A Last Farewell

Last resting place

Two days ago I journeyed to North Wales to fulfill my sister's last wish; she wanted her ashes to be scattered in a beauty spot not far from where we were brought up, called the Panorama.

This was a special place as we were growing up, and as six of us drove up from Penycae for the little ceremony along the narrow, winding road, I marvelled at how many times in our youth, our mother had walked this route with us.

When you arrive at the Panorama, you are met with breathtaking views in all directions. To the left you can see extended views to the Shropshire and Cheshire plains; immediately to your right is part of the Eglwyseg Mountain, which is an outcrop of Carboniferous Limestone which stretches from World's End to Trevor. The Panorama road and walk follows this mountain. Look down and you see the Vale of Llangollen, with its broad valley floor, which is between 300 and 450 feet below the top of the Eglwyseg Mountain. You can see the River Dee, as well as the Llangollen branch of the Shropshire Union Canal. Looking across the valley you can see Ffynon-las-Wood and Tyn Celyn Wood. When looking to your right, you can see the beautiful town of Llangollen nestled in the valley, and high above the town on as isolated hill can be seen Castell Dinas Bran (or Crow Castle). Just out of sight is the remains of the 13th Century Valle Crucis Abbey, which was largely destroyed by Henry V111 during his purge of the Monasteries. A slight hop further along brings you to the famous Horseshoe Pass.

Llangollen from the Panorama

It's little wonder that Sue chose this spot for her last resting place. As I stood and gazed across the valley, my mind went back to over 50 years ago and the many times that mum and her two children would walk from Penycae, along the Panorama road, sometimes up the steep hill to Crow Castle (sometimes taking the road around the hill) and down the other side to Llangollen. I'm getting weary just thinking about it.

My sister's last wish has now been fulfilled, and after a difficult last twelve months for her, I hope she now has some peace. Though very emotional, it was a joy for me to be back on the Panorama, and in the Llangollen area; who knows whether I might ever see it again. Let me flesh out a few details, so that it explains why this area is so special.

Castell Dinas Bran

As previously mentioned, Castell Dinas Bran or Crow Castle in English sits high above the town of Llangollen, and is reached by a long and steep climb. It is steeped in myths and legends.

It has been said to be the possible burial site of the Holy Grail of the Arthurian legends. It was the 13th Century home of Madoc ap Gruffydd Maelor who founded the nearby Valle Crucis Abbey, and is also believed to be the stronghold of Eliseg, Prince of Powys in the 6th Century. The views of Llangollen and the Dee Valley are stunning.

The town of Llangollen dates back to around the 7th Century, and in keeping with so many ancient Welsh towns, takes its name from its founding Saint; Collen was a 7th Century Monk. The story goes that St Collen was instructed to find a valley by riding a horse for one day and then stop and mark out a "parish", a place to build his hermitage, with tiny Church, hospice and outhouses all enclosed within a wall. The word Llan means Church or village, and Gollen is after the Saint Collen, so Llangollen means "Village of Collen". [Some say that Llan means "fortified Church yard"]

Autograph 1958

The town has a population of just over 3,000, but every July this swells to over 120,000 visitors as they flock to the world famous Llangollen International Eisteddfod.

Many of the surrounding towns and villages play host to competitors from across the world, and my village of Penycae was no exception. In sorting out my sister's effects, I came across a long lost autograph book of mine from 1958. It has a number of signatures and messages from around that period which I'd forgotten all about. It is now part of my treasures.

The Railway in Llangollen was opened in 1862, and though it's hard to imagine now, at one time it was possible to board the train at Llangollen Station and travel to London without a single change. Don't anyone tell me that the rail network is an improvement today. The railway was closed to passengers in 1965, and to goods in 1968, and it was seven years before railway enthusiasts could reopen part of the line. Steam trains now operate along part of the Dee Valley, giving a glimpse of what it must have been like to pass through this wonderful scenery in its heyday.

Pontcysyllte Aqueduct

Majestically running across the valley floor is the Llangollen Canal. Today, from Llangollen Wharf,  you can take a 45-minute horse drawn trip, or a two hour trip on a traditional Canal narrow boat.

The journey takes you through the Vale of Llangollen and across the longest and highest aqueduct in Britain. Completed by Thomas Telford in 1805, and standing 126 feet above the River Dee, it is undoubtedly a masterpiece of engineering.

For over 100 years pleasure boats have been operating from Llangollen Wharf, and they seem to be as popular today as they have ever been. The town, castle, railway and canal all add to the beauty of this part of the world, and help to make the Vale of Llangollen a very special place.

Monument to I.D. Hooson

Let me finish by going back to where we began - the Panorama. Just a short distance from where we scattered Sue's ashes; up a short path further up on the Eglwyseg Mountain is a monument to the Welsh poet Isaac Daniel Hooson (who was always known as I.D. Hooson).

His grandfather was one of a group of lead miners who left Cornwall and settled around Holywell in Flintshire. Later I.D.'s father, Edward moved from Holywell to Rhosllanerchrugog and set up his own grocers and drapery shop in the village.

I.D. Hooson was born in Victoria House, Market Street, Rhosllanerchrugog in 1880, and lived in the same house until his death in 1948. He was a solicitor, and from 1920 to 1943 was Official Receiver in Bankruptcy in the Chester and North Wales area. He was a patron of Urdd Gobaith Cymru (which translates as "Welsh League of Youth", and is Wales' largest youth organisation, with over 50,000 members today). He was also a member of the council of the National Eisteddfod. In 2007 a new Welsh school was opened in Rhosllanerchrugog and called in his honour, "Ysgol ID Hooson". He was a very proud Welshman.

Undoubtedly he is best remembered for his poetry, though as I don't speak Welsh, I haven't had the joy of reading it, but have had to rely on the comments of others. He is recognised as one of Wales' premier poets. During his lifetime he published only one collection: "Cerddi a Baledi" in 1936, but a second collection, "Y Gwin a Cherddi Eraill" was published shortly after his death in 1948. Those that know his works reckon that he is best known for his poems written for children.

