Welsh Lessons-3

It was five o’clock, after school. They were walking back from International Stores to Rhos-y-Bryn Road; Janice swung her mum’s green and red nylon shopping bag vigorously back and forwards in time with their steps.

“SHIT!”

“What’s up, Nick?”

“Them. The ones hanging around by the phone box.”

“Who they?”

“Don’t know their names. They’re trouble. That chunky one, the one built like a brick shithouse, his name’s Brynno, I think they call him. Dunno what his mates are called. But why the hell are they here? Llantrefor’s ten miles away.”

“Someone gave them a lift?”

“Must have. Or stolen a car. No, they wouldn’t do that. Haven’t got the brains”

As they came past, Brynno fell into step besides Nick, rocking side to side in an odd swagger, what he fancied as a John Wayne walk though in his case it just made him look as if he had one leg shorter than the other. His two companions – a small, skinny undersized kid with long, lank black hair in a light brown jacket and a taller boy with floppy blond hair, mouth permanently agape in a blue denim jacket marched behind them. “You’re a long way from home, Brynno. Does your mum know you’re out?”

“FOOK you, Richards! None of your FOOKIN business, CONT!”

The group marched down the high street.

“Finally got yourself a woman, Richards! Couldn’t get a white bird, though.”

Behind, him, the skinny kid muttered something in his strange piping falsetto. Nick wheeled round and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket. “WHAT did you just call her, CONT!”

“LEAVE HIM NICK!” screamed Janice. “We’re almost home! They’re SCUM! Not worth it!”

He felt the rush of blood to his head - before the pain - as Brynno’s fist connected with his jaw. Brynno went to a gym in Holyhead once a week and prided himself on his left hook. Nick staggered forward as he felt the blond kid’s knee contact with the small of his back, then he felt the raw sting of the gravel on his face as he went down in the road. A sharp CRACK! as someone’s boot connected with his face and then mingled pain and suffocation from another kick into the pit of his stomach. He could taste blood. Someone kicked him in the head.

Janice screamed. Doors burst open, sending squares of light into the darkening street. Heavy footfalls as three pairs of booted feet turned and clumped up the high street in the direction of Llantrefor.

 

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Janice, putting her elbows and the table and leaning towards him as Maureen gently pressed a bag of frozen peas on Nick’s blackened eye in the Robertson’s small kitchen. “What did you think you were going to do? There were three of them!”

“I dunno. Standing up for you … for us … you heard what that little toe rag said … Bastards! Fuckin’ bastards!”

“Let them say what they like! Sticks and stones…”

“You think it’s right? Think it’s OK?”

“They could have KILLED you Nick!”

“Nar – not that Llantrefor lot, they think they’re hard. They not…”

“You sure have a nasty bit of bruising on your eye, Nick”  - Maureen broke in. “They did plenty of damage as it is. You sure you don’t want me to run you in the car up to Bangor Casualty?”

“NO! I mean, no thanks, it’ll be fine. Can you just…make the swelling go down a bit? I mean, my father, he’s got enough on his plate with Mum. I’d rather he didn’t have to…to know about this.”

“Well, I can do my best, Nick, Can’t work miracles though.”

“Nick, I hate the idea of you getting beaten up just because…because of me. I mean, perhaps we shouldn’t be so, so…open?” said Janice.

“The thing with the Llantrefor kids has been going on for a long time before. They’ve got it in for me. This is just the latest episode. They’re looking for any excuse.”

“But why, Nick? Why?”

“No idea. Does there have to be a reason?”

Maureen said, gently rubbing his back in a circular motion: “Oh, Nick, Nick…you sure have all the troubles of this world on your shoulders. You’d think, with your mother being so ill, they’d just let you be. I saw her at the surgery the other day. Nice lady. So brave and gentle. Cheerful. At least to me”

“She’s really ill, isn’t she? They won’t talk to me about it. I mean, I hear her crying in the evenings. I think she thinks I can’t hear. But I can. Why is she crying like that?”

“Nick. I’ve been nursing for 30 years. I think, I think…she just doesn’t want to burden you … but sometimes the pain, the pain, it gets so much, it’s pain that no one can bear.”

“Is she going to die?”

“I don’t know, Nick. I don’t know. But maybe…maybe, you need to prepare yourself. Sorry. Sometimes life ain ’t nice…”

“Yeah, I guess. By the way, would you like me to take that writing off your wall?”

“No honey, I’ve decided to leave it. No one knows what it says; I told Mrs Hughes next door that it was the gas people. Told my husband that too. No point bothering him with it. And anyway, with him, you never know where things will end. Best to jus’ have the quiet life, y’know? Better if you didn’t let on about it, if you get to talk to him.”

