I. Philpott (deep-voiced and gruff): Well son. I suppose you know your banging woke me up.

(M.B. as a child): Looking a little fearful he says. Mmmmr Philpott. Nice day….. I don't suppose you'd like to give something to help the Missionary. Perhaps I'd better call back.

I.Philpott: Missionary? Dammo. Last night it was The Salvation Army selling "War Cry" and now it's the Missionary. Can't a man get no peace?

(M.B. as a child - rather coy): Well I can see you haven't got no money on you.

I.Philpott (grabbing M.B. by the back of the neck): Saucy young shaver!

(M.B. as boy): Please Mr. Philpott. You're squeezing my stick of barley sugar.

I.Philpott softening somewhat: Look we'll do a deal. You go and get two fish and give bob's worth of chips from cosy corner for me and I'll give you the change.

M.B: Success! Put a couple of shillings down on the card. But there was no giving in. Not if I wanted to win the title of Best Missionary of 1951. Shows how young I was. I thought the title was something like winning the Triple Crown or The Grand Slam. Anyway, one more try before going to play at Tip Mawr. Let's see if Mr. Caradoc Evans is in. (knocking on an imaginary door). (Aside from the grown up M.B.) - Caradoc Egbert Evans. Known to his friends as Stalin. Rod of iron shop-steward in the factory. At home a ball of putty in the hands of his wife Blodwin. Aisht! Here he comes.

(M.B. as a child): Hello Mr. Evans (uncertain chuckle).

Caradoc Evans: You want me to support a capitalist puppet organisation.

(M.B. aside as a man): Not puppets Mr. Evans, missionaries. Lights in Africa.

Caradoc Evans: That's no excuse. I blame the education system, your teachers…..

M.B. (coy): Mr. Evans.

Caradoc Evans: Yes.

M.B: My mother told me not to knock on your door. Yes. She said "I hope Mr. Caradoc Evans will see the light one day".

Caradoc Evans: get on you cheeky thing.

Yes, you can see how children grow up quick in a place like Glynneath. All human life is there!! Ahhhhh.