'there's nothing like a fry up to get you going in the morning! Of course I had to do without sausages today because id eaten the last of them yesterday.'
I noticed a tattered sports bag slung over his shoulder. 'I see you've come prepared,' I pointed to the bag. 'Whats in it? The map to the hidden treasure of Tref Y Ceiliog? The one the men of the little hatchets missed?' In by gone years the town had been home to looters who raided ships in distress armed with small axes. The humorous comment fell dead at his feet.
'No mun.' He put the bag on his lap, unzipped it and took a peek inside. 'Ive got a packed lunch, a guide book of historical facts and a pack of Felinfoel beer. Mind you in this heat I don't imagine i'll get much refreshment from them.' As if to illustrate the heat he wiped his brow.
It was warm sure enough, even for this early hour. I looked out of the window at the rising sun and clear sky which promised to get warmer as the day rolled on.
'We couldn't have wished for a better day boyo.' I said rubbing my hands in excitement.
'Thats true. What are you taking?' He enquired.
'Same as you mostly. Few sandwiches, ale. But I won't bother taking a giude if you have one, pointless having two.'
Gwyn looked up from his tea. 'I might have know id end up with more to carry.' He moaned as if the weight of a book made all the difference.
'Anyway I stayed up until one in the morning reading some facts on the place,' I said standing up. 'So I shouldn't think we'll need it much. Come on,' I motioned toward the living room. 'Lets have a final look at that guide book of yours to make certain ive got the dates and facts right.'
Up until this walk I hadn't really bothered with the history of Tref Y Ceiliog. To me in my youth it had been a place of beaches and pirates, hills and dangerous rope swings, later to become a place of gossip and drinking haunts. But as I sat flicking through pages of the guide I began to taste the dust of its past and realised that Tref Y Ceiliog had soaked many years of quality times and memories into its rich soil and weary bone.
I turned to my Gwyn who was fiddling with the zip on his bag. 'Do you know something? I didn't know this village had so much to tell.'
'Aye,' he nodded. 'And i'll tell you something else. My grandfather used to say the community of Tref Y Ceiliog in the old days was so strong that if its ghosts were ever to come back, it wouldn't be a haunting but a reunion.' He stopped playing with the zip. 'Of course im not entirely sure what he meant, and he's a ghost himself now as you know.'
I looked at my watch. 'Righto then,' I said with a renewed outlook. 'Let us show these tourists what this town was carved from!'
'Right you are,' he agreed. 'And give me a signal when its time to open a can, im parched.'
** **
As we approached the starting point of the tour I counted seven figures milling around Amelia's monument, each with rucksacks and other knick knacks.
'That must be them,' I told Gwyn.
'Look at all that gear they've brought,' he nodded to the bags that surrounded them. 'You would think we were going to climb Everest mun!'
'Ssh!' I hissed as we got within earshot.
All seven stared at us curiously as we arrived at the monument, and for a second I felt intimidated but quickly regained confidence.
'Well,' I said clapping my hands together in poor immitation of a holiday camp host. 'You must be our ramblers. Allow me first to welcome you to Tref Y Ceiliog, I hope you've enjoyed your stay here so far!' They all nodded like choirboys then introduced themselves in turn.
Each couple stood out from one another in stark contrast. Brian and Doreen were the eldest by a number of years and smart, well spoken. Robert and Suze looked youngest and never seemed to let go of each other, while Fredericke and Eva made a very beautiful couple, blonde and tanned. And then there was Grayson, a wiry child topped with curls. Spoilt looking but polite. Twelve years of mischief and curiosity.
All wore hiking boots and carried rucksacks on their backs and cameras on their chests, primed to click at anything of interest.
'Okay then,' I started after the formal introductions. 'As you know this is a monument in honour of Amelia Earhart who landed in Tref Y Ceiliog harbour in the seaplane 'Friendship' on June 18th 1928. This monument was unveiled on August 8th 1930 by Sir Arthur Whitton Brown, KBE. You can see the plaque on the front.'
As the cameras blinked I tugged on Gwyn's sleeve. 'Tell them about the memorial hall across the road, you know more about that than me.'
'Aye alright,' he agreed. 'But Duw its a scorcher! We'll all be burnt to a crisp by the time we reach the ash ponds, especially the young lad in his shorts.' He said referring to Grayson who was wearing a baggy pair of shorts that went down past his kneecaps.
