The Cruel Giant

This is another of my Welsh Folk Story made into a modern tale.  For other Welsh Folk tales click here.

Mair was flustered. She couldn't find the Worcestershire Sauce anywhere and her dad couldn't have steak without a drop of his favourite condiment on it. Why did they always change where things were in this damn supermarket? Every week the cereal was where the tea used to be, or the pasta was where the spices were. She looked at her watch, she had just fifteen minutes to get home before her dad woke up. He’d want a cup of tea and a digestive biscuit before Pointless started, and if she wasn't there to serve it then there would be hell to pay.
“Excuse me,” she said to the young man in the Tesco uniform in front of her.
“Yes?” he said
Mair was speechless. It was as if Brad Pitt was standing in front of her. Okay Brad Pitt with acne and a bum fluff but still.
“Um where's the Worcestershire sauce?” She asked feeling herself redden.
“I'll show you,” he smiled and her knees went weak all over again. She quietly read his name tag. Idwal, what a lovely name.
Mair went back to Tesco every day for the rest of the week but she didn’t bump into Idwal again. She was beginning to think she’d dreamt him. Mind you, she had no idea what she'd say to him if she did see him; she couldn't exactly ask for directions to the Worcester Sauce again could she? And she'd never really spoken to any boys. And anyway why would he care about her? She was just a little mouse, no match for a future Brad. But there was no harm in looking.
It was six days later that she noticed he was working on the check out. She stood in line patiently waiting her turn.
“Hey Worcestershire Sauce girl.”

She blushed. She couldn't believe he'd remembered her.
“Hi,” she said not looking for eye contact.
“I get off in twenty, fancy a coffee?”
Mair swallowed hard.  Idwal was asking her out. But there was no way she could go. It was almost time for Pointless, her dad would want his cup of tea.
She shook her head, handed over her cash and scurried away, her body awash with mixed emotions, excited about Idwal, but hating her dad even more. It was like she was in a prison, but Idwal offered just a glimmer of hope, hope of escape.
The next day she went earlier to Tesco but there was no sign of Idwal. as she was walking home she heard a voice.
“Hey,” she walked on quicker.
“Hey Worcestershire sauce girl.”
She smiled and turned around.
They met everyday for the next month and then her Brad-lite did something she never thought would ever happen, he proposed.
A single tear ran down Mair's face. A tear of happiness and despair. For she could never marry this man, despite love burning in her heart for him. Her father would never agree.
She shook her head slowly and said that she should never see him again. 

“Why not?” Idwal asked.

Mair said nothing, she just sadly walked away.

Luckily for Mair, Idwal didn’t take no for an answer. He caught up with the beautiful young woman and begged her to tell him what was wrong.

“It’s my father,” sobbed Mair. “He’s a cruel, giant of a man. He would never agree to me marrying you, because then he would have no one to look after him.”

“So why not run away with me then?” Idwal asked. “We don’t need his permission; this isn’t the nineteenth century.”

Mair thought about it and then nodded. She should run away.

That night Mair packed her things including a mirror, a jewellery box and a pendant that belonged to her mother and then, when she was sure her father was asleep, slipped out of her front door and into the arms of Idwal who was waiting for her.

It was 10.30 am the next morning when Mair got her first text from her father.

“I’m coming to get you.”

Mair was terrified. How could he know where they were? She took her mother’s things out of the bag and looked at them. She held the jewellery box in her hand.

“Mum, please help me,” she whispered, and the jewellery box disappeared.

Mair’s father stood on the platform of Swansea train station waiting for the train to Cardiff. When he found out who had had the nerve to take his Mair from him, he would rip that little weasel into a million pieces.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please can you exit the station. Please exit the station.”

Mair’s father stamped his foot. What was going on?

“Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s a suspicious package on platform 2. Please can you exit the station.”

It was 1pm when Mair got another text.

“You can’t stop me that easily Mair. I’m on the train.”

Mair was terrified. The bomb scare hadn’t worked. She took her mother’s things out of the bag and looked at them. She held the pendant in her hand.

“Mum, please help me,” she whispered, and the pendant disappeared.

Mair’s father sat on the train with a smile on his face. Not the smile of a pensioner thinking of his daughter, but the smile of a psychopath devising ways to make the person who took his daughter away, suffer.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are sorry to announce that there are leaves on the line and that we will need to move slowly through the next section of track. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.”

The train crawled along the track, the warped smile had gone from the angry giant’s face.

