Sorry Mum

"Put the burger down so we can fight gont Saison (English c***)"! It would and should be a funny demand under pretty much any other circumstances. This is Gwion, my nemesis from the the lovely Ysgol (school) Dyffryn Ogwen in Bethesda and he's standing, flanked on either side by his henchmen Dylan and Gareth. He hates me because I'm English and he's Welsh! He's a real nasty bit of work, the school bully and so full of hatred for anything English it's unreal, I really don't know how he carries it all around!  I don't mind Dylan as we've traded punches before and he at least has a modicum of respect for me. Gareth is only there because he's a follower, a sheep, when he's by himself he actually seems pretty sound but they will back Gwion up out of fear. 

Gwion's been waiting for this for a long time and I've walked right into his sneaky little ambush. He's got me and it's time to take the beating, I haven't got any intention of fleeing, even less of fighting back. It wouldn't happen under normal circumstances, I've been leading him a merry little dance for months and he hasn't the intelligence to catch me, but these are not normal circumstances and I'm not on my game.

It's a bleak, rain soaked night, dark and dreary, matching my mood. It's about 10pm and I'm walking home alone from the pub where my Dad is 'just having the last one' with the boys. I'm just going straight home, not even lifting my head since I visited the chip shop, I've got a lot on my mind and I didn't go through any of my normal checks and routines for getting home safely. So it's my fault really and I've got no intention of putting my burger down!! "Just do it Gwi", I make eye contact and see the hatred, real burning hatred for me, why? "I'm not fighting you, just do what you've been waiting to do". 

And he did, but he couldn't sustain it as I wouldn't fight back. Bullys' tend to enjoy the chase, enjoy you being scared and the power it gives them. If you take that away and show no fear, they don't really know what to do! And it wasn't that bad, a few punches in and I was actually relieved to be feeling something, some real pain that I could use to cry a few more tears. Not for him, not because of him, and not because of the bloody nose and split lip i had but because i needed to cry. Needed to cry and reflect and remember her, needed to mourn her. Gwion got bored pretty quickly,all his fun spoilt by my submission, and let me stagger off up the road crying, bleeding and still clutching that stupid burger...

Three weeks earlier:

It's beautiful. Once in a while Bethesda could really take your breath away. I'm boarding the coach and can pretty much see the whole valley bathing in sunshine and shimmering under its light. We're off on a school trip to Ironbridge, 'instigator of the industrial revolution'!! The beautiful green and plush mountainside on my left contrasts with the grey blue mountains of waste slate slag taken from the quarry on my right whilst straight ahead the road meanders up and between the two.

I'm in a pretty good mood and may even be smiling when I notice that she definitely is, smiling right at me! I have to check of course! I look around me, there's no one sat next to me (the benefits of being the English kid!) and check again. She shakes out her hair with a little flick and turns back, making eye contact and removing most of my doubts. That's Angharad, with wavy jet black hair, dimpled cheeks, kind and tumultuous eyes and an amazingly coy teasing smile which is directed at me. Wow! This is a whole new experience for me as I'm usually ducking and weaving my way through each school day just to avoid another fight. I have had a few girlfriends but I've never experienced this open show of desire that I'm experiencing right now. I brave another glimpse, Oh my... still there, still definitely looking at me. My heart literally skips a beat and the smile on my face is a strange new reflexive feeling for me as the coach stumbles and stammers its way through the Ogwen valley mountain range.

What a day it was, so memorable because of the contrast with what was to follow later but even with that it stood alone as great. I don't think I'd smiled so much in years, smiled and flirted (or tried to!). We followed each other around for most of the day, Angharad had her best friend with her for most of it but I didn't care. We chatted and smiled some more, the early summer sun warming our backs as we discussed teenage dilemmas and it was nice. I really wasn't used to nice, nice or normal were alien to me but if this was it then I'd happily take a whole lot more of nice!

