The Corn Is Green

 

The actor and playwright Emlyn Williams was born and bred just over a hill or so from Trelawnyd in the village of Pen Y Ffordd which literally means top or end of the road

It is said that he spent some of his childhood in or around Trelawnyd but I can’t find reference to this today. Having said this , I’m a bit blurry eyed this morning, sat, like I am in Russel Square gardens with an Americano and a slight hangover.

The Corn Is Green is Williams’ autobiographical account of how an education furnished by an astute schoolteacher gave a poor illiterate child miner a helping hand in life. 

Most of us will remember the story from the Bette Davis 1945 film.

Powerhouse spinster Lily Moffat ( Nicola Walker) inherits a Manor House in a small rural village in North Wales. Helped by an English singleton Miss Ronberry (Alice Orr Ewing) and a staunch baptist Mr Jones ( Richard Lynch) she turns the hall into a school of boys and in a difficult mission to educate the village children who would have been subscripted into mine work by the age of 10.

The play, which hasn’t really dated in since the 1930s makes use of a fantastic male chorus of singing miners, a stereotype if ever there was one, but it is one that works quite beautifully as the strains of Calon Lân and Gwahoddiad waft gently around the actors and action.

Walker is remarkable as Miss Moffat. Workmanlike and efficient in one breath and a fiery lioness on the mission in the other.she is ably supported by a cast that match her skill and although some of verbalised stage directions was a mistake , this is a production of great worth and one whose message resonates today.

I’m on the way home now. 

Like I said slightly hungover and somewhat bleary eyed .

I will have time for a shower and long dog walk and a sleep

I’m on night shift later….

London

 It’s a lovely day for a train journey

My connecting train from Crewe has been cancelled much to the angst of many passengers who are vociferously complaining that their booked seats won’t be honoured on the following train. 

I’m not meeting Alex until 5pm  and so I’ve nothing planned to miss early doors.

I will take my usual amble through Bloomsbury and may take in an exhibit at the British museum or an early movie at the Curzon. 

If the weather remains good, I may just stroll down to the river

Goodbye

 

I met my friend Ruth for breakfast this morning before she takes a leave of absence from work.

She is going to Northern Scotland for a few months to work in a community collective . Work on allotments and gardens for room and board .

She is grieving and needs to heal 

I shall miss her but her choice to go is a wise one.

We all need time to recuperate when we are emotionally damaged 

So many of us ignore  the danger signals and soldier on regardless .

And that often helps no one. 

I hope she returns.

I hate goodbyes

Always have

I once took Nu to the airport, many moons ago now, when she was leaving to work in Saudi Arabia and I had to stop on the Snake Pass from Manchester to Sheffield in order to sob over the steering wheel. So upset I was, a farming type woman in a land rover stopped to ask if I was alright.

After work when I was driving up to the village last night at dusk, I spied a rainbow arcing gracefully 

Over from the south , the tip of which seemed to lightly Land on the top of the Gop.

Several people stopped their cars in order to take the obligatory photo.

The rainbow I’d like to think is a sign from Auntie Gladys 

The old lass is 103 today and as usual the village make voice choir who originally adopted her years ago has played tribute to her

I miss her

Not so much a goodbye from the old Trelawnyd queen

But a hello

Easter Sunday

 

I'm on my break in our study  and I'm being watched

Work is quiet today, after a fraught few days,and the staff have made the most of the change of pace by sitting together discussing a glossary of Trans words.

It was an interesting and informative hour all told. 

We are sadly not up to speed with the more recent ways of describing the gender/sexuality world.

I hated Easter Sunday as a child btw

It was a boring day filled with too much chocolate and piss long biblical films on the BBC

I've never liked religious movies since

And have never been overly keen on chocolate either

Friend with Benefits

I’m going to London for a flying visit next week.

I’m meeting my friend Alex who lives in Poland.

