Uncle Tom was a protestant minister who after a twenty year engagement, married my Auntie Mary and prior to this they were staying in Upper Boat when my sister was born during a snow storm. The next morning, Auntie Mary took me to see my little sister, whereupon, instead I dashed outside to look for Mother Goose and her mighty fine gander, inasmuch, EVERYONE knew she brought the snow. I didn't know Uncle Tom too well as being a clergyman I always held him in awe and he told me I talked too much!!! Imagine that! He also suggested I go in for the church or politics!
Uncle Tom christened me at the Ebenezer Chapel in Garth, and I was to be named Alan. However, en route to the christening, my mother had a change of heart and I was christened Paul, although I never followed in his footsteps! By a twist of fate, my best friend for the last 71 years was to have been christened Paul, but at the last minute his mother decided upon Alan. The ever fickle finger of fate.
Auntie Blod was the backbone of the family, with a heart of gold and her house always had a pot of tea on the ready and a welcome second to none. So much happiness and memories from Alfred Street, and Eiluned and Margaret who taught me to ride a bike and indulged my madcap ways. Suppers of fried cold potatoes and cabbage, but Spam or corned beef with lots of pickled onions and lashings of piccalilli, followed by endless cups of tea whilst family history was discussed when a nod was as good as a wink when it came to a bit of scandal. I was closest to Eiluned and Margaret than to any of my cousins. Yesterday, and again today, I enjoyed a long telephone call with Margaret, who I hadn't spoken to since 1988, and together we travelled back through the passage of time to Maesteg in those wonderful days when there was so much less, but so much more.
Auntie Mag lived high above on Golden Terrace and she was a class act, full of fun and I remember a mischievous twinkle in her eye and sadly died far too young, but according to mother, she was quite a prankster. Auntie Mag had three children, William Samuel, Doreen and David. William Samuel and his wife Thelma visited us at Colesville and LaVale. Her grandson, Peter, came visit us in Colesville for a holiday, stayed in America, married Nancy, and now live in Ohio with their family.
Auntie Kate settled in Coventry and in those days, for a visit one might have as easily sailed to Ireland and no recollection of her until she came with Auntie Liz to stay with us in Colesville for a month. I could write a book about that visit, and boy was she wicked with a fantastic sense of humour! Auntie Kate had four sons, Cynwyd, Ronald, John and Gwyn. Cynwyd I hero worshipped as a kid when he came to Upper Boat in his RAF uniform and gave me his Boy Scout knife. Ronald and John I knew just a little, and I never met Gwyn, more is the pity. John came to Upper Boat on holiday and we caught frogs in the canal. He ended up with a big toad and myself a little frog which we put overnight in adjoining jam jars only for his toad to climb out and eat my frog. Of course, I held him responsible for the act of cannibalism which was never forgotten! During the war, Cynwyd was evacuated to Auntie Liz, and Ronald to Auntie Blod.
Auntie Liz is where we stayed when visiting Llangynwyd and a very direct, "lump it or leave it lady", but the salt of the earth, strict and who called a spade a spade but very caring. Auntie Liz came thrice to America; the second time for Uwe's christening. During her third American holiday with Auntie Kate, they insisted on having a cup of tea in Ocean City, Maryland, despite my misgivings. The good ladies spat it out in disgust calling it "pishoo crix" which is an acceptable Welsh term for "gnat's piss!"
Americans make excellent coffee, but the most awful tea one can imagine! Auntie Liz had two daughters, Joan and Megan, and they both visited us in Colesville with their families.
Uncle Will, the youngest son, moved to Leytonstone after serving in the British Army throughout Burma during the war. Rugged and a "Man's Man" who brooked no nonsense and with strong socialist values, but an uncle I greatly respected. Uncle Will had one daughter, Megan, who is a lot like her grandfather with a very droll sense of humour!
Grannie Garth, of whom I have no recollection, although I have vague memories of the house and falling downstairs. There were buffalo horns on the wall atop the stairs, which apparently frightened me. A deeply religious woman and the sabbath was indeed holy with food prepared on Saturday night to be cooked for Sunday dinner with pots, pans, etc, put in the sink and covered up for washing on Monday. Thou shall not work on the sabbath.
Grandpa Garth, a retired coal miner, died shortly after this picture was taken and how my mother worshipped him. A deacon in Ebeneezer Chapel, and lay preacher who had an ear for music which despite his lack of formal training could play the piano and compose music. He gave elocution lessons and maintained those who could speak Welsh spoke the best enunciated English. We could do with him today!! Grandpa Garth was a rascal with an inordinate sense of humour and brought home a monkey, but that is another story. He loved playing tricks and one night his butties were returning home over the mountain from their shift at the pit when he jumped out covered in a sheet, uttering fiendish shrieks and sending them fleeing in terror to the valley below. So many stories my mother told me of Grandpa Garth which would take too much time to recall and wish I had known him as he was quite a character.
Gwynneth, my lovely mother died far, far, far too young and was such a beautiful girl as the picture attests. She adored Peter and Astrid, and we were thrilled when they came on holiday to Virginia in the summer of 1970, but she died the following spring after they had booked their flight to come over that summer. To this day I miss her, and my fondest memories are from Upper Boat where I enjoyed a childhood in the mountains second to none with clear memories of popular songs from the 1940's which Mam always sang along with on the radio.
Auntie Muriel was a renegade and moved to Hartland after the war, and hence my connection and the family's love for Hartland. This lady took no prisoners and God help anyone who fell out of favour as she was a woman to be reckoned with, but after saying that we always received a fantastic welcome on our visits to the west country. Then again, she was my godmother although legend has it she declared herself for that role and nobody dared gainsay her! Upon Uncle Tommy's retirement, the local council proposed awarding him a watch for long and faithful service, whereupon, Auntie Muriel stood up and told the council to stick the watch up their respective nether regions (but not so diplomatically) and they wanted the money! Donald Trump would have loved her! Auntie Muriel had two sons, John and Michael, and her grandson spent a summer in LaVale with us.
These are my recollections and I have a hyraeth for Wales, which with Ulrike's passing is ever more so, but one would have to be Welsh to understand. Peter and Uwe missed out on that!
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