West Wales, June 2024

Contents

Heading for West Wales
The Welsh Countryside
Nag's Head Inn and Powis Castle
Family Gathering
Ffynnan Gôg and Bluebell Cottage
Ffynnan Gôg Animals
Near the Cottage
Cardigan and Other Towns
Cricket in Whittington
The City of Lichfield

It had been four years since we last took a trip overseas, and more than that since we had seen Gordon's sister Bunty. Last year Bunty's daughter Jilly had moved with her whole family from California to West Wales, and we were anxious to see how they were all adjusting.

We flew into Manchester and rented a car. Knowing how narrow the roads in Wales can be, we booked a small vehicle, but were informed we had been "upgraded" to a Nissan Juke SUV. A small SUV, but larger than we wanted.

Driving became something of an adventure. In the area we were staying, major roads provide plenty of room for small vehicles, but large ones coming towards you one may require evasive action. Minor roads offer barely room for our Nissan. The car was fully equipped with warning devices, so encroaching vegetation on both sides lead to a steady chorus of urgent but annoying beeps.

The car had a manual shift, which Gordon is usually comfortable with. This car had six forward gears, however, and since one could rarely drive more than 100 yards without having to shift, constant attention was needed. Having the gear shift on the left did not help a right-handed driver.

The most serious problem was reverse. The override for reverse (to prevent one from reversing accidentally) was one Gordon had not encountered before. We discovered this only after parking at our first night's lodging. While Gordon struggled, JoAnn consulted with two gentlemen with elegant handlebar moustaches. One of them knew exactly what to do.

Gear shifting notwithstanding, driving through the Welsh countryside was pleasant. The route passed by numerous scenic farms, with livestock adding their charms. The sheep tended to be rather nervous and remained distant. Cattle could be quite sociable.

Small towns we passed through typically featured churches with square towers rather than spires. Two-hundred-year-old cottages often fronted directly on the road, and rural roadsides were adorned with wildflowers.

Roadside inns and pubs were common, and as somewhere to find food and drink, they were better than U.S. fast food operations. As in most parts of Britain, they were more accepting of dogs than in the U.S.

We stayed for two nights at one roadside inn, The Nag's Head, near the town of Welshpool. The inn sits beside a busy road, and although we found our room somewhat noisy, we enjoyed our stay.

A canal runs by the inn. At one time it was probably an important source of commerce for the area, but now is mostly overgrown. The water lilies and other flowers are attractive, but most passersby are probably not aware of them.

The main purpose of our brief layover was to visit nearby Powis Castle.

Built in the 13th century, the castle is famous for its beautiful gardens overlooking the Severn River valley. In the 16th century the castle was acquired by the Herbert family, and remained in the family until 1952.

In 1784 Henrietta Herbert married Edward Clive, son of Robert Clive. Robert Clive had established the British East India Company in Bengal, which allowed him to acquire a valuable collection of Indian artifacts. This wealth replenished the depleted Herbert family fortune.

Clive's collection is on display in the castle. We thought the National Trust, which now administers the castle, did a good job of accounting for the treasures. Their acquisition was arguably immoral, yet is still worth displaying.

Clive's fortune was also used to enhance the splendor of the gardens and terraces. One feature of the terraces that predates the Clive collection is a row of 350-year-old yew trees. They still require constant monitoring, as do flowers that decorate the terraces walls, being admired by JoAnn. Although the Clive collection was in some ways disappointing, we both found the flower beds and less formal sections of the gardens to be magnificent.

A large part of the grounds are given over to woodland, where wildflowers take the place of formal flower beds, and shady corners provide relaxing places to rest.

Near the castle is the stable pond, presumably used originally for providing water for the horses.

At one point the path offers a view of castle, and all the gardens laid out in front of it.

We had lunch at the castle, and were entertained by two members of their resident peacock family. They were obviously accustomed to finding tasty tit-bits that had been dropped. The peacock himself showed up in full dress uniform, and was not shy about posing for portraits. When not parading for the diners, the peacock seemed to enjoy surveying his domain from the balustrade.

From the Nag's Head we drove to Bunty's house, where she fixed lunch for us. We checked into our lodgings (next section), and the next day headed out to meet the whole family at the property Jilly and her husband David had acquired.

They had named their house "Tŷ Ni ("Our House"). The sign might have marked the entrance to a stately drive, except that it was in fact a quarter mile lane, narrower than any other we had to negotiate.