“Sure.”

---***---

They were upstairs, in the school library. Nick shelved the remainder of the returned books. Janice and Nigel – Nick’s mate in the Lower Sixth - leaned against the windowsill and looked out across the yard of Ysgol Syr Bryon Williams at the seething mass of black-jacketed kids in the yard below. “Can’t believe how BIG this school is!” said Janice. “I mean, I thought our school in Broadheath was big, but this one’s huge.”

“Oh yeah?” said Nigel. “Would have thought everything in Manchester would be bigger. Big city and all that. So, how are you finding things in little Llanerchyllwch?”

“Oh, it’s OK. Mostly. Yeah, it’s OK, I suppose. Quiet. Usually. I like the butcher – Ivor Owen. He always says: ‘Welcome to my humble emporium.’”

“He’s not wrong about the humble bit; just a shack. But he’s a good butcher. Does all his own slaughtering.”

“Slaughtering? You mean he kills animals? I can’t imagine him doing that…”

“You eat ‘em, don’t you? Someone’s got to kill them. Unless you’re one of those vegetarians.”

“Mum won’t let me. Says I have to get my strength back. Had pneumonia last year.”

 “Teachers OK?”

“Yeah, they’re all really nice. Nick’s dad’s nice. He’s like, really…normal with me. You know, I thought he locked kids up in that little storeroom at the back of the class…”

“Oh, The Jailer.”

“The other teachers are OK. Everyone smiles at me - all the time. Bit odd. They never did that in Broadheath. No one smiles at anyone in Manchester.”

Now, all the black jackets below coalesced into a circle, like iron filings attracted by a magnet. “Fight! Fight!”

“Oh look!” said Nigel. “Another one.” Nick dropped his books on a table and hurried over to the window.

Below in the yard, the two portly teaching assistants about-turned and made their way, swaying from side to side at a pace calculated to ensure that whatever the cause of the commotion, it would have finished by the time they arrived.

“It’s OK!” said Nigel. “The Dinner Ladies are coming to the rescue. The Dinner Ladies to the rescue! NEEH-NAH! NEEH-NAH! NEEH-NAH!”

Janice collapsed on the floor, hysterical. “Nigel! You’re so FUNNY!”

 

 

“You like him, don’t you,” Nick said, after Nigel had gone.

“Yeah, I do. You OK with that?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“But I like you best, Nick. Honest.”

“Good…”

---000-

 

By mutual consent, they got off their bikes halfway up Mynydd Bodafon and pushed their way to the top. They’d a long way to go; they needed to conserve energy, especially Nick with the tent and all the camping gear strapped to the rear carrier of his single speed Raleigh Wayfarer. “Only a couple of miles to Benllech. We can have a coffee in the caff,” he panted.

“You’re killing me!” snorted Janice.

“Come on. You made it to Benllech before. Then it’s only about three times as far. Should be at Pen y Pass by three.”

“Only about three times! This is mental!”

 

 

At the turnoff to Moelfre, Janice cried: “Llan – all-go!” in triumph as they swung through the roundabout. “Couldn’t say that three months ago…”

 

 

“First time I’ve ridden my bike onto the Mainland,” Nick announced as they crossed Menai Bridge.

“You don’t say. Do I need to clap or something?”

 

 

After the bridge, they turned right at the big roundabout onto the Caernarvon Road and then, after three miles, left onto the B road that led into the hills above Llanddeiniolen. They stopped for another breather.

“Your parents OK about you going away for a couple of days, Nick?”

“Er, yes. In fact, they seemed really keen; jumped at the idea. I dunno, almost like they wanted me out of the way.”

“P’raps they just wanted … wanted a bit of time to themselves. And maybe they wanted you to have a day off from…everything.”

“How about your mum and dad?”

“They were cool. They like you.”

“Nick? About tonight. Would you want me to go all the way?”

“Janice! It would be such a shame to come all this distance and not go to the top of Snowdon…I mean, it’s only a couple of mile’s walk up the track from Pen-y-Pass…”

“I didn’t mean that, Nick. I mean, if we share a tent tonight, would you expect us to, you know…do it.”

“Never even thought about IT.”

“Liar! Don’t worry, I’ve taken precautions. Mum got me some from the pharmacy in Bangor.”

 

 

After Llanberis, they started the long climb through the narrow, boulder-littered valley to Pen-y-Pass. A passing van driver gave them the thumbs up. Janice waited until he was out of sight, then collapsed sideways onto the verge, snorting like a burst boiler.

