Welsh Goats and Coracles
The Welsh are passionate singers — just go to any football match, especially the ones against England, and you will know I'm right.
"Cwm Rhondda" and "Men of Harlech" have probably been superseded by chants such as "Same old English, always cheating". Those sentiments can't be drowned in spite of the apparently incessant rain and what else is there to do in the rain, seated in a stadium, packed shoulder to shoulder, but sing?
We were certainly in the thick of it, so to speak, in 1962 when my parents, my sister and I were travelling through the British Isles with a cage load of white mice, visiting artists and craftspeople and taking note of history and heritage.
My father, Peter Cape, was training with the BBC in television production, and had an Imperial Relation Grant to study the lifestyles of the British peoples from Land's End to John O' Groats. Leaving London on July 18 we were now in Wales where I take up my father's diary account.
● August 11, 1962, Saturday
And rains and rains and rains and blows, and there's mist. A quiet night, we said, camping! Up at 8 and away by 10, in spite of the weather. Or rather we would have been, if car had gone. Driving rain and cold had wetted the engine. Fortunately, there was a mile of hill, but it wasn't until we'd almost reached the bottom that, DV, the engine started.
Shopped wetly in Llandeilo, then it's Carmarthen, where we bought me a hat for 9/- and some plastic for car's nose. From Carmarthen for 10 minutes. There was a traffic jam of northbound traffic (we were going south). Reckoning 8 cars per chain, there were 6400 cars just standing in the rain. On to Carew, to see Celtic cross dating from 1032 (photograph) good specimen.
On to Lamphey to see ruins of Bishop's palace, then to Pembroke (ph[otographed] house growing out of stone), Pembroke docks, and on to St David's. Camped after getting into ditch.
● August 12, 1962, Sunday
A late start — away at 11.30 to St David's Cathedral and the Bishop's palace (ph) after ph cornfields and St David's Head. On to Fishguard (ph), then a long drive through Carmarthenshire and Cardiganshire. At Nevern saw and ph neolithic burial chamber, and at Cenarth, saw people boating in coracles (used for salmon fishing).
Lost at Llandysul, but back on route to Tregaron. Saw Strata Florida Abbey (home, until the Reformation, of the Grail) then into the hill country — lovely, with bush and waterfalls — village in hills called PONT-RHYD-Y-GROES — at Devil's bridge. Lovely sunset over Aberystwyth seen from hilltops, then late camp on the wrong side of the town.
● August 13, 1962, Monday
Up at 7 and away by 9.30 into Aberystwyth (Aber — mouth, Ystwyth the river). Shopped and bought Welsh doll for Barbara. Out to Talybont to see Lerry Mills — genuine handwoven tweeds at £1 yard. Then to Machynlleth (MAKUNTHLETH) where we see organiser of Rural Industries for Welsh region, and also an exhibition of Welsh crafts.
Off the itinerary to see a mill at Dinas Mawddwy — saw tapestry rugs being woven, then by magnificent mountain scenery (waterfall photographed before Machynlleth) to Dolgellau (ph street) and then best speed to Barmouth.
Met Mr Dallow (Midlander living on a Welsh mountainside) who carves Welsh love spoons of traditional design and makes miniature cottage furniture. Five craftsmen. Photographed Barmouth inlet and town. Camped in 4/6 campsite. Talked to Welsh sheep farmer who ran 250 sheep (small Tiggerish Welsh ones) on the mountain tops: clipped them with hand shears (tying them tight with cord and sitting on a stool to do it) and left ½ inch of wool on them.
Got 3/8 lb for fine wool, and clipped 2½ lbs pr sheep.(Note: Camping coaches on railway sidings. Old people: workers raking hay by hand: women wearing white aprons and headscarves).
● August 14, 1962, Tuesday
Up early, washed hair (first time in 4 weeks) and off to good start. Back through Barmouth to Harlech: saw and ph castle. Bought pies at 1/- each.
Woman said "Hot?" B (Barbara) said yes, so woman dumps pies into boiling fat used for chips! Most sick making. On into hills by most corny purple-heather scenery, lovely mountains. Up to Maentwrog (ph village) and Ffestiniog. Then a bit of tail-chasing to find the Ffestiniog-Porthmadog narrow guage (private) railway. Found staff at last, and missed train by 5 minutes.
Road to P.madog and saw train chuffing by on hillside (ph). Inland then through mountains and waterfalls (ph) and Snowden (covered in mist) to Carnarvon. Saw castle (ph). On to Menai Bridge (ph) and (surprisingly) Llanfair P.G. Bought platform tickets, and on to Holy Head. Camped on headland as near to level as possible. Rain starts.
● August 15, 1962, Wednesday
Started to rain at 8am. Wet getaway at 11. Ph. (photographed) Holyhead lighthouse. Shopped at Holyhead, then back through rain to Menai Bridge (ph) eating lunch as we went.
Saw Bangor and Bangor pier, then away to Bethesda to see Pennant weavers: hand woven tie materials. Then to Capel Curig to see more Welsh crafts, and finally through Beltws-y-Coed to the Pannaclon mills, where we bought 2 trad. pattern Welsh quilts. Mill owner a character. Tea, and then to Llangollen, where saw (& ph) remains of Valle Crucis Abbey: also saw oldest standing wall in Britain.
Up Horseshoe Pass (ph) where I fed biscuits to Welsh goats (ph) on to outskirts of Chester. On moorland saw people picking fruit: whinberries — small, purple, currantlike. Pleasant.
●●●
Those pies plunged into hot fat must have been revolting. I suspect they were disposed of somewhere to avoid food poisoning. There were no microwaves in 1962, at least not in fast food stores.
For those of us who don't know the Welsh tongue, Llanfair PG is the longest place name in Wales: the unabbreviated version Llanfairpwll-gwyngyllgogerychwyrndrob-wllllantysiliogogogoch means "The church of St Mary in the hollow of the white hazel near the fierce whirlpool and the church of Tysilio by the red cave". The account of the shepherd hand clipping his sheep highlights how simple and primitive rural life was in some places.
In New Zealand advances were being made well beyond hand shearing. Walter Godfrey Bowen broke the world shearing record in 1953 with his Bowen Technique and he was decorated with an MBE in 1960. That development has become an integral part of New Zealand's success story. Quality lasts. I still use the green and brown Welsh quilt bought at the Pannaclon Mills. It hasn't aged.
I'm thankful too for microwave ovens. Pies can be reheated. The roads were long at times and as I recollect, my sister and I had recorders. We drove our parents crazy playing endless rounds of "London's burning, London's burning, pour on water, pour on water, fire fire, fire fire …" which probably pleased the Welsh heartily and appeased any dragons that happened to be lurking within earshot.
Chris Hipkins agreed to meet him in Wellington after the Prime Minister said 'no'.