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Fish in Swansea Bay
Sixty years ago today the village had a trip to Swansea Bay. I was too young to go without Mam. Just Billy could go.
“I’ll catch, for you”, he said “the biggest fish in Swansea Bay”. “I’ll hold it at the window, so be sure to meet the train”
and they crowded on the platform on that hot, sunny day. Mr Morgan with his black box camera Mrs Phillips with her baby dressed in lace The minister rallying the Sunday school, chasing and racing all over.
I whiled away that lonely day. Till I heard – not far away clashing of steel, grinding of wheel. I ran through the night – feet flying fast to see if the biggest ever fish was going passed.
The great train hissed to a grinding halt. And out of the grey, a single cornet started to play. No cheering, no laughter, no song.
Doors opened slowly. Tearstained cheeks stepped down from the train. Mr Morgan with his head hung low, Mrs Phillips clutched her baby very tight. The minister handed down each child.
All the while the cornet played I waited for Billy who never came.
If you ask people now they always say, ‘He’s catching fish in Swansea Bay.’