Elin Eisiau Fôt / She Only Wants the Vote!

Cyn iddi hi gael yr adwyth yma, yr oedd Elin yn ddynes gall, gyda’r gallaf yn y wlad. Fum i erioed mewn helbul hefo hi. Pan ddigwyddwn i ddwad adre dipyn yn hwyr, ni byddai acw helynt o gwbwl. ’Roedd hi yn gwybod sut i wneud i’r dim. Fyddai hi byth yn dywedyd gair cas, ond mi fyddai yn medru gwneud i mi feddwl yn fuan iawn fy mod i wedi aros yn rhy hwyr o lawer, ac mi fyddwn yn meddwl mwy ddwywaith o honi hi o achos fod ganddi ddull mor fedrus i fy nhrin i. Mi wyddwn o’r goreu mai dull i fy nhrin i oedd o, ond ’roeddwn i yn dotio ato, ac yn cymryd fy nhrin yn rhwydd. Wel, a pha bryd bynnag y down i adref, welais i erioed mo’r ty yn anrhefnus ganddi. Byddai popeth bob amser yn lân ac yn daclus, a thamed o fwyd blasus i’w gael heb fynd i’r drafferth o feddwl pa beth a fynnai ddyn i gael. Fyddai Elin byth yn poeni enaid dyn drwy ofyn iddo beth fynnai i’w ginio neu i’w swper. Nid allaf fi aros meddwl beth fuaswn i yn i leicio. Ac yr oedd Elin yn gwybod hynny. Peth arall oedd hi yn i wybod hefyd oedd beth fuaswn i yn i leicio. A dyma fyddai hi yn i wneud bob amser. Ac fel y gwyddoch, os gwyddoch rywbeth hefyd, ’does dim gwell gan ddyn na chael tamed o fwyd wrth i fodd heb orfod meddwl dim am dano ymlaen llaw. A dyna fyddai un gamp ar Elin. Peth arall, fel y dywedais i, oedd y byddai popeth yn lân ac yn daclus. Er nad da gan ddyn mo’r diwrnod golchi na’r diwrnod glanhau’r ty, y mae o yn leicio lle glân cyfforddus bob amser, ac mi fyddai Elin bob amser yn gofalu am le felly i mi. Yn wir, yr oeddwn i yn hapus dros ben taswn i yn gwybod hynny. Ond wyddwn i ddim ar y pryd. Mi wn erbyn hyn. Y mae hi wedi newid yn erchyll acw.

Beth ydi’r drwg, meddech? Wel, mi gewch wybod.

Y mae ar Elin eisio fôt, dyna’r cwbl.

Ydw i yn erbyn? Nag ydw i, yn eno’r tad. Mi gae fy fôt i a chroeso, ond iddi hi fod fel o’r blaen. Ni waeth gennyf fi petae ganddi hi hanner cant o fotiau yr un dim, ond yr wyf yn cwyno yn gethin yn erbyn trefn bresennol pethau. Welsoch chi erioed y fath gyfnewidiad. Wn i ddim yn iawn sut y dechreuodd y drwg, ond yr wyf yn meddwl mai rhyw gyfarfod fu yn y dref acw a’i cychwynnodd o. ’Roeddwn i yn ameu ers tro fod Elin yn darllen mwy ar y papur newydd nag y byddai. ’Does dim yn erbyn hynny, wrth reswm. Y mae’n eitha peth i ferched ddarllen y papurau newyddion, ond ’does dim eisieu iddynt gredu popeth a ddarllenant ychwaith. Wel, sut bynnag, mi sylwais ryw ddiwrnod fod cyfarfod i’w gynnal yn y dref i gefnogi cael fôt i ferched. ’Doeddwn i yn meddwl fawr o’r peth. Yn wir, tueddu yr oeddwn i chwerthin am ei ben. Ond buasai yn well i mi beidio. Dywedodd Elin wrthyf un diwrnod fod arni eisiau i mi aros adref y prynhawn i edrych ar ol y plant.

