managed to recreate an imaginary, paradise world among the trees and wild-flowers of Plas Gelli-Wig after my parents had gone to live in that old mansion. All things considered, although I shouldn't wish anyone else to be an only child if it were possible for him to belong to a larger family, I had the kind of childhood for which I shall be grateful for as long as I live. The contrast between holiday and work, between Wales and England, between school and home, was so complete, so black-and-white, that it made me regard Welsh-speaking Wales in that period of my life as if it were heaven on earth. But, alas, everyone has to put away childish things sooner or later, and that's what I did in coming face to face with the facts about Wales for the first time at the University College of Bangor. That was the beginning of the disenchantment, probably.
Fy Nghymru I (gol. R. Gerallt Jones, Gwasg Gee, 1961)
One of the great occasions of my life was the day I was allowed to go to the hiring fair at Llangefni for the first time.
I set out early on a May morning in the year 1909 in the hope of finding a place for myself. I strode like a two-year-old foal through Rhostrehwfa, delighted to be looking forward to the day that was about to dawn when I should be allowed to wear corduroy trousers, bell-bottoms and London yorks, with shining buckles and the straps fastened on the outside in a curly link at both knees. Many an old inhabitant of Rhos looked pityingly at my small, puny build, unable to believe that I was ready to go out into the world, and Mary Price the Coal tried to persuade me to look for something better than serving farmers. But there was nothing could stand in the way of my determination to be able one day to follow a pair of well-fed horses from headland to headland, turning the peaty bog of Morfa Deugae into long furrows ready for sowing.
There was nothing for it but to walk every step of the way, of course, and the three miles to town was nothing to us in Llangristio-