We finished the tour of the old bridge and its' museum with a video and a talk thrown in! I honestly can't remember a thing about it because of the Angharad factor and we were so close by the end of the day that she sat next to me on the way home. I don't think we got as far as a kiss but the sweet innocence of the mutual attraction was more than enough to thrill me. We held hands, caressing and clasping each others. Entwining fingers and staring into each others eyes. We arrived back at the school and arranged to see each other the next morning, ahh young love! As we stepped off the coach though, I noticed Dad there waiting for me, that may not sound too strange I'm sure but it was. For starters the pub was open! He had a bag over his shoulder as well and a grim expression on his face. "It's your mum Roy, we gotta go". I never saw Angharad again.

I was taken to my grans house in Stratford upon Avon and taken straight to my mum's bedside. She looked like shit, understandably, and there wasn't much I could say or do to help. I just tried my best, I was still a bit shell shocked to be honest, hoping beyond hope that she would get better. I'd been told, Dad had explained that she wasn't going to last long, a few weeks at best. All I could do was give her a hug, a hug and a cry on your mums shoulder is so taken for granted by so many but not by me, not on that day.

It was a strange couple of weeks with family and friends coming and going, tears being shed and heartfelt conversation that mostly went over my head. We were all waiting, waiting for the innevitable but avoiding talking about it, A lot of people couldn't face my Mum, they wanted the memory of how she was to be the one to remember her by. Not the memory of this frail, weak and sickly woman, a shadow of her real self. I don't blame anyone that didn't come and I thank those that did. She was suffering so much as the bastard cancer tore through her body and systematically shut down her system that she really didn't care who came. There was no cure, no remedy and nothing anyone could do.

She was a nurse, and she was a good one. She was the Sister on her ward and got offered work out in Saudi Arabia which was well enough paid to tempt her away. She worked away for a few years and met a guy who came back to the UK with her to set up house. My sister was living with her having had enough of the poverty and neglect that came from living with Dad. Mum had been through a bout with cancer already and had a breast removed, she knew the score when it came back and she knew her days were running out.

I was never very fair to my mother. Always a burden to her as a child and always blaming her for leaving me. For leaving us. I was 5 then and had caused her nothing but grief with my rebellion and resentment in the 9 years since. But now she was dying, she was dying and it wasn't fair. I didn't hate my mum, I loved her. It's a fine line sometimes but the fact was I'd always loved her, loved and missed her as anyone in the same situation would. And now she was going to leave me again, leave all of us for good and all I wanted to do was make sure she knew I was sorry for the pain I'd caused her. That I'd forgiven her for leaving, that I understood.

I tried my best. I cried, I apologised and I hope she knew. I was holding her hand as she passed away. The time had come, she just wanted the pain to stop, emaciated and withered it was so hard to see her this way. As she took her last breath it was almost a relief for her, an end to the torture. I walked out of the house, tears streaming, head bowed. I got as far as the local shop and bought 10 fags... oh the irony Roy!

You can have good funerals. I mean they're never happy, never fun, but sometimes they are really good. I've been to shit ones where you turn up and some guy in a collar talks impersonally about someone they didn't even know telling you how god will accept and forgive them and that they will be remembered. I've been to funerals where the vicar got the name of the deceased wrong, not once but all the way through the ceremony!! Mums funeral though was a good one, it was one of the first I'd been to so I didn't appreciate it much at the time but the way it was done was beautiful. There where no strangers talking, just friends and family and in between there were songs, her songs. It was all about Mum from start to finish and a really lovely send off for such a lovely person.

The funeral finished and the next morning I headed home with Dad unsure of what was coming as there was talk of us moving to the midlands to be near or with my sister. We got back mid afternoon and headed for the pub. I wandered off a few times, down to my park and over to the spar for snacks and fags. I really wasn't in a sociable mood though and eventually had a word in dads ear. "Ok" he said, "here's a couple of quid, get yourself a burger on the way home"...