We are going out to eat, we are going to the National Theatre and he’s sharing my hotel room 

in the nice trendy hotel in Covent Garden.

We are, after last years meet ups ..what is unfortunately termed friends with benefits 

Something my gay mate Dave rolled his eyes rather theatrically at.

“ Now John”, (Dave gave me lecture over the phone) “ one of the rules of friends with benefits is that you never have a sleepover,” 

I didn’t know that rule.

More eye rolling from Dave 

He helpfully listed the rules for me 

“make sure you are emotionally adult for this relationship…..don’t be lovely dovey, set boundaries, don’t expect too much, prioritise friendship over sex, don’t fall in love”

I listened with interest 

Now I’m not Mary Poppins people, and I’m not a fool either. I like Alex as a friend and I like him as a FwB but it’s clear we will never be anything more than that and I’m ok with that 

But Dave knew something else was bothering me

“ What’s up babe?” He asked 

I told him I’ve not shared a bed overnight with someone who fancies me and whom I fancy since my separation 

“ Arrhhuh the first non platonic OVERNIGHT bed share !” Dave laughed “How sweet! “ 

As a Single gay man of a certain age , it’s not that hard to have sex if you want it….hard sometimes but often not THAT hard.

Like I said I’m not Mary Poppins in this respect but nor am I Claudius’ Messalina or indeed Don Juan.

But Dave hit on a nerve..sharing a bed all night is a different thing than rolling about on a cotton duvet for an hour before saying your goodbyes.

Dave gave me the best advice anyhow 

“ Darling man ….enjoy your evening , try not to snore, share a hot shower  …don’t think too much……… oh and don’t dribble gravy on your top”

He knows me very well

Hey ho

Short post

 

Pond and Mincemeat.

 I wanted to do something restful today

I’ve just worked two twelve hour shifts and am about to do two more.

Today I wanted to mooch…quietly

I should have helped the community Association volunteers in their planting out of the newly reconstructed village pond but I went to the cinema instead. 

This may have rested my sore neck ( my work physio almost pulled my head off during a somewhat energetic therapy session) but resting in the cinema wasnt really therapy as the film wasn’t as good as I expected …hey ho.

I went up to the pond later on  to survey their work and I was impressed.

Not only has the pond been dredged of silt and mud. Aquatic plants and reeds have been planted on its borders with shrubs, annuals and woodland plants framing it nicely

The movie was Operation Mincemeat, a true wartime story of MI5s efforts to try to deceive the Germans by posing the body of Welsh tramp as a British Officer with forged top secret instructions outlining the allied invasion of Greece instead of the intended target of  Sicily. It’s a story that was filmed more successfully back in 1956 in The Man That Never Was.

This version has a cast to die for . Mathew Macfadyen, Colin Firth, Penelope Wilton, Jason Issacs, Mark Gatiss, and Kelly MacDonald, but Firth was miscast as the lead role and the whole thing I found somewhat dreary.

Hot Air

The hospice is located just right of those houses

 I have always loved that first blast of hot, dry air you get when exiting an aircraft in a Mediterranean airport. 

That faint blast of hot tarmac, sunshine and aircraft fumes 

Mixed together with waft of bougainvillaea, beaches and distant sewerage.

Conversely I also love leaving work and feeling the cool evening Welsh air on my face as I stand for a moment in the hospice car park

Air, cooled by the Irish Sea blowing over and down the Orme 

The grand peninsula overlooking Llandudno 

An island of limestone dotted with the goats made famous from lockdown.

Whereas the Spanish and Greek blast almost takes your breath away.

The Welsh breeze rejuvenates and cools.

Tonight, I needed a bit more Welsh breeze.

I needed to blow the day away.

I took the girls down the lane when I got home

And in the dark, with common pipistrelle bats flashing under the fairly lights at Trendy Carol’s, we stand at Graham the shepherd’s field gate with our heads to the sky feeling the faint cooling, sea smelling wind from the South hills.

It felt good