MORNING SERIAL
IT was late afternoon by the time I read, and re-read, everything. I had been hungry for nothing else through these hours. I put the overhead light on as rush-hour traffic began to back up alongside the city’s castle walls.
I had saved the “Personal” folder to the last.
It was the least of all the papers in bulk.
I had already read the four letters inside, however, several times over. Two of them copies made out in my father’s handwriting.
One more time, then. I fetched a cold bottle of Mexican beer from the room’s fridge, uncapped it and drank from the bottle without the benefit of a salt rim, a glass or a segment of lime.
The letters were zest enough, and my blood pressure had every reason to avoid a saline solution. I had more problems than solutions.
But I did have questions, and maybe as echoes, a few answers. The first copied-out letter was as if from Llanwern Park, and its date written down as 16 December 1915.
“My darling Gwennie,
I send this with Blackmore to deliver to you by hand. He will bring me your reply if you will. Do not be afraid, for I will not abandon you.
I know your time is near and when it has come you will return here, with the infant, and there will be no questioning of you, or of his presence, in my house.
What you have given me is not forgotten either and my joy in that gift of love and ecstasy sustains me in my labours.
These, as you know, will increasingly confine me to London and Whitehall but, when you are ready, we will find time to be together again, and, I hope, find happiness in our meetings, so unexpected and vital for me, again.
Your David
Or, as you call me in memory of my place of youth,
Your Dai”
THE second copied letter had the same date inscribed. It was just marked as from “Cheltenham”. It read:
“My Dai,
> The Crossing by Dai Smith is published by Parthian in the Modern Wales series www.parthianbooks.com
CONTINUES TOMORROW