gether in Anglesey, mother of Wales, to enjoy one another's company. I don't want to dishearten you and cast a cloud over your natural good spirits, but before I close, let me make this dire appeal. I am sure there are quite a few people among you today who have influence and energy. Take a vow before you go from this place that it will never be through you or on your account that any Welsh- speaking man or woman becomes an exile in his or her own land, but that you will do everything you can to help stem and turn back the powers and influences that are bringing this situation about.
Llawlyfr Eisteddfod Genedlaethol Cymru ( 1983),
Pe Medrwn yr laith (Gol. Tony Brown a Bedwyr Lewis Jones, Christopher Davies, 1988)
Bryan Martin Davies
Only once have I had the astonishing experience of seeing a real fox cross my path, although I've met many a human fox in my day. It wasn't one evening in July, as in the sonnet by the Poet of Summer 1, 'the sun bright and unsetting' summoning us on to the mountainside. It was Christmas time, some two days before the festival, a sunny, frosty day in the 1950s, and three of us lads from the village were making for Cwm Afon Pedol, the valley that divides Mynydd y Crugau. There was quite a big lake in a natural basin of that river, where we used to swim in summer, stark-naked, with none save a few nosy sheep to watch us, and in winter we went there to skate.
As in the sonnet, the three of us were paralysed for a moment as we climbed, by the sudden flash of red lightning across the white path, so close to us. He didn't just stand there, as in the poem, and we didn't see 'the two unflickering flames of his eyes upon us', yet the incident was caught as surely as by any camera, and it remains in my memory to this day as one of the most cherished Christmas presents I ever had.
It's hard to explain, but the experience of seeing that fox on the mountain has come to represent for me the rural and Welsh element