I arrived at the party uninvited. Well that’s not strictly true, because three hours ago I was, but that was before the argument! I remember a lot of screaming and shouting and then a door slammed on my face.

     ‘Fine,’ I shouted from the driveway and stormed off in my car.  A dumb party it was going to be anyway, with Jen’s so called psychic friends.

     ‘We’re having a séance and I doubt you’d be interested!’ Jen had said a few days ago. ‘It’s for All Hallows Eve! Being a none-believer I think its best you don’t come. ’

      ‘Prove me wrong!’ I replied, ‘and let’s see if any spirits turn up for the party. That would be a laugh!’ In the end she agreed to let me come but as long as I kept my mouth shut! But then earlier, when I called round to see her on the way back from work, we argued again. She reminded me of how different we were and that we should think again about moving to into a flat together.

      ‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ she said without looking at me, ‘we should wait a bit longer!’

       I asked her why and she wouldn’t answer so I kept on and on until she did.

       ‘I don’t trust you Alan,’ she said slowly, turning her head to look at me. ‘I need more time.’

       I was shocked! Blown away in fact! She was hiding something from me, I was sure about that. Oh, I’m no angel admittedly but heck, what man doesn’t get tempted now and again?

      Jen and I met when we were four. Almost from the beginning we had a turbulent relationship. I went out with quite a few girls before she decided to give me a try. I guess her avoidance of me made me want her even more! We’ve been together almost three years now but split up some time back when she accused me of having an affair. I was drunk at the time and was hardly in control but she found out and for awhile we separated. But we got back together and I thought things were going well until today when she decided we have nothing in common.

      Well let’s see what happens tonight. If she lets me in and I see spirits sitting at the dinner table with us then I will become a believer and then we will have something in common!

       ‘Hi! Are you going to the party too?’

      I turned to see who was there and saw the most beautiful girl ever! Except for Jen of course!

      ‘I must say you do look the part, I didn’t want to look too scary,’ she giggled girlishly and I almost fell over. I didn’t recognise her from any of Jen’s friends but come to think about it I hardly know any of them.

      ‘Are you a believer?’ Why did I say that? Stupid bloody question!

      She giggled again. ‘I wasn’t but I was proved wrong!’

      I wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about and I certainly didn’t realise it was a fancy dress.

      We were standing on the edge of Jen’s drive. The door opened and there she was inviting someone in. I waved but didn’t move. She looked in my direction but ignored me and closed the door............

To be continued tomorrow!

Many years ago when the harvest season ended and winter began, in homes across the county, places were set at the dinner table to welcome the souls of the dead. This ritual was performed one night every year and became known as All Hallows Eve....Halloween!

     On All Hallows Eve, church bells could be heard across Europe for the souls in purgatory. Dressed in black, criers would parade the streets whilst ringing a bell of woeful sound and shouting for Christians to remember the poor souls. In Poland, believers would trek through the forests, praying aloud, so the souls of the dead might be comforted. And as far back as the 15^th century, poor people and children would knock on doors on All hallows Eve to collect soul cakes in exchange for prayers for the dead.

       As a child, I can remember quite well the goings on at our home on Halloween. Soup would be simmering beside the fire and a bowl of water filled with apples would be placed on the table. Then, with our hands kept behind our back, we would dunk our faces into the water and try to bite into an apple. I hated this game, especially if a few people played and everyone was laughing and spitting in the water, ugh! It was enough to put me off apples forever...but it didn’t!

        And so for Halloween I shall write a spooky tale. But for now, nos da, goodnight!

I shall light the fire and sit in the old armchair besides it. Though the hour is late, you may sit in the chair opposite me but be careful not to sit on the cat.

      Shall I talk to you about the animals that live in our home for waifs and strays? Or shall I tell you a tale about the characters that live in Gusty Gully? If you’re in the mood for music then we could sing-along with the old guitar leaning against the piano. Or perhaps you would like to listen to some classical music or read poetry from one of the books on the shelf behind you.

