Western Mail

MORNING SERIAL

- Farewell Innocence by William Glynne-Jones

SHOW yourself a weakling and they’ll look upon you as someone to despise and ridicule.” They beat their way through the swirling wind, on past the tram terminus and the station entrance, each absorbed with his own thoughts. Presently, Frank paused to light a cigarette, turning his back to the wind as he cupped his hands over the flame. He pulled hard and deep, and exhaled the smoke loudly and with satisfacti­on.

He placed a hand on Ieuan’s shoulder, and the boy warmed to the touch, feeling proud and honoured to be spoken to with such kindliness and confidence.

Frank sighed. “I wish I could explain it simpler, Ieuan. Anyway, some day — maybe soon, maybe late — you’ll find out these things for yourself — from books, from your meeting with men whose knowledge is far greater than mine, and most of all from the fight you have to put up yourself. But you’ll find out, Ieuan — you’ll find out.” They reached Station Square.

“Well, boy, this is where I leave you. Chin up, now. And don’t forget what I’ve told you. You’ve got at least one friend you can rely on in the foundry, and in time you’ll have plenty more. You just listen to old philosophe­r Frank. So-long, lad.” “So-long, Frank. And … thanks.” “Half a mo’ — I just thought of something.” Frank stroked his chin. “Listen, Ieuan, what about coming over to the house Sunday afternoon?” “House … ?” “My house. Just for a cup of tea and a little chat. I’ve got such a lot to tell you, really. I’ll let the missus know. Now, what time can you come along?” “But I —” Ieuan stammered.

“Three o’clock,” Frank said, with a finality that waived aside any objections Ieuan might hold.

“We’ll expect you at three.” He chuckled. “It’s been a long time since Doris and I had any guests, so this’ll give her a chance to make one of her famous trifles and custards. Doris is a darn good cook. Your visit’ll be an excellent excuse to keep her hand in. So that’s settled. You’ll be over at three, Ieuan. Number six Prospect Place, first turning right after Vauxhall Bridge. Don’t forget, now.” Ieuan watched him as he turned into the main street.

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