Poem Oggle | Paul Tristram

Paul was born at the old Neath General hospital in the Summer of 1970.
He lived in Skewen until the age of 10 and attended both Coedffranc Infants and Coedffranc Junior Schools.

Paul and his family then moved to the Melyn where Paul spent his adolescence. Paul attended Cwrt Sart Comprehensive School, where one teacher commented,

“Paul’s always looking out of the window in a world of his own!”

His early childhood was spent in the woods and mountains of Skewen, Paul being an avid learner and lover of nature, while his teenage years were spent amongst the street corner gangs of The Melyn. These two worlds, factor largely in his writing and influence it enormously, giving it a great depth.

A connection was made with his natural, living surroundings in the woods of the Vale of Neath as a boy, where now as a full grown man Paul states,

"I can almost feel Neath beat beneath my feet when I tread her streets and back lanes".

At the age of 18 years Paul wrote his first poem,

“It kinda just slipped out!” is his explanation.

After this he continued writing and became a Welsh Gypsy in his early 20’s, travelling all over Britain, seeking inspiration and adventure, always carrying a little green nugget of the Vale of Neath around in his soul with him, and returning whenever he could.

Paul has written over 1300 poems, with half of these published or accepted for publication in over a hundred different publications in nine countries (So far!) across the world, as well as writing numerous short stories and sketches.

Paul has finished a first novel called ‘Kicking Back Drunk’ and also a manuscript of short stories, for which he is seeking a publisher.

But Paul's first love is poetry and a saying he coined is,

“Every experience, good or bad, is excellent food for poetry, it’s the mundane that needs to be avoided, always!”

At the end of 2012, Paul got married to Ally Tristram at Lake Tahoe in California, not bad for a Melyn Boy!

With 2013 just starting Paul is looking forward with optimism and excitement to his future.

He remembers walking through Victoria Garden’s in Neath when he was around seven years old, holding onto his Mam’s hand and pointing at the statue of Howel Gwyn and asking.

“Mam, who’s that and why’s he there then?”

“Oh, I don’t know boy, someone famous probably, done something good for Neath I bet?” she answered.

“They’ll put me there one day mam, you watch!” said Paul.

“Will they now then?” she replied shaking her head.

“Hurry up, you daft sod before we miss the Caewathan bus!”

Paul Tristram 2013

Nana’s Apples

When I was but a child before the age of ten
my Nana lived across the road from us.
In the Summertime me and my brother
would call in there whilst playing in the street.
She would always be in her kitchen
and would greet us with a thick Welsh accent

“Hiya boys, do you fancy a bit of apple, then?”

She was a strong, powerful woman
not just physically but in character also.
She would walk to the fruit bowl on the table
and fetch back a single green apple.
I’d whisper under my breath to my brother

“Watch her face, she won’t even flinch!”

She would rip that apple in half in one go
with no sign of effort or strain at all
and always completely down the middle.

“Imagine that apple was your head, mun!”

I would tease my brother as we walked out
through the backdoor chomping on apple.

Years later I was drinking with a girl
and I was telling her about my Nana’s apples,
she went to the kitchen and got 2 red ones
and tried to get me to try it myself.
I told her that there was no way in hell,
that I was 37 years old and if I couldn’t
I’d never be able to forgive myself as a man.
So she had a try and failed to do it!
And I bet my Nana was looking down
from her big kitchen in the sky
making Welsh pasties and watching it all
with a big old smile upon her face.

Up In The Curtains

When I was a boy of about 6 or 7 years old
I lived up the top of Cwrt-Y-Clafdy in Skewen.
There was this kid a year or two younger than me
who I remember vividly on one unique occasion.

I’m not sure if he was a bit slow in the head or not?
because we were so young and kids can be strange.
I never saw him playing in the street like other boys
until one day he came running out of his house
laughing and so excited that his face was red and tearful.

He had a 45 record in his hand and he stopped
in the middle of the street and shouted with a squeal

“Max Boyce, Up In The Curtains!”

Then he threw the record high up into the air
and jumped up and down excited and laughing
as it fell down and smashed to smithereens upon the road.