“Fookin’ ‘ell. Last time I come on one of your bike trips, Nick.”

“Come on! It slackens off towards the top. Only a mile and we’re there!”

 

 

Six pm on Snowdon summit. The last train on the mountain railway had gone, taking the final trippers with it. A glorious evening, for once. The mountains swept away beneath them. Shadows started to lengthen as the sun dipped; already the valley below them was dark.

“That’s Anglesey, over there. Amazing we came this far. There’s Crib Coch, Lleyn over there – the bit that sticks out into the sea. They say you can sometimes see Ireland on a clear day…”

“Ireland? Load of bog-trotters…”

“Mr O’Connell at Glan-y-Llyn’s nice. He was really helpful with my mum…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Only pulling your leg, Nick. They’re nice people. Everyone’s nice …”

“Did you really mean what you said about that African lady coming down from the trees? The one in Bangor?”

“Nah. Not really. Sometimes I say stuff like that … I shouldn’t. Sort of a release, I suppose. Just cos I said it, don’t mean I meant it ...”

“Glad you came? Worth the effort?”

“Yeah…just about. No, seriously - it’s wonderful.”

“For now, we’re the only people in the world. Just you and me; we can forget about the rest. No one to beat us up.”

“Pity we can’t stay up here for ever.”

“Not sure you’d be saying that when the rain starts again. We ought to be getting back down.”

“Hope the tent’s still there.”

“Yeah, it will be. It’s in my secret place.”

“I’ve got a secret place too. I’ll show you when we’re in the tent.”

---***---

Start of the September term, 1975

Janice came running up to Nick as he strode down the school yard in the direction of home at four o’clock.

“Nick, NICK! How come they let you out? They let you go?”

“Let me go? Sorry…”

“Haven’t you been arrested or something?”

“Arrested? Why?”

“Because of Brynno! Eleri said he was in hospital, that he might be going to die?”

“Oh, THAT! Nah – he’s not going to die. Deserves to though, the bastard. Saw him get on the Llantrefor bus just now with his little scrotes…”

“So what happened Nick? The whole school’s talking about it.”

“I was in the library, sat at the table, reading that book about the American Civil Rights movement, the one I told you about…”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Anyway, Brynno came in with his little gang and sat down – opposite, like. He said something, dunno what, I just ignored him and carried on…”

“And?”

“The bastard gobbed in my face. I mean really gobbed…”

“Urrgh! Gross!”

“I was, like, blinded, couldn’t see. I stood up and just lashed out. Next thing I know, he’s collapsed on the floor, all purple, gasping like he couldn’t breathe. My mate Alistair was there, saw it all. Says I caught him on the throat, like a karate chop…”

“Bloody HELL, Nick!”

“Anyway, he got his breath back. His little scrote mates helped him up and took him outside. Like I said, he’s OK, saw him just now. Not in the hospital or anything. You shouldn’t believe everything Eleri says…”

“What did you do then?”

“Nothing. Well, when they went out I said to that little one, the one with the dark hair, that I’d sort him out too one of these days. Give the cunt something to think about, just shove his poxy little head down the toilet…”

“Nick, you’ll do no such thing! Where is this going to END?”

“Alistair thinks I’m a hero; says I’ve got a really powerful punch, thinks I should take up…”

“NICK! It isn’t FUNNY! None of this is funny! What if you really had killed him?”

“Self defence … he started it …”

“He started it…Try telling that to a judge…”

“Would be a jury, not a judge wouldn’t it?”

“NICK! SHUDDUP! Oh my God! This place, this place…it’s worse than the Moss! Maybe I should go and live with my big sis…”

“Don’t do that! I’d miss you so much…”

“I just hate all this AGGRO! And now you’re part of it!”

He grabbed her arm; she tore it away. He grabbed it again.

“Just LEAVE me! I don’t need this! I don’t NEED YOU!”

“Look Janice. Sit down here. We can talk about this…”

“Nothing to say! Look. You know Geraint, the one that lives up on Porth Tawel Road, near you. He’s invited me to come with him in his boat Saturday afternoon. I said no, but now I’m going to say yes.”

“What? Mad Ger? No Janice, NO! He’s MENTAL! He’ll get you drowned! He goes out in all sorts, rain, storms, wind…”

“Well, maybe that’s what I WANT!”

“Have you even checked the weather forecast?”

“No, I haven’t checked the weather forecast…”

“I’ll tell your Mum…”

“Tell who you like! I’m going! No one’s going to stop me…”

---***---

Continued in part 4

Welsh Lessons-4 | ABCtales