Bell Ringing] Angharad Who is for Gwilym Morgan and the others? I, for one He is the blood of my heart Come, Cyfartha 'Tis a coward I am, but I will hold your coat [Singing in Welsh] Dada! [Echoing] Dada! Dada! Dada! Dada! Huw Lad Dada! Dada! Dada! Huw Dada Dada Mr. Gruffydd! There's a good old man you are He came to me just now Ivor was with him He spoke to me and told me of the glory he had seen Look [Church Bell Ringing] [Singing in Welsh] Men like my father cannot die they are with me still, real in memory as they were in flesh, loving and beloved forever How green was my valley then [Singing in Welsh] [Church Bell Ringing] {{{the end}}}I am packing my belongings in the shawl my mother used to wear to the market, and I am going from my valley. And this time I shall never return. I am leaving behind me my 50 years of memory. Memory. Strange that the mind will forget so much of what only this moment is passed, and yet hold clear and bright the memory of what happened years ago, of men and women long since dead. Yet who shall say what is real and what is not? Can I believe my friends all gone, when their voices are still a glory in my ears?h No. And I will stand to say no and no again, for they remain a living truth within my mind. There is no fence nor hedge around time that is gone.o You can go back and have what you like of it, if you can remember. So I can close my eyes on my valley as it is today and it is gone, and I see it as it was when I was a boy. Green it was, and possessed of the plenty of the earth. In all Wales, there was none so beautiful. Everything I ever learnt as a small boy came from my father, and I never found anything he ever told me to 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,o always the last to start her dinner, and the first to finish. For if my father was the head of ------------------------------ Читайте также: - текст Дерсу Узала на английском - текст Астенический синдром на английском - текст 48 часов на английском - текст Муми-тролль и комета: Путь домой на английском - текст Злодей на английском |