MORNING SERIAL

“OK, Charlie, let’s have him.” He bent down and gripped Ieuan’s trousers by the waist. Once again the boy began to struggle desperately.

“For Christ’s sake, hold him!” Reg shouted. “Hey, Bull, gimme a hand before someone comes.” Brin Compo, attracted by the noise, came nosing up to them. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

“Mind your flaming business,” Charlie snapped. “This is our affair. We’re paying him back what we owe, that’s all.” Brin looked on coolly, and made no attempt to interfere.

Reg unbuttoned Ieuan’s trousers while Bull tore at the dungaree straps.

“That’s got him!” Reg tugged downwards. The boy’s trousers were drawn down over his knees, his naked thighs exposed.

“Hand it over, Bull — quickly!” The brush, wet with clay and core gum, was rubbed over Ieuan’s thighs and along his abdomen. He began to sob, pleading to be let free.

“Go on, cry as much as you like. There’s not a bloody soul going to hear you.” Reg rubbed the brush vigorously into the glutinous mess and once more dabbed it between the boy’s thighs.

“That’ll teach you not to split on us again. Let it be a lesson to you, d’you hear?” Brin Compo’s ears pricked. “Tone down, you noisy idiots,” he warned. “Listen … someone’s coming!” From the coreshop came the sound of voices.

“Jesus, it’s Lu! Watch out!” “Hell’s bells!”

Reg and his accomplices leapt up and scattered across to the door leading into the foundry. They scrambled through it on top of one another just as the foreman entered the compo shed.

Ieuan picked himself up slowly. Mortified, he dragged at his trousers. His body trembled all over. Losing what control he possessed he burst into a spasm of weeping.

Lu approached. He surveyed him with sympathy, and without saying a word, led him back to the coreshop.

Abraham and his co-workers had returned. They looked at the foreman, then at Ieuan. No one ventured to say anything. Then Lu spoke.

“Hand me a bit of waste, Abraham.”