The tiny chapel on London Road was packed when I got there.
Mrs Jones' funeral was always going to be well supported
after all she was a much respected farmer's wife amid whole dynasties of farmers around the village
and a whole lot of them turned up to say their goodbyes
Eventually, I just managed to find standing room by the door, right next to Alun Hughes, Chair of the carnival committee. I had never seen the chapel so full..
People were even standing in the chapel kitchen.
Everyone seemed to be there, The RFWF in a clean jacket for once!, Ralph the gentleman farmer with Louenna, Gladys of course, Mr Evans the old baker,Jenny the ex post mistress,Olwenna Hughes from her Rhyl nursing home,Pat my animal helper sporting her new trendy haircut!. Old Islwyn Thomas from Bron Haul,the list just went on and on and on, and suddenly I was transported into a bygone age which has almost gone by when the mostly welsh speaking congregation started up with their first hymn.
Shaky at first, the old tried and tested voices of Meirion Hughes and others I did not recognise started to catch their own natural harmonies as they belted out
"Gogoniant byth am drefn
y cymod a'r glanghad;
Derbyniaf lesu fel yr wyf,
Achanaf am y gwaed!"
After their old voices echoed in the eaves
I could have cried at the "rarity" of it all
I could have cried at the "rarity" of it all
