20. Essay/Article: A portrayal of an interesting character in your area

1st: Carys Briddon, Tre'r Ddôl, Aberystwyth

MR EVAN JAMES, 1 NORTH ROAD, TRE'R-DDÔL,
NEAR ABERYSTWYTH, CEREDIGION

When I called to see Mr Evan James last spring, he was busy in his greenhouse, and as I walked in the beautiful sight before me took me by surprise. The bench was full of potted cyclamen which he had grown from seed, and as they were all in full bloom, there was a sea of different coloured flowers to greet me. These days, Evan spends most of his spare time in the greenhouse, and the colourful tubs of flowers outside his neat cottage proves that.

Evan was born and bred in the village of Tre'r-ddôl, and has lived here for most of his life apart from the time he spent as a servant on different farms in the area in his younger days. Therefore his knowledge about the village, its characters and the local area is vast. His grandfather came from Ysbyty Ifan, near Pentrefoelas, Denbighshire, and one time when he was on his way home from the militia, he met his future wife. He then decided to stay in this area and never returned to live in Ysbyty Ifan. His future wife was from Ystumtuen in Cardiganshire, and after they were married they settled in Tre-Taliesin. It is interesting to note that he named his home in Tre-Taliesin after his native area, Voelas Villa, and the name still stands to this day.

Evan's parents lived in Pant-glas, Tre'r-ddôl where Evan was born more than eighty years ago. The family lived there for 39 years before returning to Tre-Taliesin to live. Therefore Evan is still known locally as ‘Ianto' or ‘Evan Pantglas', even though he has not lived there for well over fifty years! He can name many different families who used to live in Pant-glas before his time, and by now Pant-glas is quite well-known over the world. One of the people who used to live there was the author, Alma Williams, and the place became famous after it was mentioned in her book Valley of Animals. Apparently she was so fond of animals that she allowed many of them to live in the house with her—including a goat and a pig—and it was not unusual to see a cockerel or a hen sitting on the back of her chair. These days, Pant-glas is also known as ‘Chapman's House' and people from all over the world visit George Chapman, the faith healer, who practices there.

Evan was a pupil at Llangynfelyn Primary School until he reached his fourteenth birthday. The Headmaster during his school days was Mr Dennis Hughes, and there were also three teachers to assist him, Miss Isaac, Miss Laura Pugh and Miss Dorothy Owen. There were 96 pupils at the school at that time, and as was usual in those days, discipline was very strict. If a pupil misbehaved, he would feel the burning sensation of the cane on his hand, as punishment, in an instant.

Evan would visit his grandparents in Voelas Villa every day. Living next door to them were Mr and Mrs Hugh Jones and their son John. As a five-year-old child, John first went back and forth to Llangynfelyn School in Evan's company. Evan looked after the shy youngster and made sure he came to no harm in his early years, and John never forgot that kindness. He later became a well-known poet known simply as ‘J.R.' or ‘John Werndeg' locally. When he was composing a series of poems to his heroes, J.R. composed a poem to Evan mentioning that kindness, and the poem is included in his volume called Crafion Medi:

Ni thorrodd erioed ei addewid.

The following is a rough translation of the above poem:

He never broke his promise.

When he left school at fourteen, Evan had to go out to work and became a servant on many of the local farms. The first farm he worked at was Tyngraig, and then Penrhyngerwin, Y Winllan and Llwynglas, amongst others. When he worked at Y Winllan he loved to visit the neighbouring village of Bontgoch in the evenings to socialise with the other young men, many of them also farm servants. He remembers the very successful socials that were held at the schoolroom in Bontgoch, with plenty of wonderful food on the tables every time. He also enjoyed going to Bontgoch because his cousin and family lived there, in Pantgwyn.

Whilst Evan was a servant at Llwynglas, he married his wife, Katie. They have lived at 1 North Road, Tre'r-ddôl for over fifty years, and raised their children there. Shortly after getting married, Evan gave up working on the farms and joined the Forestry Commission. He was in their employment for many years until he retired.

