O. Efrog

Once upon a time (6th century) Welsh harpers cast their harps into the River Conway, dived in themselves, swam, towed, hauled out their harps upon the further shore, plucked manfully but inaudibly at sodden strings. Followed a troop of Welsh singers. Having swum the Conway they sang no better and no worse than before. Prince Maelgwn Gwynedd of North Wales, thereupon welcomed the singers to the first recorded Welsh Eisteddfod, heaped their palms with gold, banished his harpers, proclaimed the confirmation through "trial by water" of his pet theory: that song is superior to instrumental music. Since then the Eisteddfod (literally "session," actually "contest") of Welsh bards has become a yearly recurrent cultural diversion.

Last week carpenters, bricklayers, waiters, plasterers, upholsterers, physicians, attorneys, undertakers, mail-carriers, professional singers, church soloists, all stood nattily attired in white trousers and blue coats, sang. The occasion was the Eisteddfod held last week at Swansea, Wales. The mongrel gathering of choristers was the Orpheus male chorus of Cleveland, Ohio, which won first prize from ten other competitors, was declared the greatest male chorus in the world.

Their Royal Highnesses, Albert and Elizabeth, Duke and Duchess of York, son and daughter-in-law to George V, likewise attended last week at Swansea, were initiated into the Gorsedd (Order) of Bards without being obliged to swim or sing.

Pontifically attired, the Arch-druid welcomed the Prince and Princess, received them formally into the Gorsedd, bestowed upon them the "bardic names" Albert O. Efrog and Betsi O. Efrog.

"Dioloch yn fawr," said Betsi. "Thank you very much." Said Albert O. Efrog: "Even if we don't justify our membership by writing Welsh odes, we will always remember we are now of the Order of Bards."