Gold

 

When Mira was a little girl gold didn’t mean that much to her. It was just a colour she saw in her mother’s jewellery box – a soft, warm glow that caught the morning sunlight and made their small bedroom feel a bit brighter. Sometimes her mother would pick up a necklace and say, “Gold is valuable because it survives.” Mira never really understood what that meant back then. To her, gold was valuable because that’s what everyone else said.

But over time, she started seeing it differently.

Life tested her in many ways, slowly chipping away at her edges – wearing her down gradually. Mira first felt this when her father died, the house grew quiet, the kind of silence that settles like dust, think and heavy. She felt it once more when she failed her exams, watching her friends move forward while she stayed behind, stuck and losing the race. Each time she felt something inside her break. Initially she thought that meant she was breaking, cracking under pressure, but then she remembered what her mother said, “Gold isn’t ruined by fire or by hardships. It stays together through everything.”

That thought returned to her at her winter job in a small jewellery repair shop called ‘A&A Restorations’. The owner (her boss) was a kind old man called Mr Kingwell, with crow’s feet at his eyes and a soft, sweet smile. One particularly slow afternoon, he handed Mira a bent gold ring and tiny hammer. “Tap it gently,” he said. “Gold might be soft, but it doesn’t break.”

Mira looked at the ring. It was scratched and worn, marked by years of use. Whoever wore it had lived a life of struggle. Yet the ring held together. “Why not just melt it down and start fresh?” she asked.

Mr Kingwell smiled, “Because those marks tell its story.”

She tapped gently, moving the metal back into shape. The ring bent without breaking and as she worked, something clicked. Gold’s value wasn’t just in its shine. It was in its strength to endure. Time leaves marks but never destroys it. That day she learned a lesson. Gold wasn’t just treasure in a box. It was something deeper, courage that stayed after being disappointed, kindness that survived betrayal, and hope that refused to fade.

Reya Nagari, 11.

Where Is the Gold? Ble Mae'r Aur?

 

I could hardly believe it! My great-great uncle Isaac’s treasure chest. I was so excited to see what was inside. It creaked open and smelled old. Inside were one, two, three, four gold coins – warm, yellow, shining, special.

But… that was it? Only four?

Where was the rest?

Where is the gold? Ble Mae'r Aur?

Under the coins lay a map, folded and wrinkled. Perhaps this would help me find the rest of the gold.

Around the edge of the map read “Decus et Tutamen,” this map was the real deal.

In the middle of the map were two letters: A.U.

Were they places? Or maybe questions? Or secret coordinates? Maybe AU marks the spot?

Where is the gold? Ble Mae'r Aur?

Next, a riddle: “Not buried in chests or sunk at sea, but slipping into places people stop looking.” What does this mean?

Then I remembered, gold is used in technology and electronics. Inside computers, phones, toasters and microwaves. Gold, precious gold, discarded as e-waste into landfills and dumps.

Where is the gold? Ble Mae'r Aur?

We looked at the coins again. The old faces of past Kings and Queens seemed to point the way, guiding us from left to right.

Obverse, adverse, heads, tails.

We followed.

Where was the gold? Ble Mae’r Aur?

The map folded smaller, to a land of castles and song.

Gwlad, Gwlad! This was Wales, once full of black gold.

AU does mark the spot! In Llantrisant, furnaces melt yellow gold so it can be milled, pressed, struck into bullion and bracelets again.

New coins engraved with animals and plants of our four Nations.

Here is the gold! Dyma'r aur!

Gold cannot be made.

Gold cannot be destroyed.

Gold can only be lost… or found again.

Here I am. Yma o Hyd.

Gigi Di Battista, 7.

The Jungle of Gold

 

The Poisoned Dart Frog hopped alongside Capybara, who trudged grumpily to the Jaguar’s vine circle meeting place. The vain Macaw was touching up her colourful feathers while Dung Beetle was rolling up a little snack for the meeting, which soon began.