When the cameras had finished collecting their owners' memories my side kick spoke up. 'Okay then ladies and gentlemen,' he began as if he were a guest speaker at a mayoral ball. 'If you look beyond the garden of remembrance you'll see a building. That is the Tref Y Ceiliog war memorial institute, and was first opened in 1934. Inside is a Roll of Honour listing the names of brave local lads that fought in the Great War. It was reopened in 1949 after the second world war.'
'What was the building used for?' Enquired Brian Crenshaw, who had taken a particular interest. I left the question to Gwyn.
'Pleasure mainly. It has a billiard room, a smokers room I think, and behind it is another hall which was, and still is, used for concerts, operas and so on. A beautiful dedication to courageous boys really.' He finished with a hint of sad admiration.
It seemed to satisfy Crenshaw senior. I looked at the clock on the front of the institute. 'Okay, we shall now head to the harbour which will lead us to the breath taking scenery along the coastline.'
We walked in pairs on the pavement of the main street, Gwyn and myself taking the lead. 'We should have asked for the money up front.' My thirsty friend told me as we walked.
'Why?'
'Well if they don't think its worth the three quid we won't get paid.' He warned.
'Don't worry, im sure they're not that sort of people. And keep your voice down!' I ordered. In my my mind what little money we would earn was nothing compared to sharing the old towns history with strangers.
A lot of locals who knew Gwyn and I of old, pointed at us and the visitors and smiled as we strolled towards the bridge crossing the railway, and it made me wonder if our guests had noticed the pointing and would suddenly think of us as rogues. I comforted myself with the fact that we doing the village some good.
Arriving we regrouped on a recently built footbridge, that had been slapped onto the original bridges' side like a healthier, stronger looking siames twin. New sticking to old as always new should.
'This is the Co-op bridge,' I stated. 'And was built in 1839. It really is the heart of Tref Y Ceiliog, as you can see from the shops and bustle.'
'Are there any toy shops?' Crenshaw junior asked eagerly.
'Im afraid they've gone,' I answered. 'But if any of you need provisions Im sure the supermarket over there will have everything you want.'
They indicated no desire to add shopping to the tour, and it was a silly offer I said to myself, as everyone had bags bursting at the stitching.
Suddenly Gwyn decided to speak.
'If you look to your right,' he pointed. 'You will notice a car park. Many years ago there used to be a cinema there called the Adelphi. But it was knocked down in 1972.'
'Why was that?' Asked Suze, liked to her fiance.
'A good question,' he replied. 'But I can tell you that when it was first opened, a chap sitting in the front row thought the train on screen was going to come crashing into the cinema!' Gwyn guffawed.
We crossed the bridge, heading for the harbour.
'The Nep..tune hotel.' Fredericke read out slowly as we passed the hotel.
'We didn't see that advertised in the brochure did we dear?' Brian joined in. 'Does it still accomodate?' We halted again.
'No, it was a sort of nightclub the last time it was open. Its quite old, used be called the Carbay club and very popular. Built in 1841.' I offered.
'And whats that small building next to it asked Robert.
'Ah, thats the Clwb Bach!' Gwyn informed the group. 'Or 'small club' if you don't speak Welsh.' He added helpfully. 'It was opened in 1896, and we could take a look inside but unfortunately we're not members and no women are allowed.'
I cringed at this painfully true statement.
'Why on earth aren't women permitted?' Demanded Mrs Crenshaw.
I knew that my partner would tell her it was for husbands to escape nagging wives so I jumped in sharply to save the walk from ending there and then.
'Tradition I would imagine. The women then of course accepted it, and they still do to this day.'
I motioned that we ought walk onward in case Gwyn added something 'special' to my thin explanation.
We walked in more of a group as we headed for the East side of the dock. Grayson kept running a little ahead, filled with energy and excitement. I thought at first he might have been troublesome but he behaved well and had the healthy curiosity of all boys.
On arriving at the lifeboat shed the cameras went into action once again, filling the loaded films with images of sailing boats and the distant Gower.
'Its beautiful here!' Exclaimed Eva.
'Aye, the ships that have come and gone in this harbour is nobody's buisness.' Announced Gwyn. 'And this is where Amelia landed, hundreds of people gathered to see her. My gran was one. Told me she was a funny lady but she was American I suppose.' He quipped.
'Isn't that a lighthouse way out there?' Brian asked looking through binoculars.
'Yes it is. Its the Whitford lighthouse, the only off shore cast iron lighthouse in Britain.' I informed the binocular lens.
'Magnificent!' He said to no one in particular.
As the adults took photographs and took in the sea air, Grayson meanwhile had wandered down to the edge of the water.
