“… Cymru, yng Nghaerdydd; thank you for listening to Noson Werin, presented by myself, Siw Williams, with this evening’s guest the multi-instrumentalist Chrissy Morgan, who will be performing next Wednesday in St David’s Hall, Cardiff. This has been a Tidewave production for BBC Wales in Cardiff”

I waited till the ‘on air’ light was out, and confirmation from our producer, before I turned back to Chrissy, who was now encumbered with several instrument cases.

“How do you think that went?”

She shrugged around her load.

“All right, I think. I’m never good with phone calls—I like to see the person speaking”

“I would agree with that, Chrissy, but then again I have made a career in radio, so that tends to mitigate against it”

“You coming on Wednesday?”

I laughed.

“We are recording it, and someone needs to do the terrible job of overseeing a concert by a popular musician, as a compere, so, well, of course”

She laughed, a much happier sound than I had heard from her earlier when THAT call had come in.

“Hello, you are through to Noson Werin. Want to introduce yourself?”

“I’m Harry Morgan. I was wondering if Chrissy were ever going to join the forty one per cent of people in the country who speak Welsh. I think Chrissy should. Join that forty one per cent”

When Chrissy had heard the name, her mouth had set tightly. For some reason, ‘Harry’ had paused for nearly two seconds after the first ‘per cent’, and that had turned the set mouth into a grimace. Whatever the reason, she was back on track quickly.

“Well, while I am Welsh born, from Welsh parents, neither of them spoke Welsh. My mother taught me to count from one to ten and such things as ‘thank you’. Add to that my father being in the Air Force, which meant living all over the place, particularly in northeast England, and the language was never really an option for me, much to my shame. I am now, however, taking classes. Last New Year’s resolution, in fact. Back to my roots, indeed!”

I saw her off in the car back to her hotel, her long and lean figure needing almost to fold in half to fit the back seat, before grabbing my own bus home, fretting about that grimace. There was a hidden meaning somewhere, and I couldn’t relax enough to head off to bed until I had done some digging. I made a mug of cocoa and changed into my nightwear as my computer warmed up.

Into the search bar, I started with per cent Welsh speakers Wales. The first figure that came up was around nineteen per cent, which puzzled me. No matter how I rephrased the question, I couldn’t get it to make sense. It had obviously meant something specific to Chrissy, as had the caller’s name. Some relative or other?

The way he had spoken, though, almost stressing the word 'Join’, and then that pause. Almost like a slogan. I wrapped the whole phrase in quotation marks, pressed search and….oh god.

The result contained a preview of ‘images found’, and far too many of them were more or less badly drawn variations on the same theme. A crudely depicted figure, almost always in pastel blue and pink, often with garish lipstick and bright purple hair, would have what was clearly meant to be stubble on the face. More importantly, almost every figure had a rope around their neck. The caption was indeed a slogan.

Straightforward encouragement to transgender women to kill themselves. My mind bounced from one idea to another, but only one made sense.

I had Chrissy’s mobile number, and it wasn’t too late. I tapped it in quickly.

“Can I help you?”

“Chrissy? Siw”

“Hi. Odd time to be calling, Siw”

“I… I was worried. You reacted a bit off to that caller”

“The one who wanted to talk about hurdy gurdies?”

“No. The other one, with your surname”

“Ah”

“Please don’t think I’m---- This isn’t stalking, but the way he asked what he did seemed off to me, and you may not realise it, but I could see you react. Might do radio, but I can still read faces”

“Go on”

“I googled that phrase, and it had sod-all to do with Welsh speakers”

“I know”

“Anything you want to tell me?”

“Anything I have to tell you?”

“No, there isn’t, but if someone is being this shitty, for the reasons I think he is, then it has an impact on someone I am supposed to be looking after. I don’t actually care if you are or not”

“If I am or am not what?”

“Transgender”

Silence at the other end, so of course I tried to fill it.

“I mean, obviously, it is important, but not that way. I am making a complete cods of this, aren’t I?”

I could hear a long sigh at the other end.

“I recognised his voice, Siw”

“Oh? Who is he?”