It was 4pm when Mair got another text.

“You can’t stop me that easily Mair. I’ve got to Cardiff.”

Mair was terrified. The leaves on the line hadn’t worked. She took her mother’s mirror out of the bag and looked at it. She held it tightly.

“Mum, please help me,” she whispered and the mirror disappeared.

Mair’s father stood on the platform waiting for the train to Barry. He was getting close, he could almost smell his daughter and the man who had taken her from him. He punched his fist into his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen we are sorry to inform you, that all Valley Lines services have been cancelled.”

Mair’s father couldn’t believe his ears and he knew what was coming next.

“There will be a rail replacement bus service.”

The giant let out a roar that echoed around the whole of Cardiff. Even Mair in her bed and breakfast in Barry heard it. Mair’s father couldn’t go on. He’d been defeated by the ineptitude of the Welsh railway system.

I couldn't find the original on the internet so here it is from my stories of Wales Book. 

LadyLlyn

Another of my reworked, modernised traditional Welsh Folk tales. There are many versions of the original, here are three links to take you to an original.

http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/wfb/wfb03.htm

http://www.breconbeacons.org/lady-lake-physicians-myddfai

http://myths.e2bn.org/mythsandlegends/textonly508-the-lady-of-van-lake.html

For others in my series click here, here, here  here and here.

For audio click here

Gwyn flicked through the images on Plenty of Fish with very little enthusiasm. He’d been on this dating site for two months with very little success. A few conversations had led nowhere and the two that led to meetings he’d wished had led nowhere. He was now browsing more out of hope than expectation. It was just the same old faces that had been there when he’d joined. It was as if people didn’t really want to meet anyone, they just liked being on the site.

Then he saw her. LadyLlyn She was the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. Her long blonde hair shimmered in the photograph, her eyes sparkled and her smiled sang. His heart did a quick intro to Ant Music.

But it was hopeless. A lass like her would have so many men chasing her that there was no way Gwyn could hope to stand out, no way at all. It wasn’t even worth bothering sending his wittily composed, generic introductory message.

“What the fuck?” he said to himself and sent it anyway; after all you’ve got to be in to to win it.

To his amazement he got almost an immediate reply.

“With a message so glib, you can not have me?”

What the hell did that mean? He couldn’t think what to say, so decided he’d reply later, but by the time he got back to his phone. LadyLlyn was gone. She’d disabled her account. Some other lucky bastard had probably won her heart.

Three days later she was back. Once again that beautiful face, that lovely hair, those haunting eyes were staring at him from his phone. He decided to compose another message. Glib was wrong, so he went serious. He read it through, decided the tone was right and pressed send.

To his amazement he got almost an immediate reply.

“With a message so grave, you can not have me?”

What the hell did that mean? He wrote another reply but it wouldn’t send; she’d disabled her account already.

Gwyn was distraught. No other woman on the site measured up to LadyLlyn. They didn’t even come close.

It was a week before she reappeared but Gwyn was ready for her; his first message had been too glib, his second one too grave, he had to go for somewhere in between.

To his amazement he got almost an immediate reply.

“With a message so genuine, you can have me? Wanna meet for coffee?”

Gwyn was cock-a-hoop. They exchanged messages and made arrangements. Then came her final message. It arrived just three minutes before they met.

“Beware, if you strike me three careless blows then I shall disappear for ever.”

Gwyn didn’t know what that meant but he didn’t hit anyone let alone women, so he had nothing to fear.

LadyLlyn was even more beautiful in the flesh than she was in her photos. What’s more she insisted on paying for everything. She was perfect. It was the most delightful first date.

As they were walking home through the rain a car sped towards them. Gwyn could see that it was heading straight for a puddle, and they would be sprayed with water.

“Look out!” he said and not wanting to see that beautiful hair damaged by dirty rain water he pushed LadyLlyn out of the way; The water erupted but missed them by millimetres.

“Oh Gwyn, be careful for you have struck me a blow. Two more and I shall disappear for ever.”

“But I was saving you from the puddle,” Gwyn protested.

“No buts my love,” LadyLlyn said.

Gwyn and LadyLlyn were barely out of each other’s sight for the next few months. They did everything together with LadyLlyn still paying. They even went to a rugby match and it was at one such game when the second blow came. They were watching from the safety of the stand when the ball was kicked towards them. Not wanting his lovely LadyLlyn to be falconed, Gwyn reached to catch the ball,  but in doing so knocked LadyLlyn out of the way.

