A Child's Christmases in Wales

Christmas 1983 was much the same as every other year round our way,

with the "oh-so-sweet" voices of the Cadwaladr boys

and the imminent arrival of my father's family.

You could never be sure my uncles would be on time.

In fact, they rarely were.

Uncle Haw was usually detained having had an argument with another driver.

And Uncle Gorwel...

Well, Uncle Gorwel didn't have a car.

Or a bike.

In fact, we were never absolutely confident

he'd still have the use of both his legs.

They were due at our house by 3.30,

but my mother began getting the place ready well before that,

and by "well before that" I mean September.

Alphabetical order.

Cream...

Then lilac.

These days, they call this kind of thing obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Who's been using the sink?

At that time, it was known as housekeeping.

What's it going to look like if they all turn up and the sink's wet?

Do you want people to think our family's washing its hands all the time

cos we're always holding grubby things? What are we, robbers?

Might as well be talking to myself here.

She is talking to herself.

One day, it'll be me sitting around with my feet up.

I'm not sitting around, I'm watching a film.

What are you watching?

Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.

What's it about?

Aliens come down, cause a bit of bother, go home again.

- Any good? - Er...

I didn't think much of it, to be honest.

Unrealistic.

Not the most exciting verse, this one.

Wasn't too bad when there was just the two brothers.

Didn't I tell you we'd all regret the day when Shirley Cadwaladr had quads?

Mum had been through eleven Hoovers in the past five years.

When she went into Rumbelows, she just asked for "the usual".

Your brothers are late.

They'll be here. Probably the traffic. Gets busy Christmas Eve.

Carol singers! Settle up! We've got a lot to get round.

If your uncles were the Three Wise Men,

the baby Jesus would still be waiting for them now!

Ah!

Merry Christmas, Hywel. Boys.

- How are your parents? - Merry Christmas. That's £5.20, please.

£5? You're joking!

You heard Hark The Herald Angels, that's £3.80, and Silent Night is £1.40.

I thought the spirit of Christmas was you give whatever you can.

Yes, we obviously agree with that,

but we do have to balance it with turning a profit.

Er...

That's £5.20, please.

Merry Christmas.

Same to you.

We'll be back Christmas Eve next year, around quarter past three?

Right, boys, let's go, let's go, let's go.

I blame the Tories.

Dad was always annoyed at having to pay for things.

At church, he only put money in the collection plate

if the vicar did a good joke in the sermon.

- £5 that cost me. - Oh!

Unbelievable.

Still, I suppose it's Christmas, eh?

Come here, Brenda.

Oh, Geraint, stop your nonsense, haven't time for that.

Your brother will be here in a minute. Put the kettle on.

Oh!

Uncle Haw was dad 's older brother.

Merry Christmas, Geraint!

He ran one of the biggest carpet firms in Wales

and was now involved in one of the country's most bitter divorces.

Bren! Ha-ha!

One of his favourite phrases was, "All's fair in love and war."

Another was, "I hate my wife."

Merry Christmas one and all.

Apart from one.

One exception, in a blouse and high heels, eh, boy?

Hey, Maurice has been looking forward to seeing Owen all week.

Maurice had hardly ever spoken in the six Christmases I could recall.

- He didn't have to... - Maurice...

...Uncle Huw talked plenty.

So I successfully sued him for £7,500. Damages.

That's the last time anybody will steal any milk from my doorstep, eh?

Now, on to May.

Started with a bang.

Got a conservatory built. £3,500.

What is a conservatory exactly?

It's like a garden, but indoors.

They reckon by 1990

most people will be living in conservatories rather than houses.

Oh! Sounds lovely. Carpets are selling well, then, Huw?

Yes, like hot cakes. Did you hear the ad on the radio?

If you want a carpet,

buy one from us.

Oh, good, that is.

Why haven't you got an ad on the radio, Geraint?

Traffic wardens don't normally advertise on the radio, Brenda.

Yes, we're sitting pretty financially. Despite his mother's best efforts.

She spends like water, doesn't she, kiddo?

I said she pours it all down the drain, doesn't she?

I said your mother's a waste of space, isn't she?

Geraint, why don't you go down the phone box and call Gorwel?

He's nearly half an hour late.

What, you haven't got a telephone fitted yet?

No. No need.

Perfectly good public telephone. It's only minutes away.

Right.

Dad always enjoyed a good walk, even in the coldest weather.

Most mornings we walked two miles to school.

It was only a mile away, but he went the long way round on purpose.

Even putting the number in teak quite a while.

To dial an international number, you'd have to put most of the day aside.

Hello, is Gorwel there?

Right-o.

All that walking and he wasn't there!

Well, never mind.

Had a nice chat with his flatmate.

Why can't people have their own phones?

Sorry?

Why can't people just have a tiny little phone?

That you could fit it in your pocket and take it everywhere you go?

Ah, kids!

You really should make him put a phone in, Bren.

Oh, you know Geraint.

Anything new, he's suspicious. Phones, ovens, inside toilet.

Outside toilet, even.

How do you manage?

The neighbours have got a party line. I go in there and use that sometimes.

There's no privacy with party lines, though. You overhear all sorts of gossip.

We keep ourselves to ourselves round here. We're not gossips.

All I know is that Mrs Evans is having an affair with the man

who came round to do the grouting.

They talk Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and he calls her "Sexy Neck".

Yes, well, you should definitely make him put a phone in.

You've got to embrace new technology.

Do you know what I got this year?

A toaster that can do four slices at once.

Oh!

But then mum moved out, and I lost my appetite.

I can eat four.

Ah, here's Gorwel.

Hey, hey!

Uncle Gorwel was dad's younger brother.

He'd had a chequered past.

He was now having a chequered present.

- Oh! - Here he is!

Compliments of the season.

Uncle Garwel was a bit like Father Christmas,

- in that we only saw him once a year. - Huw.

Gorwel.

Who's having a whisky, then?

You are, I should imagine.

But he was unlike Father Christmas in that he drank whisky for breakfast

and had once been detained overnight for streaking at the Royal Welsh Show.

I managed to hitch a lift here in the end, back of someone's van, like.

Who was it?

I'm not sure.

They didn't know I was there.

- How are you keeping, then, Gorwel? - Oh, not bad! Not bad at all.

No run-ins with the law recently.

No more fights with lollipop ladies.

It's been a fairly quiet year.

So, where you living?

I've got a nice little place down by the coast.

You bought it?

Well, not bought it bought it, more like a rental.

What do you mean "like a rental"?

Well, I'm living in someone else's place, but it differs from a rental,

because the owners don't technically know that I'm there, like.

You're squatting?

If you want to call it that.

Still...

I expect it's a nice house, though, is it?

It's not a house house exactly.

Flat?

Aquarium.

So, you're squatting in an aquarium?

That's about the size of it. But it's a good aquarium, mind.

Got a shark.

Anyway, never fear,

Gorwel's ship's about to come in.

I've got a nice little trick up my sleeve.

License to print money. 10-1 on a white Christmas. 10 quid on.

If it snows tomorrow, hello! I'm up 100 quid.

Have you considered this might be why you're struggling?

All these harebrained schemes.

You call starting a car showroom a harebrained scheme, do you, Huw?

I didn't know you did that.

Mm-hm. Me and a couple of boys getting it started.

Where are the cars going to come from?

That's the only obstacle at the minute,

but we're well on the way to getting a room.

You need more of a business plan, Gorwel. Under this government...

Don't mention them in this house.

Under this government, people with business sense are being rewarded.

Good business is making money at last.

Oh, yes! That's the Tories.

Good business is making money and everyone else can go to hell.