the apprentice

While the Jeeps, Jags and Jet-skis refuel at Garej y Traeth, John Jones Junior, filling the tank of his ancient jalopy, reminds me that there is no letter J in Cymraeg. His name would correctly be Siôn. Village life perseveres despite the influx of weekenders, incomers and “staycationers”. But I too am an incomer, piggybacking on the passport of a partner whose family once lived in the area. Having become, allegedly, a fluent speaker of its ancient tongue, fluent but not affluent like other incomers*, I’m flattered and grateful to be told by locals that I have become local too. Does this now make me a “villager” as news media stereotype rural people? If this was the west of England, would I be required to wear a rustic’s smock? Instead I am delighted to be called, and to identify as “Cymro newydd”.

For anyone who remembers most ordinary people taking holidays within these shores, surely “staycation”(above) is a misnomer, and should be reserved for actually holidaying indoors at home. The name Sykes comes to mind. Not that of a holiday rental company, but writer, actor and comedian Eric Sykes, who with “stage sister” Hattie Jacques in the eponymous TV series, once “holidayed” at home behind closed curtains and arranged for postcards to be sent from an overseas destination in pretence: one of those episodes lost to time, wiped but never digitised. I may be mistaken: it could have been the cringeworthy Terry and June instead. The internet has become an increasingly unreliable source of information, unless someone is trying to sell you something. So much of the past has been lost, although some of it rightly so.

But all that was just a digression, or was it? Much of the above was based on a casual chat, setting the world straight in curmudgeonly conversation with “the apprentice” who we meet shortly.

The beating heart of the village is in the garage (“garej”) whose proprietor is in his ninth decade. He buys, sells and services cars in a building of similar vintage. The petrol is a bit more expensive than from the “big boys”, but it seems to go further, as if the Tylwyth Teg, the legendary “fair folk”, use their knowledge to roll up the roads and shrink the distances overnight. While there are a couple of cafés that mostly cater for visitors, the old garage brings everyone together. As in any small community, there are inevitable differences of opinion, and the proprietor sagely keeps his own counsel and is a model of impartiality. For those prepared to live at a slower pace, buying petrol can sometimes take up to an hour, thanks to the ensuing friendly exchanges.

I am often served by “the boy”, the apprentice, who too adds value to village life in lengthy dialogue about everything under the sun. Sometimes the topic is immaterial to the enjoyment of the fact that there is space for this conversation to happen at all. He is often referred to as “the boy” although he started his apprenticeship 45 years ago and is now in his sixties. This surely speaks volumes about the family-run business: loyalty, sustainability, job security, pace of life, contentment, satisfaction. A bonus is that both boy and boss’s longevity in the trade, with a lifetime of connections in the business, make them the “go to” authority for all things automotive.

When a queue builds up at the pump, both apprentice and boss will ask people to wait as they haven’t finished the conversation. I hope they never do. To those in their frantic rush on the fragile roads: better late than "late".

Note. *  During the process of learning Cymraeg I have learned so much about etymology, about Latin, French and English idioms, that this sort of wordplay just flows, fluvially as it were.

Disclaimer. The above is fairly fictitious. While loosely based on remembered conversations, any association with actual persons, places or events is merely metaphorical.