MORNING SERIAL

SOME years later, after I had left for secondary school, the coal waste beneath Ynysowen would spontaneously combust, deep underground; it took upwards of a year, much drilling and thousands of gallons of water pumped at pressure beneath the surface in order to make it safe.

In the meanwhile children attended lessons along taped-out paths, tendrils of smoke rising from the playing fields on either side of them.

For me, though, the school was a revelation. Everything about it was brand new. Having benefited from donations from individuals and organisations around the world as contributions to the Disaster Fund, the brand new building, still smelling of fresh paint, was packed with never-before-used toys, games, sports equipment, books, poster paint, crayons, pencils, and wonder of wonders – felt-tipped pens.

On my very first day at school I had Ready Brek for breakfast, with the top-of-the-milk stirred in and enough sugar on top to form a semi-dissolved translucent crust floating on the steamy surface. We set out and Allyson ran ahead with her friends to the junior section of the school whilst Mam walked me to the infants. The route to school, most wonderfully, involved walking right past Terry Martin’s shop.

Terry’s was a newsagentcum-sweetshop. We walked in and were enfolded by its all-pervasive smell of sweet fruity sugar, newsprint and clove; Terry himself favoured clove mints, just like my grandfather who demolished them by the half pound since he’d given up smoking.

Just one small room, the wall shelves, counter, and even the floor were crammed with ranks of jars of boiled sweets and other treats even more exotic. Sherbet Lemons jostled for shelf space with multi-coloured Pear Drops with their acid bite, and they in turn with gobstoppers as big as our fists, Rhubarb and Custard, American Hard Gums, Dolly Mixtures, Cherry Lips, Sour Grape chewing gums that had you spitting purple, bonbons dusted white or yellow, Flying Saucers, and jars of sherbet in a half dozen vivid colours.