My talk with Evan was all the more interesting due to the fact that he could name everyone who lived in every house and shop in the villages of Tre'r-ddôl and Tre-Taliesin during his childhood. There was plenty going on and plenty of entertainment in both villages then, and he remembers the Eisteddfod which was held at Soar chapel, the plays staged at the Old Chapel, Tre'r-ddôl, and also in Llan-fach, Tre-Taliesin. He was one of the actors in the last play to be staged at Llan-fach.

There used to be craftsmen and all kinds of shops in both villages: in Tre'r-ddôl, there was a workshop in 2 North Road—the cottage which used to be a Wesleyan chapel in the very early years, even before Soar or the Old Chapel were built in the village. Characteristics of the chapel can still be seen in the cottage to this day: from the arched windows, to the cupboard in the wall where the communion utensils were kept. In the same street was Tomi Isaac's grocer shop. Tomi had lost a leg in the First World War, but was able to move around quite easily with the aid of his crutches. When I was small, I remember my father bringing me an ice-cream from Tomi's shop, and to prevent it from defrosting before my father arrived home to Bontgoch (about six miles away), Tomi had wrapped the ice-cream in rhubarb leaves! The public house known as the ‘Wildfowler' today, was known as the ‘Commercial' back then. Next to the Commercial, there are three dwelling houses today, but years ago Evan remembers that the middle house was a garage, the end house by the river was a storehouse for the garage, and Mr Davies, the owner of all three, lived in the first house. When the by-pass to Tre'r-ddôl was built in 1936 the garage was then closed, as it missed the passing trade, and the buildings were then turned to dwelling houses. Across the road, at Frongoch, there was a butcher's shop, and the animals were killed in the slaughter house across the road, by the bridge. More than likely some of the blood from the dead animals would drip into the river Cletwr below! There used to be a mill and a row of little cottages on both sides of Mill Street, but all of them were demolished some years ago, and five new and bigger houses have been built on the land during the last thirty years. The mill was a very busy place in the old days. At one time there was a bridge to cross the river by the mill (at a spot named Pen-pŵl), so that cattle could cross the river to graze in the field opposite. Lal Richards and her mother, Mari, used to keep a shop in one of the cottages in Mill Street. As Mari had been born in a place called Lluestgota, she was known by the name ‘Mari Gota'. At one time she would go regularly to Aberdovey to sell butter, and at that time she could cross the estuary on the ferry from Ynyslas to Aberdovey. There is no doubt that losing the service of the ferry was a great loss to the area. There were even more shops over the bridge, towards Soar chapel. One was ‘Siop Roberts' and the other was ‘Siop Ann Dafis'; there was a smithy in Egryn, and another public house in the Halfway.

When he was a youngster, Evan remembers the thrill of having electricity in the two villages for the first time, due to the fact that Dr Williams, Cletwr Hall, was able to produce electricity with water power from the river Cletwr—that happened in the days before other villages had electricity and before MANWEB came to the area.

In those days, all the traffic used to come through the village, as the by-pass had not been built. Evan thought it was a good thing that the by-pass was built because the road and the existing bridge through the village were very narrow. The new bridge on the by-pass was named Pont-brain. There were no council houses in the village when he was young, and the ten houses, named Maescletwr, were built much later.

Evan was a valued member of the Community Council for many years, and he had the advantage of knowing the whereabouts of every house and farm within the parish of Llangynfelyn. Even to this day, if someone wants to know where a certain place is, he is advised to ask Evan, and more than likely Evan will know the answer! He walks through the village many times a day, chatting to people, and in the summer he and his friends sit on the seat opposite the Wildfowler for hours watching the world go by.

I spent a very interesting afternoon in Evan and Katie's company—Evan talked, and Katie and I listened—and I couldn't help but wonder at his fantastic memory of days gone by!

2nd: Lynda Ganatsiou, Groeg

A portrayal of J. Rhyddid Williams.

