Welsh Journals

BETJEMAN IN POWYS TED THOMAS Walking on the sand-dunes that stretch by Aberdovey, Down behind the railway (old Cambrian line), What are you thinking of, Menna fach my honey, Leaning on the west-wind with your hand in mine ? Thinking of excursions to the match at Wolverhampton ? Laughing in the crowd there, loving on the train, Legs stretched out in the darkened compartment, 'Who took the bulbs out'? Why bother to explain? Shrewsbury and Welshpool, Llanbrynmair and Carno, Commins Coch and Cemaes Road find you in my arms; Roll us into bed soon you old rolling engine Nosing down the valley, waking up the farms. Thinking of the Plaza, of the warm warm Plaza ? Only place in town where you can sit out late; Same old records; even so I'd rather That than watch the Tele; see you there at eight. Plaza in the evening, Beulah in the morning, Sunday morning Beulah where the deacons smile. Cofia dy Greawdwr yn nyddiau dy ieuenctid Before beauty withers; she sits across the aisle. 'Come, although it's winter, to the old panorama, The signs are all unpainted, it's coming on to rain; Not a bloody visitor and not a bloody farmer, Let's get out of here', I said, 'Let's get on a train'. 'Let's decide our future here on this mountain, Quit this little village with its *pobl cul\ You can be a teacher and I'll be an accountant But there's no train on Sunday, and we'd miss our 'cinio sul'