A BOOK'S TRAVELS

I buy a copy of the Big Issue in the centre of Cardiff. As always, I read the book reviews and there's a very good one of a collection of short stories written by a U.S. veteran of Iraq. The stories are based on his experience as a soldier in that conflict. I would like to read it and I look for a copy on the

Redeployment by Phil Klay

Internet, finding a second hand one on Abe books. I can buy it for £3.56 + £2.34 postage. I order it from Motor City Books near Detroit Michigan USA. When the book arrives three weeks later, I find it used to be a library book belonging to the US Air Force at Misawa Airbase in Japan. The information in the book also tells me that it was purchased on 30th March 2014 in USA for the price of $26.95 and then presumably flown to Japan. Some librarian employed by the military obviously thought it would be a good book for Air Force personnel to read. But at the airbase, nobody borrowed the book. There were no military personnel wanting to read this particular veteran’s collection of short stories of his war experiences. So unused it was shipped back to the US and ended up at a second-hand bookseller and through the Internet, it was then shipped to me in UK. A long journey for a book to be read for the first time. It was a good collection of stories - well worth the read.

THE WINDING HOUSE

Of course when you find yourself in Aberbargoed where do you go? Downhill across the valley and into Bargoed or straight on towards New Tredegar and Rhymney? The mist pulls me on into the north of the valley. Then in the clearing visibility a meccano-like bridge appears that some designer thought would be good to construct in the shape of a pit’s winding gear. It’s a quarter the size of what it would be in reality and this looks toytown flimsy. Oh why did they bother? A poor half-hearted sop to the solidity of what now only exists in memory. But at least it does indicate the nearness of the Winding House Museum in Elliott's Town. This is the way the journey pulls me.

The Museum is a large extension made mainly in glass in a modern square style appended to the old winding house for Elliott’s colliery. An architect would say that the old and new blend well together but I'm not sure.

I sit in the entrance hall cafe and have a cup of coffee.

“Pretty woman walking down the street.”

The sounds of an informal choir come down the stairs

“Somebody singing here?” I ask.

“Yes. It's the Alzheimer's group. The old songs get the memory going. I think they come once every week.”

“You look lovely as can be.

Are you lonely just like me?”

I drink my coffee and eat my welsh cake

“There’ll be tomorrow night, but wait.

What do I see?

Is she walking back to me?”

I go into the smaller exhibition hall which has a display about the Welsh division at Mametz woods during the Battle of the Somme. This is to help us frame a different memory.

It includes a mockup of a trench about 6 foot long. There is a continual recording of pretend machine gun fire. It drowns out the singing from the Roy Orbison memory makers. 

As I return to the entrance hall, the choir have now moved on.

“I'm getting married in the morning.

 Ding dong..”

I visit the winding gear machinery in the old portion of the building. It’s a beast of a machine; a very large wheel and big pistons to drive it. Nothing like the travesty outside.

The smell of oil is very strong. It reminds me of the odour surrounding my father when he came home from his job. I look and take in the wafts of remembrance. For 15 min on the last Saturday of every month the machine moves. Today is Tuesday and the singers exercise their voices more often.

“Why? Why? Why? Delilah.”

The larger exhibition space has a history of the area from prehistoric times with lots of interactive exhibits. I look around and realise that I’ve moved back through time starting in the modern period and ending up in the Neolithic. Perhaps I should have gone around the other way and moved forward through time. As I leave I say goodbye to the man behind the desk who served me coffee.

“Please come again.” He politely replies.

“..I feel happy inside

 It’s such a feeling

 that my love

I can't hide

I can't hide..”

It’s quiet outside; the car sounds muffled by the mist as they go underneath the toy winding gear bridge. I'm still humming, “Pretty woman,” to myself.