Myself.—Why don’t you make friends amongst your neighbours?
Woman.—O, sir, the English cannot make friends amongst the Welsh. The Welsh won’t neighbour with them, or have anything to do with them, except now and then in the way of business.
Myself.—I have occasionally found the Welsh very civil.
Woman.—O yes, sir, they can be civil enough to passers-by, especially those who they think want nothing from them—but if you came and settled amongst them you would find them, I’m afraid, quite the contrary.
Myself.—Would they be uncivil to me if I could speak Welsh?
Woman.—Most particularly, sir; the Welsh don’t like any strangers, but least of all those who speak their language.
Myself.—Have you picked up anything of their language?
Woman.—Not a word, sir, nor my husband neither. They take good care that we shouldn’t pick up a word of their language. I stood the other day and listened whilst two women were talking just where you stand now, in the hope of catching a word, and as soon as they saw me they passed to the other side of the bridge, and began buzzing there. My poor husband took it into his head that he might possibly learn a word or two at the public-house, so he went there, called for a jug of ale and a pipe, and tried to make himself at home just as he might in England, but it wouldn’t do. The company instantly left off talking to one another, and stared at him, and before he could finish his pot and pipe took themselves off to a man, and then came the landlord, and asked him what he meant by frightening away his customers. So my poor husband came home as pale as a sheet, and sitting down in a chair said, “Lord, have mercy upon me!”
Myself.—Why are the Welsh afraid that strangers should pick up their language?
Woman.—Lest, perhaps, they should learn their secrets, sir!