that they will, then it will be a proud day for Llanfair. Llanfair will then be the true Beddgelert.”
A man sitting a few rows from the back tried to stand up but was restrained by the people on either side of him. On one side of the podium, Evans-the-Meat attempted to catch Rev. Parry Davies’ attention. The minister saw him and cleared his throat, a trifle nervously.
“Our local butcher, Mr. Gareth Evans, has asked to be given the floor at this point. So I turn the meeting over to him.”
Evans-the-Meat leaped onto the stage. He looked quite different without his bloodstained apron. In a dark suit, with his hair slicked down, he came across as a person of substance and authority. “Fellow citizens of Llanfair,” he said grandly. “This is indeed a proud moment for us. All these years we’ve had to sit by and watch while other villages glorified in the great history of Wales. We’ve never had an eisteddfod, we’ve never been able to celebrate great battles or even legends from our Celtic past. But now we have the true resting place of Saint Celert, and I’m sure you join with me in wanting the rest of Wales to know about it. I therefore propose that we let the world know of our great discovery by changing our name officially to Llanfairbeddgelert.”
There was scattered applause and a few rowdy cheers from Barry-the-Bucket and his friends, who had already been in the Dragon since opening time. But the cheers were interrupted by a man who jumped to his feet, shaking off the people who tried to restrain him. “How dare you!” he yelled. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with this, because we’ll fight you every step of the way. Think you’ll change your name to Llanfairbeddgelert, is it now?” He fought his way forward and came down the aisle. He was a large man in a tweed jacket. His heavily jowled face was almost purple with rage, and his jowls quivered as his head shook. “Let me tell you that there already is a place that has rejoiced in the name of Beddgelert since before the village of Llanfair was even thought of. We’ve been the one and only Beddgelert for hundreds of years, and what’s more, we’re going to stay the one and only Beddgelert. We’re proud of our town and we’re proud of Gelert’s grave and we’ll stop this insanity any way we can. Go ahead and you’ll be facing us in court!”
“Sit down! Shut up!” The protests grew around the room. Evan was about to take a step forward to prevent trouble when the big man spun around.
“I’ve said what I came to say,” he yelled. “I hope that most people here are sensible enough not to go along with this damned-fool idea because if this goes to court, I’ll bankrupt you all.”
He glared at the audience, then suddenly frowned and looked around as if he was no longer sure where he was. He shoved his way down the center aisle and hurried out. There was silence followed by nervous laughter.
“Don’t listen to him,” Evans-the-Meat yelled after him. “Idle threats—that’s what it is. He’s just hot air. Thinks we’ll take away his precious tourist trade, isn’t it? Well, I tell him he’s welcome to his tourists. Keep them down there in the valley, but let us glory in our heritage!”
More polite applause.
“And while we’re on the subject of changing our name,” Evans-the-Meat went on, “I say let’s go the whole hog. We won’t just stop with Llanfairbeddgelert. Why not call ourselves Llanfairbeddgelert-who-was-not-a-dog-but-a-saint-and-who-had-his-chapel-up-on-the-mountain-at-the-top-of-the-pass-above-the-larch-trees-and-near-the-big-rocks…” Laughter drowned out the rest of his sentence.
“They don’t make postcards big enough, man!” someone yelled from the back.
Evans-the-Meat flushed a little then held up his hand for quiet. “You see what I’m suggesting, don’t you? Think about that other village called Llanfair over on Anglesey. What does it have that we don’t have? Nothing, except
A man sitting a few rows from the back tried to stand up but was restrained by the people on either side of him. On one side of the podium, Evans-the-Meat attempted to catch Rev. Parry Davies’ attention. The minister saw him and cleared his throat, a trifle nervously.
“Our local butcher, Mr. Gareth Evans, has asked to be given the floor at this point. So I turn the meeting over to him.”
Evans-the-Meat leaped onto the stage. He looked quite different without his bloodstained apron. In a dark suit, with his hair slicked down, he came across as a person of substance and authority. “Fellow citizens of Llanfair,” he said grandly. “This is indeed a proud moment for us. All these years we’ve had to sit by and watch while other villages glorified in the great history of Wales. We’ve never had an eisteddfod, we’ve never been able to celebrate great battles or even legends from our Celtic past. But now we have the true resting place of Saint Celert, and I’m sure you join with me in wanting the rest of Wales to know about it. I therefore propose that we let the world know of our great discovery by changing our name officially to Llanfairbeddgelert.”
There was scattered applause and a few rowdy cheers from Barry-the-Bucket and his friends, who had already been in the Dragon since opening time. But the cheers were interrupted by a man who jumped to his feet, shaking off the people who tried to restrain him. “How dare you!” he yelled. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with this, because we’ll fight you every step of the way. Think you’ll change your name to Llanfairbeddgelert, is it now?” He fought his way forward and came down the aisle. He was a large man in a tweed jacket. His heavily jowled face was almost purple with rage, and his jowls quivered as his head shook. “Let me tell you that there already is a place that has rejoiced in the name of Beddgelert since before the village of Llanfair was even thought of. We’ve been the one and only Beddgelert for hundreds of years, and what’s more, we’re going to stay the one and only Beddgelert. We’re proud of our town and we’re proud of Gelert’s grave and we’ll stop this insanity any way we can. Go ahead and you’ll be facing us in court!”
“Sit down! Shut up!” The protests grew around the room. Evan was about to take a step forward to prevent trouble when the big man spun around.
“I’ve said what I came to say,” he yelled. “I hope that most people here are sensible enough not to go along with this damned-fool idea because if this goes to court, I’ll bankrupt you all.”
He glared at the audience, then suddenly frowned and looked around as if he was no longer sure where he was. He shoved his way down the center aisle and hurried out. There was silence followed by nervous laughter.
“Don’t listen to him,” Evans-the-Meat yelled after him. “Idle threats—that’s what it is. He’s just hot air. Thinks we’ll take away his precious tourist trade, isn’t it? Well, I tell him he’s welcome to his tourists. Keep them down there in the valley, but let us glory in our heritage!”
More polite applause.
“And while we’re on the subject of changing our name,” Evans-the-Meat went on, “I say let’s go the whole hog. We won’t just stop with Llanfairbeddgelert. Why not call ourselves Llanfairbeddgelert-who-was-not-a-dog-but-a-saint-and-who-had-his-chapel-up-on-the-mountain-at-the-top-of-the-pass-above-the-larch-trees-and-near-the-big-rocks…” Laughter drowned out the rest of his sentence.
“They don’t make postcards big enough, man!” someone yelled from the back.
Evans-the-Meat flushed a little then held up his hand for quiet. “You see what I’m suggesting, don’t you? Think about that other village called Llanfair over on Anglesey. What does it have that we don’t have? Nothing, except
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