“I be, nghariad i?” meddwn.

“I mi gael mynd i’r cyfarfod,” ebr hi.

“Pa gyfarfod?”

“Y cyfarfod o blaid i ferched gael y fôt.”

“I be’r ei di i hwnnw, dywed?”

“I glywed be sy gynnyn nhw i’w ddeyd.”

Meddyliais na ddoe dim drwg o hynny, a dywedais yr edrychwn ar ol y plant. Felly fu. Aeth Elin i’r cyfarfod, ac arhosais innau adref i edrych ar ol y plant iddi.

Go drychinebus fu’r cais. ’Roedd y chwe hynaf yn chware yn yr ardd, a’r babi yn chware yn y ty. Ni phoenais ynghylch y rhai oedd yn yr ardd i ddechreu. Achos da pam. ’Roedd gennyf fwy na llond fy nwylo hefo’r gŵr bach oedd yn y ty. Ni ddychmygais erioed fod mor anodd i ddyn fod yn feistr yn i dŷ ei hun o’r blaen.

’Roedd y babi—y mae o yn bymtheng mis oed—yn eistedd yn i gadair fach pan aeth Elin i ffwrdd. Cyn hir, yr oedd o wedi darfod chware â’r papur newydd oedd ganddo, ac mi fynnodd gael cwpan de. Ni bu ddau funud nad oedd o wedi torri honno yn deilchion. Wedyn mi gymerodd ffansi at y tecell copr oedd ar y silff ben tân. Mynnodd gael hwnnw, ac mi taflodd o rhag blaen i ganol y llestri oedd ar y bwrdd nes oedd y rheiny yn chwilfriw. Ar ol hynny mynnodd gael dwad i lawr o’i gadair, a dyna lle bum i fel adyn yn crwydro hyd y tŷ ar i ol o am ddwyawr neu dair. ’Roedd o cyn pen hanner yr amser wedi troi popeth o’r tu chwith allan, ac wedi torri popeth potyn oedd yn i gyrraedd o yn yfflon mân. ’Roeddwn i yn dechreu blino ar i orchestion o, ac yn meddwl y buasai’r wialen fedw yn gwneud lles iddo. Euthum i chwilio am honno, ond tra bum i wrthi, ’roedd o wedi dwad o hyd i badell yn llawn o ddwr, ac wedi sefyll ar i ben yn honno. Digwydd cyrraedd mewn pryd ddarfu mi i’w achub rhag boddi. Ar ol ei gael allan o’r dwr, ’roedd o yn crio yn arw, a bu raid iddo gael benthyg fy oriawr cyn y tawai. Rhoes gost o chweugain ar honno cyn darfod â hi.

Erbyn hynny, ’roeddwn i yn meddwl ei bod hi yn amser rhoi’r plant eraill yn eu gwelyau. Felly, mi rwymais y babi wrth droed y bwrdd, ac euthum i’r ardd i nol y lleill. Cefais gryn drafferth i’w cael i’r tŷ, ond llwyddais o’r diwedd, ac ar ol gwneud iddynt fwyta dipyn o rual oedd mewn bowlen ar y bwrdd yn y gegin, gyrrais hwy i’w gwelyau. Deallais wedi hynny mai startsh oedd y grual, a dyna’r rheswm mae’n debyg fod y plant mor stiff drannoeth. Sut bynnag, mi gefais drafferth fawr i’w cadw yn ddistaw ar ol mynd i’w gwelyau. Yr oedd y cnafon bach yn ymladd ac yn ffraeo ac yn galw ei gilydd wrth enwau na chawsant erioed yn eu bedydd. ’Roedd y babi hefyd wedi gwneud cryn alanas tra bum i yn danfon y lleill i’r llofft. ’Roedd o wedi medru tynnu’r bwrdd i lawr ar ei gefn, ac yr oedd y gath yn digwydd bod o dano yntau. Ni chlywsoch erioed y fath dwrw rhwng y gath ag yntau a’r canibaliaid bychain yn y llofft.

