Cardigan to London

June 14 2005

Started to speak to the Landlord at the Llew Du in Pont, a chap from Cornwall, and soon we were stuck in a mire of misunderstanding. "I've only got business Welsh" he said, meaning only a few practical words to show willing. "Pum punt os gwelwch yn dda" (Five pounds, please) and so on. It’s ironic to think how the village has changed. Looking back at the census of 1891, most of the villagers spoke Welsh and my great great grandfather Thomas Hughes was one of them. I wonder what it was like dealing with buyers from across the border then, as he went on his travels as a drover? I imagine that he’d only have some ‘business English’...

Pont was a strange amalgamation of the old and the new; I meet many faces that I remember from my childhood…and many English people who’ve moved into the area. On the site of the family’s slaughter house there are new houses "we kept some of the stones from the old slaughterhouse for the garden wall" said a young woman who’s about to marry one of my cousins. I met a jogger outside Tom Lloyd’s shop then: “I'm going to marry a full-blooded Welshman” she said. I wonder whether the boys will be able to change the language that’s spoken at home? There’s a danger that the reception class in three years’ time will be completely English-speaking. All the pregnant women are English-speaking.

Having said that, Cheryl, the girl who cut my hair seemed remarkably unfazed by someone speaking Welsh to her. If only everyone was the same...

June 15, 2005

picture from the programmeRhian of The Gold centre in Tregaron got hold of a Black Sheep bank note after a fifteen-year search. The ‘Aberystwyth and Tregaron Bank’, to give it it’s official name, was in a building across the square from her shop, and the bank notes used pictures of sheep to show their value, two sheep on the two pound note, one on the pound and a lamb on the ten shilling note. Rhiannon had a two pound note, found in a file of papers by a solicitor from Carmarthen.

At the back of Rhiannon’s shop is caffi Sara Bara (named after an old character who used to bake on the site bara = bread). A Welsh speaking girl served us and I was surprised to see one of the girls who’s spoken Welsh fluently to me in the shop speaking English with her. “For the first time,” Rhiannon said, “It’s a problem to get our young staff to speak Welsh to each other – and the customers like to hear them doing that.”

At the Tywi Bridge pub in Rhandirmwyn, the landlord came to the door as I passed with my fake sheep tucked under my arm. He was wearing a cowboy hat and came from Flint. His daughter wanted to stroke the sheep whilst his dog attacked the wheels of passing cars.

I remember calling here for a pint or two a few years ago, with a gang from the next village, Cilycwm. After a while we realised that no-one was sober enough to drive:

- ‘Be wnawn ni felly? Ffonio am dacsi?’ (What shall we do, get a taxi?’)
- ‘Jiw jiw paid â poeni - dreifwn ni nôl.’ (Good God no, we’ll drive home)
- ‘Ond be am yr heddlu?’(But what about the police?)
- ‘Ni'n switsio goleuade'n ceir ni bant - fel bo nhw'n ffili'n gweld ni!’ (We switch our lights off – so that they can’t see us!)

And that’s what we did...

The cowboy didn’t do food and we were turned away in two other places, because it was five to two. "Be sy'n bod arnyn nhw 'te?" (What the matter with them, eh?) said the welcoming landlady in Cilycwm as she took our order. “Pwy sens sy, mewn troi busnes bant?" (What sense is there in turning customers away?) Exactly, and thank goodness for her.

June 16, 2005

picture from the programmeThe language of Llandovery is changing and we’re not talking about translation.

As you look in the estate agents’ windows you see “cae” turning into “paddock”, “sgubor” turning into “suitable for conversion to holiday cottages”. The country is becoming a playground, not a place to work and make a livelihood.

On the bus from Llandovery to Brecon. Three generations are travelling together, grandmother, mother and the little one called Bailey (I wonder whether it was a little Baileys which was responsible for his conception?!) then I chat to Maureen and Keith. Maureen’s grandson was learning Welsh she said, at school in Brecon. Then, a man from Trecastell who was going to watch the races at the bookies in Brecon – “rhywbeth i roi diddordeb imi yn fy henaint” (something to keep me interested in my old age) he said.

I’m surprised at people’s readiness to accept that I don’t “siarad Saesneg" (speak English). Furthermore, more than one has turned to their friend in the middle of a conversation and said "he doesn't understand English" even though I answer every time something is said in English even if they haven’t perhaps understood my reply.

I’m also surprised at people’s acceptance of the sheep. In Brecon as I ask two local schoolgirls about the best way to get to Abergavenny they were shocked that I was thinking of walking – but didn’t say anything about the fake sheep I was carrying under my arm.