I.D. Hooson is looking down over where Sue's ashes were scattered, so she has good company on the Panorama, and you can't ask for much more than that in life or in death, can you?

Eulogy for Sue

After nearly a year of battling with lung cancer, my sister Sue finally lost that battle and passed away on the 20th February 2012 at the St Giles Hospice in Whittington, Staffordshire, with her funeral taking place on the 1st March.

Though she was only there for three nights, it was her wish, that if she was unable to cope at home, then she would like to be at the Hospice. Like thousands of other people, I cannot speak highly enough of Hospice work. Sue managed to attend about half a dozen sessions at the Day Hospice, once a week, and to receive home support until she was unable to cope. The quality of care could not be matched, and I will be forever grateful to them.

The present St Giles Hospice is a modern state of the art facility, that was first opened in May 2010. It is called The Compassus Centre, named after the Latin noun which means "a deep awareness of the suffering of others and a desire to alleviate that suffering". Awareness and alleviation is something that they do in abundance, and if you have to lose a loved one, then you want them to be peaceful and pain free. Below you will find a brief tour of the St Giles Compassus Centre.

Sue and John

The photograph opposite was taken two weeks before Sue died, and was one of the last few days at her home in Lichfield.

Apart from it making me realise that I must lose some weight, I treasure it as a captured moment when brother and sister are together. We haven't always been close, but the past twenty years in general, and the last twelve months in particular were very precious, when perhaps we got to know each other in new ways. I gave a three minute Eulogy at her funeral service where I tried to say how incredibly proud I was of my sister. This blog will simply expand on that theme for the benefit of her family and friends, but will still only give a brief picture of her life.

We were born and brought up in the small village of Penycae in North East Wales. I arrived in this world in 1947, and Sue in 1951.  When Sue was about three or four, we moved from a small cottage in the village to a small holding just outside the village. She loved it there, and in spite of fairly spartan conditions, there were many happy moments.

She loved feeding the chickens, and being with the few animals that were around the place. She also proved to be very useful to my friends and I. She would be placed in goal when my friends and I were out in the fields playing football. But I think that judging by the number of times she mentioned this over the years, the experience may well have traumatised her.

When she was just gone seven, we moved back into the village, and our father died. She attended Penycae Junior County Primary School from 1958 to 1962, and in a future reference, the Headmaster of the school wrote that Sue "was a pupil who applied herself diligently to her work, and showed great promise of becoming a competent scholar. Sue was a thoroughly reliable girl who seemed more mature than the usual in her attitudes towards her studies".

The words application, diligence, competence, reliability and maturity, were to be used many times by others over the coming years. I'm very proud of her for that. Sue was the intelligent one in the family, and it was a great day when she passed the entrance examination and went to Ruabon Girls' Grammar School. In the summer of 1966 she achieved nine passes in O'Level subjects, with I remember, Latin being one of her favourites. In 1967 the school became a comprehensive, and it's name was changed to Ysgol Rhiwabon (Ruabon School). In the summer of 1969, she obtained A'Level passes in English and Geography, with the latter being particularly mentioned. The then Headmaster wrote that Sue "was a quiet, pleasant, unassuming young lady who was a most helpful prefect in the Upper 6th". 

Leaving school in 1969, she went to live in Oxford and did a two year Cartography course at Oxford Polytechnic. She left there with a Diploma in Cartography, and I have in my possession her final piece of course work for that Diploma, which I must say is a beautiful piece. She went to work for Lovell Johns Ltd, a cartographic company in Oxford.

Passport Photo 1980

Over the next 37 years Sue had a variety of jobs with various levels of responsibility, and in them all proved herself to be very competent. I think that because it was also in my area of interest that I was particularly proud of the fact that between 2004 and 2010, that she was a part time tutor teaching employability skills to 16-19 year olds wanting to enter the Construction Industry, and part time tutor in numeracy as a basic skill to those who had missed out on education.

Her level of interest and commitment to this work was shown when my son, daughter in law and I were clearing out her flat. (And I can't thank them enough for the amount of help that they gave me). The amount of paperwork from that period was incredible. On that point, if Sue had a downside, it was that she was a hoarder. There were even empty envelopes from forty years ago, and nothing she ever received seemed to have been thrown out. I'm sure that the amount of paper that we sent to the furnace, would have generated plenty of energy for Lichfield.

Take one look at Sue's CV, and the thing that strikes you is that from leaving school in 1969 until 2007, her life was one of constant study and betterment. I am so proud of her for this.

BA Honours 2004

Among the many qualifications that she gained, I am particularly proud of the Diploma in Cartography in 1971; the Institute of Managers Certificate in Computing and Management Information gained in 1995; her European Computer Driving Licence gained in 2003/4; the PGCE awarded in 2007, and above all of these was something very special to Sue.

I was immensely proud to be at Trentham Gardens, Stoke on Trent in July 2004 to see Sue receive her BA (Honours) in Business Studies from Staffordshire University. It was a lovely day; Sue was so happy; photos were taken, though I had to force her to get the official one done; refreshments were devoured, and "The Old Fashioned Love Band" were playing New Orleans Jazz, and I paid £10 for one of their CD's. I couldn't have been happier for her.

I wish that I could speak more about her friends and her social life, but I don't know enough about it. That's one major regret that I have, that we spent too many of those important years apart. But none of that diminishes the love, pride and respect that I have for my sister. At the funeral service last Thursday, I finished my brief Eulogy with these words, which I will also use to close this blog.

St Giles Hospice, Whittington

Above all of the things that I am proud of with Sue, I am immensely proud of the way that she dealt with her illness. Twelve months ago she was told that she had lung cancer: what followed was a series of fairly invasive tests to determine the type, then a lengthy treatment programme. A week before Christmas she was told that the treatment had not worked, and that she possibly had about two months to live. Throughout all of this she was strong and positive, and I can only remember one day, near the end of her life, when through frustration at her bodily weakness, she was irritable. Sue spent the last few days of her life at St Giles Hospice in Whittington, which is where she wanted to be. Sue was no saint, but I am, and will always be massively proud of my sister, Sue.

