Treasure Island

John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

Betwys y Coed


The day had started wet
Telford's road glistening in the rain
passed Llangollen's busy streets
and tumbling Dee.
It was ten, the day before us,
Jack asleep waiting for his walk,
three friends, but a single thought
Will the sun shine as last week,
who cares in such good company?
Called A5 today, made for coach and horses
stone walled smoothing Welsh hills,
cars appreciate the gentle ride
the easy curves and misty views.
Carrog passed... the steam train too,
Corwen soon, villages with funny names
few vowels, stone and slate;
green fields, flecked white
Lime- washed farms and rusting tractors
late lambs suckling in their innocence
Bala on the road sign(that's another day)
stop at Pentrefoelas, chocolate shop,
beside the infant Conwy and one arch bridge
The road now weaves its way,
the river on this and now on that
Dropping to Betwys y Coed
‘prayer house in the wood’
drizzle now so there's hope of sun.
In the Fairy Glen, relief for Jack
he's travelled well and barks delight,
leaves us in his hurry
comes to heel at every car
(well nearly every car)
The railway rumbles to our left
on its way to Blaenau',
the Llugwy tumbles right,
And frollics with the Conwy
its valley steep and woody
on its way to the five arch bridge,
Merging architect with nature,
water-falls and childish cries.

School next week, long drive home
Liverpool, Leeds and Birmingham
so we watch and share the fun,
take coffee, Royal Oak cake and cream.
Eden for a day no matter what the weather.
The chain bridge swings across the river
Four trains a day, golf,
shops ice cream and candles
Five arch bridge and water falls
kids and barking dogs,
grandmas and wheel chairs
prayer house in a wood
Afon Llwygy,
tumbling surf and laughter

Submitted: Friday, January 17, 2014
Edited: Friday, January 17, 2014

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  • Thomas Vaughan Jones (3/21/2014 5:50:00 PM)

    Brings out the hiraeth does this. The faithful Gelert, falsely slain. The little bridge near the police station. There is a small rivulet with grassy banks where I would relax with my family. She Who Must Be Obeyed stated firmly, if any one falls off the stepping stones and gets wet, they stay wet until we go home. Then she gaily trips over the stones and fell in. She laughed all the way home, Such memories you aroused with this little poem. Now I must go anf shed a tear and think of those warm summer days. Thankyou bach. (Report) Reply

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