'What are these metal things stuck down here?' He shouted up.
A Sunny Mess (The Mess)
'Those are the remains of canal boats,' explained Gwyn. 'They used to carry coal until around 1983 I should imagine.'
'Canal boats you say?' Said the boys father withdrawing from his binoculars.
'Yes, coal was a big industry around here at the time,' I told him.
'It was a busy little town then.' He said.
'Busy isn't the word,' Gwyn remarked warming to the subject. 'In the olden days the men and women of this town sweated blood and tears. Worked like dogs mun, and like dogs they got paid in bone, hardly any flesh to make them fat.'
He could paint a quite poetic picture when he wanted to, but as this was a guided walk and not a discussion on wages long ago I called everyone together to continue our walk along the coastline to Looter's Cove.
We had gone about six hundred yards when Gwyn stopped the party in its tracks.
'If you look to your left,' he told them, 'you'll be able to see the remains of the power station.'
'What was the power station?' Enquired Fredericke, a gold curl pasted to his forehead by perspiration.
'Oh it was a huge building which had three tall stacks around two hundred feet high!' Explained my eager partner, trying to describe the size with his arms.
'And what did it produce?' Brian asked.
Gwyn thought for a moment, then shrugging his shoulders replied. 'Im not sure...Power I suppose.'
I let out a sigh and pushed him onward.
'You dull bugger,' I said sharply as we lead the group. 'What an answer to give!'
'Well I was caught off guard!' He protested.
We all strolled in silence, taking in the fabulous views of the Gower across the water. It was almost noon and the sun was at its strongest. We had wandered off the tarmac road that led to an old wind turbine site and arrived at the ash ponds.
'What on earth are these?' Robert asked, clearly suprised at the sight of a large dried pond, covered with white dust and reeds.
'Moon pits,' answered Gwyn.
'Moon pits?' Brian and his son repeated in unison. The former with an incredulous tone, the latter in excitement.
'They are ash ponds,' I assured them. 'They were formed by ash and water which came from the old power station, the remains of which we passed earlier. It was closed down in 1983.'
I took my hapless partner to one side and rebuked him for giving another absurd answer.
'Blame it on this heatwave,' he grumbled. 'When are we going to take a break?'
'As soon as we reach Looter's Cove,' i told him as we rejoined the group.
'Well whatever they are,' Suze said referring to the old ponds. 'They certainly grow some lovely plants.'
She picked a few orchids and put them into a side pocket of her rucksack. Eva did the same.
We carried on walking along an overgrown path toward the short, steep bank that would lead us to the cove. By now my back felt as if it were on fire, and I wondered how our visitors were feeling with their over loaded baggage.
It was a narrow path and we walked in pairs again with Gwyn and myself in front and the others following behind, stopping briefly for photographs.
Suddenly there was a loud, piercing cry and Gwyn and I both turned quickly to see what crisis had occurred.
Doreen was laying face down in the grass whilst her husband was fiddling with something around her ankle.
'Oh crikey, what on earth has happened now?' I said to Gwyn as we retreated our steps back to the scene.
'What's happend?' I asked Brian who was still struggling with something.
'Its a snare,' he told us. 'But ive almost got it off.'
'Edwin Davies!' Shouted Gwyn. 'This is his doing! He's not content with catching rabbits, he's got to catch women nolw as well. Mind you he was chasing them in..' I nudged him in the ribs.
'There, its off!' Brian sat back relieved.
His wife however was far from relieved as she picked herself off her grassy bed.
'What kind of imbecile would put a snare on a public footpath?' Demanded Doreen while rubbing her ankle. 'I thought these things were outlawed anyway.'
'Edwin should be outlawed the stupid..' I gave Gwyn a second nudge.
'Its lucky you had those hiking boots on, those snares can be nasty.'
Robert remarked by way of consolation.
Mrs Crenshaw gave him a special look: barbed and indifferent then got up.
'Are you okay Mrs Crenshaw?' I asked carefully. 'We're almost at the cove now.'
Doreen adjusted her rucksack. 'I shall be fine as long as we do not come across any more suprises.' She replied.
Five minutes later our party arrived at Looter's Cove. Mercifully nobody had gone head long down the bank as I had feared, and soon we were all taking in the breath taking sight of the estuary. The rugged Gower always within view.
Once more cameras whirred into action, and Doreen, who had evidently forgotten her little accident, played with her son as though she were a teenager again.
