The Town That Was Mad - Part Two

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Excuse me. Do you sell…

         FIRST VOICE

Mr. Griffiths meanwhile has entered the candy filled shop that is Miss Price’s, in search of…

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Jelly babies?

         MISS PRICE

Why yes. How many would you like?

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

A half-kilogram please.

         MISS PRICE

A half pound?

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Oh. Yes. Yes, that would be fine. What a pleasant little place you have here Mrs?

         MISS PRICE

Price. Myfanwy Price.

And it’s Miss.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Miss. Price. Well, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. My name is Griffiths. Rhys Griffiths. I’m here on holiday see, so I shall probably be popping in quite frequently. I have something of a sweet tooth I’m afraid.

         MISS PRICE

I understand you’re staying at Bay View Mr. Griffiths?

That must be.

Pleasant.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Well I’ve not been there long. Dropped my suitcase off and headed out to see the town really. But, it seems perfect.

         MISS PRICE

Really? Oh, well I do hope you enjoy your stay and of course I look forward to supplying your sweet tooth.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

I’m sure you sweeten everyone’s day Miss Price.

         FIRST VOICE

Having paid for his confectionery and bid Miss Price good afternoon, seemingly not noticing that she is slightly flushed, Mr. Griffiths pops a jelly baby into his mouth as he makes his way to the small harbour, where fishermen sit on coiled ropes surrounded by nets and lobster pots and buoys, smoking their pipes. Sucking in great healthful mouthfuls of brine tanged air, delicately seasoned further with rotting seaweed and tobacco smoke.

         SECOND VOICE

His new notebook already open as he sits on the harbour wall, surveying the tiny fleet below him, and Nogood Boyo sleeping, sprawling untidy amid crab lines and legs, his head lolling on the unused bailer, in the in the bottom of the dinghy Zanzibar. The white darts of the wheedling, crying, cursing, and clamouring gulls curve, dive and roll in the azure sky.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

You aren’t fishing today gentlemen?

         FIRST FISHERMAN

No no. Not today.

         FISHERMAN TWO

We’re mending nets today.

         SECOND VOICE

And to add emphasis he takes out his pipe and prods at the corner of the tangle of nets with his boot.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Indeed, a worthy pursuit.

         SECOND VOICE

Looking thoughtfully at the quiescent, fish filled sea, Mr. Griffiths makes a note.

         FIRST VOICE

Inside the Sailors Arms, closed for the day out of deep respect, Sinbad Sailors is pouring Mr. Waldo another glass of stout.

         SINBAD SAILORS

As soon as Grandma is decently buried I’m going to ask her. Just as soon as a decent interval has passed, I shall go down on one knee and ask her. Maybe a month or so. Oh Mr. Waldo, if only she weren’t so refined.

         SECOND VOICE

As he passes Mr. Waldo a brimming glass.

         MR WALDO (Smacking his lips)

Here’s to you Sinbad, Master of the Sailors Arms at last.

         SINBAD SAILORS

Yes. But is that enough Waldo. She’s such a lady.

         MR WALDO

Gossamer Beynon is the butcher's daughter Sinbad.

         SINBAD SAILORS (Hotly)

That’s got nothing to do with it. She’s a proper lady she is. All educated and talks proper and all.

(Despairingly)

She’ll never have me.

(Softly, to himself)

Oh Gossamer, Gossamer, will you ever stoop so low?

         MR WALDO (Also to himself)

Most women’ll bend if you ask them nicely.

         FIRST VOICE

Draining his glass, Mr. Waldo places it against a large cluster of it’s forefathers.

         MR WALDO

Let’s have another Sinbad. Got to show proper respect don’t we?

         FIRST VOICE

Listen.

[Sounds of birds, and in the distance, the bleating of goats]

Here we find Mae Rose Cottage lying resplendent in the soft grass surrounded by her bleating courtiers.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

This town is no good for me. I shall run away. Go to the city. There I’ll find a man, a real man. There’s none I’d have here, they’re all dead from the neck down.

[Pause]

Well apart from Mr. Waldo or Nogood Boyo. And who’d want either of them?

I’ll run away. That’s what I’ll do. Run away and I’ll sin so much to make up for lost time. You’ll see. I’ll sin till I blow up.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS (Surprised)

Oh!

Pardon me.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE (Gives a small scream)

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

I’m so sorry. I. I didn’t mean to startle you.

         FIRST VOICE

As he studiously looks away whilst Mae Rose Cottage hurriedly covers her pert, soft breasts.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

I was just walking up here to get a good view of the town. Doctors orders you see. I have to do a lot of walking. My name is Griffiths, I’m from Swansea…

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

Swansea!

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Yes, Swansea. I’m here on holiday. I am so sorry to have caught you sunbathing Miss?

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE (Slightly breathless)

I’m Mae. I look after the goats.

(Coyly) I hope you enjoyed the view Mr. Griffiths.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

I don’t think I’ve seen any finer view Mae. Extremely pretty.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

Are you staying in Llareggub Mr Griffiths?

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Yes I am. At Bay View, and please do call me Rhys.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

Oh good.

That is.

I mean. Bay View? You aren’t Mrs. Ogmore-Prichard’s long lost son or something are you?

         RHYS GRIFFITHS (Slowly)

No.

Why on earth would you think that?

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

No reason. I’ve just never heard of anyone staying at Bay View before.

RHYS GRIFFITHS (Puzzled)

But it’s a guest house isn’t it?

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

Well yes. But Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard never has guests. They might make her clean sheets dirty, or breath on something.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS (To himself)

How very peculiar.

         FIRST VOICE

And taking out his notebook, he scribbles something down.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

What is it that you do in Swansea Rhys?

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Oh. I err! I work in a Solicitors Office actually, in a junior capacity of course, but good prospects I think.

MAE ROSE COTTAGE (To herself, and breathily)

A solicitor! A solicitor from Swansea, with prospects. Oh my.

(To Rhys)

Are you staying long?

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

A month actually.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE (To herself)

Oh good.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Well, I had better be getting along. Lots of walking to do.

         MAE ROSE COTTAGE

Goodbye then, Rhys. I hope we might see a lot more of each other.

         RHYS GRIFFITHS

Oh, I do hope so Mae. I do hope so. Goodbye for now then.

         FIRST VOICE

Mr. Griffiths makes his way up past Salt Lake Farm and along Goosegog Lane, filled with the scents and colours of early Summer's blooms.

         SECOND VOICE

Anemones, bluebells, pansies, harebells, and tansies, and poppies and blackthorns, primroses, yellow celandines, (both lesser and greater), burdock, mallow, and rue. Lilacs, lilies, orchids, daisies, marigolds, wild roses, hyacinths, freesias, buttercups, sweet peas, hawthorns and larkspurs, cowslips, buckwheat, heather, sorrel, and zinnias, meadowsweet, broom and oak. The hedgerows, meadows, and copses are a chromatic plethora of perfumed petals such as bore Blodeuedd, the fairest creation of Gwydion and Math.

         FIRST VOICE

In the days that follow, the new green leaves of Rhys Griffith's note book are quickly filled out and spread with his observations. The tongues of the small town's gossips wag behind him, like the tails of so many spring lambs.


Picture was copied from Wikipedia on 20th April 2022.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Boathouse_-_geograph.org.uk_-_461239...