Sue front right, date and venue unknown

Happy Days

More Happy Days

My Village, My Home, My Life - part eleven

Chapel House, Tainant

Last week was a great week for family and local history. I left the village of Penycae over 43 years ago, and it's taken me all this time to get an interest in my roots. I think that I'm making up for that, as there's hardly a day goes by without me researching my family, or researching my local area. I'm loving every minute of it, though with over 1000 names now in the family tree, I still haven't come across anyone that has made a big impact on the global scene.

The family over the last 150 years or so have been good, honest, down to earth coal miners, and my admiration grows daily for both husbands and wives as they battled with dangerous jobs, poor money and bringing up large families in two roomed cottages.

My Grandmother's side (Mum's Mother), is the Valentine family, and for at least three generations they came from the tiny hamlet (is that tautology, as is there any other type of hamlet?) of Tainant, which is about one mile outside of the Penycae village. Let me bore you a bit more with some stats about Tainant. According to the website Mouseprice.com, and the Land Registry, there are currently 23 properties in the hamlet, with the oldest being just under 200 years old. The main family home is no longer there, but one or two other properties lived in are still occupied. The most expensive house purchase is Chapel House, which is the converted old Methodist Chapel, and in 2005 sold for £333,000. The least expensive sold for £17,500 in 2000. I tried to take a picture of Tainant when I was up there last week, but because of its topography - winding valley with heavy tree growth on either side - it wasn't possible to see more than one house at a time, no matter where I stood. It has been fascinating piecing together the very large Valentine family that has its roots in Tainant.

Another thing that I did last week was to join the Clwyd Family History Society. Their office and Resource Centre are only a few miles from Penycae, and they focus on the history of North East Wales.  Clwyd no longer exists except as a 'Preserved County', which is largely ceremonial. The area it covered ceased in 1996 and became Conwy, Denbighshire, Flintshire and Wrexham. Regional reorganisation has often amused me, as in 1974 Clwyd was established from a merger of Flintshire, most of Denbighshire and part of Merionethshire. The wheel has largely turned full circle in less than twenty years. The Society is run by volunteers, and produces excellent material for those interested in the family history of that area. One booklet that I came across was the burial register of Salem Baptist Chapel in Penycae, which has been extremely helpful in filling in some gaps in my family tree.

1st Salem Chapel 1806

During my visit to the village last week, I met up with the person who looks after the burial register, who helped me to find my way around the graveyard. During that time, and having coffee with him and his wife at their home afterwards, I learnt much that I was unaware of.

Previously, I'd been researching where Penycae Particular Baptist Chapel was situated, and low and behold this is what Salem had been called in the past. The present Salem Chapel was built in 1878, and while I was vaguely aware that there had been another one before that, I did not know that there had actually been three Salem Chapels.

The picture opposite is of the first Chapel, which was opened in 1906. "T Capel Cyntaf" means the first Chapel. Two cottages at the top of Bridge Street were converted into the Chapel. This is opposite the small graveyard which was used by that Chapel. Unfortunately, all burial records from that time were lost a long time ago. The plaque which you can just see between the upper floor windows is in the present Chapel. This Chapel lasted for about twenty years, before there was the need to provide a bigger, purpose built building.

2nd Salem Chapel 1825

In 1825 the newly built second Chapel was opened. It stood on the corner of Bridge Street, Chapel Street and Church Street, just a few yards from the first building.

It stands directly opposite the present Salem Chapel, and those who know the graveyard can see from the way that they are facing, which direction the Chapel was in.

Though there is a burial register, it is not easy to find graves in what they call this middle graveyard, particularly those that are unmarked, and there are plenty of those. After a while, it became difficult to work out where one line of graves ended, and another started. Mind you, it was damned cold and windy when I was there, so the thought processes were probably weakening.

3rd Salem Chapel 1878

And so, just over fifty years later, the current Chapel was opened in 1878. I think it's a lovely stone building with a graveyard on either side of it. So far, I've found 14 relatives graves at Salem, but as there are another 17 graves with Valentine's in them, there may be more relatives to come.

It was decorated inside about five or six years ago and looks beautiful. It has a balcony at one end (that's the top windows in this photograph), and behind the pulpit at the other end is a magnificent early 20th Century pipe organ. Though Church music, along with all other forms has moved on a bit over the years, I still think it's hard to beat a quality pipe organ, played by a quality musician.

I learnt two things from my new friend at the Chapel. The first was that my Father drove a lorry for a man who ran a local haulage firm in the late 1940's. This filled in a gap that had been annoying me. There was a two or three year gap between when my parents moved to the village, and when he started working for the local electricity company. What had he been doing in that time? While I'm still trying to get official confirmation of this, it looks like he was driving a lorry.

The second thing I learnt was concerning a brother who died before I was born. I think that the first thing I knew about him was when my Father had been buried, and I was eleven. For over 50 years I've been trying to find out information about him; where were they living at the time? And what did it mean when the grave says that he "died in infancy"? My Mum would never speak of it; perhaps it was all too painful. However, last week I found out that the address given was the Wern, which would have been my parent's first married home - this also helped to give me a more accurate time line of when they moved to Penycae. The burial register also said that my Brother died at 11 hours old. In researching the family tree, I've noticed how many children died very young, but 11 hours must have been particularly distressing.

All communities have their stories to tell, but isn't there something special in stories about your village, your home or your life? As soon as I think that I've come to the end, somehow something else crops up, so who knows what the future will bring.

My Village, My Home, My Life - part ten

Penycae Reservoir, Keeper's House

I spent the first 21 years of my life in Penycae, and I've written quite a bit about the village. However, over the last few months I've been putting our family tree together, and I came to realise how little I knew about the history of the area.