Then he ran back into the house like a whippet
and came straight back out with another record
where he repeated the very same action as before
except this time he shouted with a squeal

“The Beatles, Up In The Curtains!”

I was sat on the curb opposite watching and smiling,
he must have done this for 20 minutes before stopping.
I guess he’d gone through his Mam’s entire record collection?

I never remember seeing him again out in the street
but I still think of him sometimes nearly 30 odd years later.

Now that boy might have been a bit slow upstairs
he might have been crazy or just an excitable young fellow?

But he was definitely the happiest child in the street that day.

Poetry submitted for Valentines Day 2013

Thank you Paul

Tonight We Fly!

Together in tenderness
married by a kiss.
Floating like a whisper
upon a breeze of bliss.
Born unto the universe
children of the night.
To roam God's graveyard
spirits hungry for flight.

Beneath a cloak of wishes
I wish for you no more.
As we step away from sanctuary
through the nights velvet door.
I echo you with laughter
I share you with a smile.
Along the road of daydreams
we enjoy every mile.

Transfixed to delirium
addicted to the chase.
with purple wings of wonder
I eject sobriety's slow pace.
Eager for the adventure
promised within your eyes.
I circle squares of reason
to where your passion lies.

The stars beckon us skywards
normality waves farewell.
As we leave behind the nightmare
of this living hell.
Souls winged and ready
eager to break free.
Civilization's Changelings
re-shaping our destiny.

Hold on to the dreams
for tonight we fly.
On the tail of the impossible
invincible you and I.
This is no flight of fancy
we're higher than the sky.
Past the moon milestones
yes, tonight we fly!

She Dances Like A Daydream

Shining with emerald
from the trees she came.
Stepping out into the daylight
while the sun tried to shine the same.
She radiated a nectar of sweet soundless music
that danced lovingly with the breeze.
A dazzling shower of diamonds appeared
a cloud had gone weak at the knees.
Perfection hungrily clutched at her body
while beauty laid claim to her face.
As she danced just like a daydream
my emotions won the race.

The Blind Music Teacher And Her Wood

She sat there surrounded by sound,
her slender fingers caressing ivory.
Her help had gone, she was alone
apart from the cats in the library.
She smiled as notes tickled her chin
and the melody kissed at her head.
They were now the only colours she knew,
her eyesight had been 20 years dead.
But no more lessons to teach today,
no more children to get in her way.
With piano keys quivering ready
her contentment came out to play.
As her hands worked away happily
she smiled with a blushing face.
Remembering her childhood sweetheart
her heart and soul began to race.
What she wouldn't give to hold him
to be held close in his warm embrace.
As her thoughts turned to daydream,
the music changed and slowed pace.
She stopped, rose, climbed the stool,
crawled onto the smooth piano top.
Threw her dress down onto the floor
and waited for the dizziness to stop.
Naked, she lay upon the cold surface,
the polished wood watched her weep.
She cringed, clawed and softly cried
then drifted slowly off to sleep.

Photographs Are So Precious

Photographs are so precious
when they are all that remain.
Photographs are so precious
if you will not see her again.
The mind it can play tricks
but pictures keep the truth.
And if you doubt your memory
you will always have the proof.

Photographs are so precious
in them our children always play.
Photographs are so precious
in them loved ones always stay.
So collect and keep them safe
itâ€™s wrong to set them burning.
For if death takes your love
thereâ€™s a target for your yearning.

Photographs are so precious
dig yours out and have a look.
Photographs are so precious
keep them safely in a book.
Lay your family on the table
count all the smiling faces.
A photograph is a passageway
back to those happier places.

Weather-Proof Smile

With my weather-proof smile
I face the brand new day.
I awoke with optimism
which is not normally my way.
Through the storm of conversation
I grin like a Cheshire Cat.
Though you verbally attack
I feel no need to react.
My face beams insanely
as your comic misery grows.
It is strange that my happiness
should annoy and anger you so?

© Paul Tristram 2010

This Body Is A Burden

This body is a burden
it weighs my soul down.
The face has been set
to almost constantly frown.
My mind is trapped within
this cell of skin and bone.
Stuck in this container
my contentment has flown.
Away across the rooftops
far up where the sun burns.
As I wait here tied down
until at last it is my turn.

