Sonia Edwards Portreadau

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-Yes, it was an unforgettable

-experience. Yes, it was me.

-And no, I wasn't dreaming. Things

-like this happened to other people.

-But it was me on my feet

-when the ceremonial horns sounded.

-I'll remember the thrill forever.

-All I did was follow my instinct.

-I simply obeyed the urge

-to create and communicate.

-And I was in love with words,

-as someone once said about me.

-People who know me thought I'd

-shed a few tears - of happiness.

-Though I'm emotional at times,

-tears didn't come, thank goodness...

-..or I'd have had panda-like eyes

-through the ceremony!

-I was too busy enjoying everything.

-I'd done my crying three weeks

-earlier, when told I'd won.

-The name of the winning

-Prose Writer is Sonia Edwards...

-..from Llangefni.

-Even now, I doubt whether

-I can really describe the thrill.

-That's the biggest irony.

-I was acclaimed for my words...

-..but can't for the life of me

-find them when I really need them.

-A unique bonus was winning

-on home ground in Anglesey.

-Llanbedr-goch's Eisteddfod was only

-15 miles from Cemaes, the village...

-..where I grew up, at the most

-northerly point of the island.

-It's a strange experience,

-returning after a long absence.

-It's someone else's home now.

-At times like this, one can

-empathise with the alienation...

-..described by T H Parry-Williams

-after being away from home a while.

-The cool distance that came

-between him and the mountains...

-..the rocks, and the cliffs.

-Then the enchanting glory

-of familiarity returned.

-That's what it is.

-Maybe it's easier, at times,

-to appreciate things from afar.

-But I have returned often

-in my thoughts.

-Or rather, I created characters

-who were willing to go in my place.

-I grew up within sight

-and sound of the sea.

-It's no surprise it features

-prominently in my work.

-I remember hours of amazement...

-..just looking at the ever-changing

-drama of this expanse of water...

-..locked between two headlands.

-For me, the sea is alive.

-It has its squalls,

-and its cheerful moods.

-Just like a flaunting prima donna...

-..who knows she's more beautiful

-and talented than any other.

-That's where the enchantment

-resides, surely.

-The other-worldliness. The romance.

-From 'Darluniau'

-GLAS YDI'R NEFOEDD

-"There's no-one else on the beach...

-"..apart from the young couple

-in the distance.

-"They laugh, and call to each other.

-"The wind steals their voices...

-"..snatches words from their mouths,

-leaving them mute.

-"Looking at them is like

-following characters in a mime.

-"I see a strip of blue, stretching

-untidily across the monotone sky.

-"It's only a narrow rim, like

-a piece of ribbon blown off a hat.

-"It's an early spring day,

-and the tide is out.

-"I notice seaweed on rocks,

-shining like wet dogs.

-"I'm so close,

-I can taste the salt."

-Writing in the first person

-is the best way to reveal...

-..a character's most secret

-thoughts and intentions.

-Small fragments of Cemaes appeared

-in my first book...

-..almost unbeknown to me, in

-rocklets, waves and seaweed fronds.

-The core of that book was included

-in my Prose Medal winning volume...

-..at the Anglesey County

-Eisteddfod, back in 1992.

-I highly respect the adjudicator,

-Eigra Lewis Roberts, as an author.

-It was an honour to hear the late

-Elen Roger Jones reading one story.

-From 'Luned'

-GLOYNNOD

-"School was a safe place,

-cosy and familiar, like home.

-"The smell of powder paint and

-apples, and tiny, small chairs...

-"..smaller than everyone's bottoms

-apart from ours."

-That's what I remember about

-my first day at primary school.

-Small chairs, small toilets,

-small basins to wash your hands.

-Low pegs for coats.

-It was like stepping into a world

-made for little people.

-I was amazed. This is the school,

-but these aren't the children.

-The noise on the yard is the same,

-wherever you go.

-The sound of children at play

-remains unchanged.

-A magical sound that sings

-the same song to all of us.

