(1)A straight line of latitude Between Red Bay, Labrador and Porthcawl, Sir Morgannwg*. (*Known to the Saxons as Glamorganshire)

(2)A straight Line of sight between Sir Morgannwg’s afon Blaidd and New York City. (An approximate distance of 2,800 land miles)

Duw, Duw, Sion Bach, (My goodness, Little Johnny), it is one day in a million. With these binoculars and the right light we will see America before your Mam calls you Cariad (Sweetheart) again.” The binoculars were in a khaki canvas case. All other binoculars and telescopes I had ever seen came in brown leather cases. I inquired, “Where did you get these “bins”, Des?” Des defended his honour. “What are you, boyo, a rosser (cop) or something. The army gave them to me and that is all you need to know.” A thankful King bestowed them on one of his faithful soldiers.”

Desmond Powell, my cousin, was my hero. I was just six years old when he returned home from Burma after fighting the Japanese. On that day he was resplendent with medals and his Welch Regiment uniform. He was soon to be ordained as an Anglican Minister and proved years later to be a famous novelist and playwright. Pilferage, even larcenies were unheard of as far as future Anglican ministers were concerned. Des had only “rescued” the binoculars from the army as he was, in later life, to rescue wayward souls from Satan’s grip. His Majesty’s binoculars were put to good use that afternoon. God Save the King! Even if he’s a Saxon and they beat us in rugby.

We were on a wind blown hill overlooking the mouth of the Wolf River where it cascaded down a rocky precipice to the Atlantic Ocean. Des pointed in a westerly direction and told me to adjust His Majesty’s bins to my eyes. “Now, on a day like this,” said Des, “You can see all the way to New York.” If we are lucky, we will see the sky scrapers and the very tall Empire State Building.” Cousin Des knew everything.

Des, I can’t see a bloody thing ‘cept water.” I was scolded, “No swearing, Sion Bach, God can hear you and will not be pleased. If you look on the horizon, you will see a flicker from the Statue of Liberty’s torch. Unfortunately, the curvature of the earth will only let you see the top of the statue today.” My, Des was a whiz at all explanations. I was becoming frustrated. “All I can see is sea; sea, sea and more sea. I can’t see America, Des!” Desmond encouraged me: “Look for a beam of light, Sion. Don’t give up so easily!” I scoured the ocean and went back and forth along the horizon. After ten minutes, I noticed a bright glow. It had to be Liberty’s torch. “Des, I see it. There is a sparkle. It is Liberty’s light for sure. It’s just poking up beyond the horizon.” Des grinned:“Dia iawn, Sion. (Very good, John.) I knew that Saxon King George the Sixth would want you to see America today. That is why he gave me these binoculars with instructions to show you New York.”

I rushed home and told Mam what the King had said and what I had seen and she told me that it was very unusual to see America from Afon Blaidd. Obviously, then, I was very lucky to have spotted the torch. For our supper, Mam had made a sweet custard tart with grated nutmeg on top. Boy, was it ever good. I ate three pieces. After our meal, Mam asked Desmond to go to the kitchen with her. I heard them talking. No doubt it was “adult stuff” and not meant for young ears. I didn’t care. We had roamed the seashore then played along the Wolf River. I had even seen America. It had been one smashing day in a million. Soon it was bedtime and Mam tucked me in and as she did every evening, kissed me softly and whispered, “Goodnight, Cariad”.