      On an evening like this, when I want to escape from the world, I like to read poetry by Lord Alfred Tennyson. He was born in 1809 and died in 1892 and during that time he wrote ‘The Lady of Shalott’, an old ballad and one of my favourites. If you don’t mind, then I shall read it to you, though I shall shorten it a little.

       So get yourself comfortable and please use the blanket on the arm of your chair if you’re cold. I shall put another long on the fire and begin.

       Close your eyes and imagine an island castle on a river that flows to Camelot. The mysterious Lady of Shalott lives alone in the castle and although many people pass by the river, no-one ever sees her. However, people working in the fields close by often hear her singing an eerie song.   

       The story tells of a curse being put on the Lady of Shalott and she must never look out of the window. So, instead, she watches people through a mirror as she weaves a magic web.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
           To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
           The Lady of Shalott.

        One day, the image of Sir Lancelot appears in the mirror and the Lady of Shalott is completely captivated. She breaks the rules and peers out of the window and sees Camelot and Sir Lancelot. The mirror cracks and she knows that she is doomed.  

        And so she leaves the tower and finds a boat to take her down the river to Camelot. But first, she writes her name on the boat, should anything happen to her then people would know who she was.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
    She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
    The Lady of Shalott

        She dies, before arriving at the palace of Camelot. And among the ladies and knights that see her lying in her boat, is Sir Lancelot...

"Who is this? And what is here?"

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they crossed themselves for fear,

All the Knights at Camelot;

But Lancelot mused a little space

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."

Goodnight!

 In memory of my dearest friend and all the hours we spent together reading poetry by the fire! I miss you!

Complete with a picnic basket and a car full of friends, I headed off to Swansea Grand Theatre to celebrate the 100^th birthday of Dylan Thomas.

      For three hours, we were wrapped in a story telling blanket and whisked away to Dylan Thomas land. Indeed, it was almost as if Dylan himself was wrapped in the blanket with us. Incredible!

       Being in love with two women at the same time was something Dylan knew much about. It is no secret that Pearl Kazin was Dylan’s lover and for the first time ever, a letter he wrote to her was read out in public. A letter he wrote to Caitlin was also read out in which he declared his love for her also. But we had come to celebrate his work and his birthday, and not to judge him on a past that mimics the lives of so many other people in this world.

       Still wrapped in our story telling blanket, we listened to the works of Dylan Thoams, read by Sir Ian McKellen, Ruth Madoc, Roy Noble, Gillian Clarke, Jeff Towns, Jonathon Pryce, Sian Phillips, Colin Charvis, Sharon Morgan, Kate Fahy, The Wales Theatre Company and South Wales Evening Post Readers, Sarah Lowes and Emma Hardy. All in all, it was a magical evening. Well done everyone!

Son of the Sea, Dylan Thomas, was just 39 years old when he died. This well known poet, who would have been 100 years old tomorrow, was born in Cwmdonkin Park, Swansea, on October 27^th 1914 and died in New York on the 9^th November 1953.

    It was just a couple of days ago that I told you about the medieval Welsh manuscript and the story of The Mabinogion. Well, Dylan’s father named his son after Dylan ails Don, a character from the story.

     Famous for his works, Under Milk Wood, And death shall have no dominion and Do not go gently into that good night, to name just a few, have been read all around the globe! But my favorite has always been A Child’s Christmas in Wales, I guess because this rather nostalgic story is from a young child’s point of view and reflects on times gone by that were much simpler and more romantic somehow. Here is a sample of that story.

"One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six." From A Child's Christmas in Wales

     I am so looking forward to listening to three hours of Dylan’s work being read out by various actors and narrators (Melissa Berry included) at Swansea Grand Theatre tomorrow, to mark his 100^th birthday. They’ve been at it all day today and it doesn’t end until tomorrow at 11pm, mustn’t forget to take a picnic!