Gwyn, Fredericke, Eva and myself found a large rock embedded in the sand and sat down to partake of some welcomed refreshment, much to the delight of my giddy companion. Robert and Suze sat huddled together on a grassy tuft behind us, while Brian Crenshaw stood at the waters edge like a heron with binoculars glued to its face.
'Does much fishing go on here?' Asked Fredericke as his partner, inspired by the view, loaded more film into her camera.
'Oh aye,' replied Gwyn inbetween swigs of Felinfoel ale. 'Flatfish, bass, mackerel, they're all in there somewhere. I find it easier getting them off Pete the fish myself mind. Let him do all the waiting.'
The German couple swapped bemused looks with each other.
'He means the fishmonger.' I explained.
It was getting on for one o' clock and the sun baked the sand without any relief from a cool breeze. I was beginning to wonder how long it would be before Doreen would need a break from Grayson's youthful energy, when her son came running to where we sat.
'Is it okay to paddle here?' He enquired, football in hand.
'Yes, if you've asked your mother first.' I said looking over to Mrs Crenshaw who was now standing beside her husband.
'Yes I have,' replied the lad. 'Bit she told me to ask you if the water was safe around here.'
Evidently since getting caught in the snare his mother imagined the local waters held similar dangers to the paths.
'Safe as houses in this part of the cove.' Gwyn answered for me. 'You'd have to go way out there before the currents get strong.' He added, pointing almost to Rhosilli.
With that Grayson threw down the ball and started to take off his trainers and socks.
'Tell you what,' enthused Gwyn. 'I'll come for a paddle with you. I could do with cooling down!'
He gulped down the dregs of his beer and began to untie the throttled knot on his shoes.
'I didn't think you were a paddler.' I told him as he struggled with the laces.
'If this sun gets any stronger I'll be looking for a fridge to sit in!' He moaned, finally kicking off his shoes.
After a quick dash both Gwyn and Grayson were at the sleeping waters edge.
Gwyn almost looked like a typical postcard caricature with his trousers rolled up to reveal pale, bandy legs. All he needed was the knotted handkerchief on his head I thought.
The boy was first to enter the water, sticking one foot in to test the temperature, then rushing in without a care of getting his shorts wet.
'Not too deep!' His father warned, eyes still glued to his binoculars.
Doreen had strolled a little closer to her son, taking the role of life guard in case of shark attack I imagined.
'Don't you get those shorts too wet!' She told the youngster as he kicked and splashed not heeding the warnings from his parents.
By now Gwyn had joined his fellow paddler, but unlike Grayson, he stood still like a heron looking for supper.
'I think your friend is a little frightened of water.' Commented Eva, pointing to the 'heron'.
I called over to him.
'Whats wrong? Don't tell us you've frozen up in this heat!'
'Don't be dull!' He barked, swirling the calm water with his foot. 'The beer must have slowed me down!'
There was a first time for everything was my thought but I didn't give voice to it.
'Can you throw me the ball please mum?' Grayson asked his mother who was doing her own bird impressions: a hawk.
The ball was thrown and for ten minutes Crenshaw junior happily kicked and tossed the ball around in the water, occasionaly playing 'catch' with his mother, as Gwyn looked on as if rooted to the sea bed.
Brian now had one eye on the binoculars and the other on his son. Robert and Suze, whose love for each other had seemed to have joined them at the hip, kissed softly on their grassy perch. While Fredericke had taken over camera duty as Eva lay back to bask in the sun.
We had created a happy scene, Gwyn and I. And ignoring the snare incident and occasional daft comments from my old friend, we had done well.
Thirst pulled me from my thoughts; I had two tins of warm beer left. I opened one and watched the paddlers.
Gwyn I noticed had moved slightly away from Grayson who was now flicking the ball high into the air then heading it like a goalkeeper.
'Kick the ball to Gwyn to see if he can catch it!' I shouted to the budding Peter Shilton. Gwyn threw a dagger at me.
'Leave the lad enjoy!' He said trying to escape the challenge I had given Grayson.
'Oh go on.' Brian chipped in. 'My sons a very good kicker you know.'
If that remark had meant to encourage my friend it failed. He looked more worried now if anything.
Grayson held the ball and positioned himself ready for the kick.
'Are you ready? Im going to give you my cannon ball special!' The boy glowed excitedly. Gwyn turned a colour that would have made a ghost envious.
'Not too hard mind.' He warned, getting ready to recieve the ball.
Grayson by now had come out of the water to give his legs more freedom, while Gwyn had gone a little deeper.
'Okay, here it comes!' Yelled young Crenshaw.