“Mam’s brother. My Uncle Dorian”

“So who is Harry Morgan?”

I could hear some long sighs at the other end, and apart from those she was silent, before almost whispering her answer.

“Harry Morgan is my dead name”

“Sorry? I’m a bit lost”

“The name my parents gave me. Before I changed it”

“Ah”

She humphed.

“Ah indeed. You are too fucking sharp, Siw. Who have you spoken to?”

“Nobody so far. Why would I?”

“Can you promise to keep it that way? What are you doing right now?”

“Honestly? Sitting in my dressing gown, talking to you and trying to drink cocoa. Unfortunately, I found a lot of images from what he said that make me feel ill”

“I know the ones you mean. Could I be really cheeky, and bum a spare bed? I know I’m in a hotel, but I really don’t want to talk about this over a phone, and… I don’t think either of us should leave it to fester overnight. To be honest, I don’t think either of us could do that”

I made an instant decision, because she was absolutely right.

“Yes. Here’s the address…”

Twenty minutes later, I saw headlights in my drive, burning through the thin living room curtains; I headed to the door and opened it, still in my dressing gown. Chrissy paid her driver and slowly walked towards me, carrying a small bag, stopping about six feet away.

“Oh, fuck it. Any tea going, or any more of that cocoa?”

“Which would you prefer?”

“To be honest, cocoa. Tea makes me pee a bit”

I waved her in, and went to fill a jug with milk after showing her the living room and spare bedroom. To my surprise, when I entered the living room with the fresh drinks, she was already in a sweat shirt and pyjama bottoms. In response to my raised eyebrows, she grinned.

“Less threatening this way, Siw. Not that I have had any kind of anatomy capable of doing that for years”

I settled into an armchair with my mug. I couldn’t help myself from looking her over, seeking any sign of what she had revealed, but there was nothing particularly obvious, and I realised I must be staring. Change tack, Williams.

“What happened to you, Chrissy?”

“I take it you’re not asking about the surgery”

“No. That’s a side issue”

“Well, bottom, really, but I get what you mean. Usual story, by our standards. Trans people, I mean. Lots of issues as a child, lots of self-harm, lots of ‘what the hell is wrong?’ from my parents. Uncle Dor was always the voice of reason”

“Sorry?”

“That’s ‘voice of reason’ for Daily Mail values, Siw. Wanted Dad to see if he could get me into one of the Forces’ boarding schools to toughen me up. Make me a real man, boy, muppet, whatever. Don’t think he realised all of that system went out the window when the Forces started pulling out of Germany. Mam fell out with him when he suggested…”

She stopped talking for a moment, staring into a corner of the room, or the past, before she spoke again.

“An overdose. All you need to know. Uncle Dor said they should lust leave me to it next time, and that I was showing the family up. When Dad went, he wanted Mam to move back to the old place, live near him. I begged her not to, and for once in her life she bloody well listened, which was a start. THE start, really. She finally started to listen to me properly, without Dad being there to filter it, and I was lucky with my doctor, and…”

Another long pause, then a quirked smile.

“Going to skim over this, or we’ll be here all night. Mam actually used some of what have been Dad’s bounty, and her widow’s pension, and we went private for the formal stuff, and my luck, Christ: surgery on the NHS. Sums my life up, really”

I could see something else bubbling under, so I let her take her time, choose her words.

“I was nearly eighteen when Mam went, but of course I had to wait till I was over eighteen before the slice and dice bit. That was a bad time, because that bastard tried to persuade them to give him custody. We were still living in Lincolnshire at the time, so I cycled out to Barton and over the suspension bridge to the Yorkshire side, and…”

She laughed, in an oddly natural way.

“Funny how much detail I can remember! I actually made sure I locked the bike to the railings. Anyway, there I am, looking down at the road underneath me, deciding if going head-first makes more sense. I didn’t realise it was right above the Humber Rescue centre, and they get a bit tired of pulling bodies ashore, and next thing I know there’s a police car or three, and someone’s trying to talk me down. I’m sitting on the railing by then, of course, and this stupid memory comes back to me. Remember Lemmy?”