’Roeddwn i yn dechreu mynd i anobaith, ac yn credu fod rhyw ddamwain wedi digwydd i Elin, onite y base adref cyn hynny. Cefais gryn drafferth cael y babi a’r gath a’r bwrdd yn rhydd oddi wrth ei gilydd. Yr oeddynt rywsut fel pe buasent wedi mynd yn gymysg. Ond wedi hir ymdrech, medrais eu gwahanu. Euthum â gweddillion y gath allan. Yr oedd y babi hefyd yn crio yn arw am fod y gath cyn i’r pwysau roi diben arni wedi plannu ei hewinedd ynddo. Y bwrdd oedd y distawaf o’r tri a’r hawsaf i’w drin o lawer. Ar ol rhoi’r babi yn ei gadair, euthum i geisio clirio tipyn ar y llawr, oedd wedi ei orchuddio â darnau o lestri te, a phethau ereill yr oedd y babi wedi eu malu, ond yr oedd y babi yn cadw cymaint o swn fel y daeth gwraig y tŷ nesaf i mewn i ofyn a oedd rhywbeth yn ceisio’i ladd o. Dywedais nad oedd, ond mai fo oedd yn ceisio fy lladd i, a’i fod agos iawn wedi medru hefyd. Chwarddodd y ddynes, ond ’doedd o ddim yn fater chwerthin ychwaith.

’Roeddwn i yn disgwyl yn eiddgar am weled Elin, ond ’doedd dim golwg am dani er i bod bellach yn hanner awr wedi saith. Bum yn yr helynt am awr wedyn, a thua hanner awr wedi wyth, dyma hi adref.

“Mi fum mewn pwyllgor ar ol y cyfarfod,” meddai, “ac mi aeth yn o hwyr.”

“Do, ddyliwn,” meddwn innau.

Pan ddaeth hi i mewn a gweled yr olwg oedd ar y babi a phopeth arall, mi gafodd dipyn o fraw.

“Beth ar y ddaear ydech chi wedi wneud, deydwch?” ebr hi.

“Gofynnwch iddo fo,” meddwn innau, “y fo ydi’r mistar.”

“Welis i rioed y fath beth,” ebr hi.

“Na finne.”

“Dydi dynion ddim ffit,” ebr hi, ac yna ychwanegodd, “ac i feddwl eu bod nhw yn gwrthod fôt i ferched!”

“Ie, wir,” meddwn innau.

“Ple mae’r plant erill?” ebr hi.

“Mae nhw yn eu gwelyau.”

Yr oedd y cnafon bach wedi tawelu erbyn hyn.

Ymosododd Elin arni i wneud trefn ar y babi o’r diwedd, ac yna gwnaeth i mi ei ddal ac aeth hithau i’r llofft i weled sut olwg oedd ar y lleill. Gyda’i bod hi yno, mi glywn rhyw ebychiad o syndod.

“John,” ebr hi, “ble mae’n plant ni?”

“Be wn i, ydyn nhw ddim yna?” meddwn.

“Nag ydyn—o leiaf, dim ond dau o honyn nhw. Rhyw blant diarth ydi’r lleill! Be gebyst oedd arnoch chi, deydwch?”

Erbyn edrych, yr oeddwn wedi rhoi pedwar o blant rhywun arall yn y gwelyau gyda dau o’n plant ni.

Bu raid i mi ei gwadnu hi i chwilio am y lleill, a bum tan hanner awr wedi naw heb gael hyd iddynt. Dygais hwy adref, ond erbyn hynny, yr oedd acw barti o ferched o gwmpas y bwrdd yn yfed te ac yn son am ormes dynion a’r cam yr oeddynt yn ei wneud â merched. Gyrrais y plant i’r gegin i’w canol ac euthum fy hun ar fy union i’r dafam agosaf. Bum yno tan amser cau. Erbyn i mi fynd adref, ’doedd yno na swper na dim yn fy aros, a bu raid i mi ei wneud fy hun.