Â© Paul Tristram 2010

Isn't The Sand Colder Head Height Down? (Haiku)

Jesus Christ, it can get lonely,
some days there are
rows and rows of them.

© Paul Tristram 2006

I Loved You Like

I loved you like'
five minutes of rain in the Summer
I loved you like'
the first bit of icing on the cake.
I loved you like'
a happy child's permanent Christmas
I loved you like'
a heart fit to break.
I loved you like'
tears shed by happiness
I loved you like'
children love to like ice-cream.
I loved you like'
a favourite bit of a movie
I loved you like'
the most beautiful daydream.
I loved you like'
the bit you save until last
I loved you like'
the first drink of the week.
I loved you like'
my first ever penknife
I loved you like'
Jesus loves the meek.
I loved you like'
a painter loves true light
I loved you like'
every best thing in the past.
I loved you like'
night time bonfires and fireworks
I loved you like'
being eighteen at last.

Choose

Don't you want to do something
are you happy on your own?
Have you lost all ambition
or is it now to rot alone?
Taking the easy way out
makes life harder in the end.
Taking the easy way out
will drive you around the bend.

Don't let them drag you down
for then you cannot fail.
The future's waiting outside
go and grab it by the tail.
Take one day at a time
treat it like it's your last.
Look forward into greener pastures
instead of living in the past.

Only you can help yourself
only you can let yourself lose.
You can either smile in victory
or sit at home with the blues.
I know that times are hard
that it's a struggle to survive.
But you have never truly lost
as long as you are still alive.

You are never going to win
if you are willing to lose.
Stand tall or fall
it's your choice, so choose?
But please pick carefully
it's harder with each defeated try.
Push your mind through the storms
out into turquoise skies.

© Paul Tristram 2010

No Stepping Stones

There are no stepping stones
only leaps of faith.

© Paul Tristram 2006

Build Again Properly

Only one pair of hands at the wheel
my life is now my own to guide.
To stoke up the fire of contentment,
to feel the warmth glow inside.
To get myself on the right track,
to set my future in the right lane.
To rise up out of the confusion,
time to see clearly once again.
To work upon foundations of granite,
to wear a happy smile upon my face.
It is time to build again properly
in a far brighter and sunny place.

© Paul Tristram 2006

And Then There's Rain

I walk this night on my own
yet I am happy in my solitude.
Weaving in and out of thought
watching the starry magnitude.
It is so peaceful and quiet
far different from the day.
Where people scurry like ants
and always get in your way.
Tonight my soul is contented
I feel like I've had good news.
Yet, no such thing has arrived
it's just a lifting of the blues.
It is so warm for November
such a strange, beautiful night.
Then suddenly it starts raining
and everything is now alright.
I love to walk in the rain
it seems to cleanse everything.
I tilt my face up to the sky
feel it running down my chin.
One more mile in this I think
before I turn and head for home.
The beach is there before me
night's a perfect time to roam.

© Paul Tristram 2010

The Pleasure Of A Pint

On a sunny, summer afternoon
there is nothing better to do.
Than to go down to the pub
and enjoy a cold pint or two.
Just relax in the beer garden
and talk with a good friend.
Sit and stay there happily
until your mood starts to mend.
It's time for some laziness
a time to just sit around.
It's too warm to go sweeping
or for digging up the ground.
Relish the pleasure of a pint
until your heart beams a grin.
Share a joke with a friend
then go get another round in.

Silent Night

It is night time which brings it
this welcome cloak of quietness.
To smooth out all the creases
made by a day of stressfulness.
I really should now be sleeping
though I cannot reject this calm.
For today I nearly buckled under
headache ringing like an alarm.
Yet, here surrounded in quietness
my batteries they slowly recharge.
So at daybreak, fully refreshed
I can go face the world at large.

My Grampa, Glyn 'Big Tex' Roberts Sayings, Part 1

When the soles have worn of my shoes
I'll soon be back on my feet again.

My Grampa, Glyn 'Big Tex' Roberts Sayings, Part 2

If you have 3 good meals a day
and a little bit of supper
you wont go far wrong.