“Animals of the Peruvian Jungle,” the Jaguar started. “As you all must have heard, we are in great danger.” At this a babble of squawking and ribbiting ascended. “Quiet!” roared the Jaguar, “There’s more. Come forward, Macaw,” said the Jaguar. “As you know, Macaw has been listening to the humans and has heard something very important.”

“Yes, I picked up some human language,” said the Macaw, “I have found out why the humans are destroying the jungle! They…are looking for GOLD.”

“What’s gold?” asked the Poison Dart Frog, cowering behind Capybara.

“All I heard them say about it,’ continued Macaw, “is that it’s very valuable.”

“It’s hard and yucky, if they eat it they must have very sharp teeth and no tongues!” the Dung Beetle exclaimed.

“Maybe you use it to attract a mate? I bet it’s not as beautiful as me, though,” boasted the preening Macaw.

“Do they use it to defend themselves?” asked the cautious Dart Frog.

“If they are going to destroy the jungle, we might as well die now,” grumbled the bad-tempered Capybara.

“Well, if they’re digging up our rainforessst, then why can’t we usssse it too?” hissed a voice from the hanging vines. The creatures looked up and saw the Snake, hanging between trees.

“Goodness, we thought you were a vine!” Macaw squawked attempting to smooth her ruffled feathers.

“What use do we have for this shiny material?” asked Jaguar. “We already have all that we need in this rainforest, from the emergent layer, to the forest floor. We use our natural beauty to find mates.” He nodded to the Macaw. Now, looking at the Frog, he added, “We are surrounded by plants to provide shelter and we each have special talents to keep us safe.” At this the Dart Frog gave a contented ribbit. “We have a great life without this GOLD.”

“Yeah, who wants an inedible rock anyway?” the Dung Beetle pitched in.

As the sun set, the animals made a plan to save the jungle.

The next morning, Macaw flew to the desk of the head of the mining company. When she got there, she placed one of her golden feathers in front of the grim manager and squawked, “Very valuable, very valuable!”

With that, the Macaw flew back to the vine circle.

“Mission accomplished, Macaw?” asked the Jaguar.

“Yep, I did pretty well, if I say so myself,” the bird bragged.

Meanwhile, the manager was thinking over what the macaw had said. Is this the real beauty of the jungle? he thought. How did I never notice? He held the feather up to the light. Maybe we don’t need to mine gold here after all.

Soon the jungle was safe and the animals celebrated – even Capybara didn’t look so grumpy.

Wren Price-Evans, 8.

The Sovereign's Journey

 

London 1838.

Lying anxiously in the Royal mint is a frightened yet tenacious golden disc, waiting for the precise moment of transformation, when it will no longer be mere bullion, but the first coin to bear the face of the new queen. In a few hours, this coin, dimly aware of its importance and grieving its separation from its friends, will arrive at Buckingham Palace in a crimson velvet pouch.

Though it sees little of Victorian London, the repulsive stench of the Thames permeates the carriage, conjuring images of waste and horse dung. Alongside the smell is a cacophony, the clap of hooves, the hum of chatter and the barks of stray dogs.

Suddenly, the carriage’s momentum is halted abruptly; it jerks as the wheel strikes a dislodged granite sett. The rear doors burst open, and the special coin, tucked in its embossed pouch, slips from the carriage onto the damp cobbles. A nimble, long-fingered, grimy hand rapidly clutches the treasure. Its owner (whose threadbare clothes are more patches than fabric) calculates his escape but an imposing shadow looms over him, smelling of starch and cold pressed steel.

“A heavy weight for a light-fingered soul,” the guard growls, hand resting on his sword.

The thief looks up, his face pinched with hunger. “Just keeping it from the gutter, Guv’nor,” he wheezes. “Wouldn’t want Her Majesty’s likeness catching a chill.”

“Give,” the guard commands sternly.

With a lingering look at the coin that could have bought a lifetime of meals, the thief hesitantly surrenders the pouch and vanishes into the fog like a fox in the night.

