Y traethawd buddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog, Cwrs Cymraeg 2013: Cwrs Cymraeg Y Ddinas Wyntog gan Aderyn Bach (Ceri Eagling)
Y Gwynt
Roedd fy mam-gu’n casáu’r gwynt fel rheol. Y gwynt oedd ei gelyn pan oedd hi’n cerdded i’r dref neu i’r capel, weithiau’n ceisio tynnu ei het oddi ar ei phen, ac yn ffeindio eu ffordd tu fewn i’w choler ac i lawr ei gwddf fel bysedd oer. Roedd y gwynt yn peri papurau brwnt i ddawnsio at Nan o’r pafin. Ych-a-fi!
Dim ond ar ddydd Llun, diwrnod golchi, ybyddai’r gwynt yn dod yn ffrind iddi hi. Fel perchynnog melin wynt yn yr Iseldiroedd yn y dyddiau gynt, neu fel morwyr cyn dyfodiad yr Oes Stêm, roedd Nan wrth ei bodd yn edrych trwy’r ffenest fore Llun a gweld bod y gwynt yn chwythu’n iawn.
Roedd gyda ni ddwy lein ddillad, un uwchben y llall. I lenwi’r lein uchaf, roedd rhaid ini agor rhan ohoni a oedd wedi cael ei chlymu i’r postyn tal, a’i gollwng i lefel y lein isaf. Gwaith caled oedd hi wedyn i’w chodi’n llawn o bethau gwlyb a thrwm. Roedd yn wir fel codi hwyl. Unwaith y byddai’r lein honno i fyny eto, gallen ni lenwi’r lein isaf yn rhwydd. Wrth gwrs, doedd neb ond Nan yn gwybod y ffordd hollol gywir o hongian dillad a chynfasau. Roedd y gweddill ohonon ni’n dueddol o fod yn weddol dwp o ran y manylion m$acirc;n. Roedd rhaid iddi’n aml fynd tu fas ar ein hôl i ail-begio crys wrth ei gwt a’i droi i roi cyfle iawn i’r gwynt i enchwythu ei freichiau.
Roedd fy mam yn darllen stori i mi gan Aesop fel plentyn,sydd yn disgrifio cystadleuaeth rhwng yr haul a’r gwynt. Mae dyn yn cerdded fyny allt, ac mae’r ddau gystadleuwr yn ymdrechi i’w orfodi i dynnu ei got. Y gwynt yw’r cyntaf i drio ac mae’n gwneud ei orau glas, ond fel fy Mamgu, mae’r dyn yn botymu ei got yn rhy dynn. Yr haul, wrth achosi iddo chwysu, sydd y llwyddiannus. Wel, nid oedd y gystadleuaeth a welon ni rhwng y gwynt a’r haul yn arferol, ond rhwng y gwynt a’r glaw. Os oedd y gwynt yn gryfach, ar y lein âi’r dillad, ond wrth gwrs, gallai’r waedd, “Glaw eto!” godi unryw funud. Wrth ei chlywed, byddai pawb yn y tŷ, a hyd yn oed Mrs. Long, ein cymydoges drws nesa weithiau yn rhedeg i achub y golch ar frys. Os nad oedd y gwynt yn gallu goresgyn y glaw, druan ohonon ni, roedd dillad ar draws y gegin drwy’r dydd. Ych-a-fi!
Ceri Eagling
The Wind
My grandmother hated the wind as a rule. The wind was her enemy when she was walking to town or to chapel, sometimes trying to pull her hat off her head, and finding its way under her collar and down her neck like cold fingers. The wind made dirty papers dance at Nan from the sidewalk. Ugh!
Only on Mondays, washing day, did the wind become her friend. Like a windmill owner in The Netherlands in bygone days, or like sailors before the age of steam, Nan was in her element on Monday mornings, looking through the window and seeing the wind blowing well.
We had two washing lines, one above the other. To fill the top line we had to undo the part that was tied to the tall line post, and lower it to the level of the bottom line. Afterwards, it was hard work raising it full of heavy, wet things. It really was like hoisting a sail. Once that line was up again, it was easy to fill the bottom line. Of course, no one but Nan knew the completely correct way to hang clothes and bed sheets. The rest of us tended to be a bit dull-witted concerning the finer details. She often had to go out after us and re-pin a shirt by its tail and turn it to give the wind a chance to inflate its sleeves.
My mother read me a story by Aesop when I was a child, which described a contest between the sun and the wind. A man is walking up a hill and the two competitors struggle to force him to take off his coat. The wind is the first to try, and he does his level best, but like my grandmother, the man buttons his coat too tightly. The sun, by causing him to sweat, is successful. Well, the contest we usually saw was not between the sun and the wind, but between the wind and the rain. If the wind was stronger, on the line would go the clothes, but of course, the shout, “Rain again!” could go up at any minute. On hearing it, everyone in the house, and even our next-door neighbor Mrs. Long sometimes, would run to rescue the wash. If the wind was unable to overcome the rain, poor us, there would clothes all over the kitchen throughout the day. Ugh!
Ceri Eagling