“Motorhead man? Of course”

“I saw an interview once, somebody asking about the secret of a long life, and all he said was ‘You breathe in, breathe out, repeat. That’s it’. And of course, all the coppers are calling me ‘Miss’, and I think ‘Shall I hit instead?’, silly thoughts. Breathe in… repeat”

“What happened then?”

“Oh, the usual. Blanket round me, off to the hospital, sectioned really. Decent shrink, listened to me. Only one apart from the private clinic ones, really. Social Services also had a live one, and when I told them about Uncle Dor, they found me a half-way house”

She suddenly laughed in real mirth.

“When I first got home to the old place, I found I hadn’t locked the door. All my stuff was still there. That bike, though, the one I locked up? I think it was nicked the first night. Odd how your life goes. Long story short again: didn’t go to live with that bastard, had my eighteenth and got my inheritance released, and turned out Mam had specifically barred that bastard from access to it. Did my A-levels, got a place in music college, and met a really nice man with a knife. First year after that I made a decision, an actual New Year’s Eve resolution: breathe in, out, repeat”

She lost her smile.

“Realisation of my luck, Siw. Man from the rescue said they’ve pulled around two hundred bodies out of the water so far. I wasn’t one of them, and I intend to keep it that way. Now, what are we going to do with that bastard?”

I had a sudden idea, and found my own grin returning.

“Nothing to worry about, Chrissy. I will make a couple of calls tomorrow. Get some sleep for now”

I drove her back to her hotel the next morning before I worked through a couple of rehearsals and three track planning sessions. Being a radio presenter is much more than a one-hour-a-week job, and the admin remains a bind. I was also delivering three other programmes for the BBC, plus two for local radio stations, so my time was more than occupied. I made my calls that lunchtime, and then on Wednesday I was at the Hall nice and early for the recording set up and confirmation of the timings.

The stage was set out with a very large number of instrument stands, high mike, low mike for unwired instruments, and an oddly shaped hard case, the two of us waiting at the side of it all with the producer. I had just put a hand to Chrissy’s shoulder to deliver the traditional ‘break a leg’ when I felt her tense.

“The bastard’s here. I bloody knew it”

“Where?”

“See by that pillar, with the Martin Simpson poster? White hair and moustache, red ski jacket?”

“Got him. Now, do not worry, girl. Just go out and play, make the paying customers smile, and I will deal with this”

I stepped away from her, around the backdrop, and pressed a contact name on my phone.

“It’s me, and yes, he’s here. Red ski jacket, heading for the bar last I saw. White hair, white ‘tache. Looks to be about five foot ten or eleven, Cardiff City home top under the ski jacket”

“Got him. You go for this, then?”

“Fucking right I am. Let’s hope, just this once, he decides to be sensible, and just sits, listens and leaves”

“You were always a softy, woman!”

“You never were”

“Ah, I could surprise you. Laters, whatever happens”

I hung up, returning to the stage, where the producer was ready, twitching in that way they always do.

“Ten minutes, Siw. All set?”

“Not me performing, Dan. You ready, Chrissy?”

A sharp nod, and then Dan was at the stage side and I was stepping up to the spare mike. He was counting down, vocally and then, as tradition went, with his fingers.

“Good evening, noswaith dda, croeso i Neuadd Dewi Sant!”

Bouncing, as always, between Welsh and English I made the introductions.

“We are in for a treat tonight, and for those who can’t get enough, not only is this concert being broadcast live on BBC Radio Wales, it is also being recorded and will be broadcast once again on Radio Three on Sunday. Our guest tonight is the stunningly talented multi-instrumentalist Chrissy Morgan, whose first album ‘Opening Bars’ topped the UK folk charts. By the way, the bar here won’t be open during the concert, but will be for the interval and afterwards, as Chrissy will be staying on to chat and sign copies of her CDs. So, with no more delay from me, Chrissy Morgan!”

The applause was enthusiastic, and as I watched from the side I saw a smile spreading over her face as she settled her octave mandolin into place.

“This first one is on my second album, ‘Getting Jiggy’, and yes, I have copies with me. It’s traditional, no? Frieze Britches, Banish Misfortune and Lark in the Morning”

That set got the audience bouncing, and she followed it up with a few more lively ones before hanging her octave on a stand.