The house, though, is delightful - a converted barn that is probably 200 years old. Jilly, David, and Bunty welcomed us, and showed us the interior. They have spent the last year doing major renovations to adapt the building to their tastes, and made it a very comfortable home.

Jilly has been sending us regular updates on their efforts to clear the property that came with the house, which they intend to turn into a glamping site. This more comfortable version of camping seems to be growing in popularity now.

Jilly and David gave us a tour of the property, trying to describe what it was like when they bought it ("overgrown" would be very kind), and describing what it should look like in a few months.

From the entrance to the property, one has a view of distant hills, and an overview of the property. A hill slopes away from the access road. Beyond the open grassy area is an orchard, which had been largely invisible when they acquired the property. Every tree was covered with vines and brambles, now cleared out after days of hard labor.

Two spots closer to the house have been identified as natural resting areas. A bench has been placed in one corner, which their daughter July has designated "her lawn", her favorite place on the property. This shady spot has been called the Tree Cave. Jilly has said that as soon as she sits there she feels her blood pressure dropping. Given the stress she has endured in making the place "Tŷ Ni", no wonder the spot feels peaceful and magical.

Clearing so much brush generated piles of material that had to be burned, leaving fire pits behind. One such fire pit was claimed by Royal, who plans to turn it into a natural amphitheater.

Another area, close to the house, has been turned into a garden for herbs and spices. A ceramic red tailed hawk, made by Jillie for her father, has been turned into a form of scarecrow. Whether or not it works, it looks elegant.

The area at the bottom of the garden is still somewhat overgrown. Water accumulates in low lying hollows and acquires a rich covering of water plants. It can be hazardous. In an attempt to capture a frog for her studies, July managed to sink deep enough into the mud that she was unable to get out. Fortunately a neighbor heard her calling. He told Jilly and David of the problem, and they managed to extract her, minus a pair of wellington boots, which are still in the mud.

Tracing the flow of water through this area has been challenging. Jilly has found evidence of an old cistern and pipes, and in rainy weather (which can be much of the time) water follows the natural channels. These channels seem to be defined by what Jilly calls "an animal super highway" connecting neighbors' property to Jilly and David's (the traffic including a couple of badgers).

There were other occasions when we managed to meet as a family. Since July and Royal both had full time jobs, it was often hard for them to get away. We did all manage to meet for a take-out dinner at our rental cottage. This provided an opportunity for the Banks-Kong family to try to be serious for a little while, although it did not last.

For our final evening in Wales we were able to have a farewell dinner with Bunty, Jilly, and David. We met in another Nag's Head roadside inn, this one in the small town of Abercych.

We had rented a cottage for the duration of our stay. Reaching the cottage was not easy. We had to drive a mile on a typically narrow access road, ending with a sharp hairpin bend that took us to Ffynnon Gôg, Welsh for "Cuckoo Springs" (Ffynnon = fountain, or spring; Gôg = cuckoo). A separate gate gave access to our cottage, so whoever is not driving has to serve as gatekeeper.

Ffynnon Gôg is a smallholding whose owners, Mike and Julie Cook, have converted part of the farmhouse and an outbuilding into three cottages. The building containing Bluebell Cottage, the one we had rented, was dated to 1782, but it has been converted into a very comfortable place to stay.

The layout is "upside down", with bedrooms on the ground floor and the living room-kitchen on the first floor (i.e., U.S. second floor). A small balcony is attached to the living room.

Close to our cottage was an unusual arrangement of rocks and other objects. It is a model, of sorts, of Stonehenge that Mike Cook created. It is built from the same "blue stones" that make up an important part of the original. These stones came from the Preselli Hills, an area not 20 miles away. Of course, transporting rocks this size less than 20 miles with modern equipment is a little easier than would transporting the originals roughly 150 miles.

At noon on the summer solstice, the shadow of the vertical stone touches the small white stone, says Mike. At noon on the winter solstice it touches that dark colored stone beside it. It's not clear what function is served by the metal pot and the old harrow.

The smallholding is a showplace for interesting pieces of old equipment. A couple of old buggies are kept in the yard, although this one seems to be in need of major repairs.

One area has been left to grow wild. It contains a couple of old sheds that look interesting - contents unknown.

The smallholding featured several interesting animals that we enjoyed getting to know. Roughly twenty sheep graze in a nearby pasture, but one day they appeared on the grass in front of our cottage. They were Balwen, a breed of Welsh Mountain sheep. Balwen have a dark chocolate wool, but are black when sheared. They have white faces, feet, and tails.