The Meeting

Many coloured, painted caravans
Broke through the grey, Beltane sky.
Above the first weather-beaten caravan
The tame jackdaws and ravens did fly.
A gathering of the many gypsy families
Was once again about to take place.
The travellers headed for a clearing
Where they had been saved a space.
They un-harnessed their weary horses
Give the dogs their food and water.
Then over to the giant roaring fire
Strolled each gypsy, son and daughter.
Some had little monkeys on their shoulders
Some, pet rats that peeped from pockets.
But everyone within this great clearing
Wore jewelled rings, chains and lockets.
There were barrels of wine, casks of ale
Wild hog and deer roasting upon the fire.
The breeze carried the singing and tambourine
Down over mother nature's wild shire.
Old friendships were happily renewed
Long unseen families were reunited.
All around this gypsy filled clearing
Love and respect there could be sighted.
The newcomers received meat and bread
And a flagon to wash it all down.
Happiness and cheer was plain to see
Within the faces of weather-stained brown.
Small gifts were kindly exchanged
Of rare materials like satin and silk.
Of precious golden loop earrings
Ivory bracelets the colour of milk.
Then there was time for another flagon
A foot stamping jig and a song.
The newcomers embraced and joined in
With the ever colourful, dancing throng.
Soon the drinking started to take effect
Soon the music started to have its way.
And beneath the glorious, silver moonlight
There the gypsies would dance and sway.
It had been a very long, hard journey
For all to get here safe and sound.
Soon the sight of many resting people
Could be seen huddled upon the ground.
Some made it back to their caravans
While others just stayed where they lay.
When dawn spread down across the land
No one was awake to greet the new day.

In The Company of Friends

As some Gypsies stepped out of caravans
Others began to rise up from the grass.
While they all recovered from yesterday
They let the morning slowly pass.
Each now blurry-eyed and foggy-headed
They walked over to the dying fire.
While children who had met new friends
Let their singing grow excitedly higher.
After a wooden bowl or two of soup
A swallow of wine, some bread and cheese.
The weather-beaten faces brightened
They all began to smile again with ease.
The conversation started in earnest
To the flow of wine which had no end.
As each travellers heart rose again
To be in the company of friends.
To the many tales of distant roving
There were many hearty cheers and shouts.
Of catching Northern, snow white rabbits
The giant Southern, finger tickled trout.
Some had been caught as poachers
Others had been locked up as thieves.
Some had wandered to hermit like places
To roam through the untouched forest leaves.
Then a few stood up to get firewood
As the women prepared the giant dinner.
The smell of food rose around the camp
In many eyes the wine began to glimmer.
Potatoes wrapped in leaves in the embers
Biscuits baking upon hot flat stones.
Pheasant, partridge, hare and duck
All sizzling nicely upon the bone.
The food dished up hot and steaming
Was eaten with much pleasure.
To wash it down more flagons of ale
Skins of wine to drink at leisure.
The youngsters played hide and seek
While teenagers strolled off a courting.
The elders drunkenly arm wrestled
There was plenty of sweat and sporting.
The festivities once again in full swing
Music could be heard all around.
The horses shook their heads in rhythm
While the dogs howled to the sound.
The old could not join in the jig
So they joined in with a handclap.
Even mothers suckling babies
Sat there letting their feet tap,
Once again the hours passed quickly
The night it began to grow old
As some went off to their caravans
Others cuddled to keep off the cold.

