MACLACHLAN COLLEGE Al ander Simmons

53° 6’34.23’ N, 3° 37’ 43.71” W LLYN ALED & THE LEVELINUS STONE

THE LAST RAYS OF SUNLIGHT below the stark moors of Denbigh. I was startled at realizing how late it was and hurried to disassemble my rod and pack up the bait. I had not been very successful, only catching one pike of acceptable size. Llyn Aled, the lake I had

Darkness was consuming the bleak landscape and I still had a long way home so I took off with a brisk jog. A sharp wind began to nip at my cheeks and ears as I reached the road that led to Pentrefoelas. The overwhelming sense of awe that I had once felt at being surrounded by this open landscape no longer existed. The feeling of love and warmth I had once had for my home in Pentrefoelas had been replaced with cold disinterest. Like a closest friend being reduced to a host. The wind picked up and my face began to ache with cold. I ran faster, accepting it with bitter hatred.

Ahead of me I could see the low green hilltop where my father had once taken me. The hilltop where the Levelinus Stone once stood, an eight-foot gravestone for some long-forgotten prince. I looked away. I resented the hill for face ache more.

I was at the village church when it happened. My mother had forced to me to join the boys’ choir and we were rehearsing some song for eisteddfod. In the middle of a run-through our choirmaster was called out. He returned and called to me, “Your mother is waiting for you outside!” I nodded and began to walk hurriedly towards the door. I could hear snickering behind me and was prepared to be angry with my mother for embarrassing me in the middle of a rehearsal.

My anger dissipated and was replaced with fear when I saw the look on her face. She was pale and I could tell she had been crying. “What’s wrong?” I asked, searching her face for an answer.

She pulled me into a tight embrace and began to weep. “There’s been an accident,” she said, failing to keep her voice strong. That was all she had to say.

“What? How bad was it? Have they gotten Dad out?” I asked in a panicked voice.

She looked up. “I don’t know. They just told me that a section of the mine has collapsed. They’re evacuating them now,” she said, clearly trying to compose herself.

I stood shocked for a moment. “How long will it take us to get there?” I asked.

“It’s an hour drive if we leave now,” she replied. We ran to the car and drove to the coal mine. It was a long hour.

…

I ran quickly along the winding road with my backpack bouncing against my shoulders. The sun had long since parted and the darkness was stalking me slyly over the low hills. As I ran, I noticed that the wind had ceased. There was something unnatural in the way that the air hung over the rolling hills. I took a deep breath and felt was something oppressive in the way that it surrounded me, like an incalculable mass hovering just above.

I can’t recall how many hours my mother and I waited outside that coalmine. Hundreds of family members crowded around as one-by-one the elevator went down and came back up, bringing sons, fathers and husbands with it. I remember my annoyance at the comments my mother made every time more miners were rescued. “Oh look, it looks like none of them were hurt after all!” and “Your father’s smart, I’m sure he’s alright,” she said repeatedly, looking encouragingly at me.

I ignored these comments and continued to stare directly at the elevator, immediately searching for my father’s face each time it came into view. Each time my disappointment was met with shouts of joy from somewhere else in the crowd as families were reunited. After a while my mother’s comments stopped and she too stared at the elevator.

By nightfall the crowd had become much smaller with medical crews still waiting nearby. Everyone waited in silence pretending not to notice the smaller number of miners being brought up each time.

Then it happened. The elevator came back empty. Everyone around me began to cry out. We waited some hours more, but my father never came.

…

I was panicked now. I had been engulfed by darkness. I threw down my backpack and started to run, long weeds clinging at my legs. I had left the road long ago in hopes of taking a short cut, but could still see no sign of Pentrefoelas. Even the moon had abandoned me, leaving me in utter darkness.

I felt naked on the open plane. I could feel the vastness of the space surrounding me. I could feel the unknown carefully watching me. The silence rang in my ears. I tripped piercing darkness collapsing in on me. I closed my eyes and let it take me.

...

Thirteen Miners Killed in Denbigh Coalmine Tragedy. Thirteen. That was The Daily Post’s memorial to my father. That was how he would be remembered, a miner in the Denbigh Coalmine Tragedy of 1960.

My mother was never the same after that day, but she still walked the Earth, a mere semblance of the person she used to be. Two months after my father’s death she came to me in my bedroom, “I found a job in Liverpool,” she said.

“Are you going to take it?” I asked blandly.

“Well I guess so. I’m going to need a better paying job soon. I wanted to see what you thought,” she replied. Clearly searching for my approval.

“It’s not up to me,” I replied, wanting her to leave.

“Well I want to know what you think.”

“I don’t really care,” I said shortly. She sighed and left the room. Nine months later our stuff was packed. On the evening before our departure I packed up my rod and walked down to Llyn Aled for one last time.

I awoke. The grass blew in a gentle breeze and playfully licked my arms and legs. I was on the mound where the Levelinus Stone once stood, the grave of Llewelyn ap Seisyll, a great Welsh Prince whom my father had said was killed in battle in 1023. Sweet

I walked to Llyn Aled and dove in, walking past the “no swimming” signs. She caressed me gently, though coldly, and let me relish in the bliss of her watery silence. I

I leaned back and let the sun dance over my face. A smile overcame me. I was home.