Before Penycae became an ecclesiastical parish in its own right in the late 1800's, it was part of the ancient parish of Ruabon. In "A Topographical Dictionary of Wales, 1833 & 1849" by Samuel Lewis, he describes Ruabon as "a parish in the Union of Wrexham, containing in 1841, 11,292 inhabitants. The parish is situated in a picturesque part of the county, within three miles of the great Holyhead road, and is bounded on the south by the river Dee. The village seems to have been indebted for its original prosperity to the noble mansion of Wynnstay, in the immediate vicinity, and to owe its present importance chiefly to the mines of ironstone and coal which abound. The parish comprises an important part of the Denbighshire coal tract, of which the principle seam is here nine feet thick; and its mineral wealth in coal and iron ore, which has caused the establishment of numerous works. The whole give employment to from 1400 to 1500 men and boys. Offa's Dyke and Wat's Dyke both intersect the parish, and in their courses approach within a quarter mile of each other, near the village".

Wynnstay Arms, Ruabon

People have lived in Ruabon for over 3,000 years, and this ancient parish comprised the townships of Belan, Cristionydd Cynrig (or Y Dref Fawr), Coed Cristionydd, Cristionydd Fechan (or Y Dref Fechan or Dynhinlle Uchaf), Dinhinlle Isaf, Hafod (or Hafod y Gallor), Moreton Anglicorum (or Moreton Above), Moreton Wallichorum (or Moreton Below), Rhuddallt and Tref Robert Llwyd. The names Above and Below refer to their proximity to Offa's Dyke. ie, above it or below it.

Local history did not form part of my school curriculum, so most of the above names were unfamiliar to me. Of course, I knew about Offa's Dyke, but I wasn't aware how extensive the name Cristionydd was. In Penycae, I was born into the part of the village called Pentre Cristionydd, and until I left the village, I lived in a council house on a street called Cristionydd. By the middle of the 19th Century things were beginning to change, with new ecclesiastical parishes being formed, resulting in Ruabon parish becoming much smaller.

On the 24th May 1844, Coed Cristionydd and part of Cristionydd Cynrig went to the new parish of Rhosymedre. On the 3rd September 1844, Cristionydd Fechan went to the new parish of Rhosllanerchrugog. On the 28th October 1879, Moreton Above and the remainder of Cristionydd Cynrig went to the new parish of Penycae. So that's when my village became part of the newly formed ecclesiastical parish of Penycae; 28th October 1879.

St Thomas' Parish Church, Penycae

In anticipation of the new parish being formed, the parish church of St Thomas' was consecrated in 1878. However, at this time, most of the population of the parish were non-conformists, and attended their own Chapels.

These were, Salem Welsh Baptist Chapel; Groes (Sion) English Baptist Chapel; Groes Welsh Calvinistic Methodist Chapel; Tainant Welsh Calvinistic Methodist Chapel; Soar Welsh Wesleyan Methodist Chapel, and Copperas English Primitive Methodist Chapel. Baptists and Methodists obviously abounded in my village. In "The Statistics of the Nonconformist Churches for 1905", the aggregate number of adherents for the two Baptist Churches was 449, and for the four Methodist Churches it was 577. Half of these Churches are no longer open, and those that are, do not have anything remotely like the numbers of 100 years ago. It should be said in balance that the 1905 figures were probably inflated by the Welsh Religious revival of 1904.

Groes Welsh Calvinistic Chapel, Penycae

Perhaps a word about non-conformity would not be out of place here. The Welsh have always been of an independent spirit, and have not liked been told what to do by London; be that Parliament or the King. There was also a strongly held view that every man had the right to worship God as he saw fit. An Act was passed in 1662 that required everyone to conform to the Church of England. Those who didn't were called non-conformists. Quakers, Baptists and Independents (later to be called Presbyterians) were the first Welsh non-conformist groups.

Following years of persecution, which began to ease by the middle of the 1700's, non-conformity increased steadily. Researchers say that by 1851, about 75% of the Welsh population belonged to a non-conformist group. Part of the persecution was seen in the act of marriage. Between 1754 and 1837, non-conformists could not legally marry outside the Church of England - except for Quakers and Jews. This exception is for another story. Non-conformity is still very strong in Wales, and it's little wonder, as they had to fight so hard to get their religious freedom. Salem Baptist and Groes Methodist are the only non-conformist Chapels in the village with their own graveyards; adherents of other groups tended to be buried in the parish Church cemetery.

Council Offices Wrexham

Local Government reorganisation in Wales has often fascinated me. The area of Penycae has come under the following Administrative counties.

Pre 1536 it was in Powys Fadog.

1536 - 31st March 1974 it was in Denbighshire.

1st April 1974 to 31st march 1996, it was in Clwyd.

From 1st April 1996 it has been under Wrexham County Borough Council.

For the general population of course, life goes on, irrespective of what Administrative area they are in. The same concerns require the same answers. For the family historians, it also doesn't make a huge difference, as up to now the Records Offices have stayed where they are. The only thing to remember is that Denbighshire and Flintshire will not be the same during the years, as I've found out for myself. So at the present time, the parish of Penycae is in the County Borough of Wrexham. 

Miners at Bersham Colliery

Another thing that I've learnt about the history of my village, is the place of coal over the years. Now don't get me wrong, I was well aware of coal mines such as Hafod, Bersham, and a bit further afield at Gresford, and many of my male relatives were coal miners.

Hafod and Bersham mines became one when they linked the seams together, and one of the seams actually ran under the village of Penycae, which caused some subsidence where we lived at Cristionydd. The mine was closed in 1964.

Gresford was a large coal mine, and suffered one of the worst mining tragedies in British mining history, when in September 1934, at about 2.00am, an explosion rocked the mine killing 266 men, with only 6 men on that shift surviving. Only 11 bodies were ever recovered, and that section of the mine was never re-opened. The whole place was closed in 1973.