-The same song, yes, but sadly,

-not the same language.

-There were special smells,

-paint and glue and clay.

-The real smells of primary school.

-I still remember it, especially

-when I visit a sixth former...

-..on work experience

-at a primary school.

-The smell of apples always

-brings memories flooding back.

-For me, primary schools and apples

-are closely associated.

-On this yard, two older girls

-told me some shocking facts.

-Swallowing apple pips

-was very dangerous.

-An apple tree would grow inside you.

-It was an agreeable naivety.

-I was so fond of primary school that

-I cried when it was time to go home.

-Now, as a teacher, I can't claim I'm

-that emotional when 3.30pm arrives.

-But plenty of emotions returned

-as I stood near my old home.

-The experience of leaving Cemaes

-for the big school was difficult.

-I had to leave behind

-my best friend.

-She was six months younger than me.

-With whiter than white socks, and a

-stiff new satchel, I felt awkward...

-..as I stood outside

-the chip shop that first morning.

-Good morning. How are you?

-From 'Tonsuleitis' GLOYNNOD

-From 'Tonsuleitis' GLOYNNOD

-

-"The face of the school bus

-roars into view.

-"Its round headlamps,

-and old-fashioned metal grille...

-"..resemble the eyes and nose

-of some slow, kind monster.

-"As it trundles smokily

-to the pavement...

-"..our feet rumble along

-the concrete in a greedy shudder.

-"Move out of the way! Damn babies.

-"My knees are chunks of chubby

-coldness above my socks.

-"Hurry up, Jan, I'm dying for a fag.

-"The big girls, snapping, pushing

-and smelling of cheap scent and gum.

-"Once we're aboard,

-it's warm and cosy...

-"..though we have to swallow the

-smell of dust and sour tobacco...

-"..as the engine shakes our guts."

-On the whole,

-secondary school was OK.

-Most of my memories

-are pleasant enough.

-But I can't think of them without

-remembering the time my father died.

-He died on an August day

-in that hot summer of 1975.

-I was in the fourth form,

-beginning the O-level course.

-That early, harrowing experience

-of losing someone close...

-..is inextricably entwined

-with a time of growing up.

-The stormy teenage years,

-when so much changes.

-Tecwyn. Tecs.

-I never called him Dad.

-We were mates. He wasn't a strict

-father, nor a disciplinarian.

-He didn't have to be.

-He never threatened, he never

-gave me or my brother a smack.

-"I daren't," he said.

-"I don't know my own strength."

-That was certainly true,

-as he used to be a boxer.

-His exploits in the boxing ring

-took place long before my time.

-But I loved hearing his stories,

-and about the people he'd met.

-He said Doris Day gave him a kiss...

-..after he floored a black giant

-twice his size...

-..in a bout in Australia.

-He started to box

-after joining the airforce.

-Soon, he won the Inter Allied Welter

-Weight Championship of Morocco.

-Trained by Marcel Zidane, a former

-middle weight world champion...

-..my father won more than 60 bouts,

-and turned professional.

-I treasure an old article from

-'Y Cymro', which begins by saying...

-.."Tecwyn Parry is a quiet lad.

-"He's the 27-year-old son of Mr and

-Mrs W J Parry, Morawel, Cemaes.

-"But in boxing gloves, he becomes

-a whirlwind, a thunderbolt.

-"Every blow of his fists delivers

-mayhem to its recipient."

-My father's life

-was full and colourful.

-A Second World War Desert Rat, one

-of the 8th Army lads, as he said.

-Every night, he had to sleep

-with a knife under his pillow.

-He was also a police Superintendent.

-Not in Wales, but in Kenya

-and north Africa...

-..during the famous

-Mau Mau rebellion.

-It's sad one can't turn back the

-clock to ask more, and learn more.

-It's the stuff of blockbusters,

-plots and sub-plots.

-Excitement, conspiracy,

-adventure, fighting, blood.

-Not my usual subject matter, true,

-but that's what makes a best-seller.