A Fond Farewell

The third day of the gathering
Was the last for another year.
There was regret in the faces
But in no eye was there a tear.
For these were travelling gypsies
They lived their lives upon the road.
Two strong horses were all they needed
To pull their caravan abode.
They were destined to move on along
They had all been born to roam.
From their very first living breath
Every hill and valley was home.
There were always new places to go
There were always new places to see.
Always new rivers to swim in
New beaches to comb by the sea.
For if you have ever journeyed
Along a woodland, rambling path.
You will know it's the only place
To hear a gypsy happily laugh.
They look uncomfortable in a village
They look unhappy in city or town.
They need to be out in the country
Within the trees of green and brown.
There was no singing this last morning
Only talk of the next gypsy gathering.
Also where they may pass upon the road
While they were all about travelling
The horses were once again harnessed
The dogs fed the left over scraps.
The women exchanged new recipes
While bouncing babies in their laps.
The men stood about smoking pipes
Wile studying the days weather.
The youngsters ran back from the fields
With bundles of good luck heather.
Hands were clasped, kisses exchanged
By friends both old and new.
Overhead the tame jackdaws and ravens
Circled, wheeled and flew.
A fond farewell was wished by all
As the caravans started to roll by.
We must now leave this gathering of gypsies
Let's wish them all a good luck goodbye

The Lights Of Port Talbot's Steel Works

When I see the lights of Port Talbot's steel works
at night on the left hand side of the M4
I know that my travelling is nearly at an end
and that I will soon be home at last.
Just past Baglan and into Briton Ferry,
through the Melyn and into Neath Town Centre.
The familiarity is very soothing
It is so weird and wonderful
to instinctively belong somewhere.
I never feel this rhythm in any other place.
Itâ€™s like I can feel the blood pumping in her veins
as each footstep connects us back together once again.

© Paul Tristram 2012

Welsh Girl

I slid beneath her Welsh skirt
And felt her leaves uncoil,
I watched a rare beauty,
This Welsh girl beneath this Welsh boy.
I tremble with a passion,
A punch every kiss she sealed.
I defy all nations
Because we have all that we need.

Bar Room Drawl

As a young boy I would love walking
around town in the summer
past the pubs with their doors open.
The smell of beer wafting out
onto the warm Neath pavement.
To hear the voices, the singing,
the laughter, the shouts and swearing
from deep in the smoky darkness.
It used to make me smile
and give me a strange yearning.
I would stop and inhale deeply
trying to listen to the tone of each voice,
hoping to hear a grown up Tristram
amongst them.
These pubs were the dens and the caves
where my heroes hung out
they were full of pirates and highwaymen.
I would give a nod of respect
to the darkened doorway
then I would walk on up Windsor Road.
Each footstep a little closer to adulthood
when my own voice would be heard
in amongst that wonderful and colourful
Welsh bar room drawl.

The Ivy Tower

I love to see The Ivy Tower,
up on top of that mountain
on a full mooned night.
Overlooking The Vale Of Castell-Nedd
It draws the eyesight powerfully,
It is very medieval and magical.
Taking you back in time
with just a cold Winterâ€™s glance.
Rather than your mobile phone,
your laptop and your ipod
there should instead be a sword
strapped onto your back.
An oaken staff to help you
trudge past the graveyard of Llantwit.
Home to your two roomed cottage
and loving wife with baking-stone.
Back comes the past into the present
whenever up to The Ivy Tower
my eyesight it does stray.

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

Aye, just a cheap day return, Diolch yn fawr iawn

The Trout Of Ponty's Bistro

It was Valentine day's evening
when they got him.
They came in team-handed
through the front doors
and the back kitchen.
The romantic atmosphere
dissolved and seemed
ridiculous in seconds.
It was no fault of the customers,
yet the dining couples
looked table length
at each other,
over the tops of the red roses,
in embarrassment.
They found it in the fish.
3 kilos of heroin
in 1 ounce parcels.
They remanded him in Swansea
until the court case,
then they put him in Cardiff
and finally in Dartmoor.
the Bistro's now a chip shop
where last Valentine's day
we got ourselves two portions
of cod in batter, chips
and two cans of soft drinks
for £6.00.
Lovely.

Juju (The Melyn Dog)

She is a small brown Terrier dog
with a little black, goatee beard.
Do not mention the word ‘Ginger’
she’s more strawberry blonde, you hear!
Chases her tail like a spinning-top
if you tried, it would make you so sick.
But she does not believe in dizziness
only in fetching balls and sticks.
She believes she is the size of a horse?
and of course she owns the street!
But now it is time for her walk
she’s running rings around my feet.

I Wonder What The Weather Is Like In Wales Today?