The most recent memories of my uncle are still vivid in my mind. It was New Year's Day and as I finished singing the last line of the song wishing the household a Happy New Year, I could see the outline of my Uncle's solid figure through the leaded light glass of his front door, coming along the passageway at quite an unhurried pace. He had always been a calm soul since the day I remember and wouldn't rush to answer the door even had it been the Queen herself who awaited him!

From within I could here his strong and determined voice address me; “I don't know who is on the other side of the door, but for such a difficult unaccompanied tune you certainly sang in key! This was a classic comment of his! His world being centered on music, one could hardly expect anything other than this typical remark. However, his accurate observation did not end there and before reaching to open the door, he demonstrated another of his jovial qualities so representative of his personality when, in a clear pitch he raised his voice to subtly tease with a quote from Shakespeare, excepting for the fact that he added his own personal ending: “If music be the food of love…Sing on”.

Simultaneously the door opened and he didn't make any attempt to conceal his astonishment on seeing his niece stand before him! True to form, previous to any utterance, one could read the expression of surprise on his face, which revealed nothing other than pleasure. I knew full well that he was overjoyed to see me, simply by the way in which his eyes betrayed him. Circumstances have it that we do not meet all that often, so his delight to witness me in person on his front doorstep had only one consequence: he could not hold back his happiness and tears of joy filled the weary looking eyes before they rolled over his flushed cheeks. Here was someone who when moved, could not hide his innermost feelings. There he stood a picture of health with his half moon smile not only reflecting his warm personality, but his entire face lit up in such a way making it only too clear what in actuality he wanted to say. Nonetheless, words were not necessary as his expressions said it all.

Before having a chance to recover from the singing and the bitter cold outside, I was crushed by one of his customary bear hugs that always left me completely and utterly breathless! He always showed so much affection towards me; something I cherish greatly. In fact, with his warm protective ways he has always been more of a father figure to me than an uncle. This affectionate embrace was accompanied by his now more melodic soft voice saying - Helo cariad! (Hello darling!)

His countenance was alight with radiance and every muscle on his aging face became taut, conveying how he felt. Wrinkles, which had developed prematurely in an attempt to put across his feelings over the years were by now deep grooves and substituted the once shallow lines, showing his perpetual habit of frowning when in a negative response to something. Vertical creases had developed around his upper lip in the bargain, indicative of the fact that he still continues his habit of whistling. He can always be heard whistling some new tune or other that he has recently composed; sometimes even as he whistles a tune he suddenly realizes that it is an improvement on what he's already written; he can then be seen scurrying off to his manuscript to make a note of the modification whilst it is still fresh in his mind. His thick, now white eyebrows were not absent in helping to portray his thoughts either, as when he suddenly elevated them they reminded me of the French word élève with the accents representing the position he'd hold them when expressing a gesture of surprise.

Realizing that he'd been rather selfish keeping me to himself, he hastily shouted on my aunt in such an earsplitting voice that indicated he'd undoubtedly not lost any of his vocal abilities. It showed just how excitable he is on times and how genuine his gladness is on seeing someone. “Mair, Mair. Look who the wind's blown in”, he cried.

On hearing him holler I smiled to myself, as it reminded me of how characteristically predictable this was of him also. He would never explain who it was had arrived, but constantly chose his classic beating about the bush manner, leaving it in the meantime for the other person to guess. This, as expected, was only a method of his to emphasize his surprise. The pitch of his voice had altered noticeably and was now enough to make obvious his astonishment and pleasure, as it elevated and descended in a harmonious way.

On entering the living room I could clearly see that I had interrupted his reading as there, on the table beside the chair was a travel book with a pair of glasses perched on the open pages. Anticipatory to his nature, he took the glasses and put them neatly into the case where they belonged before placing a bookmark between the appropriate pages. I willingly watched, as this was apparently something he'd learnt to do from his childhood and an indication that he appreciated tidiness. He was undeniably a neat and meticulous man, a trait that was not only visible in his home but also in his work.

