Eight
I woke up with a start to the sound of a bell ringing.
“Milk,” I shouted, then pulled the sheets up over my head to try and get back to sleep.
Every morning the cart would pull up at the gate beside the barn and the bell would ring for Teddy to run out with the urns to get them filled by the milkman. Billy the Milk, they called him. In fact, I’d come to realise that nearly everyone in the village was given some sort of title to distinguish them during discussions.
Dai the Pub, Printer Rhod, Fat John who lived two farms over and Thin John, otherwise known as Mr Hopkin. Then there was Thomas the Steps because his house was the only one in the village that had steps to the door, and Morgan Twice on account of his name being Morgan Morgan. Even Nellie was known around the village as Nellie the Post. I dreaded to think what I might have been known as.
The bell rang again and I threw the sheets off me in a huff. “Teddy, get the bloody milk,” I shouted, and then it occurred to me that I was never usually asleep when Billy did his rounds and also it was a Sunday. We didn’t have milk on a Sunday.
“Shift your arse,” a voice called out from below and I scrambled from my sheets and hung my head through the hatch, spotting Gwyn standing below. He smiled up at me and I immediately began fighting against gravity as I tried to smooth my hair out to look less like I’d just woken up.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “What time is it? Where the hell did you get a bell from?”
“We’re going on an adventure,” he said with a grin and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back at him. “Unless you want to go to church with the rest of them?”
I quickly threw my clothes on and as I reached for the ring to stash it in its little cubby, I realised that I’d gone to bed for the first time without putting it on. An immediate feeling of guilt hit me but I shook it off and climbed down the ladder to Gwyn.
“New shirt?” I said. I immediately wanted to kick myself for noticing and crawl back under the sheets for saying it out loud, but he just smiled and waved it off. “So where are we going?”
“I thought I’d give you a tour of the village.”
“I’ve seen it. There’s only about twelve houses and a pub.”
He laughed at me and swung the barn door open. “But you haven’t had a tour of all the secret spots and fun stuff.”
Intrigued, I smiled again and followed him out into the yard. “Are you sure you’re ok to be walking so much?”
“I’ll be fine,” he replied and he managed to climb the stile onto the road without too much difficulty. “Now, over here we’ve got some sheep. Don’t get close though, they’ve got razor-sharp teeth.”
“Ooh, terrifying,” I joked. “So where are we really going?”
“Just seeing where our feet take us,” he said as he climbed the stile into the field on the opposite side of the road.
The ground had gone soft and soggy during the rain overnight and my boots and the bottom of my trousers had gotten caked in mud almost immediately. I took a slow path across the hill trying to avoid the soggiest areas but every time I put a foot on the ground I wondered if it would be the step that sent me flying on my arse.
“If you fall, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I said.
“Ah, I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Us Welsh were made to walk these hills. It’s you city boys that need to be careful.”
Just as he said it my right foot slipped and while I managed to not crash straight to the floor, I did end up crouched over with both hands on the ground. Slushy mud squished through my fingers as my legs and arms started sliding outward from my body. Every time I tried to get some traction to propel myself upright, I just slipped more and was seconds from going face-first into the dirt.
“Well, well,” Gwyn said with a chuckle as he tucked his arm underneath me. As he pulled me upwards he let out a small moan and I tried to take my weight from him quickly.
“Are you ok?” I asked, brushing the mud from my hands. He gave me a nod but I wasn’t sure how honest he was being. “We can go back?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Just a twinge. Come on.”
We made our way across the field chatting about life in the village and I told him an edited version of what life was like back home. He told me about the people who owned the land we were on and showed me where a pig had chased Mair across the field when they were kids. Everything he spoke about had such passion behind it and it was obvious how much he loved the place. I could have listened to him talking for hours.
Our route took us out of the field and across the most southerly farm in the village which sat about half a mile south of the church. A lot of the buildings looked run down and most of the fields stood empty of both crops and livestock, but it was obvious that someone still lived in the house.
A few metres up the road from the farm we came to a clearing in the bushes where a slight path had been trodden into the ground. We followed alongside it for about a minute as it meandered along a small stream before coming to a stop where the water hit a drop and cascaded into a small waterfall about two metres deep.
“It’s pretty here,” I said as I made a seat for myself on a rock.
Hills flanked us on either side and a long valley stretched out nearly as far as I was able to see. It seemed to have every touch of landscape imaginable, with trees and lowlands, hills and streams, and I couldn’t believe somewhere so beautiful was right on our doorstep.