I wonder what the weather
is like in Wales today?
Is sun bleaching the valleys
or is it raining and grey?
Are families off to the Mumbles
to the many different beaches?
Or huddled around the fireplace
where the cold never reaches?
In England there is an Indian Summer
fair weather is still alive and well.
But I wish that I was in Wales
be it cold or as hot as Hell.

The Mad Monk Of Neath Abbey

“Hello, this is the Samaritans,
could you please give me your name,
at least your christian name,
so I can have something to call you by?”

“I am the Mad Monk of Neath Abbey
and I have been dead for 200 years.”

“Really, could you tell me the name
and surgery of your CPN, please?”

“Look, I just want to talk,
my job is boring, I can’t seem to
frighten anyone anymore.
People don’t seem to see me
and if they do, they let off
rape alarms in my face.
The grave I guard has a
LOSE WEIGHT TODAY
flyer stuck on it.”

“Are you on any medication, sir
and are you contemplating
abusing your medication?”

“Medication is probably
a big part of my problem.
I mean everybody’s taking it.
They are accustomed to seeing
far more scary things than me.
as for the youngsters
dressed as Punks and Goths
they intimidate me,
I don’t stand a chance.”

“You are obviously feeling very confused
and fragile, would you like the number
of a duty CPN,
there are 2 working tonight?”

“I still have 300 years left
of walking the same ground,
I think I am losing my mind?”

“If you will not let me
help you sir, then there
is nothing I can do for you.
I suggest you phone your
doctor’s surgery tomorrow
morning just before 9am
to book an appointment.
I have other callers waiting,
goodbye.”

“Jesus Christ!”

Drummau Mountain

In the shadow of this Welsh mountain I was born
into Cwrt-Y-Clafdy and dirty kneed infant days.
Down by the Three Arches to play at being soldiers
or pirates behind Jubilee Crescent at the subway.
Over to Jeffrey's Stores for chocolate and sweets,
the Highland chip shop for salt and vinegar crispies.
Up Denever Road to Pope's to meet up with Dad
over to Cresci's to have some ice-cream for tea.
Then across the Tip to meet with all of the boys
and to go looking for caves in the mountainside.
Making secret dens in amongst all the green ferns
just big enough for all of our outlaw gang to hide.
I remember the three big wooden crosses at Easter
up on Drummau Mountain would fill me with awe.
We would spend the school holidays scrambling up
and down it, for that's what mountains are made for.

Closed Down The Mines

Wales it was once a thriving place
when the miners were mining coal.
I'm sorry to say it's not thriving now
the miners are signing on the dole.
The future it is cast in shadows
the future is looking very forlorn.
When decent, hardworking, family men
have to leave where they were born.
You now have to move away from Wales
if you want to carry on mining.
Leaving your heart deep in the valleys
where your childhood memories keep shining.
They are splitting up whole communities
they've destroyed a Nations way of life.
They've taken all this, without a care
only giving back worry and strife.

Loose Stone Lizard Wall

I can still very clearly remember those days
those days of the loose stone lizard wall.
Each Summer holiday morning I'd sit waiting
for two or three of my young friends to call.
We would make our way across through Skewen
right the way down near to the canal path.
Speaking of strange and exciting adventures
along the Welsh back lanes we'd sing and laugh.
When we approached the bank before the wall
our eyes would search through the heather.
All of our talking had long since stopped
we'd walk up the bank as lightly as feathers.
When we were near to the wall we would see
the lizards just like lightning, quickly run.
We'd shout, fall and tear our Summer clothes
it was exciting when the chase had begun.
Sometimes we would come home with a lizard
but sometimes we would come away with none.
It didn't matter, we'd be happy either way
we'd always return filthy, dirty from our fun.
But now I have grown up, I have become a man
I no longer belong down at the lizard wall.
Yet I wonder if one day I'll watch my son
sat eagerly waiting for his friends to call.

The Army Of The Welsh Wild Boar

Down the hillside we run
a thousand feet side by side.
War paint of Welsh mud
mingled with wild rabbit hide.
The Dragon roars blood red
from each heart, soul and mind.
We will die to the very last
to keep alive our Nations kind.
The valley watches eagerly
as we soak her bones in blood.
Turn on heel, all Welsh foe
or feel the wrath of pride flood.
A Nation of Celtic warriors
strong, brave, wise and bold.
We shall die to the very last
for our young, weak and old.
So if you’re standing up before
the army of the Welsh Wild Boar.
Defeat will be your destiny
for we shall bow down no more.