At that point the doorbell rang again and without any sign of annoyance of the fact that even though I had just arrived and we were already being disturbed, he got up to answer the door. I had not told him that my husband was coming, so from within the living room I could have a quiet little giggle to myself on hearing his conversation with Giorgios. From the changes in the tone of his voice alone, one could not only detect the element of surprise but also imagine the expression on his cheerful face, though a wall divided us. Welsh being predominantly the household language, he could no less than express his surprise in his mother tongue: Arswyd y byd, bychan, dere mewn allan o'r gwynt a'r glaw! (Good grief boy, come in from the wind and the rain!) Reverberations of laughter were heard and one could clearly envisage Uncle Rhyddid with his outstretched arms enveloping my husband, an action so representative of his welcoming manner. Realizing that George (to facilitate pronunciation) might have been offended and hadn't an inkling as to what he'd said, he instantaneously blurted out in his funny humorous way: “Well how is Gorgeous Giorgios then?” Amused by his impromptu expression, even though spontaneity is something he is so used to transmitting, he chuckled and George was left with no other alternative than to join in the hilarity as well. One doesn't need to see the expression on Rhyddid's face so as to reciprocate to his infectious laugh; one is automatically compelled to join in alike. He seems to have an incredible ability of making anyone present feel the necessity to participate. His vivacious personality has the power to mesmerize and the subtle way in which he invokes his humorous conversations, forces people to get involved, whether they like it or not: one simply cannot get away with being an outsider. He appears to have a magnetic grasp over everyone, causing them to develop an attitude of - If you can't beat them, join them! By hook or by crook he can even manage to get a person who has the tendency to be withdrawn to join in one of his witty conversations. He's had this extraordinary gift of making someone feel instantaneously comfortable in his presence for as long as I can remember and with no exaggeration, it's a technique of his that makes everyone present feel in high spirits. In a nutshell one could easily say he is the life and soul of the party.

George had immediately felt at ease, as my uncle's humour and generosity were so much like qualities he is accustomed to in his homeland of Greece, where people are renowned for their hospitality. His skilful spontaneous witticisms had made George feel home from home. Rhyddid, an only child had been brought up with refined manners to say the least. Traveling extensively abroad made him aware of the fact that it might be hard for a visitor from another country to be confronted with different behavior and traditions. Although having brothers or sisters might have promoted the development of his character, it's apparent that it had proved to be of no disadvantage in his case, as he had become a very gregarious character.

Out of the blue, I realized that he'd discretely left the room. One of his greatest assets has always been the diplomacy with which he goes about various chores. My Aunt was more than delighted to entertain us for the duration of his absence. His intention had neither been disrespectful nor a mark of impoliteness: on the contrary, as in no time at all he had returned and we were able to perceive the reason for the prior disappearance. He entered the living room with his customary smile as big as Portsmouth, carrying a tray filled with both a pot of coffee and tea. It was apparent that he was well acquainted as to where the Bara Brith and Welsh Cakes were kept too, as he had placed them very neatly on a plate decorated with a paper doily. I commented on this detail but his eyes widened, expressing that he didn't want Mair to know of his visits to the tin where the goodies were kept!!! Plundering the forbidden territory unknown to her made me think of what a mischievous little boy he must have been when he was young!

Having showed that I comprehended, he nodded appreciatively and a devilish wink accompanied a broad smile to emphasize his silent gratitude. Perhaps the fact that I get on so well with him is attributed to the fact that we seem to be constantly on the same wavelength.

Whilst the others had to help themselves, I got preferential treatment and was served my tea. Once I had picked up the bone china cup I understood why: as there under it he'd placed a shiny pound coin. I looked over at him; his face illuminated and a cackle came from the depths of his tummy as he winked at me in his so typical playful way, adding that this had been for my carol singing efforts earlier at the front door: he impishly laughed again. Indeed his face never ceases having a grin on it.

