The timeline
1870's Cardiganshire has contrasting lifestyles. Aberystwyth has had railways for 10 years and is developing into a place to take the sun. The Brighton of Wales, or later on, the Biarritz of Wales. Well known for its clement weather and fashionable hotels.
Away from this in the Cambrian hills that form a boundary to the rest of the land, things are slower. Horse is king and lack of coal nearby, leads the industry to rely on the hills greates asset - water, for power.
In 1874, there are around 200 mines, driven by waterwheels up to 80 feet diameter for pumping, raising and milling the ore. The mines are for lead, although some also produce zinc, silver or copper as a useful sideline. It all depends on the lode.
It is not 'How green was my valley'! Communities are not packed away in rows of terraces along valleys. The lack of transport, the lack of coal leads to a more rural sprawl and the traditions of building cottages from whatever is available. Traditions abound, even though the boom of mining has seen an influx of emigrants, many from Cornwall.
The mines are also different. Coal mines are large and broad. methane and Carbon Monoxide are hazards from the rock itself. Metal ore has no such issues, although there are ventilation problems at the deeper, longer mines. You are only paid for what ore you can get out, so the mine is made of long, steep, narrow levels folloing the ore. You can't swing a cat in most (no, I haven't tried) If you ever get a chance, go check out the Llywernog museum near Aberystwyth. Stand in the clostrophobic tunnel, with the lights off, close your eyes and imagine what it was like. You holding a four foot drill in your hands and three around you each taking in turns to thump it with a sledgehammer.
Both eyes open
Perhaps I died and gone to heaven? Wrong Williams, but I'm not complaining!
Superstitious? You bet!
Today's game. France v Wales. A new dawn for the Cymro? or will normal service be resumed? Do I watch the game, bearing in mind that they have won the last 2 without me?
It makes me think of the old miners in Ceredigion, religious to a point, but superstitious as hell. No women allowed underground, don't whistle there either - or you'll bring up the devil. Leave some tallow for the snail you pass on the road, and look out for the cross-eyed man!
We may think we are more 'civilised', but I can guarantee we are just as superstitious these days, just in another way.
Here's one eye open for Shane Williams crossing the line to cap off a memorable match-winning performance. Cymru am byth!
Where is 'there'?
'There' is in the hills of Mid Wales, where the yellow-green grass fades to piles of grey rock dragged from beneath the ground.
'There' is the site of an industry, now departed and the men and women who made it happen over a hundred years ago.
'There' has water, everywhere. In the ground, running from lakes, through leats to power the huge waterwheels that were the mechanics of the industry. Coal was expensive, but water was cheap. It rains a lot in the hills over winter...
'There' once produced silver, lead and zinc to aid the economy of this land. An industry long-gone and a hardy people long gone, living from mine to chapel and back to mine.
I did some research on the mine and the more I read, the more the story grew that could be told. The longer it went on, the more the characters built up and took over, so the industry became a background rather than the subject.
It's a place that I dream of, it's a place that draws me and a place that haunts me. Wonder what the old boys thought of it...
A little ditty in the style of a dear departed poet, I knocked together once for a giggle and recently deposited on Rod Duncan's blog. It's fun to play about with styles!
Twas on the morning of the September the first
When the wind howled like it had been cursed
That I saw a man with a wooden shield
Get off the train from bonny Wakefield
But why, thought I this shield should he bear?
and so it was I continued to stare
at the man with the wooden shield,
getting off the train from bonny Wakefield.
And so it was with bated breath,
I went to the man, who didn't look deaf.
and said 'my good man, I hope you could tarry
and tell me of that shield that you do carry.
'The man looked me up and down, then said
'Get thee hence or I will break tha head'
and so it was he went away
and left me in complete disarray
Oh shielded man, I must conclude
I must have caught you in a bad mood.
the reason why, I could not have said.
But what was the axe doing sticking out of your head?
I salute you shielded man for your tirade
and in my memory you will never fade
for it was on that morning so jolly
that I met my first complete wally.
and so, i must conclude my text
and consider what I should write of next.
Perhaps I should write of the bridge of the silvery Tay
That stood there majestic until the day, it fell.
But to that, i shall not give it my all.
I shall leave it to my mentor, William McGonagal.
Instead I shall think of the man with the shield.
Are they all like that in bonny Wakefield?
Where did it start?
I used to belong to a group of schoolfriends who produced an ad-hoc journal as a way of keeping in touch. From memory, it ran to 8 editions. There was the Fantasy (wizards etc, not what you perhaps thought...) novel I wrote one summer post school, when I was struggling for something to do. It all went away, but one day I got the bug back. then my wife said the key words. 'Write me a story, I would like a nice romance. After all, your e-mails are what brought me here...'
I looked at what I knew a lot of and the romance was a bit lacking! But the more I thought, the more each had a story and the more I researched, the more there was opportunity for romance. You can find it anywhere if you look hard enough.
Woss 'Appening?
Personally I blame my mate Rod Duncan (name dropper!) for giving me his link. A way to express yourself...hmmm, how about the trials and tribulations of trying to write? Get an idea Spend 9 months slogging it out, attending courses, visiting the same forlorn buildings and spoil heaps, reading, reading, reading, feel the ambience, dream, write.
Ok, it's going too fast, split the story into 3, re-write the first bit for 6 months. Visit the same grey crumbling buildings. Stand in the mining museum on a cold, wet day again and try to imagine the struggle to survive. Test the patience of the National library folk a few days more. Read, read, read. Revise a few dozen times and there it is.
Now the hard part begins...
