be wrong or worthless. The simple lessons he taught me are as sharp and clear in my mind as if I had heard them only yesterday. In those days, the black slag, the waste of the coal pits, had only begun to cover the side of our hill, not yet enough to mar the countryside, nor blacken the beauty of our village. For the colliery had only begun to poke its skinny black fingers through the green. I can hear even now the voice of my sister Angharad. Huw! Angharad! Coal miners were my father and all my brothers, and proud of their trade. - Gwilym Morgan, three pounds seven. - Thank you, sir. Lanto Morgan, three pounds seven. Ivor Morgan, three pounds seven. Davy Morgan, two pounds five. Owen Morgan, two pounds five. Young Gwilym Morgan, one pound ten. Someone would strike up a song, and the valley would ring with the sound of many voices. For singing is in my people as sight is in the eye. Then came the scrubbing, out in the back yard. It was the duty of my sister Angharad to bring the buckets of hot water and cold, and I performed what little tasks I could as my father and brothers scrubbed the coal dust from their backs. Most would come off them, but some would stay for life. It is the honourable badge of the coal miner, and I envied it on my father and grown-up brothers. Scrub and scrub, Mr Coal would lie there and laugh at you. There was always a baron of beef or a shoulder or leg of lamb before my father. There was never any talk while we were eating. I never met anybody whose talk was better than good food. My mother was always on the run, always the last to start her dinner, and the first to finish. For if my father was the head of our house, my mother was its heart. After the dishes had been washed, the box was brought to the table for the spending money to be handed out. No one in our valley had ever seen a bank. We kept our savings on the mantelpiece. My father used to say that money was made to be spent, just as men spend their strength and brains in earning it, and as willingly. But always with a purpose. Thank you, Dadda. Out of the house and across the street, as I had run a hundred times before. Softly now, for respect for chapel was the first thing my father taught us. Then straight to Mrs Tossal the Shop, for that toffee which you could chew for hours, it seems to me now. And even after it had gone down, you could swallow and still find the taste of it hiding behind your tongue. It is with me now, so many years later. It makes me think of so much that was good that is gone. It was on this afternoon that I first saw Bron - Bronwyn. She had come over from the next valley for her first call on my father and mother. Is this Gwilym Morgan's house? You must be Huw. - Is that you, Bronwyn? - Yes. There's lovely you are. I think I fell in love with Bronwyn then. Perhaps it is foolish to think a child could fall in love, but I am the child that was, and nobody knows how I felt, except only me. - I'm so proud for lvor. - I'm the one to be proud. You think well of our lvor? It seems only a few months since he was scratching around here like this one, with his mouth open. This is Bronwyn, Huw, who's to be your sister. We have met already. Be careful of the basket. There's shortcake in it. This is not for you. You will have your time to come. Run along now. Bronwyn and lvor were to be ------------------------------ Читайте также: - текст Daenseo-ui sunjeong на английском - текст Убийство на английском - текст Глаза Лауры Марс на английском - текст Мечта на английском - текст Король Лир на английском |