Dedicated to the writings of Rhondda author Ron Berry (1920-97). The 'Tarzan of Treherbert', Robert Thomas
Joined March 2019
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But then maybe that's the Ron Berry way: flying under the radar a bit; not one for the crowd
Thanks for the engagement. If this has enabled even a handful of people to discover Ron's incredible body of work then it will have had some merit
Peace
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Cofio Ron Berry retweeted
I love his work. I’m originally from London but my folks were/ are from Ynyshir and Trehafod so I’ve always looked out for authors with a Rhondda background. He and Gwyn Thomas never seem to have the exposure that they should which is both sad, but unsurprising.
I said, "The last men came down from Caib this afternoon. As Selina said, oes dim aros, dim aros. Do you think we ought to move from Daren?"
- Flame and Slag, 1968
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The trees heaved ceaseless sap, leaves, knots, chlorophyll alchemy, the ancient trees were vast pulsing islands breeding and feeding and bleeding a criss-crossed married myriad
- Flame and Slag, 1968
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Bella May did it for luxuries. Chinese bends every lunch-hour to keep her figure. Money-money-money. She never missed a month. We never missed. Never. I wish I could miss. Once, twice. Twice makes positive, absolutely sure
- So Long Hector Bebb, 1970
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Cofio Ron Berry retweeted
Cadwgan and Nita Pugh lived in Railway Terrace. He was shaped like a neutered oriental wrestler, stomachy, bow-legged, neckless, arms hoped like staves
Left Behind, 1982
Cofio Ron Berry retweeted
Great, I thought. I'm associating with a sweet-toothed girl. Savouries for Hugh, bon-bons for Tegwyn
- The Full-Time Amateur, 1966
Great, I thought. I'm associating with a sweet-toothed girl. Savouries for Hugh, bon-bons for Tegwyn
- The Full-Time Amateur, 1966
[Mervyn Mathias and I] met briefly every summer, changeless as leopards, both of us feeding on past and present. He could still entrance like a Tibetian prayer wheel
- History Is What You Live, 1998
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Cadwgan and Nita Pugh lived in Railway Terrace. He was shaped like a neutered oriental wrestler, stomachy, bow-legged, neckless, arms hoped like staves
Left Behind, 1982
Suddenly, in the airless room, he smelled himself. Ah, we're down to the root of the trouble, he realised. I'm stinking!
- Travelling Loaded, 1963
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Vernon Rees was in Canada on aircrew training. He returned to cycle racing after the War, but our friendship had run out, honoured, a starry phase for all my life
- History Is What You Live, 1998
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Monday morning, first shift in his own stall, Jack Argest in sanguine chorus, singing from the mouth of Graig-ddu to the double-parting servicing Frank Minty's heading
- Who Belonged Just Long Enough Ago, @newwelshreview, 1998
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Cofio Ron Berry retweeted
Staring at darkness, cap-lamp clipped to the front of his belt, he invented tactics: The longer I'll sleep, the less I'll panic
- The Old Black Pasture, 1996
'News up in our cabin this morning, old Llew Kitchener kill't himself, took overdose'
Dewi fought to loosen his throat. 'Who said?'
'Mrs Kitchener to Mrs Ginty last night in the Con'
- This Bygone, 1996 (published by @GwasgGomerPress)
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He went downstairs, found his rucksack, stuffed in teh socks, a p[air of underpants, loaf of bread, half a pound of margarine, a spoon, and one of his mother's shabbiest dinner knives
- Travelling Loaded, 1963
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