“Oh Gwyn, be careful for you have struck me a blow. One more and I shall disappear for ever.”

“But I was saving you from the ball,” Gwyn protested.

“No buts my love,” LadyLlyn said.

The third and final blow came that very night.

Their lovemaking had always been passionate and tonight they were waking the neighbours and their neighbours’ neighbours. With LadyLlyn on top Gwyn thought he might get a little bit kinky, he lifted his hand and brought it down on LadyLlyn silky backside.

Immediately she stopped.

“Oh Gwyn my love, you have struck me a third and final blow.” LadyLlyn stood up, tied her sweaty hair back with a band, quietly got dressed and then left.

Gwyn couldn’t believe it. It had been part of the fun, just a playful slap.

He waited sure she would come back; sure this was just a game, but she didn’t.  He sent her a text but there was no reply. He tried to call but the line was dead, even her Facebook account was gone. She had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Gwyn spent the rest of his days searching the dating website for his love, but although there were plenty of fish in that lake there was no sign of LadyLlyn.

The Cat Witches

For audio click here 
This is another  updated version of an old Welsh folk tale. I've put a 2016 spin on it. 

For the original go to the end of the story, after the adverts for my novels.  

“This is odd,” Huw said to no one in particular.

“What is?” Janet was usually the one colleague that who took the bait.

“Look at this,” Huw turned his computer screen around so Janet could see it, but carried on talking anyway. “Apparently, according to Wales Online like, the Travelodge at the Cardiff West services has had a spate of unexplained robberies.”

“Oh,” Janet took another bite out of her Gregg’s steak bake.

“All business travellers, all male, all travelling alone. It says here that the robberies take place at night, while the guest is in the room, the door is locked and there’s no sign of forced entry. They reckon it is a ghost.” But Janet had stopped listening; she was much more interested in the hair poking out of her pasty than she was in Huw’s mystery.

“Is that one of mine?” She said. “Does that look like one of mine? She held the hair up to the light. “It’s the wrong colour,” she said throwing the pasty down on the desk. “That’s disgusting that is.” But Huw didn’t take a blind bit of notice. Huw was booking a room in the Travelodge; Huw didn’t believe in ghosts so he was going to get to the bottom of this.

Huw had to admit the room was better than he thought it was going to be; clean, spacious, tea and coffee making facilities, a bed like falling into a cloud. It was just like Lenny Henry promised, only he advertised Premier Inn. Huw took a shower and then went out for dinner. He strolled across the car park to the Burger King; he knew how to live.

The fast food restaurant was deserted except for the two girls that worked there. They were buxom lasses who took a healthy interest in Huw.

“What’s a handsome guy like you doing all alone?” The one with a pretty smile said.

“Business trip,” Huw said. He liked them; they were fun so he made up stories of his long lonely journeys around the UK selling cement. It seemed to do the trick.

“Would you like some company later? We’re on morning shift so they put us up in the hotel.” The one with the pretty eyes said.

Huw almost choked on his Whopper. Fuck trying to catch a thief, he was getting a chance to have a threesome, tick off on item on his bucket list. He wasn’t going to turn that down.

“What’s your room number?” Eyes asked.

“Eleven,” Huw croaked.

“See you at Twelve,” Smiles said and blew him a kiss.

 Huw had to be able to perform. He nipped into Costa and got himself a triple espresso latte with syrup and sugar. That should give him the energy he needed to satisfy the two lovely ladies.

The girls were as good as their word. Just after midnight there was a gentle knock on the door and the two women came in. 

It was like all Huw’s Christmases had come at once. The women used him and abused him. He certainly got his money’s worth out of the hotel room; not a surface went unsullied.

Three sweaty bodies lay on the bed exhausted. Both girls were purring contentedly like kittens that had tired themselves out. He closed his eyes and wondered if he’d ever be able to wipe the smile off his face. He felt Eyes move, she stood up and went to the bathroom. After the toilet flushed, Smile stood up too. He heard them whispering and guessed they had to go. Then heard the sound of the change jangling in his jeans pocket. He opened one eye and saw that Eyes had his wallet in her hand. It all made sense now, of course these businessmen would have to report the theft of their company credit card, but couldn’t tell the world they’d been shagging the Burger King girls could they?. As for the girls well usually their victims would have been sound asleep after the seeing to they’d given him. But Huw was wide-awake; the coffee had made sure of that. 