“Those who listened to me a couple of nights ago on Noson Werin will know I spent a lot of time around Northumbria, where they have a wonderfully rich tradition, as well as some amazing writers. I came across this next piece on an old album by Jez Lowe, and he was accompanied by Jake Walton, playing one of…”

She turned away, unlatching the bulbous hard case to produce a hurdy-gurdy. Hanging it around her shoulders, she turned back to the audience.

“Many of you know what this is, but for the benefit of those who don’t it is neither a giant coffee grinder, nor a device for making zabaglionionionionioni”

A really happy grin.

“Terry Pratchett fan, me, and many of you will get the reference. This is a hurdy-gurdy. The handle turns a friction wheel, which rubs against a melody string, stopped by these keys, plus some drones, and it sounds like this…”

As the instrument began to sound, she sang, a warm contralto rather reminiscent of a young June Tabor.

“The boys of Belly Row are on the town tonight…”

I knew the song, and her voice soared below the wail of the hurdy-gurdy as she sang the chorus, each long-drawn ‘All week long’ drawing the audience in to sing with her, and the evening continued onward and upward. Her closing piece for the first half was a surprise, as she covered ‘Putting the Damage On’ by Tori Amos, accompanied not by brass but by her hurdy-gurdy. It shouldn’t have worked, but the result was an inspiration. I stepped up to give the usual half-time advice, and she headed backstage, where I joined her. I spotted a figure in a Cardiff shirt heading rapidly for the bar.

Chrissy was crouched over a hard case as I approached, sorting strings.

“What the hell gave you the idea of covering that?”

A really happy grin came back my way.

“Louis Armstrong, yes? All music is folk music; never heard no music from no horse”

“Going to the signing table?”

Her smile fell.

“No. Not till after. He’s out there. Can’t see past the lighting, but I know he’s waiting”

I opened my arms, inviting the hug, and she accepted. I whispered my words into her ear.

“It is sorted, Chrissy. Trust me”

“Promise?”

“Guide’s Honour”

She chuckled.

“Scout’s honour for me, of course. His idea. Anyway, got a bottle of water, and can you ask the technician to check the octave’s tuning? I think the high D is out a quarter tone, and I don’t want to risk breaking it. I’m crap at restringing”

I passed her message, and as the producer semaphored I introduced the second half.

“Well, did you enjoy the first half?”

There was a roar of “Yes!”, but I caught two other sounds underneath them, the first being a bellow of “No!”, the second a “Will you shut the FUCK up or fuck off home?”

Ah. Dorian was probably starting to get refreshed. Which could be either good news or very bad. I continued with my cheerleading.

“Well, she’s back for more, and will be signing and doing that mingling thing after this second half. I give you—Chrissy Morgan!”

She was seamlessly into her flow, and I found my eyes watering slightly as I watched her mixture of superb talent and utter professionalism gather up the audience and carry it along with her. We got mandolin and octave, hurdy-gurdy, low whistle and pibgorn, plus Border small pipes, introduced with a grin.

“Yeah, right. Not Northumbrian smallpipes. You really want me to show myself up when That Woman has the top spot all to herself? These are Border pipes. Different sort of chanter…”

She was off again into technical description, and her enthusiasm was so obvious and infectious that it was never boring. The bag things were raucous, and as she played a series of jigs, some people were up on their feet in the aisles doing impromptu swings and dance steps. I really regretted being a radio presenter just then, because it would have made wonderful television.

There were still a few ‘Shut up!’ comments from a particular quarter, but I did my best to tune them out. Settle yourself, Williams, and be ready for any storm.

Chrissy ‘officially’ finished with a final set of reels on her octave, and took her bows and cheers, with a single ‘boo’, as I stepped up once more.

“Wasn’t that wonderful?”

“YES!”

“Want more?”

That response was even louder, and so Chrissy settled onto her chair with her hurdy-gurdy.

“Got two for you. Thought you might want more coffee-grinder”

The audience roared again.