The ball went shooting through the air, Gwyn lifted his arms like an air traffic controller, then slap! It hit him squarely on the forehead, knocking him backwards, flailing wildly. There was a loud splash as he fell into the water. The eight of us burst into peals of laughter, as we watched him struggle in the foamy froth.
It stopped immediately when we heard Gwyn shouting.
'Annwyl Duw! A bloody jellyfish has got me! He yelled hysterically, forgetting his language.
'Its got me by the leg!' He waved, splashing around like a landed conger eel.
We all ran to the water, Robert and myself going to his aid.
'Stop splashing then!' I ordered as I felt around his leg while Robert held him up.
There was indeed something on his leg but it was the strangest looking jellyfish I had ever seen.
'You silly fool!' I said careful of my own language. 'Its a plastic bag! You must be the first ever to get attacked by a bag!'
I fished the bag from the water and held it up to everyone who had now resumed the laughter.
'Oh thank the Lord for that!' Cried my soaked friend. 'I thought it was curtains for me then mun!'
That put an end to anymore water sports, we all went back to the large rocks.
'Look at the state of me,' moaned Gwyn. 'I might as well have gone for a swim!'
'You can always go back in if you want.' Offered Eva from behind a still beaming smile.
'No fear. Im not going back in there!'
'Frightened there may be more jellyfish?' I said to the amusement of the others. Gwyn frowned.
'How was I supposed to know it was only a bag?' He reasoned as he opened his lat beer can and took a greedy swig.
It was Roberts turn. 'Well having Tesco stamped on its side might have given you a small clue.'
The group started giggling again.
'I'll tell you one thing.' Gwyn stated flatly. 'I will never look at a plastic bag the same way again!'
It was quite a while until the merriment and banter died down and when it did it was half past two. Time is no match for laughter I thought. I got to my feet.
'Okay then, we had better be getting back now. Gwyn and I don't want to take up too much of your time in Tref Y Ceiliog.'
'No thats right.' Added my wet friend. 'And if I stay here much longer I'll smell like the back of Pete the fishs' van.' He said wringing out his clothes.
'Will we be going back the same way?' Brian asked as he carefully replaced his beloved binoculars in its case.
'Im afraid so,' I replied uneasily for fear they might think we had short changed them.
'You see the only other route is along the railway line and past a sewage farm.'
'And I stink enough without going through there.' My companion stated.
Soon we were heading back along the same stunning coastline, still the cameras blinked and more questions asked. For the first time since childhood I felt a part of Tref Y Ceiliog, a belonging. This town was home to me, with its hills and gossip, pubs and beaches; and as I walked on the lush grass I knew it always would be home. I knew Gwyn felt the same too.
I felt quite merry as our party arrived back at Amelia Earharts monument. Afterall today had shown me the town in a different yet familiar light.
'Well then,' I said putting my bag down. May I just end this walk by saying how much Gwyn and I have enjoyed showing you Tref Y Ceiliog's more interesting places.'
Brian spoke up. 'Thank you very much.' He shook both our hands.
'And I know I speak for all of us when I say that it has been a most entertaining day.' He looked at Gwyn when he said this.
'Here here!' Robert piped in. 'Suze and I have loved it. Thanks very much!'
Eva stepped up to me. 'Fredericke and myself will have happy memories of your sweet little village to take back to Germany. Thank you.' She planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
'Im glad mum brought me here, the beach is a long way from our house.' Grayson told us. It was no secret who ruled that house I thought.
I did not expect such a satisfied response to our efforts, and when they each handed us their three pounds I felt slightly guilty. Indeed if they had not left us at that point I would not have accepted the monies.
'Thank you all very much again!' I said waving to them all as they made their seperate ways.
'Safe journeys to all!' Shouted Gwyn.
When they had gone I turned to my damp friend.
'Well? I'd say that went pretty well for two loafers.'
'Aye, its been a grand day.' Replied Gwyn. 'And speaking of loafs, i'm starving.' He added rubbing his stomach.
'We can get fish and chips from Barry's chippy.' I told him holding out our days 'reward'.
'You're on! With plenty of vinegar!' He licked his lips.
'Of course. And we can go end the day in the Needle and Haystack. I want to look at the old photos of the place.' I said with a rekindled passion and thirst.
Gwyn's eyes filled with joy at the prospect. Then he looked down at his soggy clothes.
'I'd better get changed first. Damned jellyfish!'
We laughed our way up the street.
Tref Y Ceiliog was the greatest town I knew of. It had it all from history to pretty corners where nature painted a fabulous canvas. Even the graves had glorious views from the cemetery on a hill, as close to clouds as it was to roads. And it was home.
