Cylchgronau Cymru

But I was most particularly pleased, of course, to discover him there in the flesh and not dead as I thought I had left him earlier in the day. I was indeed so glad that I stopped him then and there and introduced myself and told him his story. Trite was very nice about it. Three months later he sent me a copy of his newest book with my story woven into it. According to him, however, it was I who had driven into the haystack. But it doesn't matter I am going to write the review. Self-Portrait By CARADOC EVANS ONE of my schoolins used to stand sadly in front of me, cut a bit of spanish, pop it into his mouth, scratch his back head, and say There will be whiskers on eggs before the twelve times in your head." He was short and slim and had whiskers all over his face and in his nostrils and ears, and he produced a child a year without outside help. Another was a whipper-snapper who claimed to be able to count with his eyes shut and sing louder than any other man in the district. He said if there was a twp more twp than me he would rather be Son Prodigal. Though I never brought home a certificate merit or moved higher than the second from the bottom of my class and the porridge in the bottomer's head was not done, I knew one thing: schoolins got their jobs because they were religious Independents and the Independents were stronger than the Methodists. So this day. Schoolins must also be non-dablenners. You are a dablenner even if you go into a pub to look at an auction bill or a stallion card. There was a man who might have been Hitler's schoolin. He was Davydd Thomas, minister Capel Independents, the lanky red-bearded wisp who sneaked after sin like a tom-cat and slapped pulpit Bible and broke its back every half-year, and spat through his spiky teeth in denunciation. He denounced going to fairs, dablenning, going to church, voting for church parson, voting for a Tory, courting in or out of bed. He said the road to heaven is crowded with God's bwcis. I went into a narrow lane on a black night to prove to God I did not mind the bwcis, and one night I saw one, wherefore I stuttered for about five years. Thereafter I never went into a broad road on a moonlight