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'To begin at the beginning': what a joy to be hearing those words of the poet Dylan Thomas on this programme yesterday, delivered in the unmistakeable rich baritone of one of the most famous of Welsh actors. This week marks the centenary of Richard Burton's birth, with tributes in print and on film, and the unveiling of a blue plaque on a terraced house in Pontrhydyfen, a former mining village near Port Talbot. Both Thomas and Burton have been lauded around the world. Both had their early talent recognised but struggled to make their mark, had problems with drink, and despite their success left many of their admirers regretting that so much potential remained unfulfilled. What might have been? They had very different backgrounds. Dylan Thomas's father was a teacher in Swansea, who's said to have read him Shakespeare and the Bible in his cradle. At 39, he left behind some timeless writing, but also fed the legend of 'the roistering, drunken and doomed poet.' Richard Burton lost his mother when he was two, and grew up in the care of his older sister. He came close to abandoning his studies until a school teacher Philip Burton became his legal guardian. The Richard born a Jenkins adopted his surname and he was on a path to a stellar career, from The Spy who came in from the Cold, Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?, his Biblical epic The Robe, which I watched as a child, entranced both by the story around Christ's crucifixion, and by the wonders of the dazzling new Cinemascope. There were also the five marriages (two to Elizabeth Taylor), the jet set lifestyle, declining powers and battles with the bottle. He still revelled in his heritage, and regularly stayed with family who'd remained in Pontrhydyfen, where the protective pride remains evident to this day. What might have been? Not for us to say, I think. One of Dylan Thomas's best-known works is Under Milk Wood, his portrait of the fictional seaside village of Llaregub. Among his earthy characters is the Reverend Eli Jenkins. The prayer which bears his name might be dismissed as lightweight wishful thinking: 'We are not wholly bad or good/ Who live our lives under Milk Wood/ And Thou, I know, wilt be the first/To see our best side, not our worst.' That's not a way of saying that bad and good are equal, but it is affirming that the God Christians recognise in Jesus Christ is gracious, treats us all much more generously than we deserve, and sees the possibilities even in those who might seem the most hopeless. And he wants us to reflect that.