Once he'd completed his duty as host, which it was evident he was used to, he made a beeline for what seemed his favourite chair. As he sat there chatting away ten to the dozen, I eyed him over. It had been at least a decade since I saw him last and any secret recipe he has for keeping himself in good shape was certainly working well, as without a word of a lie he looked not a day older than the previous time I'd seen him. Considering the fact that he is almost four score in years, he still has an abundance of hair. Though snow white it seems more to his advantage, as in my mind's eye it adds to the grandeur of his face. Perhaps it was the only cat let out of the bag, because to me it seemed the single feature that indicated any visual decline in his appearance.

He joked as was routine for him, but his main interest as so customary to his character, was to discover what we'd been doing of late. On the contrary, I was more interested in hearing his news, as having left wet Wales for the warmer climes of the Mediterranean; I'd obviously missed out some important and interesting chapters in his life that he'd forgotten to fill me in on when we talk over the phone. Getting some pieces of information proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated, as it has never been his style to blow his own horn.

He has been enjoying a life of retirement for several years now, but as he narrated some facts from his past, I could tell from the tone in his voice and the way in which he expressed his tales, that his heart was still in his music. He really yearned for that bygone successful epoch. It was as clear as day that once he had been met head-on with retirement his right arm had been cut off.
For a long period he had been head of the music department at Gwendraeth Grammar School and his energetic temperament held him in esteem with each and every one of his pupils. He was not only their teacher but also a friend and advisor. The way in which he talked about his former pupils displayed how he missed the liveliness of their youth. It was evident that he loved the children dearly and it was their exuberance to a degree that managed to keep him young. For that reason, vividness is only a mild adjective to describe his character. Needless to say, that such an effervescent teacher must have been an immense inspiration to his pupils.

Perhaps the biggest and deepest burden that he has had to carry is that he had to be realistic and accept the fact that all good things come to an end. After three decades as conductor to the local Mynydd Mawr Male Voice Choir he had to surrender to the verity that old age had finally caught up with him. Nevertheless, he has the right to be proud, for he had led them to victory. We also heard the tales of his time in Dyffryn Ardudwy as the conductor of both the Male voice choir and school choirs there. From what I drew together, he'd clearly contributed greatly to the musical life of the old Meirionethshire.

His being like a fish out of water nowadays was rather visible to see, as he greatly missed to be in the midst of masses of people. He spoke articulately of how they'd performed in so many concerts traveling not only the length and breadth of Wales but also England.

With such devotion it's inevitable that he became close to the members of his choir: proof that the excellent things I had heard about him, were only too true. The pinnacle for him was for his choir to have won in the National Eisteddfod. His vivid description of the adjudication the first time that he won made us almost feel we were reliving the scene ourselves! Only by my aunt's intervention did I get to discover that whilst conductor of the renown Ammanford Choir, he'd accompanied the famous bass-baritone, Bryn Terfel as well as one of the world's leading opera stars, soprano Rebecca Evans. Although proud of his accomplishment, he had no desire to boast about his triumphs; his moral fibre did not support such conduct. It was sheer delight for us to see how he reacted when he went back in time and described how nothing could surpass a night at the Royal Albert Hall. Oblivious to him, his face revealed a radiance of absolute contentment.

Despite all the tales of how his choirs went from strength to strength, he openly admitted that behind every successful man there's a woman. It was nothing for him to blatantly admit that his triumph throughout these years was accredited to the support of his dear wife, without whom, he'd not have achieved these accomplishments. She undeniably he said, was his backbone. It was sheer bliss to see that the years had not marred their love in any way and is still as fresh as ever. They complement each other so wonderfully that they display an astonishing sense of equilibrium.