Without thinking he reached for the mug that was on the bedside table and threw it at Eyes. It hit her square in between the eyes. She dropped the wallet and the two of them hurried from the room.

The next morning Huw went to Burger King for his breakfast. Smile was there serving a tired looking driver.

“Great night last night,” Huw said. “Where’s Eyes? I’d like to thank her too.”

Eyes appeared from behind the ice cream machine, a bruise the size of Treorchy across her forehead. 
Huw smiled and went on his merry way. That afternoon he put an entry on Trip Advisor. Beware the Burger King girls, they are not the little kittens they appear to be.

The Cat Witches 

Many robberies used to take place at an inn near Bettws-y-Coed. Travellers who put up there for the night were continually relieved of their money, and they could not tell how. They were certain that no one had entered their rooms, because they were found locked in the morning just as they were the night before. Huw Llwyd was consulted, and he promised to unravel the mystery.

He presented himself at the inn one night, and asked for a night's lodging, saying that he was an officer on his way to Ireland. The inn was kept by two sisters: they were both very comely, and made themselves very agreeable to Huw Llwyd at supper. Not to be outdone, he did his best to entertain them with tales of travel in foreign parts which he had never visited. On retiring for the night he said that it was a habit with him to have lights burning in his room all night, and he was supplied with a sufficient quantity of candles to last until the morning. Huw Llwyd made his arrangements for a night of vigil. He placed his clothes on the floor within easy reach of his bed, and his sword, unsheathed, on the bed close to his hand. He secured the door, got into bed, and feigned to sleep. Before long two cats came stealthily down the chimney. They frisked here and there in the room, but the sleeper lay motionless; they chased each other around the bed, and gambolled and romped, but still the sleeper showed no signs of awaking. At last they approached his clothes and played with them, turning them over and over. Ere long the sleeper (who had been very wide awake the whole time) saw one of the cats putting her paw into the pocket which contained his purse. He struck at the thievish paw like lightning, with his sword. With a hideous howl both cats disappeared up the chimney, and nothing further was seen of them the whole night.

Next morning only one of the sisters appeared at the breakfast table. Huw Llwyd asked where the other was. Receiving the reply that she was ill and could not come down, he expressed his regret, and proceeded to break his fast. The meal over, "I am now going to resume my journey," he said," but I must say good-bye to your sister, for I greatly enjoyed her company last night." Many excuses were attempted, but he would not be refused, and at last he was admitted to her presence. After sympathising with her and asking whether he could be of any service, he held out his hand to bid good-bye. The sick lady held out her left hand. No," said Huw Llwyd laughingly, "I am not going to take your left hand: I have never taken a left hand in my life, and I am not going to begin with yours, white and shapely as it is." Very unwillingly and with evident pain, she put out her right hand. It was swathed in bandages. The mystery was now revealed. The two sisters were witches, and in the form of cats robbed travellers who lodged under their roof: "I have drawn blood from you," said Huw Llwyd, addressing the wounded sister, "and henceforth you will be unable to do any mischief. I will make you equally harmless," he said to the other sister. Seizing her hand, he cut it slightly with a knife, so that the blood came. For the rest of their lives the two sisters were like other women, and no more robberies took place at their inn.

An Adventure on a River Bank.

For audio click here. 
This is my updated version of an old Welsh folk tale. I've put a 2016 spin on it. 

For the original go to the end of the story, after the adverts for my novels.  

Ianto had had a fantastic evening. Beer, friends and laughter, what more can a man want? But now it was time to go home. In times past Ianto would have stayed out and maybe turned a good night into one to forget or even one to regret. But those days were gone. These days he was a good boy; he’d learnt his lesson. He recognised that the laughter was less regular and the conversation less boisterous and the room was about to spin. It was time to say his goodbyes and take his leave.

A fine rain blew into Ianto’s face as he walked along the embankment, and the wind was nearly knocking him off his feet. He pulled his collar up and sunk his hands deep into his pockets feeling his new iPhone safely nestled there. That phone was his pride and joy. He took it out and glanced at the screen; not for any particular reason but just because he had one and he could.

As he switched the screen on a gust of wind far mightier than any before, knocked the phone clean out of Ianto’s hand and sent it tumbling down the bank towards the river.

Ianto looked into the dark abyss; his phone was somewhere down there, he had to get down and get it. He slid and slipped down the grassy knoll, his loafers giving him no grip in the wet mud. He lost balance and fell onto his arse with a crack. He screamed with pain. His phone was now forgotten as his leg throbbed.

