The Dewberry Bush

'There's a bush up there with all the dewberries you could ever eat,' said my older cousin Annie-May, flourishing a regal wave to the mountain. We lived in Ty-Groes Drive then and we had a wonderful view: on our right the steelworks, all grey, and on the left the mountains, all green. 

In front of this tableau stood Annie-May in a white mini-skirt dress decorated with red roses; one of her suitors worked in a factory cutting off the labels on clothes before they were sent to market, as a result we paraded around in Marks and Spencers clothes even though we couldn't afford to buy food there. 

Mum on Annie-May's right was dressed in a fawn polo neck and purple flares. Annie-May had a devilish look in her eyes. I was reminded of a picture of the Devil tempting Jesus we had been shown at Sunday school.

'How do you know?' Mum asked.

'José told me,' said Annie-May. 

'And who's José,' said Mum.

'He's a Spanish sailor that goes to The Bell Inn,' said Annie-May: 'Look – he drew a map for me.'

She produced a beer mat with a few lines drawn across it.

'José's from Spain,' said Annie-May. 'You know, Franco and all that, they do reconnaissance on our food supplies.'

'Do you really think the Spanish dictator would take an interest in fruit bushes?' Mum said.

Annie-May ignored this point. 'Not just any fruit – dewberries, Mary,' she continued, 'the champagne of berries.'

'Do you think it's a good idea in this heat?' said Mum. 'Isn't '76 already the hottest year on record?'

'You've got a point, ' said Annie-May. 'We'll take some factor five and two – no, three – bottles of pop to be on the safe side.'

We were all sweating when we got to the reservoir at the foot of the mountain. It didn’t look like a reservoir, there was only a foot of water at the bottom. 

We looked down and then looked back at the steelworks. 

'It's all connected,' said Annie-May. 'You saw the programme on the telly the other night.' 

We nodded; there had been a news report about something called global warming. The pollution that the steelworks were belching out was making the world heat up, but the works was our life, our bread and butter, without it we were nothing. 

We all sat down for a while, and I had a strange feeling of time passing, that nothing could remain the same. 

'Apparently there is something called CFCs in hairsprays that are destroying the atmosphere,' said Annie-May. 

'So you've stopped using them,' I said. 

'Except on Saturday night,' said Annie-May, ' I've got to look my best then.'

We carried on up the mountain, Annie-May bowling ahead of us. Around and around we went, it seemed like we were the lost tribe in the bible wandering around for forty years. 

And then we came across it. At first, we thought it was a mirage, but it was real. A huge bush on the side of the mountain that glistened with fresh dewberries. 

We got to work straight away. Mum held onto the chair whilst Annie-May clambered up to pick the dark jewels. Then Annie-May fell. She went down, taking the chair and Mum with her. I peeked over the side of the bush. This was why the precious berries had remained untouched; the bush wasn't on solid ground.

'Are you okay?'

'Yes, we're okay, but we can't get back up,' said Mum.

'You'll have to get help,' said Annie-May. 

Everyone said what I was a clever, sensible boy I was – making my way down the mountain and getting help. I took issue with the word 'sensible' – as far as I could see none of us had any common sense, that was the way we were made.

I was fine with that.