A selection of paintings, drawings & jottings

The legend lives on from Caernarfon on down,

Of the mountain they call Mynydd Mawr,

With rough track and ledges and boulders and sedge,

It’s the realm of the sheep and wildflower.

 

With a cargo in truth piled right up to the roof,

The Chapmans’ grey X-trail came burdened,

The roads in the news were all snow, ice and queues,

And dead vehicles cold and abandoned.

 

The X-trail’s new engine then spluttered and died,

And they sat in a motorway refuge,

The AA they say dealt with many that day,

But by late afternoon they were rescued.

 

For Christmas and cheer like the previous year,

They tackled the roads of December,

To stay in a place far from any rat race,

For a holiday long to remember.

 

Concluding their drive on the A55,

But by now it was dark and late evening,

And not far ahead lay the promise of bed,

At Hafod, the cottage they were renting.

 

Remote Hafod lay a significant way,

Up the slopes where the blizzards were biting,

But Llifon the owner assured them by phone,

That the way was both clear and inviting.

 

They climbed through Groeslon and Carmel and Yr Fron,

Then out onto slopes that were roadless,

With no way to know what lay under the snow,

The X-trail ploughed forward regardless.

 

They pitched and they swayed all the rest of the way,

With lights all ablazing they thundered,

Till Hafod they saw with a light in the door,

And through the gate finally blundered.

​

A peaceful white morning a sparkling dawn,

The next day was quiet and tranquil,

The great fire was heating the house as they eat,

In the kitchen a breakfast most thankful.

 

The weather soon turned and the snowfall returned,

And the spring water froze in the plumbing.

No water supply and the snow piling high,

They phoned for Llifon who came running.

 

His great Shogun car couldn’t get out that far,

And he couldn’t see how they had managed,

But now they were stranded right where they had landed,

The water pump terminally damaged.

 

No fix, no replacement no water in place,

Meant the Chapmans would have to use pails,

To gather the snow and to go to and fro,

And appreciate Christmas in Wales.

 

The toilet not flushing, the bath full of slush,

In the kitchen the boiling kettle,

Surrounded by snow they decided to go,

It just needed the weather to settle.

 

They cleared the way for the following day,

And good weather if they could catch it,

Then heavy of heart they prepared to depart,

And broke up ice the with a hatchet,

 

So early next morn several hours before dawn,

The X-trail went forward in darkness,

On treacherous slopes it rewarded their hopes,

Between boulders all covered in whiteness.

 

Then shovelling snow in much heavier going,

They inched their way onward unhurried,

The X-trail shot forward and carried on toward,

A ditch that lay hidden and buried.

​

The end of the ride was a slithering slide,

As the X-trail heeled over to starboard,

One wheel in the air like a hare in a snare,

In a ditch on a mountain encumbered.

 

They phoned for Llifon to see what could be done,

And they learned he was stuck just as they were,

He could not attend so he sent round a friend,

In a Range Rover sure to get up there.

 

When two hours passed they made contact at last,

And they learned of the Range Rover’s failure,

It couldn’t get through, there was nothing do,

But to send out a bloody great tractor.

 

In late afternoon not a moment too soon,

As the waiting was getting quite boring,

It hove into view and would certainly do,

The four-wheel drive monster came roaring.

 

Brave Eli could feel as he sat at the wheel,

That the ledge was both narrow and bending,

A chain was then hooked to the car and it looked,

Like the nightmare was finally ending.

 

With Chapman inside at the wheel for the ride,

The tractor set to with a vengeance,

With a loud crack or three the great X-trail came free,

And then skidded about without guidance.

 

It slid like a sledge very close to the edge,

As the wheels struggled hard for a purchase,

The tractor lost grip and then started to slip,

It’s great tyres just spinning and useless.

 

Still gritting their teeth nearly coming to grief,

Their vehicles fates now related,

Then just as it looked like their gooses were cooked,

They climbed back to safety united.

​

The Chapmans together were towed while the weather,

Held off though the day was now waning,

The chain would snap taught when the car would get caught,

With each jolt the whole chassis was straining.

 

So onward they go round the rocks through the snow,

Which kept getting deeper and whiter,

The last quarter mile was a narrow defile,

And the car was becoming wedged tighter.

 

Now nearing the road and still towing its load,

Just fifty yards short of salvation,

With one final roar Eli’s tractor shot forward,

The X-trail remained in position.

 

There’s no book of tact tells you how to react,

When a friend pulls the front of your car off,

The look of dismay Eli’s face had that day,

Said the Chapmans’ escape had been called off.

 

In dark all alone with no hope but a phone,

The tractor now having departed,

And Chapman now gleans just what “fully comp” means,

From insurers just weak and fainthearted.

 

But then when despair looked to hang in the air,

The darkness exploded in headlights,

And Llifon appeared down the trackway now cleared,

His Shogun dispelling the cold night.

 

With toothbrushes stowed in the Shogun they rode,

To the Chippy in Penygroes High Street,

A car they were lent by a friend and it meant,

That they’d get to Portmeirion with dry feet.

 

The dawn came late on the following day

And the blue sky had barely a contrail.

The tractor climbed high on the mountain to try,

To recover the wreck of the X-trail.

​

It ran out of luck and became firmly stuck,

So a second one had to be added,

In procession they rolled off the mountain so cold,

And the X-trail went off for a Band-Aid.

​

The X-trail repaired was collected and there’d,

Be much gratitude for the recovery,

That Christmas was white and a wonderful sight,

Portmeirion peaceful and lovely,

 

There’s times now and then when you come across men,

Who will always stand up and be counted,

And Llifon stands tall with his friends one and all,

With the best we have ever encountered.