Dwelling on the past he had obviously forgotten that time was ticking by, so having exhausted the conversation he suggested we moved into the music room, as he wanted my opinion about a piece of music he'd recently composed. The fact that he respected my opinion was very flattering for me. He awkwardly led the way, his left leg having stiffened by sitting too long.
As we entered this special room I was suddenly grabbed and he daringly gave me a whopper of a kiss on my cheek. I had no idea what I'd done to deserve this or why I had been so affectionately attacked. With no word of explanation and grinning like a Cheshire cat he then indicated with his index finger towards a bunch of mistletoe hanging from the central light. In between bouts of laughter he expressed his amusement to George, putting into plain words that had he not snatched me off in this fashion he'd have had to kiss him! As this course of action was not appealing to him in the least, he'd made sure he would get a hold of me instead! With a roguish laugh, he had us all in stitches once more. My aunt added that Rhyddid couldn't resist strategically hanging some of this traditional plant and had done so on purpose, in order that he could kiss all the beautiful girls that came his way! Here again was an instance of one of the typical boyish practical jokes he loved to play.

On top of the piano was a stunning photograph of him taken presumably before a concert; as his hair looked too neat to have been taken after a performance, when the wavy locks would have been untidily jolted into another position due to his zealous conducting!

Without any pomp and circumstance, he placed a pair of glasses that he'd found jutting out under a piece of music on the piano, on his nose. It was time for a tit for tat! Since he never bears grudge, his funny side enables people to pay him back for pranks he's paid on them and he loves to be teased as much as his love for teasing. Instantly, I commented that he looked the image of Gaucho Marx without a moustache, due to the way in which he peered through his glasses and his eyes turned up in the same philosophical pose. In time to his rhythmic laughter I saw the folds in his tummy move up and down. Amazingly, he'd not put on any extra weight, but the zip of his home made knitted woolen jacket being open, had made me realized that he was still as sturdy as I remembered him from years gone by. He appeared to have been pleased that I should compare him to such a funny character as one of the Marx brother's. My observation actually stirred some other thoughts in my cerebellum – his forgetfulness. These were actually not the pair of glasses he needed and he could not for the life of him remember where he'd misplaced the pair he needed for his music. On the other hand I should not have been so critical, this could happen to anyone. I opened a spectacle case nearby to reveal the Pince Nez glasses that he kept especially for his close up work.

He made a joke about having so many pairs of glasses and added that as he'd recently started attending computer lessons, he'd soon need an additional pair solely for looking at the screen of his PC. I was very impressed by the fact that at his age he had an interest in learning how to use such a device! He told us that he enjoyed the lessons, as it not only filled up some spare time that he had on his hands, but also kept his brain active. The major factor according to him was however, that he'd be able to keep in touch more often with his niece and learn what she was getting up to on the other side of the world! How he loved to pull my leg with such banter remarks.

His strong hands ran over the keyboard and almost frightened George out of his whit! He then proceeded to play the newly composed piece of music. It was really outstanding and had been composed for Rhiannon his daughter. Though no lyrics accompanied the music, he had really managed to capture some kind of mythical magic that one would expect to be connected to this maiden from The Mabinogion. The piece conveyed the sheer enchantment one would associate with the very name.

It was then I started admiring some paintings that helped to furnish the small but cozy room. On a more thorough glance, I noticed that they had been autographed by no other than J. Rhyddid Williams, which triggered my memory of a Christmas card I'd received from my aunt and uncle. He'd liked my idea of making my very own Christmas cards and had followed suite by creating his personal ones. His was a snow scene depicting the nearby Carreg Cennen Castle in which I thought he'd truly captured the wintry mood. Indeed, he not only limits his talent to water paints but by now has embarked on the far more difficult media of oil painting. Without having any instruction he's really succeeded for my part and his subjects demonstrate his love and flare for painting scenery.

The mirth continued and his cheeks had taken a lovely rosy colour from his passionate short performances of a variety of composers from Debussy, to Paderewski. Indeed he had opened a treasure chest with a whole ocean of wonderful sounds for us to explore and enjoy.

