the longest name in the world. Everyone has heard of that Llanfair and nobody has heard of us, only because of the length of their name. So I say let’s put our Llanfair on the map. Let’s give ourselves a name that is one syllable longer than theirs and we’ll find ourselves in the Guinness book of records instead of them!”
Several people near the front had risen to their feet. A distinguished-looking man strode to the podium. “I am mayor of the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch!” he announced proudly. “We read in the paper that you people up here were thinking of doing this unspeakable thing. I am here to tell you what the representative from Beddgelert has already told you. Do this and we will take legal action to put a stop to it!”
“There’s nothing to stop us, man, and you know it!” Evans-the-Meat yelled back. His face was now beet red. “We can call ourselves what we like.”
“Not when we are the true owners of the longest name in the world,” the man went on.
“Longest name in the world? Hah!” Evans-the-Meat roared. “And when did you acquire this longest name in the world? Only when you got a railway station and you wanted something impressive to put on the sign.”
“That’s not true!” the man started, but Evans-the-Meat cut in.
“My great-auntie Mwfanwy came from Anglesey and she remembers that your village was just known as plain old Llanfair until the railway got there.”
“Been alive for a hundred and fifty years, has she then?” one of the other Llanfair P.G. delegation demanded. “That’s how long we’ve had the railway. And we had our long name before that. We just didn’t care to use it officially in those days. It took too long to write.”
“There was probably nobody who knew how to write in your village anyway,” a voice jeered from the back of the hall.
“Order! Order!” The reverend Parry Davies thumped on the podium.
“It doesn’t matter how long we’ve had our name,” the mayor went on. “It’s ours and we’re proud of it. Go ahead with this ridiculous publicity stunt and you’ll have not one but two lawsuits on your hands. I hope you all have deep pockets here because lawyers don’t come cheap.” He turned to those with him. “Come on, boys, we’ve said all that we came to say. Let’s leave these folk to come to their senses!”
With that he swept out of the hall, followed by his retinue.
“Anyone else who’s got something to say?” Barry-the-Bucket’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Is Saint Celert here, maybe, wanting to tell us that it’s not his grave after all?”
Through the noisy outbursts that followed, the reverend Parry Davies mounted the podium again. “Please, please,” he begged. “Ladies and gentlemen.” The noise gradually subsided. “In the light of what has just occurred, I think it might be prudent to postpone any more discussion to another occasion. It also might be wise to contact a solicitor at this juncture and get his advice before hurtling ourselves headlong into the abyss. I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say that I have no wish to be part of any unpleasant court proceedings.”
“They don’t scare me one bit,” Evans-the-Meat said loudly. “Let them just try it. We’ll make them look like the fools they are.”
“But, Mr. Evans,” the minister went on, “think of Christian charity. Love thy neighbor—that’s what we are instructed to do. If this is so abhorrent to our neighbors, have we a right to proceed with it?”
“They can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” Evans-the-Meat retorted. “Let them go ahead and be damned.”
“There will be no damning while I’m in the room,” Mr. Parry Davies said firmly. “I strongly advise that we break up this meeting until tempers have cooled and we have had time to examine the ramifications.”
A thin figure in black rose to his feet. “I completely concur with my learned colleague,”
Several people near the front had risen to their feet. A distinguished-looking man strode to the podium. “I am mayor of the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch!” he announced proudly. “We read in the paper that you people up here were thinking of doing this unspeakable thing. I am here to tell you what the representative from Beddgelert has already told you. Do this and we will take legal action to put a stop to it!”
“There’s nothing to stop us, man, and you know it!” Evans-the-Meat yelled back. His face was now beet red. “We can call ourselves what we like.”
“Not when we are the true owners of the longest name in the world,” the man went on.
“Longest name in the world? Hah!” Evans-the-Meat roared. “And when did you acquire this longest name in the world? Only when you got a railway station and you wanted something impressive to put on the sign.”
“That’s not true!” the man started, but Evans-the-Meat cut in.
“My great-auntie Mwfanwy came from Anglesey and she remembers that your village was just known as plain old Llanfair until the railway got there.”
“Been alive for a hundred and fifty years, has she then?” one of the other Llanfair P.G. delegation demanded. “That’s how long we’ve had the railway. And we had our long name before that. We just didn’t care to use it officially in those days. It took too long to write.”
“There was probably nobody who knew how to write in your village anyway,” a voice jeered from the back of the hall.
“Order! Order!” The reverend Parry Davies thumped on the podium.
“It doesn’t matter how long we’ve had our name,” the mayor went on. “It’s ours and we’re proud of it. Go ahead with this ridiculous publicity stunt and you’ll have not one but two lawsuits on your hands. I hope you all have deep pockets here because lawyers don’t come cheap.” He turned to those with him. “Come on, boys, we’ve said all that we came to say. Let’s leave these folk to come to their senses!”
With that he swept out of the hall, followed by his retinue.
“Anyone else who’s got something to say?” Barry-the-Bucket’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Is Saint Celert here, maybe, wanting to tell us that it’s not his grave after all?”
Through the noisy outbursts that followed, the reverend Parry Davies mounted the podium again. “Please, please,” he begged. “Ladies and gentlemen.” The noise gradually subsided. “In the light of what has just occurred, I think it might be prudent to postpone any more discussion to another occasion. It also might be wise to contact a solicitor at this juncture and get his advice before hurtling ourselves headlong into the abyss. I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say that I have no wish to be part of any unpleasant court proceedings.”
“They don’t scare me one bit,” Evans-the-Meat said loudly. “Let them just try it. We’ll make them look like the fools they are.”
“But, Mr. Evans,” the minister went on, “think of Christian charity. Love thy neighbor—that’s what we are instructed to do. If this is so abhorrent to our neighbors, have we a right to proceed with it?”
“They can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” Evans-the-Meat retorted. “Let them go ahead and be damned.”
“There will be no damning while I’m in the room,” Mr. Parry Davies said firmly. “I strongly advise that we break up this meeting until tempers have cooled and we have had time to examine the ramifications.”
A thin figure in black rose to his feet. “I completely concur with my learned colleague,”
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