Y mae mis er hynny bellach, ac y mae pethau yn mynd yn waeth bob cynnyg. Y mae’r ty yn anrhefnus a’r plant yn fudron, waeth dywedyd y gwir na pheidio, ac y mae acw bwyllgor bob yn eildydd, ac ni fedraf ddywedyd mai myfi biau fy nhy fy hun. Ydi, ŵyr dyn, y mae hi yn ddrwg gynddeiriog acw.

She Only Wants the Vote!
I’m up to my neck in it now. I never thought something like this was even possible. I wouldn’t be any more shocked if the moon itself fell down and landed between my feet. No—if that happened I’d be less shocked than I am. I’d always thought she was a sensible girl. In fact I’d have bet my own head that no man was ever as sensible as she was. And she never mentioned the thing before, not in my hearing, in any case; and I’m almost certain that nobody else heard her mention it either. But there she is now, gone mad she has. Who, you say? Well, only the wife! What’s wrong with her? Lost her mind she has. What’s the matter? Don’t ask me me, I couldn’t say why—but she’s only gone and decided that she needs the vote. And ever since—well I don’t know what to say or do, and doubt anyone else would either. It’s terrible.

Before she had this wild notion Elin was a sensible girl, one of the most sensible. I never had any trouble with her. If I should ever happen to come home a little late, there’d never be any trouble. She knew just what to do. She never had a harsh word for me, but somehow, she’d find a gentle way of letting me know soon enough that I’d been out far too late, and the way she did it was such a way that I’d love her all the more, because of the way she knew exactly how to treat me. I knew full well it was deliberate, of course, but I loved it; and was quite happy to be treated that way. Well, and also because whatever time I came home I never once saw the house untidy. Everything was always so clean and tidy, with a nice bite to eat ready for me without me even needing to wonder about what I wanted. Elin would never pester a man with asking what he wanted. And as you know, if you do know, there’s nothing a man likes more than a nice bite to eat without him having even to think about it before hand. And that was just one of her skills. Another one, like I said, was the cleaning and tidying. Naturally, a man doesn’t like washing day nor tidying day; but he likes a clean and comfortable place to live the week round, and Elin made sure I always had that. In fact, I was very happy, if only I’d realised it. But I didn’t, not at the time. I know now. It’s all turned awful.

What’s the trouble, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

She only wants the vote!

Am I against it? Not at all, by god! She’s welcome to mine, if she only stays as she was. It would make no difference to me if she had fifty votes, but I just can’t be having with things as they are now. You never saw such a transformation. I don’t know exactly how it all started, but I think it was some meeting in town that kicked it all off. I had my suspicions for some time that Elin was reading the newspapers more than she used to. Nothing wrong with that of course; no reason women can’t go reading the newspapers, as long as they don’t start believing everything they read. Well, anyway, I noticed one day that there was a meeting in town in support of giving women the vote. I didn’t think much of it myself, in fact I found the idea quite funny. But I don’t any more. Elin told me one day that I’d need to stay home that afternoon to look after the children.

“What for, my love?” says I.

“So I can go to the meeting,” says she.

“What meeting?”

“The meeting in support of giving women the vote.”

“What do you want to go to that for?”

“To hear what they have to say.”

I thought to myself that there wasn’t any harm in that, so I said I’d look after the children. And so it was. Elin went to the meeting, and I stayed at home to watch the children for her.

It was a disaster. The six eldest were playing in the garden, and the baby was playing in the house. I didn’t worry to much about the ones in the garden, to start with, and with good reason: my hands were full enough with the little man in the house. I never thought a man could have so much trouble being master of his own home!