'Canal boats you say?' Said the boys father withdrawing from his binoculars.
'Yes, coal was a big industry around here at the time,' I told him.
'It was a busy little town then.' He said.
'Busy isn't the word,' Gwyn remarked warming to the subject. 'In the olden days the men and women of this town sweated blood and tears. Worked like dogs mun, and like dogs they got paid in bone, hardly any flesh to make them fat.'
He could paint a quite poetic picture when he wanted to, but as this was a guided walk and not a discussion on wages long ago I called everyone together to continue our walk along the coastline to Looter's Cove.
We had gone about six hundred yards when Gwyn stopped the party in its tracks.
'If you look to your left,' he told them, 'you'll be able to see the remains of the power station.'
'What was the power station?' Enquired Fredericke, a gold curl pasted to his forehead by perspiration.
'Oh it was a huge building which had three tall stacks around two hundred feet high!' Explained my eager partner, trying to describe the size with his arms.
'And what did it produce?' Brian asked.
Gwyn thought for a moment, then shrugging his shoulders replied. 'Im not sure...Power I suppose.'
I let out a sigh and pushed him onward.
'You dull bugger,' I said sharply as we lead the group. 'What an answer to give!'
'Well I was caught off guard!' He protested.
We all strolled in silence, taking in the fabulous views of the Gower across the water. It was almost noon and the sun was at its strongest. We had wandered off the tarmac road that led to an old wind turbine site and arrived at the ash ponds.
'What on earth are these?' Robert asked, clearly suprised at the sight of a large dried pond, covered with white dust and reeds.
'Moon pits,' answered Gwyn.
'Moon pits?' Brian and his son repeated in unison. The former with an incredulous tone, the latter in excitement.
'They are ash ponds,' I assured them. 'They were formed by ash and water which came from the old power station, the remains of which we passed earlier. It was closed down in 1983.'
I took my hapless partner to one side and rebuked him for giving another absurd answer.
'Blame it on this heatwave,' he grumbled. 'When are we going to take a break?'
'As soon as we reach Looter's Cove,' i told him as we rejoined the group.
'Well whatever they are,' Suze said referring to the old ponds. 'They certainly grow some lovely plants.'
She picked a few orchids and put them into a side pocket of her rucksack. Eva did the same.
We carried on walking along an overgrown path toward the short, steep bank that would lead us to the cove. By now my back felt as if it were on fire, and I wondered how our visitors were feeling with their over loaded baggage.
It was a narrow path and we walked in pairs again with Gwyn and myself in front and the others following behind, stopping briefly for photographs.
Suddenly there was a loud, piercing cry and Gwyn and I both turned quickly to see what crisis had occurred.
Doreen was laying face down in the grass whilst her husband was fiddling with something around her ankle.
'Oh crikey, what on earth has happened now?' I said to Gwyn as we retreated our steps back to the scene.
'What's happend?' I asked Brian who was still struggling with something.
'Its a snare,' he told us. 'But ive almost got it off.'
'Edwin Davies!' Shouted Gwyn. 'This is his doing! He's not content with catching rabbits, he's got to catch women nolw as well. Mind you he was chasing them in..' I nudged him in the ribs.
'There, its off!' Brian sat back relieved.
His wife however was far from relieved as she picked herself off her grassy bed.
'What kind of imbecile would put a snare on a public footpath?' Demanded Doreen while rubbing her ankle. 'I thought these things were outlawed anyway.'
'Edwin should be outlawed the stupid..' I gave Gwyn a second nudge.
'Its lucky you had those hiking boots on, those snares can be nasty.'
Robert remarked by way of consolation.
Mrs Crenshaw gave him a special look: barbed and indifferent then got up.
'Are you okay Mrs Crenshaw?' I asked carefully. 'We're almost at the cove now.'
Doreen adjusted her rucksack. 'I shall be fine as long as we do not come across any more suprises.' She replied.
Five minutes later our party arrived at Looter's Cove. Mercifully nobody had gone head long down the bank as I had feared, and soon we were all taking in the breath taking sight of the estuary. The rugged Gower always within view.
Once more cameras whirred into action, and Doreen, who had evidently forgotten her little accident, played with her son as though she were a teenager again.
Gwyn, Fredericke, Eva and myself found a large rock embedded in the sand and sat down to partake of some welcomed refreshment, much to the delight of my giddy companion. Robert and Suze sat huddled together on a grassy tuft behind us, while Brian Crenshaw stood at the waters edge like a heron with binoculars glued to its face.
