Hiraeth, Hedgehog & The River

Last week I watched Cymru O’r Awyr (Wales From The Air) and was hit by such a hard attack of hiraeth that I had to take myself out of the house.

It wasn’t just hiraeth. 

It was not having been away from home and out in open countryside for such a long time: to be out in nature rather than suburbia with its constant background hum of traffic and human activity. 

The a realisation that it’s been a very long time since I heard people speak in the accents I was brought up with. 

And a fear it might be a very long time before I hear them again, outside a tv programme.

I put on Phil’s (RIP) old anorak that still hangs behind the back door, got a torch, and went and sat under the bower at the back of the garden.

I thought nobody had heard me but …

After a little while the loft velux window opened and Thunderthighs’ voice drifted down

“Are you all right Mum?”

To lie or not to lie? 

I always promised myself I’d speak truthfully to my children, however hard it might be.

“Not really luv, I’ve just been watching a programme Cymru O’r Awyr, Wales From The Air, and all the pictures of green open countryside and sea, and poetry in Welsh, and the music have made me feel so homesick … I’ll be all right in a little while.  Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thanks sweetheart, you get to sleep.”

The velux closed.

It was a warm windy night but even so I could hear rustling in the foliage and then the distinct sound of lapping.

A hedgehog was visiting again and taking refreshment from frogpond#2; which is hidden in nettles, lupins, evening primrose and other tall flowers.

When the lapping stopped and the rustling started again I lit the torch and crept up to check on the hedegehog’s size and health.

I think it was the same one I’ve seen before.

It’s about the size of my foot, looking quite fat and, although it stood still, seemed unperturbed.

I said “Good evening hedgepig” politely and went back in, much cheered.

Last night Thunderthighs came into the living room as I was about to watch Tywi-Yr Afon Dywyll, an S4C programme about the river Towy. 

My home valley river. 

The one we meant when anyone said “down the river.”

The river my father, uncle, grandfather, great-grandfather, doctor and village school master used to fish. 

The one we swam in in summer, walked by in winter and still walk by in imagination and dreams. 

The one OldestBestFriend and I used to try and ford in our wellies, with water coming in through the string holes at the back, despite her mother’s instruction to go nowhere near the river.

Thunderthighs accepted my invitation to watch it with me.

It was in Welsh with subtitles and much more of a nature documentary than Cymru O’r Awyr, with some subtle comments about conservancy and farming pollution.

When it was over Thunderthighs looked at me and asked

“Are you going to have to retire to the bower again?”

I didn’t.