Later, that same guard walks proudly through an ornate room towards a golden throne, upon which sits a solemn young Queen Victoria, her tiny feet barely touching the floor. How marvellous yet terrifying for this coin to be presented in this splendid room. It watches the Queen’s expression shift from boredom to excitement as she gingerly studies her effigy; the neat bun, the decorative band, and the proudly raised chin. What a home to settle in?! The coin thinks. It imagines a life tucked into a bedside box, enjoying the artwork on the ceiling for the rest of its existence.

As the Queen questions the guard about the coin’s journey, a change comes over her. Hearing of the pinch-faced man she feels a surge of sadness and a pang of pain at her unparalleled privilege.

“The man was hungry you say?” The monarch muses mournfully.

She presses the coin firmly back into the guard’s hand. “Find him! It is my decree that he should have it!”

Ripped from its daydream, the coin is reluctantly wedged back into the nimble, long-fingered, grimy hand. It realises in that moment that its destiny is far greater than a gilded box. It is a traveller meant to be passed around in the pockets of those living a thousand lives in the city’s shadows, rather than one lonely life in the palace light.

Valentina Sefain, 9.

Trysor Y Tylwyth Teg

 

Un tro roedd tylwythen deg o’r enw Sara. Un fywiog iawn oedd hi. Hoffai chwilio am antur a hwyl. Ei gwaith oedd cloddio ym mwynau aur y Tylwyth Teg. Doedd hi ddim yn cael llawer o hwyl yno.

Ond un diwrnod cafodd Sara ei hanfon yn ddwfn iawn mewn i'r mwynglawdd. Wrth gloddio, ffeindiodd ddarn o bapur hynafol mewn crac. Tynnodd y papur allan yn ofalus. Roedd lluniau tiroedd gwahanol arno a llinellau tenau bach du yn troi o gwmpas mewn llinell. Ar ddiwedd y papur roedd llun o gist drysor llawn aur a chroes fawr goch wedi’i marcio arni!

“Map trysor hynafol Harri Mohan mae’n rhaid!” meddyliodd Sara yn wên o glust i glust.

Sleifiodd allan o’r mwynglawdd aur a mynd i chwilio am drysor hynafol coll Harri Mohan.

Aeth i'r lle dechrau ar y map – y gerddi hud. Wedyn dechreuodd ddilyn y map. Roedd sawl troad arno.

Ar ddamwain bwmpiodd mewn i ryw dylwythyn.

“Hei!” gwaeddodd y tylwythyn yn flin, “Be ti’n wneud?”

Taflodd Sara’r map ar y llawr mewn ofn.

“Sori.” crynodd.

“Hy! Aros beth yw hwnna?” pwdodd y tylwythyn. Pigodd Sara’r map lan.

“O dim byd.” gwenodd yn gam.

Cododd y tylwythyn un ael. “Rho fe i fi!” mwmialodd.

“Na!”

“Rho fe i fi!”

“Na!”

“Fi yw mab y brenin!” gwaeddodd y tylwythyn yn ddiamynedd.

Taflodd Sara’r map ar y llawr yn bwdlyd.

“Map Trysor cudd Harri Mohan!” gwaeddodd y tywysog mewn anghrediniaeth, “Rhaid iddo fynd i amgueddfa!”

“Beth?!” criodd Sara.

“Iawn, tan bod ni’n ffeindio’r trysor,” pwdodd y tywysog.

Carion nhw mlaen i gerdded. Doedden nhw ddim yn unig yn cerdded gyda’i gilydd yn agos ond yn siarad bach hefyd. Geiriau bach yn unig yn y bôn.

Cwpwl o oriau wedyn as in oooriau wedyn, tripiodd Sara ar draws lwmpyn mawr yn y pridd.

“Coda lan!” gwaeddodd y tywysog.

Cododd Sara lan yn bwdlyd. Roedd hi wedi cael claish bach.

