With the recent passing of our neighbour, Owen Huw, here is a poem I wrote years ago, based on an anecdote he shared with us of a holiday incident. My main memory is of nearly falling off my chair with laughter when he recounted the story. Diolch o galon, Owen Huw. Mewn heddwch.
Owen Huw’s Winter Holiday
For Owen Huw
It was in Austria that it happened.
We went up the mountain on a lift.
Everything sparkled in the morning sun –
the snow, the trees – like a yuletide scene.
Halfway up, a woman called to the leader
could he stop the lift, please. She needed to pee.
A nice-looking woman in a green snow suit,
eyebrows angling sorry.
He had to walkie-talkie to the top
but the whole party slowed then stopped
on the mountainside, our feet dangling
off the ground. The leader (Hans)
helped the woman down and gestured to some trees
and we, politely, turned our heads away
as she slithered there on her skis.
We shifted in our seats and blew our noses
and agreed that a mug of grog would be good.
Then a small squeal had all our attention.
The whole party turned in one direction
as the woman, in squatting position, slid
out of the trees, her green ski suit
gathered round her knees
and a trail bright in the snow
as she picked up speed.