Western Mail

MORNING SERIAL

- Farewell Innocence by William Glynne-Jones

IEUAN took her arm again, firmly. “Come on, let’s go and sit by the pond for a while.” They found a secluded corner near the lily pond at the extreme end of the park, and sat down on the edge of the grass. The air was pungent with the smell of earth and the early spring flowers.

The white blossom of cherry trees glistened in the sun. Nearby, the pollen from a yew tree hung like a transparen­t blue cloud in the air.

Ieuan breathed deeply. He glanced shyly at his companion. His arm stole around her waist. Nervously, he awaited her reaction. but she made no effort to dissuade him.

From the distance came a confused hum of voices. A girl’s shrill laugh echoed above the blare of the brass band. Somewhere, a baby cried.

The park was as crowded as on a bank holiday. People of all ages swarmed round the bandstand. Some, with a complete disregard of the printed notices warning them to keep off the grass, sat on the lawn to listen to the music. Others leaned against the heavy bronze chains encircling the flower beds.

The green-painted seats around the bandstand were all occupied.

It seemed as though a holiday feeling was in the air. Women in gay spring dresses, whose vivid colours emphasized the green of grass and trees, sat or reclined on the lawns, many with their shoes off. Others, clad in fashions that appeared to outrage the feelings of the elderly, sober- minded chapel people, sauntered along the paths bordering the park, showing off their freakish hats to the multitude, and silently enjoying the sensation they caused.

A dull thud of a rubber ball made Ieuan turn his head. Nearby, on the children’s playing field, a group of young men chased after a tennis ball, kicking it with the precision of profession­al footballer­s. They pranced and posed, taking their game in all seriousnes­s, as though the small audience that had gathered to watch them at their play had paid for the privilege. In the farthest corner of the park, away from the clamour of the music and shrill-voiced children, sat the old men and women whose legs could carry them just to the park and back.

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