MORNING SERIAL

BUT presently, when Ieuan entered the compo shed he was lounging against a bin, a cigarette butt stuck between his lips. Bull greeted him coolly, as though nothing had happened to stir him into the wild activity of a few minutes ago.

At his side an elderly labourer sat on the shafts of a barrow. The latter nodded to Ieuan. “This the new chappie?” “Yes,” said Bull, manoeuvring a pin into a stained cigarette end and drawing a whiff through puckered lips. “That’s the bloke. Mammy’s blue-eyed baby.” “Think he’ll do me a favour?” the old man asked.

“’Course he will. Anything to oblige, that’s his motto.” The labourer creaked to his feet. “Do me a little kindness, my boy,” he said persuasively. “Bit of rheumatics I’ve got, and this barrow load’s too heavy for an old fellow like me.” He sighed. “By jingo, there’s nice it is to be young. No need to ask favours then, no indeed. But look at me — can’t push a barrow only when it’s empty, and here I am, come to a full stop. Fancy sending me out to the yard with a load of compo. No sense in it, no sense at all — an old fellow like me.” Ieuan brightened. ‘I’ll help you,” he volunteered.

The labourer smiled. “Good! And let me tell you that old Dafydd Richiets won’t be forgetting your kindness. No indeed. Here you are, my boy. Just as far as the coreshop do I want your help, that’s all. I’ll manage after that.” Ieuan slipped between the shafts and lifted the barrow. Bull and the old man watched him, their eyes unblinking. Suddenly, they both guffawed loudly. Ieuan’s hands felt wet and sticky. He loosed his hold and looked down apprehensively. They were covered with thick tar. Unable to restrain himself any longer he burst into tears.

Dafydd disappeared into the coreshop, and Bull, blowing a smoke ring into the air, sauntered after him.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Ieuan looked up. A pair of earnest eyes regarded him. It was Frank, the young moulder who had spoken kindly to him on his way in to the foundry.

“What’s the matter, lad?” he repeated. He pursed his lips when he saw the tar-smudged hands.

“Who did it?” Ieuan did not reply.