The Lions of Cwmrhaffau- a short story by Helen Jones

 

The Lions of Cwmrhaffau

I clump across the yard in my wellies, past the Fig tree, towards the meadow, our equivalent of the Serengeti,calling out as I go

´¨Mookie Lion, Mouse Lion come on¨!

Mookie always first, vocal as ever is calling back to me, then I see Mouse (shy, hence name) slinking in the shadows of the thick undergrowth, dark and mysterious. I wade through the long summer grasses, yellow rattle and clover, creating a path for Mookie to fly along, tail high and calling to her sister Mouse, then suddenly, so fast as to be a blur, Mouse leaps through the air over the head of Mookie, and boom fall together in a mock fight with riotous squeaks or rather roars, they are Lions after all. The noise brings the lone Antelope, played by Gert the goat, she bleats as she runs along the fence, not in fear but wanting to join in the fun. I watch them as I follow, nosing in hedgerows, climbing mole hills and sniff the air. We reach the edge of the woodlands having crossed the Plains, naturally. I sit on the ground marvelling at the Buzzard high up in the blue sky, drifting on the invisible thermals, a plaintive cry as he dives for some unfortunate prey. 

My Lions return from their adventures and clamber all over me, not caring where they put their sharp pins. The noise of the sea’s waves drifts up from Penbryn beach, with the trees rustling their finery creating the restful background soundscape. Bored now, they jump down and look up at me, come on, there is so much more to explore they seem to say. They tumble and scamper to investigate creatures in the hedgerow whilst I stretch and amble slowly on up the hill, laughing at their antics. They crouch down in the long grass, spotting their prey, a lone Zebra, played by Simon the Bay pony, you do have to imagine these things! grazing and flicking his tale to rid him of flies. He looks up, his mouth busy with of a switch of grass he has no fear of my Lions! Racing past him, the lions take the stone wall in one leap, waiting whilst I give Zebra Simon a cwtch.

Pushing open the cottage door, we are once more girl and cats, with warm milk and cookies for them and a cup of tea for me, plus cake if there is any!

Notes

Cwmrhaffau, translates to Valley of Ropes. It is a glorious organic small holding, situated on the coast in West Wales. I had the privilege of living there for a couple of years. Mookie and Mouse were the nicknames of my little rescue cats, Matilda and Misha who lived with me there. We really did go Lioning together !