WALES

W. Welsh is a pride, an instinct.
A. Always there, warm like your mam.
L. Love it, because its real.
E. Everyone will try to take it away from you.
S. So believe in yourself and your country.

The first thing any author, poetry or prose, needs is passion. Without passion there is no poet or writer.

Paul shows real passion for his mother country; it flows through his work here, a solid pride in the nation that gave him birth.

Paul depicts so well the 'hiraeth' that connects us all to the soil we sprung from. He depicts it naked here, unadorned and straight from his heart.

Neath Fair

In Early September we would be back in school
after the 6 week Summer Holidays
and then a week later the Fair would come to town.
The teacher would hand a ticket to each of us
in the class for a free ride of our choice
at the Fair on Wednesday evening.
There are 4 comprehensive schools in Neath, Cwrt
Sart, Dwr-y-Felin, Cefn Saeson and Llangatwg.
Each school had free tickets for a separate evening,
It was to try and stop us fighting, it did not work!
I would get home from school at 13 years old,
quickly change into my Fred Perry, burgundy sta-press
trousers, Doctor Martin boots and Crombie coat.
Then I would meet the boys at Stockhams Corner
where we would leave The Melyn via the subways
and head on up to the top of Windsor Road.
The whole town had suddenly changed,
every street in the middle of Neath was packed
with stall next to stall, on both sides of each street.
It looked like something out of a film, a Welsh rain-
soaked (It always rained at the Fair, it was the law!)
‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves’ a ‘Robin Hood’
or one of the old ‘Sinbad’ films of yesteryear.
My Grampa used to say that because of the stalls
Neath September Fair was the biggest in Briton.
I absolutely loved it, we would spend 2 or 3 hours
just wandering slowly around the street stalls
just saying “Hello” to the people who we recognised
and watching the sellers demonstrate the weird things
that they were selling, it was like watching Magicians.
They would have plastic cutting devices that would
chop, dice, juice and peel, fruit and veg in a flash.
They would have all kinds of miracle cleaners,
they would throw coffee and earth and red wine
all over a piece of carpet and then rub it in,
then they’d get some plastic piece of apparatus
and with a quick swipe left and right it would be clean.
There would be Gypsy Caravans wanting you
to cross their palms with silver for a fortune reading.
There would be a man with a beach towel worth £7,
(It was worth £7 because he told you so!)
But he wouldn’t sell you it for £7, that would be too easy,
He would hold up another towel worth £5
and stick that with the £7 towel, then add 3 £3 towels
Slap his hands together loudly and shout
“The whole lot for £5, I’m letting you rob me
but I’m a nice bloke, I can’t help it, £5 the lot missus,
We have 10 sets left, who wants a set?
you with the blonde hair and the beautiful smile
in the sky blue dress down the front, lovely?”
Then we would make our way over to the stalls
in The Angel Pub car park were they had a record stall
and I had excitedly bought my ‘Son Of Oi! album from.
With my new 33rpm Vinyl tucked under my arm
all that was needed now was for us all to get
a ‘Kiss Me Quick, Squeeze Me Slowly’ trilby hat
so everyone could tell that we were Melyn Boys
and out after the towns prettiest girls.
With a burger with onions and tomato ketchup in hand
we would walk on over to the actual fairground,
over in the massive car park past The Duke Pub
and across the road behind Neath Castle.
Where we would walk a circuit of the grounds twice,
watching the older boys shooting the guns to win
teddy bears for their girlfriends
and the young Mams and Dads trying to win goldfish
for the younger kids busily eating candy-floss and fudge.
Finally we would make our stand up on the Easy Riders
or the Waltzers, with our backs to the painted railings,
three or four of us sharing a single No. 6 cigarette.
Smoking like gangsters, whilst eyeing up the Cefn Saeson,
Dwr-y-Felin and Llangatwg girls stood smiling opposite.