Gwyneira, By Kate Radford.
GWYNEIRA. By Kate Radford Gwyneira, it means snow white in Welsh. I was born with jet-black hair and Celtic pale skin, the image of my mother. I walked into a bakery in south wales with one of my cousins, and a woman behind the counter collared me straight away: “You HAVE to be Michelle’s daughter, Duuuhh , you’re the spit of her you are!” There’s something about seeing those rolling welsh hills, with the mist resting on top of them, and the black and white checkerboard of gravestones on the hillside, that screams out secrets. We used to go to wales at least 4 times a year, to see family, to drink lager, to run off with my cousins and smoke cigarettes. My grandmother was quiet. She had curly copper wire sat on the top of her head like a mechanical birds nest, and cold to the touch like one penny piece. I don’t remember anything she said to me, anytime she hugged me, or kissed me. I don’t remember anytime she hugged her, kissed her either. I knew… everyone knew…. To behave. I never knew exactly why my mum moved out, what happened, the family history, all I...