At that moment I spotted a photograph of what gave the impression of being a ghost; though there was nothing ethereal about it and which, in point of fact turned out to be my uncle, his face simply blanched by the flash of a camera! He thought it quite hilarious that I should consider him in that way, but explained to George that in fact it was neither his Halloween outfit nor he himself clad in a Roman Toga, but the white outfit of a Druid. Unknown to me, several years ago he had been elevated to the White robe order of the Gorsedd. He explained in detail to George how this had become an indispensable part of the life and culture of Welsh Wales and indeed the annual pinnacle of Welsh-language culture in Wales. Again his silence on the issue was a prize example of his modest attitude for something, which I deemed, deserved acclaim. One advantage that was apparent and had emerged from the conversation was, that he obviously thrived on the passing of knowledge of his country onto a visitor. The smile that appeared on his face now was a meek one, if ever there was. Unpretentious is an adjective that I feel sums him up in a nutshell.

The doorbell interrupted these interesting memoirs. Something told me that Rhyddid knew who the visitors might be, as unlike prior occasions, he made no perceptible move to open the door. An abundance of both grown up voices and children's could be heard in the passageway. He smirked, as it was apparent that he'd been up to his usual devious tricks and whilst out in the kitchen preparing our tea and cakes, he had cunningly made sure that the whistling kettle had deafened any sound of his conversations on the phone. He had managed to contact all three of his children who were with their various in-laws. He hadn't cared as to what plans they had made but told then frankly that they had to drop everything and get “home”! This is the only authoritative side of him that I've seen, as he has never been officious in any way. It was a moment that I'll, treasure forever: his benevolence constantly oozing. He had put himself in my place and thought there would be nothing I'd have liked more than to see my cousins and their families. Consideration for other people has always been high on his list. All of a sudden, we were no less than seventeen persons in the small room, attributable only to some intervention on his behalf. His face gave all the indications of self-satisfaction. Touché! The glove was on the other hand and it was my eyes that betrayed me at this moment! I showed my gratitude and kissed his perspiring brow; he was deeply touched. Artistic people it is said are extremely sensitive and again he could all but control his emotions.

Nonetheless, his ability to wield promptness, managed to retrieve the mood of the evening to its prior cheerfulness. How he thrived on this vivacious atmosphere. He had managed to unite us and under his direction got the close-knit family to forget time and troubles. With bright and breezy chatting accompanied by Welsh tunes we sang the night away.

Having given all his attention to us up until that point, he felt it only fair to leave us to our devices. This was by no means any sort of lack of respect but it was understandable that he needed some time with the grandchildren that he loved so much. He gossiped away with the older ones, and I could see how much they treasured their grandfather by the way their bodies entwined in his arms. This was only a fleeting state, as we soon saw him disappearing hand in hand with the very youngest ones. It was time for him to do some entertaining of a different kind! Indeed, he had them eating out of his hand, so enthralled were they by his enthusiastic games. He certainly knows how to captivate younger children. It wasn't until we had found him on his hands and knees pretending to be a horse for one of his grandsons did we realize why there had suddenly been so much commotion in the corridor! His philosophy has always been to live for today, so he didn't mind how much upheaval the children made; the point was, for them to enjoy themselves at that moment in the hope that it would be implanted on their brains, leaving a vivid picture of their energetic and adoring grandfather after his day. With nothing ever seeming too much for him and being at their beck and call, I'm certain they'll have no more than the fondest recollections of him.

All good things must come to an end and it was time to bid everyone farewell. My uncle had filled our evening with his effervescence and hospitality. He had been a pillar of welcome, the soul of fastidiousness, and the perfect example of what amusement should be.

We turned to leave and I took one last look back over my shoulder. I was confronted with a face transformed; one no longer that made the world laugh each time it laughed. Here was the solemn element of a person who, one moment ago was so optimistic. A change of circumstances had darkened the horizons of his thoughts. His mood had developed into pessimism from not knowing when he'd see us again. Fortunately, this was temporary, although, he knew full well that he had touched my heart.
As we drove off into the darkness, we were left with his powerful voice bursting into song, the tone of which implying that each word was intended to the full.
We'll keep a welcome in the hillside.
Well keep a welcome in the Vale
This land you knew will still be singing
When you come home again to Wales……..