'Does much fishing go on here?' Asked Fredericke as his partner, inspired by the view, loaded more film into her camera.
'Oh aye,' replied Gwyn inbetween swigs of Felinfoel ale. 'Flatfish, bass, mackerel, they're all in there somewhere. I find it easier getting them off Pete the fish myself mind. Let him do all the waiting.'
The German couple swapped bemused looks with each other.
'He means the fishmonger.' I explained.
It was getting on for one o' clock and the sun baked the sand without any relief from a cool breeze. I was beginning to wonder how long it would be before Doreen would need a break from Grayson's youthful energy, when her son came running to where we sat.
'Is it okay to paddle here?' He enquired, football in hand.
'Yes, if you've asked your mother first.' I said looking over to Mrs Crenshaw who was now standing beside her husband.
'Yes I have,' replied the lad. 'Bit she told me to ask you if the water was safe around here.'
Evidently since getting caught in the snare his mother imagined the local waters held similar dangers to the paths.
'Safe as houses in this part of the cove.' Gwyn answered for me. 'You'd have to go way out there before the currents get strong.' He added, pointing almost to Rhosilli.
With that Grayson threw down the ball and started to take off his trainers and socks.
'Tell you what,' enthused Gwyn. 'I'll come for a paddle with you. I could do with cooling down!'
He gulped down the dregs of his beer and began to untie the throttled knot on his shoes.
'I didn't think you were a paddler.' I told him as he struggled with the laces.
'If this sun gets any stronger I'll be looking for a fridge to sit in!' He moaned, finally kicking off his shoes.
After a quick dash both Gwyn and Grayson were at the sleeping waters edge.
Gwyn almost looked like a typical postcard caricature with his trousers rolled up to reveal pale, bandy legs. All he needed was the knotted handkerchief on his head I thought.
The boy was first to enter the water, sticking one foot in to test the temperature, then rushing in without a care of getting his shorts wet.
'Not too deep!' His father warned, eyes still glued to his binoculars.
Doreen had strolled a little closer to her son, taking the role of life guard in case of shark attack I imagined.
'Don't you get those shorts too wet!' She told the youngster as he kicked and splashed not heeding the warnings from his parents.
By now Gwyn had joined his fellow paddler, but unlike Grayson, he stood still like a heron looking for supper.
'I think your friend is a little frightened of water.' Commented Eva, pointing to the 'heron'.
I called over to him.
'Whats wrong? Don't tell us you've frozen up in this heat!'
'Don't be dull!' He barked, swirling the calm water with his foot. 'The beer must have slowed me down!'
There was a first time for everything was my thought but I didn't give voice to it.
'Can you throw me the ball please mum?' Grayson asked his mother who was doing her own bird impressions: a hawk.
The ball was thrown and for ten minutes Crenshaw junior happily kicked and tossed the ball around in the water, occasionaly playing 'catch' with his mother, as Gwyn looked on as if rooted to the sea bed.
Brian now had one eye on the binoculars and the other on his son. Robert and Suze, whose love for each other had seemed to have joined them at the hip, kissed softly on their grassy perch. While Fredericke had taken over camera duty as Eva lay back to bask in the sun.
We had created a happy scene, Gwyn and I. And ignoring the snare incident and occasional daft comments from my old friend, we had done well.
Thirst pulled me from my thoughts; I had two tins of warm beer left. I opened one and watched the paddlers.
Gwyn I noticed had moved slightly away from Grayson who was now flicking the ball high into the air then heading it like a goalkeeper.
'Kick the ball to Gwyn to see if he can catch it!' I shouted to the budding Peter Shilton. Gwyn threw a dagger at me.
'Leave the lad enjoy!' He said trying to escape the challenge I had given Grayson.
'Oh go on.' Brian chipped in. 'My sons a very good kicker you know.'
If that remark had meant to encourage my friend it failed. He looked more worried now if anything.
Grayson held the ball and positioned himself ready for the kick.
'Are you ready? Im going to give you my cannon ball special!' The boy glowed excitedly. Gwyn turned a colour that would have made a ghost envious.
'Not too hard mind.' He warned, getting ready to recieve the ball.
Grayson by now had come out of the water to give his legs more freedom, while Gwyn had gone a little deeper.
'Okay, here it comes!' Yelled young Crenshaw.
The ball went shooting through the air, Gwyn lifted his arms like an air traffic controller, then slap! It hit him squarely on the forehead, knocking him backwards, flailing wildly. There was a loud splash as he fell into the water. The eight of us burst into peals of laughter, as we watched him struggle in the foamy froth.