The sheep can be quite nervous if strangers were near. A little later however, after we had gone back inside, one of them appeared at our door.

A small group of hens were free to explore the property. They were mostly Rhode Island Reds, with one White Sussex. Unlike the sheep, they are not at all shy, especially if food is available.

The small-holding has three horses, Sam, the largest of the three, Asterix, and Alimu. Our favorite animals though were the pot-bellied pigs, here sound asleep in the barn.

Among the pigs, the most friendly is Ollie, in this case taking a nap with the others.

When not sleeping, the pigs are free to explore the property. They have access to a pen of their own, where they can forage for food. There is nothing to keep them in the pen however.

Ollie can be very assertive, in a friendly way, as when Julie tried to feed other pigs. He is also so ugly, it is hard to realize just how charming he can be!

A constant presence in the farm yard was Mandy the young border collie. If there was nothing going on with the other animals, she loved to retrieve sticks.

She treats the game as an exercise in herding sheep. She quickly collects the stick that was thrown, but then starts collecting more (rounding up the strays). She is satisfied only when she has corralled the entire herd.

We discovered why the Balwen had left their pasture and appeared near our cottage. They were due for their annual shearing, together with necessary injections.

The sheep shearer who had been hired made quick work of each animal, although the sheep did not seem to appreciate it.

As the final strands of wool were trimmed, Mandy was on alert in case the sheep made a run for it. Interestingly, while the fleece seemed to be made up of attractive wool, Julie told us that there was now no market for the fleeces. They have to be discarded.

The process ended with a set of necessary injections. The person wielding the syringe is the Cooks' neighbor, whose small flock of Balwen was included in the shearing.

After they had been sheared, the sheep were relieved it was all over, but they were probably no happier than you would be after losing so much beautiful hair. Looking for sympathy from one of the pigs did not seem to help.

The Cooks' flock included one white sheep, which was something of a surprise. This sheep looked just as unhappy as the others after losing its wool, but next day it seemed to have recovered. She was much more friendly than the Balwen. She had been injured when young, and raised by hand for a while.

Ffynnon Gôg is surrounded by beautiful farms, which encouraged us to explore the area. There was very little traffic on the narrow roads near the cottage, which helped. The roads tend to be bordered by high banks, inhibiting the views, although every now and then a lovely vista appeared.

Large oak trees and beech trees reflect how long the roads have been in existence. Where a roadside wall has been built, lichens and flowers have taken over. Rocks scattered around tree trunks are a kind of attractive still life.

At one point we came to a narrow ford in the road. As Gordon was helping JoAnn across, the only vehicle we met on that walk came by. The driver yelled, "There's a footbridge". When he pointed it out, we assumed he had been joking.

One day Gordon took a walk by himself. He followed a trail that led to a right-of-way across nearby fields. He could see back to Ffynnon Gôg across the fields.

The way back led through the small village of Bettws Ifan, with its lovely small church.

On one of our walks we passed by a group of farm buildings, and JoAnn pointed to a barn ahead of us. "What's that?", she said. "It's a horse", I replied. "No, wait, it's a donkey. It looks like the Grinch. No, it's a llama! Or wait; maybe, it's ... an alpaca!".

We're still not sure what it was. Let's call it a "Llampaca". But whatever it was we were still wrong; it was two of them, one white and one black. The white one was friendly and curious, the black one very shy. It would not come close, and remained in the shadows, making it impossible to take a good photo. It took another visit two days later to get a good shot.

The white "Llampaca" made a strange grunting sound the whole time we were there. At first we could not figure out if it was being friendly or hostile. When Gordon offered it some fresh grass, however, it was clearly very happy.

The largest town in that part of West Wales is Cardigan. The town lies on the tidal reaches of the River Teifi; its name in Welsh is Aberteifi. "Aber" is a common prefix for Welsh town names; it means "mouth of", or "junction of". We encountered several "Abers" on our trip.

The town was founded by Normans near the end of the 11th century. Its location on the river led to Cardigan becoming an important trading point, but during the 20th century the harbor turned out to be too shallow to serve as a seaport.

The old buildings still give a charm to the town that attracts tourists, and the High Street, narrow and barely accommodating one way traffic, is a popular area.

The Guildhall and market place was built in 1856, and was considered daringly modern at the time. It was a mixture of Victorian Gothic and Arabic influence. Structural problems developed eventually, which were solved by installing cast iron ties with large, decorative plates above the Arabic-style windows.