“This is another Jez Lowe piece from that album. It’s called Shippersea Bay and goes like this…”

Another wailing and emotional piece of music, before she simply set the instrument down and bellowed out the opening words of ‘Ee Aye Ah Cud Hew’, the audience response deafening. Chrissy looked down at her knees for a moment, then stood with that radiant smile.

“You are in wonderful voice tonight, and I look forward to chatting with you over by the mixing desk afterwards. Now, those two last ones were Northumbrian, and I would love to do more, but I am being snarled at by the producer, so I can only give you one more. Those voices would be nice, and I think you’ll know this one. It’s A Miner’s Life”

She waited for the yelling to die away before launching the song, and the audience was indeed in wonderful voice. She took her bows, and headed backstage once more, where I found her staring at the wall.

“You okay, Chrissy?”

“Not really, but needs must. Fantastic audience, that. I heard the other comments, though”

“The ‘Shut the fuck up’ ones?”

“Yes. Those. Anyway, let’s do this”

“You sure?”

“Professional performer, Siw: got to be able to act. You staying with me?”

“Yes. Absolutely”

“Then let’s do it now”

Out past the throng at the bar, settle into our two seats at the little table with the cases of CDs, and the familiar dance began as Chrissy sold and signed CDs and I had free and frank discussions about my radio shows. Oh, the deep joy of being a public personality!

“You need to get a fucking haircut for a start, you pathetic excuse for a man. Fucking pervert!”

Shit. I watched Chrissy’s head jerk up, and to my surprise she smiled at the man, whose face was flushed red, either in anger, or through drink, or most likely both. To my surprise, Chrissy smiled and raised her voice.

“Hi! Just making a little announcement! Yes, I am trans, and this is my uncle, who is a fucking arsehole. Sorry, Siw, if we’re still recording. Did you want to buy a CD, Uncle Dor?”

His face became even redder.

“Keep on like that and I will put you on your fucking arse!”

Another voice chimed in.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you”

Dorian turned towards the woman who had spoken, and I reached under the table to take Chrissy’s hand, whispering to her, “Cavalry’s here”. She squeezed back, and I added, “Sit back and enjoy”

Dorian pushed his chest out.

“What the fuck’s it got to do with you?”

“Me? I dunno. Look, am I not blonde? Let me think… Oh yes”

“Fuck off or get a slap, bitch”

“No. Not doing that. Made the call, Barry, love?”

A familiar and very big man loomed out of the crowd, another almost as big just behind him.

“Yup. Should be here in a couple. Dai and some mates”

“Quality! Where was I? Blonde… Oh yes!”

The dippy veneer vanished abruptly.

“Where I am, sir, is section 4 Public Order Act, which is threatening or abusive language or behaviour intended to cause alarm or distress. Most people just call it ‘threatening behaviour’ but me, well, I like to be clear. Hi, Sarge!”

The crowd was rapidly thinning around us as people backed away, and I looked over my shoulder to spot five uniformed police officers. By this time, Uncle Dor was starting to look worried, which was made even worse when the blonde called over to the sergeant once again.

“Want me to do the necessary, Sarge? Yeah? Okay”

She turned back to a now clearly worried man.

“Sorry, should have mentioned this earlier. There’s a few of us here, on a works do, thanks Siw, together with some friends. I am Candice Warren, Detective Constable based at the James Street nick”

The man pulled something back and tried again.

“So you’ll be off duty then, so you can jog along!”

“I may be blonde, but I am still fully up to speed with the Peel Principles. We are never off duty, especially when we witness a crime, but as we aren’t on a shift today, I have gone past my own Sergeant here, Detective Sergeant Sutton”

She waved at Diane’s solid figure.

“And I have gone straight to Sergeant Gould over there, that my Traffic Officer colleague rang when we heard your threats”

“No way you rang anyone that quick!”

“Oh, not those threats. Got some ID? Oh, and you can offer that the quick way or the quick and painful way. Your choice”

He passed over a driving licence.

“Thank you, Mister King. Now…”

She rattled off time and date before cutting to the important part.

“I have already given you my name and station, and I am arresting you for threatening behaviour contrary to section 4 Public Order Act, and threats to kill contrary to the Offences Against the Person Act 1861. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

“No I fucking don’t!”

