13th sign magazine issue 1

Chapter 2 The bar was full, and the men, ale-fuelled and happy, were in fine voice. Owen sang along while serving and taking money. A strong baritone, his party pieces were ‘Men of Harlech’ and ‘Myfanwy’, and he did a very good, ‘Four and Twenty Virgins’ when the ladies weren’t about too.

Dafydd liked to sit on the stairs behind the bar that led up to the living area, and listen to the banter and jokes the men good naturedly roared at each other. Their rowdy, bawdy dialogue gave him a warm feeling of belonging, and when they sang he’d join in.

He felt truly at home amid the pungent miasma of cigarette smoke and the sweet odour of ale stained wood, and he liked to imagine himself running the bar, surrounded by his admiring friends and customers.

In his place on the stairs, with his half pint glass of beer, (“He’ll have to get used to it if he’s going to take over when I’m gone,” Owen had told Dafydd’s mother, winking theatrically when she turned away in disgust), Dafydd was in full voice when the old lady walked into the pub and cut the singing dead.

Standing up, he peeked around the corner to see what had caused the sudden silence, and gasped in horror at the sight of the gnarled, ancient hag, scowling at everyone with her one good eye.

“Who’s Mr Owen?” she asked loudly. Dafydd jumped when she spoke and the force of her heavily accented voice shook him.

“That’ll be me,” Owen said from around the corner. “Now you know I won’t serve you people, so tell me what you want and then leave please.”

The last word dripped with menace and Dafydd could imagine the grim set of granddad’s face when he spoke.

“Mr Owen, I’ve come about the horse,” she stated, matter of factly.

“What horse?” Owen answered, though he knew full well what she meant. Sergeant Harding had brought Dafydd home and tried to prise the name of the lad who threw the stone out of him.

“Look Dav,” Owen had said sternly. “I understand you’re only protecting your mates, but there’s a time and a place for that, and not here.”

“Tell us, lad, or it’ll come down heavy on you,” Ted Harding put in from the side, drawing an annoyed scowl from his granddad.

The thing was, Dafydd was sure that his granddad approved of him covering for his 63