The snow is snowing and the rain is really raining; wonderful memories of my youth.

I really cannot ever remember feeling cold. Your young blood must be on the verge of boiling point all the time. I spent nearly every hour of my days playing on the mountains running through the ferns that must have been at least 7 feet tall.

I remember crossing over the bridge spanning the chocolate/yellowish river that flowed out of the tunnel coming from the steel works. That's where my dear old dad worked as a fitter suffering many injuries in the bargain.

A bit higher up the mountain towards Ebbw there were three huge slag hills and railway trucks full of near molten waste that would tip sideways and the red flaming load would scream down onto the mountain below. The train would shunt back and cause a deafening roar as all the trucks crashed together.

My first school was over the bridge, a turn left pass the bus stop and up the road a bit on the left. We would regularly see out of the school windows a funeral passing by - some poor man killed in the mine.

My uncle Will used to say the mine was at the bottom of Cwm right near my big school (Dyffryn - House of Horror). That's where the girls were first allowed to sit in class with the boys Co-ed, I believe. I think girls created the Welsh language so that the boys didn't know what they were saying about them.

Any way my dearest Mam died when I was about 7, so my poor old dad took us to London for a while (not good). The kids there were not very nice. I think they were jealous because they didn't sound like me. We left Southhampton on HMAS Asturios.

Forever later we arrived in Australia. My brother left for home as soon as he was old enough - I have never seen him again. His name is Grenville Denis Compton - he is there somewhere.

I am still very Welsh - I like to sing and I love Welsh choirs, still brings tears. Thank you for reading this page of memories, love you all.

Roy Compton - Australia - March 2008