“Your warning under section 5, Public Order Act. Stop swearing in front of all these nice people”

“What threats to kill?”

Three of the uniformed officers were with us then, one of them the Sergeant.

“Hi, Barry, Blake, Di! Coming with us, Candice?”

“Yeah. Got the evidence, haven’t I? What was it you didn’t understand? Blonde! Oh yes”

She put a hand into her bag.

“All those comments you were being shouted at to shut up for, Mister King. Including all that stuff about pushing Ms Morgan here off a bridge, it being long overdue and so on. Now, traditionally, as a blonde, I should only understand how to make calls, send texts and use this thing as a mirror for my make-up”

She showed him her mobile phone.

“But I personally managed to learn how to use another app: the voice recorder. Now, once these nice officers have done--- yeah, to the front lads. Got a van; he’ll be fine. Where was I? Oh yes: about to head off with you and some others to the Central nick and play it back to the Custody Sergeant. In the meantime…”

She raised her voice, addressing the crowd.

“Now, we’ve all enjoyed the gig tonight, up to this point. If there is anyone here who witnessed the events in question, and is willing to give a statement, there are around eleven of us here who can assist. I am Detective Constable Candice Warren if anyone wishes to offer a statement at a later point, and I can be contacted at the Serious Crimes Review Unit at James Street”

She turned back to Uncle Dorian as arms started to go up in the crowd, and he began to look frightened.

“Off we jolly well go, then! See you down the nick, Miss Morgan, if that suits. Laters!”

As the rest of Candice’s friends and colleagues dispersed to gather statements, Chrissy settled back down at her table.

“Not quite how I envisaged coming out, but what’s done is done. Right: any more for a CD? Yes? Both? I like people like you! Who do I sign it to?”

She rattled through the questions, skating past those that got too insistent, as her box of merchandise emptied. Candice’s Sergeant brought over a spare chair, along with a round of tea, and settled herself next to us.

“Would have preferred a pint and its friends tonight, but after your heads up we all stayed on the soft stuff. Nice call, Siw, and a bloody good gig into the bargain. You okay, Ms Morgan?”

“Chrissy, please!”

“I’m Diane, Di. Two biggest lads are my hubby Blake and Candice’s other half Barry. Once we had the recording, Barry made the call, and as Dai Gould is an old mate, he was amenable. We look after our own”

Chrissy looked slightly confused, but still gave Di a smile.

“Is Candice always like that?”

“What, fluffy? Really soft centre that woman, with a fluffy coating, but in between there’s a really hard shell. She plays her blonde games, but she can be as hard as nails. At the centre, as I said, she really cares. Best sort of copper. Get these statements out of the way, then you can both get away for some kip”

“What did you mean by looking after your own, Di?”

“Ah, something that developed at work. That wasn’t the easiest way to come out, was it?”

“Couldn’t see any alternative, really. He was going to shout it all out anyway, so I just got in first”

“Fair point. Got a few trans friends, and some came out at rape trials, so could have been worse. Look: here’s Ellen. If I take your statement, Siw, Ellen can do Chrissy’s, assuming she’s okay giving one. And Chrissy?”

“Yes?

“Let me know if you would like to meet any of those friends I mentioned. I sort of have some of my own skin in the game, and well, I know what it’s like. Took me a long time to realise something important, which I suspect you haven’t quite got to yet”

“What’s that?”

Her husband was just passing, a bundle of forms in his hand, and she called out to him, “Just taking Siw’s, then we can get off to Mam and Dad’s and make sure the boy hasn’t eaten them”

They exchanged a quick kiss, before Di turned back to Chrissy.

“What’s that, you asked? You’re not alone. None of us ever were, but we thought so. My friend, Bridget, showed me a trick, with a pebble. I think Siw knows about it. She can explain. Now, off with Ellen, and I’ll do… shit. Got a spare pen?”

She grinned.

“Must be going blonde again! Where were we?”

Uncle Dor got a year, suspended, plus a hefty fine. Chrissy’s third album hit the number one slot on the folk chart on pre-orders alone. She called it ‘Changing Key’.