-Wilbur Smith, eat your heart out.

-I think of my father's life

-as an unfinished novel.

-He died of a heart attack

-the night before a sponsored walk...

-..around Anglesey to raise money

-for disabled children.

-He was just over 50 years old.

-That's the reason behind

-much of my outlook on life.

-How fragile, how short,

-how precious life is.

-Live life to the full, for

-who knows what tomorrow may bring.

-If tomorrow comes at all.

-Pessimistic maybe,

-but I don't think so.

-It's a good incentive

-to accomplish all your aims.

-To realise dreams. To go for it.

-That can't be all bad, can it?

-

-My father's early life

-was quite exotic.

-I had an ordinary, Welsh upbringing,

-in the Cemaes of the '60s and '70s.

-From 'Gloynnod'

-GLOYNNOD

-"Chapel seats, so very cold,

-and slippery, like glass.

-"The sun, like a yellow shadow

-outside the long windows...

-"..was pushed back

-by clouds of patterned panes.

-"But no matter, chapels

-are supposed to be cold places.

-"Cold, and quiet,

-and respectable, and old."

-There's a chapel

-in most people's background...

-..be they religious or otherwise.

-Sunday clothes, learning verses,

-passing mint imperials down the row.

-I used to come here regularly with

-my aunt - a picture of obedience.

-He's sure to be looking, frowning

-down from the firmament...

-..on hats and bald heads.

-He knows I want a pee.

-I keep the mint in one place in my

-mouth, so it gets hotter and hotter.

-It sticks tightly to my cheek. Can

-God see through people's cheeks?'

-Across the road from Bethel chapel,

-there's a shop.

-I don't use the past tense.

-The shop and its wares

-is still here, though shut now.

-I worked in Megan Owen's shop.

-A downcast 14-year-old, with

-pocket money in very short supply.

-A quarter, wasn't it?

-A quarter, wasn't it?

-

-Yes, please. Quite thick slices.

-It says Pioneer Stores on the sign.

-But it will always be Megan's shop,

-to all the village.

-I learnt how to slice boiled ham...

-..how to smile at the visitors

-who swarmed here each summer...

-..and the importance of small shops

-to the life of a community.

-A yard of counter is better

-than an acre of land, they say.

-Yes, it's a fine way to get to know

-people, and how to deal with them.

-I worked here every Saturday and

-summer holiday, until I left college

-It wasn't just for the pocket money.

-I had loads of fun here with Megan.

-Although I gained my degree

-from Bangor University...

-..I have a diploma in how to deal

-with people from this shop.

-From 'Enfys'

-GLOYNNOD

-"Maths and English," said Celia.

-"You must have those

-if you want to get on.

-"She sells frocks,

-in an expensive dress shop.

-"Apparently, that's 'getting on'.

-"The rainbow is fading,

-melting like an ice lolly.

-"I had good marks in Welsh.

-"Welsh?" said Celia.

-"Welsh," said my father.

-"You're good at that, aren't you?

-"What use is it, Gwyn bach? It's

-useless once you cross Menai Bridge.

-"I look at him. He says nothing.

-"I wonder, how far is it

-to Menai Bridge from here."

-Yes, like Mari in the story 'Enfys',

-I was good at Welsh in school.

-I had a dear and marvellous teacher

-in Geraint Percy Jones.

-Without his encouragement, I'd not

-have dreamt of leaving Anglesey...

-..to go to any university.

-I went to Bangor, clutching

-what little confidence I had.

-I'm glad to say

-I haven't looked back.

-I soon learnt some amazing things.

-The price of a half of mild,

-and what a 'blue moon' is.

-No-one from our family had been to

-college before. It was quite new.

-My aunt thought I'd need an uniform!

-I did get a scarf,

-and a scruffy duffle coat.

-That was all the uniform

-I needed in a place like this.

-Everyone in JMJ hostel

-had proper Welsh names.

-Many an 'ap' this or that, and some

-had even dropped their surnames.