“Aros funed!” dwedodd y tywysog.

Roedd wedi sylweddoli ar lwmp mawr yn y tir. “Rho raw i fi!” gorchmynnodd wrth Sara.

Defnyddiodd y rhaw i gloddio o gwmpas y lwmp. Daeth y lwmp yn rhydd. Roedd e’n fawr ac yn frown.

“Tywysog, dyma lle mae’r groes ar y map!” ebychodd Sara. Tynnodd y tywysog y lwmp allan. Cist drysor oedd e!! Aeth y ddau a’r trysor yn ôl i'r ddinas fawr.

“Diolch am fy helpu i dywysog,” mwmialodd Sara.

“Diolch!” gwridodd y tywysog. Cerddodd y ddau drwy gât dinas y tylwyth teg.

“Trysor Harri Mohan!” gwaeddodd rhywun.

“Ewch a’r arwyr i'r frenhines!” gwaeddodd rhywun arall. Aeth yr arwyr at y frenhines a chael gwledd fawr.

“Fel gwobr geith y ferch yma o’r mwynglawdd briodi’r tywysog!” cyhoeddodd y frenhines.

Priododd Sara a’r tywysog a byw’n hapus byth wedyn ac wrth gwrs dod yn arwyr yn hanes y tylwyth teg.

Y diwedd.

 

(English translation) The Fairies’ Treasure

Once upon a time there was a fairy called Sara. She was a very lively fairy. She loved going on adventures and having fun. Her job was to mine in the fairy goldmines. It was not much fun.

But one day Sara was sent all the way down to the depths of the mine. Whilst she was digging away, she stumbled upon an ancient piece of paper in a crack. She carefully removed it. There were pictures on it of different lands and thin little black lines spinning around in a line. At the bottom of the paper there was a picture of a chest brimming with gold and a big red cross marking the spot!

“This must be Harri Mohan’s ancient treasure map!” Sara thought, smiling from ear to ear.

She sneaked out of the goldmine and went to search for the ancient lost treasure of Harri Mohan.

She went to the starting point shown on the map – the enchanted gardens. Then she began to follow the trail. There were many twists and turns on the way.

She accidentally bumped into another fairy.

“Hey!” shouted the fairy, angrily, “What are you doing?”

Sara threw the map on the ground in fear.

“Sorry.” she quivered.

“Huh! Wait! What’s that?” grumbled the fairy. Sara picked up the map.

“Oh nothing.” she said, smiling awkwardly.

The fairy raised an eyebrow. “Give it to me!” he said.

“No!”

“Hand it over!”

“No!”

“I’m the king’s son!” the fairy shouted impatiently.

Sara threw the map on the floor in a strop.

“Harri Mohan’s hidden treasure map!” exclaimed the prince in disbelief, “It must go to a museum!”

“What?!” cried Sara.

“Fine, after we find the treasure,” the prince sulked.

They continued on their way. They walked along together and even shared a few words. But only small talk.

Many looong hours later, Sara tripped on a big mound in the ground.

“Get up!” shouted the prince.

Sara got up, annoyed. She had a little bruise.

“Wait a minute!” said the prince.

He’d noticed the big mound in the ground. “Pass me a shovel!” he ordered Sara.

He used the shovel to dig around the mound. The mound suddenly came loose. It was big and brown.

“Prince, this is the spot that’s marked on the map!” Sara exclaimed. The prince pulled up the object. A treasure chest!! They took the treasure back to the kingdom.

“Thank you for helping me, prince,” Sara mumbled.

“Thank you!” blushed the prince. They walked through the gateway to the kingdom of the fairies.

“Harri Mohan’s treasure!” someone shouted.

“Take the heroes to the queen!” shouted another. The heroes went to meet the queen and had a big feast.

“As a reward, this girl from the mine shall marry the prince!” announced the queen.

Sara and the prince got married and lived happily ever after, and they were forever remembered as heroes among the fairies.

The end.

Buddug Williams, 9.