We were well aware of the dangers of coal mining, and family after family dealt with either the loss of a loved one in the mine, or watched them suffer for years the effects of dust on their lungs. But what choice did many of them have? There were no alternatives, but stories abound of comradeship and humour between coal miners.

I didn't know anything about the smaller mines in the village, which began I think in the 18th and 19th Centuries, and which were long gone by the time that I was born. A list of Denbighshire coal mines in 1896 didn't have any of them listed. However, another list (see here) said that there were mines at Afoneitha, Bryn-y-Felin, Cristionydd, Fronheulog, Groes, Mill, Mountain Level, Plas Issa and Stryt Issa, with a Zinc mine at Copperas. I have no idea of when they started, or how long they lasted. What a thriving little community it once was.

The above information is probably of interest to a limited audience, but for me, it is another insight into the village in which I was born and brought up.

Bridge Farm, Tainant, Penycae

My Village, My Home, My Life - part nine

Dad - John Henry Evans about 1950

I'm coming up to the age of 64, and with the help of my Sister, and along with millions of other people, I have decided to trace our family heritage. (Millions are tracing their own families of course, not ours - though from what I've seen so far, I could do with their help).

It has now become an obsession, particularly on my Father's side. It is said that "Genealogy is where you confuse the dead and irate the living". If I'd have started this many years ago, I may have been able to take the advice of Mark Twain, "Why waste your time and money looking up your family tree? Just go into politics and your opponents will do it for you".

My family history has meant very little to me up until the last few months, as I was only ever concerned with the present and the future. Now in retirement there is a passion for reflection - I guess that comes with age, but it's also because there is time. I think that the words of Alex Haley ring true. "In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage - to know who we are and where we came from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness". And the one thing that I have come to really see the truth of is that Genealogy without documentation is mythology.

Map of Llanrwst about 1915

My Mother came from a long line of William Gronnow's, who up to my Grandfather, all lived in Farndon, Cheshire. There's still some details to complete, but I've settled with going back to the late 18th Century. My Mother and her three sisters were all born, brought up and lived in Penycae. As yet, the family tree has yielded no 'saps' or 'nuts'.

It's my Father's history that has caused me to be locked away in obsessive research - and soon I may be locked away for real.  I've had to wrestle with the stories I was brought up with, and the questions now being asked that challenge some of those stories. This means changing some of the information outlined in an earlier Blog. My Father died when I was quite young, and though I have vague memories of someone who was very kind and tender towards his Son and Daughter, there is still much to learn. I have battled to compose a timeline for him from his birth to his death, and I've had to explore information that is conflicting, obtuse or deliberately misleading, and I'm still not there yet.

One indisputable fact from his birth certificate is that he was born 17th June 1917 at Llanrwst Union Workhouse, and his Mother was Jane Evans, a Domestic Servant from Pentre Broughton, Wrexham. There is a line drawn where the Father's name should be. I'd often wondered why his Mother would have gone from Wrexham to Llanrwst to give birth, as it is around 50 miles away. Research has opened up the possibility that a Jennie Evans (Jane's were often called Jennie, as was the case with my Mother) came originally from Llanrwst, and in the early 1900's, single mum's to be often went to a workhouse as the cost of the birth would be covered by the institution.

The Morton Family

Now comes the fun part - what happened next? It's not so much looking for a needle in a haystack, as the stack has lots of needles, when what we need is thread.

Our family story is that Jennie Evans left my Father when he was about 18 months old, and he was fostered by a family called Morton who lived at Cae Glas Farm in Minera, Wrexham. Jennie is then supposed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

Unfortunately, this story has had to be questioned, at least the part about Jennie, because the Gwynfryn Council School admittance records show a John Henry Evans being admitted on the 26th June 1922, and the parent/guardian being named as Jennie Evans of Cae Glas Farm. Clearly his Mother was still about and living at the farm when Dad was 5 years of age. I hope that you are still with me.

What is not in doubt is that Dad was fostered by Benjamin and Margaret Morton, but when, is uncertain, as a clarifying Adoption Act did not come into place before the 1920's, so no records exist, and fostering may have been very informal. Dad left school in July 1931 and continued to live at Cae Glas.

Cae Glas Farm as now - very different from then

Benjamin and Margaret Morton produced ten children between 1898 and 1912. William (died aged 4), Allen, Richard, Henry, Stanley, Arthur, Gladys, Dewi (died at birth), Gwen and Nell.

The Morton family picture above shows the parents and the eight surviving children, which was taken sometime between 1918 and 1920. Was Dad fostered at this time? If so, why isn't he in the photo? Or did he come along later? You see, questions, questions.

On leaving school, Dad worked for the Morton family as a farm labourer, until the Morton's retired in 1944, and he seemed to move to Clith House (their home on retirement) with them. We were brought up to believe that Dad wasn't very happy at the farm, and that he wasn't well treated, but I now have to question that, as he was still with them when he got married at the age of 26, so things couldn't have been that bad. One of the reasons for the story I think, is that we were told that Dad slept in a shed on the farm, and not in the main house. Personally, I'm happy to go along with the Morton family history, where on this point, it records that "On the left in the front garden at Cae Glas was a corrugated tin hut in which, towards the end of his life, when he was unable to climb the stairs, Taid (Benjamin Morton) slept; not only Taid but two other workers or guests also - John Evans, aged about 20, and Simon Hughes, a much older man. Simon was probably a farm worker, but John, although also a farm worker, was much more a member of the family".

Information that I would love to be able to verify is that my Dad played the violin, but that one day, Benjamin, when a bit worse the wear from drink, broke the violin. My Son Chris is an accomplished violinist, and it would be lovely to think that this was in the Evans genes; if so, the musical ability skipped a generation with me. Again you see, questions, questions.

Mum & Dad's Marriage Certificate

Dad married my Mother on the 12th February 1944, when he was a farm labourer living at Clith House, Bwlchgwyn, and she was in the Land Army and living in Penycae. The photo below also shows Dad in the army in 1943.

