from How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn

“The river was not very wide, only about twenty feet, but so clear you
would see every inch of rock through the bubbling water, and so full
of fish that nobody thought of using a rod. My father taught me to
tickle trout up on the flat rock down by Mrs. Tom Jenkins’. Hour after
hour we have sat there, dropping stones to frighten little ones
away…

First you would have to roll back your sleeve sometimes up to your
muscle, and put your arm right in the water, holding your hand open
and steady. Of course, the river would be so cold sometimes, it would
almost make you shout to have it in, but no matter, if you wanted a
fish you would have to suffer. Then the old fish would come along very
soft and quiet, and you would almost feel inside you that he was
thinking to himself, watching your hand, and knowing that something
was the matter and not sure what. Of course, you would not move a
fraction, even your eyes, while all this was going on, because a good
and sensible trout will swim back out of reach and stay there to laugh
at you. Indeed, that is true, for I have seen them do it. Well, then,
if he was so silly, he would come up to see your fingers and nose
round them, and rub himself against them. Then it would be your turn.
Quietly, you would bend your fingers to smooth him under his stomach
and tickle his ribs. Sometimes he would flash away and you would lose
him, but oftener he would stay on. Then you would work your fingers
along him until your little fingers was inside his gill. That was
enough. Give him a jerk and pull out your arm, and there he would be,
flapping on the rock. And there is good fresh trout is for supper.”

From How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn

“I had my Saturday penny when I was quite small, and I used to buy
toffee with it from Mrs. Rhys the Glasfryn. She made the toffee in
pans and then rolled it all up and threw it soft at a nail behind the
door, where it stuck. Then she took a handful with both hands and
pulled it towards her, then threw the slack back on the nail again.
That went on for half an hour or more until she was satisfied it was
hard enough, and then she let it lie to flatten out. Hours I have
waited in her front room with my penny in my hand, and my mouth full
of spit, thinking of the toffee, and sniffing the smell of sugar and
cream and eggs. You could chew that toffee for hours, it seems to me
now, and never lose the taste of it, and even after it had gone down,
you could swallow and still find the taste hiding behind your tongue.”