That pair of rogues, from previous story, Adelaide the chambermaid and happy go lucky partner, Benny, indeed had made themselves at home on Sonsie Farm, Beatrice’s Welsh Sanctuary. In helping Adelaide apply for her pension, I learned her last name was spelled “Ablekage” I also learned that it meant “Danish Apple Pudding”. Ever the enigma, our Adelaide.
Beatrice named her new donkey “Euphony”, a word we learned from Godfrey. She trained him to be annoying, bray early in the day, as dawn crept home. Sneaking over the hills to warmth, sprawl in tawdry repose across the valley. Euphony would bellow, below the sleep-out window of Adelaide and Benny.
Nothing bothered the former Royal Chambermaid or Horseman Benny, they loved the obnoxious sound of hungry donkey. They lived on leisure time, creative ways inclined, a sturdy caravan they built, of purloined materials I was sure, (Guilt was not of their education) . They crafted it with care, added coats of yellow paint, two, no less, Benny hand made for Euphony a soft, fitted harness.
There was room for narrow bunks of books inside, wood stove and bucket sink, to be kind to my donkey, the old pair walked at his lead, rather than ride.
“Euphony”, Worzel writes, “I learned the word from Godfrey. “The true vagabond knows it, feels it in the heart bits, through the breeze’s nudge on shoulders”. “The itch that sets pen to paper, wherever he may be- Euphony. “hear it in the horses lonely call, as paddock mate leaves up the track, beyond her sight’. “It’s in the rumble and whine of the highway at midnight”. “Euphony in the terse slap of a flag in surly weather…Euphony I saw, in the story of Adelaide and Benny, wandering the world with their steamer trunk together..
The odd couple never did anything in haste, nor did they ask for to hitch up my donkey, and slip away down to the fairgrounds to race. “My pets do not compete at the fair”.” I told the obtuse Adelaide, there was jingle of coin in her voluminous smock, innocent was she of face’.
“Wondering, as oft I did, how old the two really were”. Adelaide maintained that, “as a lady she revealed nothing”. “And I never really directly asked her”. Nor dear, like able Benny, sun in his eyes, even when it rained, cobber hat and cow-kick limp, teeth down to three, wholly devoted to each other, in Euphony- laughter late at night from the yellow sleep-out, thumps on the wall that were no business to me…Euphony.
Worzel writes- “Its my late summer visit to Wales”. “I shake free of airport and motorway, stand on the crest of what Godfrey called “Bust Me Gall Hill”. “I breathe it in, deep, land and sea, tang of sheep, scent of spice baking somewhere in a cottage hid below”. “The track to Sonsie Farm, turnoff at the pink post box past the oak glen”. “I spot the distant glint of sun on plaid, somehow I knew, as they did to, when last we parted would meet again”. “Euphony”, Benny painted in gold, gilt lettering on their caravans tail end.
” Euphony,” wrote Godfrey, Dylan Thomas knew it, as did Blake, and Worzel’s Robert Service, Tennyson, and my lodestar, my much beloved Henry Lawson”. “You can hear it early evening, alone in Maclean’s deep, half lit canyon”. The prairie girl hears it in the silence of dark winter, for she is to, deep inside a writer”. “Hears it sweeping up at end of day, in the gurgle of the coffee, she slaps on the smile, pours it out with words for me, taught me “Euphony”.