It stopped immediately when we heard Gwyn shouting.
'Annwyl Duw! A bloody jellyfish has got me! He yelled hysterically, forgetting his language.
'Its got me by the leg!' He waved, splashing around like a landed conger eel.
We all ran to the water, Robert and myself going to his aid.
'Stop splashing then!' I ordered as I felt around his leg while Robert held him up.
There was indeed something on his leg but it was the strangest looking jellyfish I had ever seen.
'You silly fool!' I said careful of my own language. 'Its a plastic bag! You must be the first ever to get attacked by a bag!'
I fished the bag from the water and held it up to everyone who had now resumed the laughter.
'Oh thank the Lord for that!' Cried my soaked friend. 'I thought it was curtains for me then mun!'
That put an end to anymore water sports, we all went back to the large rocks.
'Look at the state of me,' moaned Gwyn. 'I might as well have gone for a swim!'
'You can always go back in if you want.' Offered Eva from behind a still beaming smile.
'No fear. Im not going back in there!'
'Frightened there may be more jellyfish?' I said to the amusement of the others. Gwyn frowned.
'How was I supposed to know it was only a bag?' He reasoned as he opened his lat beer can and took a greedy swig.
It was Roberts turn. 'Well having Tesco stamped on its side might have given you a small clue.'
The group started giggling again.
'I'll tell you one thing.' Gwyn stated flatly. 'I will never look at a plastic bag the same way again!'
It was quite a while until the merriment and banter died down and when it did it was half past two. Time is no match for laughter I thought. I got to my feet.
'Okay then, we had better be getting back now. Gwyn and I don't want to take up too much of your time in Tref Y Ceiliog.'
'No thats right.' Added my wet friend. 'And if I stay here much longer I'll smell like the back of Pete the fishs' van.' He said wringing out his clothes.
'Will we be going back the same way?' Brian asked as he carefully replaced his beloved binoculars in its case.
'Im afraid so,' I replied uneasily for fear they might think we had short changed them.
'You see the only other route is along the railway line and past a sewage farm.'
'And I stink enough without going through there.' My companion stated.
Soon we were heading back along the same stunning coastline, still the cameras blinked and more questions asked. For the first time since childhood I felt a part of Tref Y Ceiliog, a belonging. This town was home to me, with its hills and gossip, pubs and beaches; and as I walked on the lush grass I knew it always would be home. I knew Gwyn felt the same too.
I felt quite merry as our party arrived back at Amelia Earharts monument. Afterall today had shown me the town in a different yet familiar light.
'Well then,' I said putting my bag down. May I just end this walk by saying how much Gwyn and I have enjoyed showing you Tref Y Ceiliog's more interesting places.'
Brian spoke up. 'Thank you very much.' He shook both our hands.
'And I know I speak for all of us when I say that it has been a most entertaining day.' He looked at Gwyn when he said this.
'Here here!' Robert piped in. 'Suze and I have loved it. Thanks very much!'
Eva stepped up to me. 'Fredericke and myself will have happy memories of your sweet little village to take back to Germany. Thank you.' She planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
'Im glad mum brought me here, the beach is a long way from our house.' Grayson told us. It was no secret who ruled that house I thought.
I did not expect such a satisfied response to our efforts, and when they each handed us their three pounds I felt slightly guilty. Indeed if they had not left us at that point I would not have accepted the monies.
'Thank you all very much again!' I said waving to them all as they made their seperate ways.
'Safe journeys to all!' Shouted Gwyn.
When they had gone I turned to my damp friend.
'Well? I'd say that went pretty well for two loafers.'
'Aye, its been a grand day.' Replied Gwyn. 'And speaking of loafs, i'm starving.' He added rubbing his stomach.
'We can get fish and chips from Barry's chippy.' I told him holding out our days 'reward'.
'You're on! With plenty of vinegar!' He licked his lips.
'Of course. And we can go end the day in the Needle and Haystack. I want to look at the old photos of the place.' I said with a rekindled passion and thirst.
Gwyn's eyes filled with joy at the prospect. Then he looked down at his soggy clothes.
'I'd better get changed first. Damned jellyfish!'
We laughed our way up the street.
Tref Y Ceiliog was the greatest town I knew of. It had it all from history to pretty corners where nature painted a fabulous canvas. Even the graves had glorious views from the cemetery on a hill, as close to clouds as it was to roads. And it was home.
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