‘Our God is a big man: a tall man much higher than the highest chapel
in Wales and broader than the broadest chapel. For the promised day
that He comes to deliver us a sermon we shall have made a hole in the
roof and taken down a wall. Our God has a long, white beard, and he is
not unlike the Father Christmas of picture-books. Often he lies on his
stomach on Heaven’s floor, an eye at one of his myriads of peepholes,
watching that we keep his laws. Our God wears a frock coat, a starched
linen collar and black necktie, and a silk hat, and on the Sabbath he
preaches to the congregation of Heaven.’
Set in west Wales and among the Welsh of London, and written in the
Biblical cadence which had made its author famous, Caradoc Evans’s
third collection castigates the ignorance, greed and hypocrisy of his
people.
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