Welsh Journals

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the plays, the paintings, they were spellbound as were the teachers. Lastly, Saint David and the language. Five minutes for questions. What a revelation! They sprang their queries upon me. 'Can you speak in Welsh?' 'Will you say "Our Father" in Welsh?' I did. 'Will you sing your National Anthem?' I did. Then one of my 'bright' ones, with whom I had to be firm fre- quently, asked a question that will long remain with me: 'Why don't they speak like US?' And the bell rang. On the Heights of Abraham at Quebec, above the mighty Saint Lawrence, I chanced to come across a schoolboy of 12 who was gazing at the ocean liners making their way up river to Montreal. I learnt more from him on the spot about Wolfe's conquest of Canada than I did from my school books. A lad from the mountains where I live, left his lonely farm to fly to Africa, over the Atlantic, over Brazil to the Falklands and to Antarctica for two whole years. His voice came over the air and was heard by his mother at Llanwrtyd. 'VALES? VALES? VHERR­ISS­VALES?' TALKING ABOUT RUGBY ONE NOTABLE FACT about modern Irish international teams, as compared with ancient ones, can be proved by looking at the names on the programmes. The 'Ascendancy' names have gone out and 'native Irish' names come in. As for the international grounds, each has a very distinctive character. Lansdowne Road has the prehistoric charm of the Irish pipes, and the unique hazard of a level crossing just outside it. Still the whistle of the railway engines is just as much a part of its persona as the strains of Let Erin Remember. As for this year's England match, Erin will only remember it with sorrow; she had all the chances and threw them away. But this did not affect the ritual of the Bull. For the rest of that day, in the Shelbourne and the Dolphin and Jammet's and innumerable bars and 'bonafides', the Bull stood chewing the cud, up to his withers in porter. 'If only the selectors had a titter of wit' 'If only that drop-kick had gone one foot to the left' 'If only they'd tried a Garryowen when' 'If only Jackie Kyle had been playing!' And so, but very late, to bed to dream of Europa-which means to say, of the next match. Ulsterman Louis MacNeice in The Kingsley Martin Intelligencer