Dad circled 1943

Dad didn't go overseas, and having had the photo looked at, it's possible that he was in the Home Guard, where he would be protecting Minera against the Germans. Sorry, that's a bit flippant; I know how important the work of the Home Guard was right across the country. The next few years are a bit unclear as per this timeline, and it may be that Mum and Dad were working a small farm together in the Minera area.

37a, Hill Street, Penycae

They were however, definitely living at 37a, Hill Street, Penycae in 1947, for that is the address on my birth certificate.

The photo opposite was taken by my Sister in 1968, and corrects a photograph I posted in an earlier Blog. Our house is the one immediately on the left of the picture, but was knocked down, and replaced by a later dwelling.

Round about 1950, Dad ceased to be a farm labourer, and went to work as a lorry driver for the local electricity company, MANWEB. He was there until his illness in 1956, and by all accounts was well thought of as an employee of the company.

Between 1956 and 1958 he was confined to home and Christie's Hospital, Manchester, suffering from Leukemia. He died on the 27th September 1958 as a result of that disease, at the age of 41. His was a simple, but hard life, and everything I can find out about him shows someone with great dignity and warmth. This is one of the reasons why I am now determined to try and fill in the blanks, and correct the myths. It may not be possible to find out who his Father was, but his Mother couldn't have just disappeared; there will be records somewhere, and I will do my utmost to find them. This is a hole in my history that just has to be filled. Oh, why didn't I start this search years ago, when so many more key people were alive?

Mum and Dad

If any family members are reading this Blog, you can view the Family Tree to date here.

Part of the purpose for posting the Blog, is to give people the opportunity to suggest corrections or additions; to try and complete the picture. Don't be afraid to get in touch.

"The family. We were a strange little band of characters drudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms ... and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together". - Erma Bombeck

My Village, My Home, My Life - part eight

Wrexham Lager Company

Having left school the previous month, I began work on the 5th August 1963 at Arthur Cudworth & Sons Engineering Works, Union Street, Wrexham. It stood beside the large Wrexham Lager brewery, which had been there since 1882. Cudworth's has long gone, and the Brewery closed in 2000, and all that remains is the Grade 11 listed building seen on the right of the photograph. Many years ago, Wrexham Lager used to sponsor Wrexham Football Club, and I believe to this day fans still sing, to an old Welsh hymn tune,

"Wrexham lager, Wrexham lager
Feed me 'til I want no more". - I think you've got to be there to appreciate it.

1963 was an interesting year. In March, the Beatles released their first album, 'Please Please Me'. In August, the Great Train Robbery occurred. In November, the first episode of Dr Who was broadcast, and in the same month, President John F Kennedy was assassinated (I'll return to this later).

Belt driven centre lathe

I joined Cudworth's as an apprentice centre lathe turner, but as it was a small general engineering works, you had to turn your hand to anything. I earned two pounds, ten shillings a week, of which one pound was given to Mother.

The owner was what you might affectionately call 'eccentric'. He had one eye, and drove a Triumph sports car. Unfortunately, his one eye was his left one, and being driven by him was an experience to forget. Because he didn't have a right eye, he had to pull out further than other drivers to see any approaching traffic, and he did like to overtake. The car had a turbo boost button, which he pressed when overtaking. It was a nightmare.

The engineering works had an office, staff eating room, machine shop and a large area with a blacksmiths shop to erect large structures. My area was the machine shop, with a couple of different size lathes, drilling machines and sawing machines. Even at the time, the machines would not have been out of place in an Industrial Heritage Museum. Being belt driven, the belts stretch with use, and I seemed to spend more time shortening them, than I did using the machines. However, I did produce some nifty work, even if I say so myself.

Between my machine shop and the office, was the eating area. A small room with one large wooden table, and benches down either side. I'm starting to have horrendous flashbacks at the thought of this, so give me a moment to compose myself. [Imagine period of quiet contemplation]. Thank you, I feel better. Before entering the room, I would make a lot of noise and give the door a few kicks. Why? So that the mice would scurry away. Droppings would then be brushed from the table, and we would make a drink and sit down to lunch. Mine was often beetroot sandwiches. Have you had beetroot sandwiches, made at 6.30 in the morning and eaten six hours later? No? Well don't bother. I don't believe that I've eaten beetroot to this day.

Blacksmith at work

Cudworth's had one Blacksmith who occupied his own area of the works. He mostly made wrought iron gates and railings to order. He was an old fashioned skilled artisan, who mostly did everything by eye, rather than using templates. Believe me that is one skill to have. He also rarely used welding or bolts, preferring to hold every piece of wrought iron together with strips that he would heat and then cool to hold things in place.

He was also old fashioned in the sense that he reluctantly shared his skills with others, for fear that someone would take his job. He was kind to me though as a young man, and though he wouldn't directly teach me anything, he allowed me to watch, so I learnt by observation.

I put this to use in my lunch break (I couldn't wait to get out of that eating room). I was allowed to gather waste metal that was no good for anything else, or to purchase some metal at cost price. My task was to make wrought iron furniture for home. My pride and joy was a coffee table with wrought iron legs curled into lovely shapes, and held together by bars of wrought iron turned into a spiral shape. Unlike the Blacksmith, I cheated and welded the parts together. The top of the table was as nice a piece of wood that I could find or afford. This was taken home with pride (though as I'm writing this, I wonder how I got it home), and sat uncommented upon in our living room. I never did know whether my Mother liked it, but I did notice that it disappeared from view as soon as I moved out of the home. Ah well, every artist has suffered some disappointments in their life.



Denbighshire Technical College, Wrexham



During my time at Cudworth's, I studied for, and gained a City & Guilds in Mechanical Engineering. This was a five year course, one day a week, plus two evenings. It was held at a satellite building of the Denbighshire Technical College, next door to where I worked.

