Writer's Notebook

"Isn't it strange how one passion can lead to another," echoed the voice from his TV.

Dai knew exactly what she was talking about. He remembered a time when he'd never taken up a pen in his life, other than when forced to do so by some over enthusiastic teacher who didn't know what was good for herself. Now, several books later Dai's passion shone through his very being. Yet, it had started with his passion for all things Celtic. That, of course, was intricately bound up with his Welshness which had nothing to do with passions. That was part of his very being. But then even being can be passionate.

As a teenager this passion lived and played itself out on the rugby field. But soon Dai got involved with a group of youngsters absorbed by Celtic music. They listened to all the records and went to all the concerts. They lived for their music. But Dai wasn't satisfied. This was passion at a distance. But true passion had to get involved. So Dai bought himself a fiddle and went for lessons. The lessons taught him a lot about technique and right notes but they almost chased the passion out of him. He stopped just in time and started to improvise. He'd go around the country fairs every weekend to play in his own inimitable style. It may not have been polished but it was definitely passionate. Others joined in. Soon they were a small group - Motley Music, they called themselves.

And their passion rubbed off on others. Wherever they played, people gathered round and the dancing followed. And once again Dai was captivated. Dancing gave him a sense of intoxication he'd never known before and he just couldn't get enough of it. Whenever the group was not playing, he would be at one of the other gigs weaving his way between partners, spinning around the sets as if his life depended upon it. It was either that or listening to some of the other music sessions going on. That was where he first saw Bethan and Dai was smitten from the first. His heart could not contain the fullness of his passion for this brown eyed beauty with the angelic fingers which swept across the strings of her harp and conjured him away into the land of many dreams.

Bethan, too, was Welsh but she lived with her parents in Sweden, just spending the summers at the family home In Swansea and visiting sundry music festivals. Dai couldn't see enough of her, and before long they became the talk of the country scene, most agreeing the passion would not last beyond the summer when Bethan returned home. That was when Dai took up his pen. His first letter was so long he'd had to put it into three different envelopes. Others followed and Bethan came back to Wales at Christmas when the couple got engaged. They were married the following summer and went on a honeymoon of country fairs and folk festivals. But although they were now together, Dai did not put down his pen. Once the festivals were over Dai relived and reworked them in his memory and soon one book after another came out, providing more than an adequate income for the couple to live on and for Bethan to pursue her music career.

"It's really quite easy my dear," echoed Dai back to the TV presenter. "You just need a passion for life. The rest follows on without fail."