Llanelli Turk 'Cariad'

Chapter Six . Confidential Brief

Main Pic: Jallianwala Bagh - Amritsar Massacre 1919.

Chapter Six

Confidential Brief

Nobody was home. My mum must have gone to the shops. Daddy would soon be back from his morning shift. Let's see what time it is. It's twenty-five-to-three. Yes, anytime now. Time's going slow, as it does when one is young.

Father was back to his old habit again I reckoned, to the pub after work. I do hope Father Steward on Wednesday will give him a telling-off. What's so attractive about pubs anyway!   

I remember last Christmas when I went on a pub-crawl. It took a few days mind you, because there's a pub on every street in Llanelli. A town of two breweries. I didn't drink a drop hate the stuff... I say a lie; I did slurp a few Sandy ales, tastes like lemonade and looks like pee!

I went on the pub-crawl with my anorak on and a large mug in hand, with a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year plastered across it. I Just walked into the middle of the pubs floor and sang; 'Oh, come molly faithful come and have a plateful or come-me or come-me to Ber-eth-elem. Come and behold him born the king of a-an-gels and come and let us adore him oh come and let us adore him Chr-ist the lord. A second verse followed if the pennies flowed into my mug or if a drunk tried to join in; that I found attracts the pennies, thrupennies, and tanners with the occasional bob, thrown in. Didn't know all the verses correctly, but I made a bomb. Over forty shillings on a good night like Christmas Eve, that's over two pounds. Must have sung it over a hundred times, because that's how many pubs there are in town.

I can say the names of all of them, from one end of town to the other end. Starting at the Cross Keys Inn near Loughor bridge, to the Hope and Anchor in Pwll. And the other way (North to South), from the White Lion in Felinfoel to the Northumberland, down by the West Dock.

I treated myself to some Christmas presents. The Readers Digest Book of British Birds, the Observer book of Bird's Eggs and a technical drawing set for school. In addition, there was money over to buy my brawd and mum a present. The money from my piggy bank will pay for a present for my dad and uncle. Unfortunately, I had to go to the doctor's just after Boxing day with a chest infection. The doctor asked my mum if I smoked. He's only eight, she said. I explained to the doctor the possible reason. He said that the smoky environment of pubs is bad for a young boy's sensitive lung, so he banned me from all the pubs in town and Carmarthenshire until I turn eighteen. He then moved his ashtray to the top of some cabinet behind him and warned me about the dangers of smoking cigarettes. He also discussed something with my mother about it being ridiculous that the pubs let an eight year old enter their premises.

Wish he'd warn my father about the dangers of smoking, because he puffs away two packets of Woodbine a day. I can hear the result of that most mornings. Terrible habit, I'd rather get drunk on shandy myself.

I became slightly bored, so I decided to either go to bed or read a book. I found myself checking passages from the Holy Bible when my mum returned.

"Hello! Anybody home! Glan! ...Are you home?" Mum shouted from the living room.

"No, mum, he's in the pub for an important meeting with the Ministry of disabled cabbages."

"What was that love?"

"Think he's in the pub mum."

"No love, daddy will be home soon. They must still be down the Legion."

"Oh, sorry me," I said quietly to myself. Therefore, what uncle said about the Buddha is correct. One should keep a noble silence, unless one is sure! Something like that.