At the bottom of High Street is a stone river bridge, which replaced older wooden ones built as early as the 12th century. The bridge leads to river-front warehouses that were very important when the town was a major trading center.

While in Cardigan, we had an excellent lunch at the Fisherman's Rest, situated on the harbor front, and serving freshly caught fish from Cardigan Bay.

A mile from the present river bridge, a castle was built by Normans about the time the town was founded. The Welsh attacked the castle a number of times, only to have it retaken by the Normans.

The Welsh leader Rhys ap Gruffydd rebuilt the castle in 1171, on the present site. Lord Rhys is best known for a feast he held at the castle in 1176, when he invited singers and poets from all the Celtic lands to compete for prizes. The winning poet was awarded a ceremonial chair. A representation of this chair has been constructed from local oak, slate and bronze, and placed near battlements that overlook the river. It seems to attract the aspiring poets among the visitors.

Thus began the tradition of the eisteddfod. A ceremonial chair is still awarded to the winning poet.

The castle was badly damaged during the English Civil War, and until the 18th century it was only used as a prison. Early in the 19th century, Castle Green House was constructed within the castle walls. Very little now remains of the original castle.

In 1940 the castle and house were bought by a shipping magnate, but the buildings slowly fell into disrepair. Renovation work began in 2011, and the castle was opened to the public four years later. It is now a lovely place to spend a relaxing afternoon.

A short drive across the bridge from Cardigan brings one to the community of Saint Dogmael. The most significant feature of this small town is the ruins of St Dogmael Abbey, sitting next to the present-day church of St Thomas.

The abbey was founded in 1113 as a priory, and became an abbey seven years later. It was destroyed in 1537 as part of Henry VIII's program of abolishing the monasteries. At that time it brought in less than £200 a year of revenue. It must have been easy pickings, since for a while it had been much grander.

Something of the one-time splendor of the abbey can be seen in the ruins - the walls of the North Transept for example. The size of the cloisters also suggests a much larger population of monks. The few remaining walls testify to the thoroughness of its destruction.

From our cottage it was half a mile the the nearest village in one direction, a mile in the other. Neither village offered much in the way of useful shops or interesting features, other than the endlessly beguiling rural charm. Some three to four miles further away there were larger towns.

Newcastle Emlyn: To the south lay this busy market town. There were many small shops, looking much as they must have dome 50 or 100 years ago. Others though, for better or worse, have made an effort to move into the 21st century.

As implied by the name of the town, a castle had been built on a hill just outside the town. The castle changed hands many times in battles between the Welsh and English, and was effectively demolished during the English Civil War. Stones from the walls were carried away by local townspeople.

The castle is closely associated with mythical stories of the Welsh dragon, as symbolized by the dragon that surmounts the present gate to the grounds. A carving of a dragon, in the form of a ceremonial chair, has been mounted near the castle.

After the castle had been destroyed, a local builder used many of the stones to construct a pub, the "Bunch of Grapes". The pub still exists, so we stopped in to have lunch. The staff were very friendly, and the cat made suitable use of Gordon's hat.

Aberaeron: The Welsh coast running east and north from Cardigan is dotted with lovely towns and beaches. We visited Aberaeron one day to look for a craft shop that had been recommended to JoAnn.

The town had been laid out around the church, with it's typical square tower. The pastel colors of the houses were very attractive.

We found the shop we were looking for as we explored the harbor front. On the other side of the harbor were more houses in the pastel colors that characterized the town.

Aberporth: The closest sea town to our cottage was Aberporth, yet another "Aber" town for this travelogue. There are five - count them!). Among other attractions, it boasts an Indian restaurant, where we ate a very good meal one evening, and from where we had take-out dinners for the family gathering.

Aberporth is one of several attractive fishing towns found along the north coast of West Wales. There are some beautiful cottages in the town, and the beach is very pretty.

Tresaith: Saving the best until last, Tresaith is a lovely seaside town. The beach is small but attractive, where dogs as well as people seem to be free to have a good time.

At one end of the beach is a fence, and behind that a cliff. Below the cliff are are rocks of interesting shapes and textures.

Clambering across the rocks to the far side of the cliff one sees a dramatic waterfall. Going a little further, the waterfall takes on a variety of forms, outlined against a background of green lichens, then dropping to the beach, carving a path to the sea.

Jilly and David had met up with us in Tresaith. After Gordon had checked out the waterfall we all repaired for a drink at the Ship Inn. There Royal happens to be working for the summer. He was tending bar, so he managed to take care of us.