The  baby—fifteen months he is—was sitting in his little chair when Elin went out. Before long he’d gotten bored playing with the newspaper he had, and insisted on having a teacup. It wasn’t two minutes before he’d broken it in pieces. Then he took fancy to the copper teapot on the hearth. He had to have that then, and he threw it in among the dishes on the table and broke half of them too. Next he wanted to be down from his chair, and there I was like a fool following after him up and down the house for two or three hours. In no time at all he’d turned everything inside out and smashed everything he could reach into tiny pieces. I was starting to tire of his tricks and thought that a bit of the old birch rod would do him good; so I went to look for it, but whilst I was busy looking he found a saucepan full of water and there he was, standing on his head in it. I just happened  to arrive in time to save him from drowning. Of course then he was crying, and I had to lend him my watch before he’d settle. Ten shillings that’ll cost me, now he’s finished with it.

By then I thought it was about time to put the other children to bed. So I tied the baby to the table leg and went out to the garden to get the others. It was hard work getting them all into the house, but at last I managed it, and after getting them to eat some gruel that was in a bowl on the table I sent them to their beds. I then realised that it wasn’t gruel but starch, which probably explains why they were so stiff the following day. Anyway, I had a lot of trouble getting them to be quiet after they’d gone to their beds. The little fiends were fighting and arguing and wrestling and calling each other such names as they’d definitely not learned in this house. Of course the baby then had caused carnage whilst I was upstairs. He’d pulled the table down on top of him, and, as it happens, on top of the cat to boot. Between the baby, the cat and those cannibals upstairs, you never heard such a noise!

By that point I was starting to despair, and took that some terrible accident must have befallen Elin or else she’d have been home before then. It took some time to disentangle the baby, the cat and the table—they’d gotten all mixed up somehow, you see. But I managed it, in the end.

I put what was left of the cat out the back.

The baby was all crying too, you see, what with the cat having got her claws in him before the weight of the table had finished her off. The table was the quietest of the three, and put up the least resistance. After putting the baby back in his chair I thought I’d have a go clearing the floor, what with it being covered in bits of china and all the other things the baby had broken, but the baby was making such a racket that the women next door came round to ask whether there was something trying to kill him. I told her no, there wasn’t, it was him who was trying to kill me, and that he’d nearly managed it. She laughed, but it was no laughing matter.

I was waiting eagerly for Elin to come home, but there was no sign of her, even though it was now half past seven. I had to endure another hour yet, and then, about half past eight, she comes  home.

“I was in a committee after the meeting,” she says, “and it went on late.”

“You don’t say!” says I.

When she came in and saw the  state of the baby and of everything else, she had a bit of a fright.

“What on earth have you been doing?” she asks.

“Ask him,” says I, “he’s in charge.”

“I never saw the like,” says she.

“Me neither.”

“Why, men aren’t fit to manage at all,” says she, and adds, “and to think, they won’t let women have the vote!”

“I know,” says I.

“Where are the other children?” she asks.

“In their beds.”

The little monsters had quitened down by that point.

Elin set to it and sorted out the baby at last, then she made me hold him whilst she went upstairs to check on the rest. Whilst she was up there I heard her call out in surprise.

“John,” she cries, “where are our children?”

“I don’t know—are they not there?”

“No—at least, only two of them are. I don’t know who these other four children are! What on earth have you been doing, man?”

When I went up to look it turned out I’d put four of someone else’s children to bed with two of ours.

I had to find the others pretty sharpish, and it was half past nine before I’d found them. I took them home, only to find a nice little party of women sitting around the table drinking tea and talking about the patriarchal society and the injustice of it all. I set the children loose into their midst and went straight to the nearest pub. I stayed there until closing time. When I got home, there was no supper nor anything waiting for me—I had to do it myself.

That was a month ago, and things have only gotten worse. I may as well admit it: the house is a mess and the children dirty, there’s one committee or another on every other day, and I can no longer say that I own my own home. It’s hard work being a man; it really is.