I enjoyed those times, and I studied with a great group of lads. I remember coffee time during the day release. We all bought a milky coffee and two wagon wheels each. Without fail, every week. The tutor on one of the evening courses was an interesting man. He'd spent many years working in Argentina, and it was no problem getting him to talk about that time. Also, we would spend the first 15 or 20 minutes of every session talking about the Magic Roundabout that had been on the previous evening. Come to think about it, when did we ever do any work? We all got our C&G's though. On leaving college, one friend and I played one game of postal chess for the next two years, until we eventually called it a day. The excitement of one move a week was just too much to cope with.



Portmadog, North Wales

A couple of months after joining the company we won a contract to install a heating system in a new factory in Portmadog, North Wales. See what I mean about having to turn your hand to anything? Three of us were to spend the next few months in Portmadog during the week.

If I remember correctly, we would travel down very early on a Monday morning, and return on a Friday evening. This was all so new to me, and I think quite exciting.

I did learn a lot (which I forgot years later) about industrial heating systems. One thing that fascinated me was the use of a 40 - 50 foot length of clear hose pipe, filled with blue coloured water and used to find a level mark over a long distance - water always finding its own level of course. My job was to ensure that there were no air bubbles in the pipe, so ensuring that the system would work. You're fascinated by this aren't you? Riveting is the word. But to me, poor sod that I was, it was one of the most responsible jobs I'd ever done. I've been similarly deluded on many occasions since. Our intrepid band of three completed the contract on time, and to budget, which pleased Arthur Cudworth no end. I do not remember us getting a bonus.

Life in Portmadog settled into a comfortable routine. We would breakfast at a local cafe, and have an evening meal at a local restaurant. Showers were taken at a local swimming complex, and clothes were washed when we got home for the weekend.

The other two members of the team slept in a caravan that we brought with us from Wrexham, and I slept on a camp bed in a 6 foot by 4 foot garden shed. I was on my own, and very comfortable. Both caravan and shed were placed within the empty factory unit, so rain, wind and troublesome residents were no problem to us.

You know how years ago you were asked where you were when President John F Kennedy was assassinated? Well, I knew exactly where I was, for on the 22nd November 1963, I awoke in my garden shed to the news of his assassination in Dallas, Texas. Unless you were around at that time, it's hard to imagine the impact this had. He was seen as the vibrant, charismatic leader of the free world, and somebody had gunned him down. Without exaggeration, there was little else talked about in Portmadog for the next few days. My subsequent garden sheds, have all been reminders of where I was when that dreadful deed occurred.

So, finishing in Portmadog, we returned to work in Union Street, and the daily travel from Penycae to Wrexham (about six miles).  I would catch the 7.25am Crosville bus to work, and hopefully finish by about 6.00pm to catch the bus home - anything much after 6.00 would only go as far as the Rhos, which meant a two mile walk home. As a slight aside (you do like your asides don't you Evans?), I would often leave the house about 15 minutes early and go into the Chapel, which was next door to home and the bus stop (they were never locked in those days). Ascending the pulpit I would read out loud from the Bible; this was to experience projecting my voice, which I took seriously for one so young. Actually, it was worse than that, for I would often on nice, long summer evenings, cycle up to the mountains, park myself in a suitable spot, and preach a sermon to numerous confused sheep. Again, this was about voice projection. Do you think that I needed counselling at that time?

Honda 49 CC Moped

In may 1967 I had my six month provisional licence, and passed my driving test during that period. I also bought myself a motorbike to go to and fro work. Actually, that's not true. I bought myself a Honda 49 CC Moped (like the one opposite). You know the one with the pedals to help you get up the hills.

I had a classy helmet (!), and all the wet weather gear. I really looked the part, that is until I wheeled out the moped from the back of the house, then I just looked a prat. But hey, I got 150 miles to the gallon, so was saving me money, what did I care. The problem was that whichever way I left the village, and whichever way I wanted to return, there were steep hills. One stretch in particular between Penycae and Rhos was not to be looked forward to.

Either way, there was a steep hill down, and then a steep hill up. My plan always was to race down the hill as fast as I could (maximum moped speed 35 mph), and with full throttle race up the other side. I never got more than two-thirds up before losing engine speed and having to start peddling. With no one about, this was no more than a minor inconvenience (par for the course you may say), but with the inevitable groups of school children or young people about, it was an embarrassment, as they fell about laughing, and shouting out all manner of unsavoury things. You can imagine what added delight I brought to their day, when in my flustered state, my foot would slip off the pedal just as I was about to climb the rise, and be away to safety. But did this put me off? No it didn't. We Evans are made of sterner stuff.

I just changed my route.  It was a bit longer; full of narrow country lanes and some hills, but at least there was hardly anyone about to see the frantic pedalling which was an inevitable part of the journey. The country route it was to be. It all went well until one day, a moron in a car took a sharp corner on my side of the road and drove me into a ditch. I still have the scar on my knee. Granted you need a fairly strong magnifying glass to see it, but I know it's there - a legacy of being a 'biker'. That was enough for me. The bike was sold, I hung up my helmet for the last time, and it was back to the 7.25am Crosville bus, Penycae to Wrexham.

The following year, my wife to be and I moved to Birmingham, got married, and settled down. I'd left my village, my home and started a new life. But that's another story altogether.

My Village, My Home, My Life - part seven

1947 was a year of contrasts, and of beginnings. We had BUPA founded; the first tubeless car tyre; first transistor produced; a record football transfer fee of £15,000; Llangollen International Eisteddfod began; harsh winter; hot summer, and I was born.

Digging out a car, 30th January 1947

According to Met Office records, from the 22nd January to the 17th March 1947, snow fell every day, somewhere in the UK. In my County of Denbighshire, snow fell to a depth of about 5 feet, with drifts in exposed places reaching over 15 feet. There was inevitable chaos for a number of weeks. Men couldn't get to work in the area, and the mines had to close, with the looming threat of coal shortages. There was still rationing after the war, and the snow caused additional food shortages.