“Help!” he yelled but no one passed by, no one came. The pain was getting worse, the cold biting in. Ianto was shivering so hard the movement was hurting his leg even more.

“Help!” He cried again, but still no one came.

Then out of the mist came a figure; only slight, almost childlike.

“Call the police, I’m hurt.” Ianto managed to moan.

“No need for the police,” the little man said, and despite his small stature picked Ianto up carried him up the bank with ease. Once at the top the man took Ianto into a nearby house and through to the kitchen. Ianto thought he could hear music and laughter, but that might have been his imagination.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” the man said. “Meleri!” he called.

The door opened and the music grew louder and then faded again. In came a woman the same size as the man who took one look at the muddied and injured Ianto and started clucking around him. Within minutes he was dressed in clean clothes and was drinking a soup the like of which he’d never tasted before. Gone were the shivers, gone was the pain; he felt good as new.

“Join us,” the man said. “For we are celebrating my daughter’s birthday.”

Ianto was led through the house and introduced to all sorts of little people, no one was an inch over four foot six inches. Except for the last person he met, the man’s daughter, Olwen.

Olwen wasn’t tall but she was taller than those around her and she was by far the most beautiful woman Ianto had ever set eyes on. In his smart new clothes Olwen thought Ianto was pretty dapper too.

They drank and danced and laughed and nearly kissed. Her smile would light up the darkest of days and was certainly burning a hole in Ianto’s heart. Ianto had never been so happy; the only cloud was the loss of his iPhone, lost somewhere down that damn muddy bank.

“Stay the night,” Meleri said. He was disappointed when she offered him what looked like an awfully lumpy sofa bed and not a chance to share Olwen’s but at least he didn’t have to go back out into the storm. Looks can be deceptive, the makeshift bed was the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept it. He dreamt of Olwen and tasting those lips.

The next morning he was woken up not by a kiss from the wonderful Olwen but by a the stray dogs licking his face. He looked around and wondered where he was. Gone were his clean clothes, the sofa bed, the warm hospitable house. Instead he was in the doorway of the local branch of HSBC. His clothes muddied and only one loafer on his feet. He shooed the dog away and staggered to his feet. Despite the disappointment of not seeing Olwen, was chuffed to bits to see his phone lying next to him, caked in dirt but still working.

An Adventure in the Big Bog

A young harper of Bala was asked to play at a wedding in a farmhouse near Yspytty Ifan. When the joyous company broke up late at night he set off for home like the rest, but he had a much longer way to go than anyone else. When he was crossing the mountain a dense fog came on, and he lost his way. He was wandering about trying to find the path again, when he suddenly stepped into the Gors Fawr, "the big bog." The treacherous crust swayed for an instant under his tread, and then it broke. The soft mud oozed round his ankles, and he felt himself going further and further down. He tried to raise himself on his harp, but the only result of this was to plunge the beloved instrument into the bog, and he himself sank lower and lower. At last, with a desperate effort, he hurled himself full length upon the surface. The yielding crust caved under his body, and he clutched at the surface grass, but he only plucked the tufts from their roots. They gave him no hold. With every fresh effort to save himself he sank deeper. The gurgling slime sucked him down, down, down, and in the anguish of his soul he threw his head back in one last wild scream.

His cry was just dying away when the fog suddenly cleared, and a little man appeared on the brink of the bog. He threw a rope to the harper, who, after a great struggle, fastened it round his body under the arms. The little man pulled and pulled and gradually drew the harper out of the mire. He took him to a house blazing with light hard by, where there was singing and dancing and much revelry. The harper was given fine clean clothes, and after drinking a flagon of delicious mead he recovered sufficiently from the fright which the fall into the bog had given him to join in the festivity which was going on. There was a little lady there whom the company addressed as Olwen. She was the most beautiful little lady that the harper had ever seen and the best dancer. With her he danced hour after hour, and the only bitter in his cup of sweet was the thought that his beloved harp was in the slimy blackness of the Gors. When the whole company retired to rest he was put in a bed as soft as the softest down, and he thought he had reached a very heaven of delight.

But next morning he was awakened, not by a kiss from Olwen, but by the Plas Drain shepherd's dog licking his lips: he found himself lying by the wall of a sheepfold, and there was no trace of the house in which he had spent such a happy night. His clothes were all caked with bog mud, and his harp, which was in a clump of rushes at his feet, was black with the same defilement.

http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/wfb/wfb66.htm