-I was plain Sonia Parry,

-a name from the back of beyond.

-Oh, for a name

-like Elin or Gwenllian!

-Apparently, I was named

-after the daughter...

-..of a family who fled

-persecution in Poland.

-They reached Cemaes as refugees

-from the Second World War.

-A romantic story. I've learnt

-to live with my unusual name now.

-Only one cloud blotted the sky

-during the Bangor years.

-Losing my father was linked

-to my early teens.

-In the middle of my degree course,

-I lost a very special aunt.

-I was very close to Mair,

-my father's sister.

-She was a cultured woman.

-She, more than anyone,

-kindled similar interests in me.

-From 'Chwaer fy Nhad'

-Y LLAIS YN Y LLUN

-"She owns the stilled words.

-"Sea-smooth pebbles,

-shimmering like eyes...

-"Overflowing with yesterdays.

-"She is the voice in the picture."

-Mair didn't live to see me publish.

-But dedicating the medal-winning

-novel to her memory...

-..was one way of acknowledging

-her guiding role in my life.

-If my interest in literature

-is inherited...

-..I probably received it from my

-grandmother - Dad and Mair's mother.

-Nain was perceptive and literate, an

-Eisteddfod reciter and adjudicator.

-Were she still alive, a series like

-Talwrn y Beirdd would appeal to her.

-She would certainly be

-one of the chairman's fans!

-The mother of a young soldier

-sent to the Gulf.

-"There is a chill in the stars

-tonight, in the bustle of battle.

-"Every mother's boy in battlegear.

-"Where is the hero,

-when dawn breaks?"

-I always knew I'd write.

-But for me, it was a matter

-of living first, then writing.

-I was over thirty when I first

-published. That was right for me.

-I didn't want to look back,

-and feel ashamed of my early work.

-I'm sure I did the right thing.

-Over thirty was the right age

-for me to begin.

-With my first publication

-came confidence.

-It seemed to snowball.

-The more I produced,

-the more I wanted to produce.

-The creative urge was strong in me.

-I had been productive on the quiet.

-I'd hidden work in drawers.

-When I felt confident enough to show

-the work to everyone, it was OK.

-I have published quite a lot

-in a short period of time.

-It hasn't seemed laborious.

-A labour of love, perhaps.

-But, as Kate Roberts said,

-one has to write, or suffocate.

-It is true, when one has something

-one wants to convey.

-You have to write.

-After writing six books in seven

-years, I'm often asked...

-.."where do you find the time,

-as a full-time working mother?

-Being a mother

-is an experience I'd never forgo.

-Rhys is the light of my life.

-I married into a family that had

-pony breeding in their blood.

-I wasn't used to animals as a child,

-apart from a tabby cat and sheepdog.

-I learnt a lot.

-There is a rich vocabulary which

-is disappearing all too rapidly.

-The words almost possess

-the taste of Anglesey's earth.

-"Ffyla", "doli",

-"minsiar", "bacsia".

-Is this a good poem

-to describe November the 5th?

-I'm a Welsh teacher

-at Llangefni Comprehensive School.

-Teaching pays the bills.

-It's either work, or starve.

-That's quite an incentive.

-But it's more than that.

-It's a privilege to share

-my love of words with my pupils.

-When I need to escape, I go

-jogging. Everyone needs space.

-It's a good way

-to keep healthy and fit, I hope.

-That's not the only benefit

-I get from wearing my trainers.

-To write is a chronicle. Sitting

-at a desk or word processor.

-When I walk, or run,

-in the fresh air...

-..that's when many ideas come to me.

-I was brought up in the shadow

-of the Wylfa nuclear power station.

-Some might expect me to write

-about the future of the planet...

-..the environment, or green issues.

-But there are no politics, feminism

-or any other '-ism' in my work.

-The role of a writer or poet

-isn't to preach - not in my opinion.

-It's conveying things

-as I see them, as I feel them.

-For me, writing is a way

-of defying oblivion.

-S4C Subtitles by:

-GWEAD