We three Liverpool lads needed an escape from the city. It was January and bitter cold and as you walked down the grey slope of Hardman Street a stinging wind cut your skin or something like that.

Being short of pocket but tall in friendship we packed a weighty wagon and headed to the Welsh world. To Blaeneinion, an isolated farm we found buried in valleys – situated at the end of a deadly ridge that our car bumbled along in hungry search of peace.

And there, in Blaeneinion, protected by the mountains and woods that surrounded it, we found a complete stillness. Wind, with its noisy intrusions and unwanted caresses – vanished. And suddenly in this stopped, still, silent world, the whole of nature became visible. Even the fog was crystal clear. We swung on the swing and we walked in the woods, with the busy city wind a forgotten nuisance.

by Charlie McKeon