After our farewell dinner, we left West Wales, and drove via Aberystwyth (the fifth "Aber" of the trip) to the village of Whittington, and then Lichfield. We spent a day and a half enjoying a nostalgic visit to these early stomping grounds of Gordon's. He and Bunty grew up in Whittington. One of his favorite memories from that time is playing cricket for the village team, so we had to take advantage of a game that was going on while we were there.

The cricket field where he played is still used, but the cow pasture the team played on 60 years ago has been improved considerably. Fielders no longer need to keep an eye out for the by-products of cows. The pavilion has been enlarged and improved.

In fact, a second, more elegant cricket field has been built across the road, with a larger pavilion that boasts finer facilities.

While watching the game, Gordon took several photos of the action, to provide an explanation of cricket for all who are interested in the game (both of you). Everyone else may simply scroll past the indented paragraphs to the next section.

Cricket is similar to baseball in many ways. Two teams compete to see which can score more runs. Rather than using four bases, it uses an elongated "pitch". The batting team has two players on the field, one at each end of the pitch. A run is scored when they both safely run to the opposite end.

There are eleven players on a team. The batting team may continue batting until ten of them have been dismissed (put out), since then only one batter will be left.

Here a bowler is preparing to deliver the ball. Note the straight arm. This is why it's called bowling, not pitching. One player bowls the ball six times from one end of the pitch. This is called an "over". Then a different bowler delivers six balls from the other end. Here the second bowler is releasing the ball. His arm is still straight.

You can see from the scoreboard that the batting team (Whittington) has scored 141 runs, and have lost 5 "wickets" (five batsmen have been dismissed). The two batsmen on the field have scored 34 and 19 respectively. The team has been batting for 25 overs. They get 45 overs to score as many runs as they can, unless they have lost ten wickets by then.

If the ball pitches close to the batsman, he will step forward, close to where it pitches. This batsman is playing defensively, smothering the ball before it can do any harm.

The fielder wearing pads and heavy gloves is the wicketkeeper, the equivalent of the catcher.

The batsmen are not required to run when they hit the ball; they may stay where they are. To score runs, the batsman must be more aggressive. Here he is playing a powerful drive to a ball pitched up to him, trying to hit it out of reach of the fielders.

If the ball pitches well in front of the batsman, he will step backwards so he can choose how to play it. If the ball is bounces higher, he may play a pull or a hook shot. Runs can be scored by hitting the ball behind you.

OK, so much for cricket. For now.

The closest town to Whittington is Lichfield, one of the smallest of English cities, yet one with a long, interesting history. We spent the last two nights of our trip at the Hedgehog Inn, a mile from the ancient city center.

Lichfield's origin has been traced to Roman times, and it was an important religious center for the Kingdom of Mercia. Saint Chad, the Bishop of Mercia, established the area as a focal point for Christianity, and eventually a Cathedral was built in his honor. The current Gothic version of the cathedral, with it's signature three spires, was completed at the end of the 14th century.

The town developed around the Cathedral. A private school was built to educate the choristers, although it now attracts a more diverse student body.

The streets near the cathedral are a mix of historical styles, from half timbered houses built in Tudor times to more recent, 19th and 20th century homes. Bird Street has been an important commercial street since Victorian times, and has now become a primarily pedestrian thoroughfare.

In the Market Square is a statue to the gentleman who is probably Lichfield's most well-known person, Samuel Johnson. In addition to Johnson's other achievements, he attended the same school that Gordon did some 240 years later. Nearby is Johnson's companion and biographer, James Boswell.

In the oldest parts of the city, alleys sometimes have a definitely medieval character. Sixty years ago, in this little street, we had purchased a very old tea caddy that we still use, albeit not for storing tea. We came back to see what else we could find. We thought it was the shop JoAnn is heading for. The owner told us that more likely at that time it was the shop to the left.

A contrast to all the history was a "March of the Elephants", a fund raiser for a local hospice orgnization.

When Gordon needed a beer after a rather tiring walk, we stopped at a suitably old pub we found on Bird Street, the Angel Inn. That evening we came back, found a recently updated location, and had an excellent dinner at a Thai restaurant.

Afterwards, Gordon tried to explain to the waitress how mussels can predict the outcome of elections. (A general election was to be held in Britain two days later.) It all has to do with the curvature of the mussel shell, inclined left or inclined right. It was clear that the waitress was skeptical, but the prediction was in fact correct.

Watch for the mussels' predictions for November!

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