Hill farmers faced the threat of losing their flock of sheep due to the depth of snow on the mountains. And this is where I love stories of communities coming together in the face of adversity. Many miners and others who could not get to work because of the closures, went out on the mountains to help farmers find and recover their sheep. It seemed a daunting task, but experience had told farmers to look for dark brown patches in the snow. Sheep would lift their nostrils as high as possible to sniff the air, and the brown patches would indicate that sheep were near the surface of the snow. Many sheep died, but many were saved because of this collective community action.

You can't get to Penycae without either walking over the mountains, or going up steep hills, so the village was cut off for a considerable time.

I was born in September 1947, which means that unless I came about as the result of an immaculate conception, I was conceived around January 1947. This set me thinking; was I conceived because there was nothing else to do in a snow bound village? Oh, do tell me that there was more to my conception than that. Unfortunately, we'll now never know.

In March the snow began to melt, but because of the hardness of the ground, there was nowhere for the water to go, so inevitable widespread flooding occurred. Of interest to Nottingham readers is the fact that on the 18th March 1947, the banks of the River Trent burst, and hundreds of homes were flooded, many to first floor level.

After coping with deep snow in the early period of carrying me, my Mother had to endure the latter stages of pregnancy in a heatwave. The Summer of 1947 is the 6th warmest since records began in 1659. (You're dying to know the other five, aren't you? Well, 1826, 1846, 1976, 1983 and 1995). September 1947 was the 20th warmest month since 1659. I can imagine that after the snow of Winter, and the heat of Summer, my Mother would be relieved to see me pop out into the world.

LLangollen North Wales

Another significant event in 1947 was the first Llangollen International Eisteddfod, held in the magically beautiful town of Llangollen in the Dee Valley, just a short hop over the mountains from Penycae. The picture shows the centre of the town with its white water rapids at high level, and you follow the road to the right of the river, which takes you past the Eisteddfod ground, and on up to the ruins of Valle Crucis Abbey and the Horseshoe Pass.

Eisteddfod Pavilion

The Eisteddfod Executive Director says, "One of the joys of Llangollen is that it brings together in friendly competition some of the finest musical talent the world has to offer".

For one week in July each year, between 2000 and 5000 musicians, singers and dancers compete in over 20 high quality competitions during the day.

Every evening, the best and most colourful competitors share the stage in renowned concerts given by professional artists, many of whom started their careers in Llangollen.

It amazingly did not take many years to get established. Argentina and China participated in 1948; USA and Germany in 1949 (remember this was just four years after the end of the 2nd World War, but they were welcomed to the Eisteddfod with open arms); Brazil, Sri Lanka and Turkey in 1950; India and Indonesia in 1951. By 1953 - just six years after it started, 50 countries had competed in Llangollen. 2011 marks the 65th anniversary of this truly international festival.

Luciano Pavarotti (circled) Llangollen 1955

If you don't know the Llangollen International Eisteddfod, don't ever think of it as some mickey mouse event, held in the back waters of Wales. There is a seemingly endless list of now household names who have performed on the famous stage.

Placido Domingo acknowledges that his first professional experience in the United Kingdom was at the 1968 International Eisteddfod, and in 1955 Luciano Pavarotti (see picture), at the age of 17 competed with his father in the male voice choir competition with others from their home town of Modena. They won, and Pavarotti returned for a spectacular concert in 1995. Other stars who have appeared in the Gala Concerts are, Kiri Te Kanawa, Jose Carreras, Lesley Garrett, Bryn Tyrfel, Katherine Jenkins, Dennis O'Neil, James Galway, Nigel Kennedy, Elaine Page, Michael Ball and Montserrat Caballe. A truly glittering array of musical stars.

South Korean Dance Group

For this years Eisteddfod, 103 choirs and dance groups have been selected to participate from 35 different nations around the world. If you can get there, go and enjoy the spectacle of dance and song.

With so many people coming for a week to compete, where are they all to stay? The answer has always been in finding host families in the towns and villages around Llangollen. Penycae was one of those villages for many years, though for some reason, we were never a host family ourselves. Each nationality was allocated to a village, and as children, we waited with great excitement and anticipation which nationality of choir or dance group was allocated to the village.

Whichever group it was, at the end of their stay they would put on a concert for the village as a way of saying thank you. Weather permitting, the concert would be held on the green in the estate opposite my house in Cristionydd, called Groesfan. There would also be some gifts for the children, and I remember the Americans being my favourite, as they gave out loads of sweets and chocolates (like in the war with nylons, cigarettes and chocolates). Children can be so selfish can't they? I don't think that I can have changed that much, as I can still be easily bought with coffee, ice cream and chocolate.

I don't have first hand accounts from host families in Penycae, but in trawling through websites for memories of the Llangollen Eisteddfod, I came across a memory from someone in a neighbouring village, which could well be duplicated in ours. I love this recollection from 1977 as it shows how different nations lived at the time, and how Llangollen brought people together. The writer says,

"Another memorable year in the Eisteddfod calendar was when the Zulus, from Durban in South Africa arrived. My aunt hosted two young female competitors. My cousin recalls calling at the parish hall in their car to collect them. On reaching home it became obvious that the two young ladies were not at ease, with the situation becoming even more tense when they were asked if they would like something to eat.

Finally, when they were shown to their room, they broke down and confessed that they had never been treated so courteously, especially to be waiting on. The final straw came when they realised that they would be sleeping in the same house as a white person. It turned out that this was not an isolated case in the village, as other Zulu members asked shopkeepers if they could enter the premises to be served".

Remember, this was 1977, and at the time, apartheid was the official government policy of racial segregation in South Africa. Llangollen International Eisteddfod was there to embrace the world. Colour, creed and nationality were of no importance, the only thing that mattered was talent, and the world was brought together in healthy competition. For one week in July every year, Penycae embraced that vision, and while I can't speak for anyone else from the village, that vision has remained with me until this day.

Sorry, but couldn't resist ending with a shot of a Male Voice Choir.