Bron-19

Continued from Chapter 18: Bron-18 | ABCtales

“You can have anything on the menu that you fancy, girls.” Ger settled into his seat, though the dark wooden boards of the George and Vulture didn’t allow much for comfort. “And I promise, there’ll be no need to ask for extra portions here. Enough here to satisfy even the healthiest of Ynys Mon appetites.” He looked over from Bron to Mynwen and nodded.

“So Geoff told you about that night in that French place?” said Bron.

“Yes indeed, what a hoot! Well, there’ll be no need for you to use your feminine charms here. I can assure you, you’ll hardly be able to move once you’ve got through pudding…”

Ger often brought his clients here; some of the aviation brokers still had offices in the City. Americans in particular loved the higgledy-piggledy dark wood panels and patina of several centuries of boozy, smoky city lunchtimes – at least when they had negotiated the warren of tiny streets and alleyways and actually found the place. One of London’s best-kept secrets though, judging by the raucous chatter, guffaws and the fog of cigarette and cigar smoke drifting slowly up to the ceiling, quite a number of people had discovered it and then made it their permanent home away from home.

“It’s like being in chapel,” said Mynwen.

“Only the singing’s better,” said Bron. “Listen – it’s in your honour, Ger – Delilah.”

Bron had insisted that Mynwen come along. Safety in numbers, and besides, she was only visiting for a couple of days. It wouldn’t have been fair to abandon her while she went off to be wined and dined by Ger. Well, dined, anyway. Mynwen and Ger had already demolished a bottle of house red between them.

“Mind if I smoke?” said Mynwen.

“Yes.”

“Shut your face, Bron. Mind if I smoke, Ger?”

“Whatever pleases your fair heart, my lovely…”

“You should be setting a good example to your patients, Myn.”

“Most of them wish they were dead anyway.”

“So, Myn, Bron tells me you minister to the halt and the lame of the fair city of Middlesbrough?”

“Ha! Miracle anyone’s still alive up there. You remember, Bron, I was telling you I had this big red mark on my foot when I took the coach up there?”

”Yeah?”

“Well, I walked from the coach stop to the nurse’s hostel, about eight o’clock in the morning; took about twenty minutes. I got into my room, pulled my sock off and…the mark had gone green! Bright GREEN!”

“Fookin’ hell!”

“There’s clouds of orange steam, smoke, I dunno, spewing out of chimneys all day and night up there. Half the patients on the ward are bronchials…”

“The Dark Satanic Mills...Well, I’m sure your charges’ dying days are brightened by your delightful presence as you scurry from bed to bed, emptying the bed pans.”

“Oh, please! Well, Bron, at least you don’t have to do, working on the railway.”

“I do, though. But it’s on a much larger scale…”

Just then, the black-uniformed waitress bustled over with plates of chops, kidneys and steak.

 

Ger wasn’t wrong about the portion sizes at the George and Vulture. When the sticky toffee crumble and apple crumble came round, it was barely welcome.

“Ooohhrrr…sorry!”

“That’s perfectly fine, my fair maiden of Tan-y-Bryn Farm –“

“How you know where our farm is? That Geoff been blabbing? You show your face there, I’ll set the fuckin’ bull on you!”

“That’s what I like – a spirited woman  … Anyway, how do the victuals compare with the famed Anglesey produce?”

“Got to say, every bit as good. Best steak I’ve had since the ones we got from Blodwen …”

“Blodwen?”

“Our first cow on the farm.”

“Bron! Bron! You raised a beautiful creature from calfhood, bestowed a lovely name on her, showed her every affection – and then you murdered her in cold blood and ate her remains? I am fallen among barbarians!”

“Typical Hwntw. Live in the middle of Cardiff, with your 24-hour frou-frou bars and cocktail lounges, never think how that meat gets onto your plate. Happy to let someone, as you say, murder these animals so you can eat them.”

“She’s got a point, Ger,” said Myn. “Maybe you should turn vegetarian if it upsets you.”

“Changing the subject, have you seen the plaque?”

“Plaque?”

“This blue one, above my head…” He jabbed a finger, backward.

“Oh look, Myn. It’s in Cymraeg…”

“You know, I’d been staring at that for an hour, wondering what was so odd about it. Not something you see every day, yn Llundain. Go on Ger, tell us what it says, you great patriotic Welshman…” Bron quickly put her hand over the smaller plaque, in English, below.

“Er, it’s something to do with Gwynedd, in the 1700s and … something about eisteddfods?”

“It says, you great ninny, that it was a meeting place of the Gwynedd, the Gwyneddigion society, who promoted…curtains? No, literature – and organised eisteddfods. Something about manhood, people, not sure … and sponsored modern Wales In 1792 to 1799.”

“What were the Welsh doing here back then?”

“Ah, you see ladies, lots of them came to seek their fortune in the big city. You know, the Welsh drovers would drive their cattle to Smithfield, just up the road, so they could be ‘murdered’. And you know Lloyds Bank – that was started by a Welshman…”
”Get away!”

“So you, Bron, are only one in a long line of Welsh people who came up to Llundain. Like I said, seeking their fortunes.”

“Do you miss it, Ger? Wales…”

“Sometimes I take the old kite for a spin, head out west. Get a bit of lump in the old throat when I see the big river, Newport…”

“Lump in the throat for Newport? Must be something wrong with you…”

“Don’t listen to Bron, she’s just jealous. Must be so cool to be able to just take off and go somewhere. How long’s it take to fly to Wales?”

“About an hour – bit less with a decent tailwind.”

“Wish I could borrow it tonight – bit better than eight hours on the coach.”

“Will you go back to Anglesey, ever, Myn?”

“No, don’t think so. I mean, I’ll come back for visits, to see family and friends. But, you know, I know I moan about the smog up in Middlesbrough but … my life’s there now. The people are nice, when you get to know them. The Smoggies.”

“Smoggies?”

“That’s what they call themselves, up there. Because of all the smog, I suppose. I think, once you make that move, something clicks inside your brain. You tell yourself, it won’t be forever, that one day I will go back. But deep down, you know you won’t.”

“Myn, at school you were always going on about how you hated the Saisnigs - you said you were going to get hold of a missile and nuke them…”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve changed. Easy to come out with shit like that when you’re just talking to your little group of mates in the playground. But when you get out into the big wide world…”

“Middlesbrough?”

“… when you get out in the world a bit, you realise, most people are nice. Hating people, it’s just ... just, stupid.”

“Bron, will you ever go back?”

“Not really an option, Ger, not at the moment…”

“Just popping to the ladies. Blue light job…”

Myn got up and hastened off to the toilets.

“My, she’s a fine figure of a woman.”

“Want me to put in a good word for you, Ger? I’ll say you’re not as old as you look.”

To be continued in Chapter 20