3rd: John Rowland Morris, Llanrhystud, Ceredigion

Last year there were many weeks of dry and warm weather in Llanrhystud, Ceredigion. Every day Tom Morgan would walk up with the aid of his walking stick form his home Glasfryn, on the Council Estate to the village shop. He would then cross the road to a bench on the small village green. There he would be joined at various times by acquaintances or people coming to look at the Notice Board situated near the bench. As a backdrop as it were to the scene is the Old Smithy. It closed a couple of decades ago but lately the old stone building was carefully and tastefully restored and is now a flower shop – run by Tom's grandson.

Tom was born at Cartref, higher up the street nearly ninety years ago. He was the eldest of the sons of one of the half a dozen postmen who at that time delivered the post and telegrams in the village and the hinterland. Apart from the youngest, Tom and his brothers went to work on local farms. Tom became an accomplished horseman and ploughman. When necessary he would lead horses to be shoed in the Smithy – at that time a bustling business and a social gathering place.

Tom married a local girl, secured the tenancy of a council house and had a large family.
Dai one of the blacksmiths also had a large family, and it is claimed that there was a competition who would have the greater number of children! Both had ten children eventually. Number 9 and 10 for Tom and his wife were twins. Tom failed to work in early middle age. He complained of a chronic back problem but his doctor told him “Honestly I cannot find a reason for your back problem. “Doctor”, said Tom “I am the one who lives with it!” No further argument!

On our farm before the advent and use of plastic in harvesting, all the hay and straw was made into small bales that had to be manhandled in the field and in the barn. We used to go down to the village early in the evening to pick up a load of lads to help with transporting and stacking. Tom was a willing volunteer along with his sons. Assembling a load in the field or stacking in the barn Tom was the master builder!

He is a tidy person, and his garden is always well set and very productive, and so useful and convenient for a large family. He still competes in the local horticultural show. Along one side of his garden he has erected small sheds, assembled out of windows and doors discarded at various sties. He has had much pleasure breeding canaries and selling them. His family are well known breeders of sheepdogs and winners at sheep dog trials. Tom has no land or sheep but has had immense pleasure in training an occasional dog and attending sheep dog trials with friends.

Several of his children did not leave home till in their late twenties, in fact a couple of his sons are still at home, one being a pensioner. Tom always shared the housework with his wife and has coped well since her death a few years ago. He was at the head of the table cutting the bread. The slices of bread were not stacked on a plate, each slice was delivered directly through the air to land on whoever's plate was empty! Good targeting and direct hits that I witnessed.

To this day there is an open fire in his home. He was always on the look out for any timber in any form. Fallen branches or a tree, trees being lopped, furniture thrown out or flotsam on the beach. Farmers would also bring him timber either in lieu of help given or to dispose of after laying a hedge. A good recycler long before the term became into general use. He had rigged up a small sawbench in his back yard to prepare wood for the fireplace. An old pushchair was adapted and lengthened to carry lengths of timber.

Tom is a good story teller and enjoys a good laugh. He is the last but one of the old generation of farm workers in the village. He has witnessed a transformation in the countryside. All the village craftsmen have gone, two thirds of the farms in the parish have ceased to be viable and vibrant family businesses. Practically no one is employed as farm workers today due to mechanisation. Every farmwife has a job and two children per family is the average.

Tom never owned a car or drove a tractor. He was brought up in an organic era, without any luxuries. Sunday was a day of rest and worship. He has a good memory and can still sing old Welsh ballads with gusto. A character worthy of a recorded portrayal. A relic, as it were of a very different age, a period when people were neighbours and no doors needed to be locked at night – or during the day!

Sitting on the bench by the busy A487 how he much reminisces while witnessing the volume, variety and speed of the passing traffic. In the near future he is due to have a hip replacement, but I am confident he will be back on the bench early in the summer – without his stick!!

I cannot remember the author of the poem from which I am going to quote a stanza which is very appropriate to end this portrayal