You won't know yourself!

Three different people have said this phrase to me recently
"You won't know yourself". All referring to the work being carried out in my adobe! "How long have you lived here then"? asked the man from Tredegar who was installing the boiler.
"25" years I replied. That was the old life sentence for murder. I have spent that length of time in a two bedroom terraced house in the salubrious suburb of Cardiff, 'Grangetown'. The name itself strikes fear in to the hearts of pirates and the mafia. That length of time without adequate heating. That length of time minus four years where I escaped to London and Amsterdam for a brief sojourn. Tredegar, home to Aneurin Bevan, founding father of the National Health Service and from what he was saying, it had seen better days. "It's rubbish there now, all the shops have closed. It was great when I was growing up mind". When somebody says "You won't know yourself" they are suggesting that you won't recognise the life that you were living before. It's certainly warmer in the house now but that is down solely to the Welsh Assembly Government, who I campaigned for in 1997.
They have a scheme for those in 'Fuel Poverty' quaintly called 'Nest' and I am one of those. 
Pulling up the floorboards was a 'potch' according to the Tredegar Ironside and Thursday sees work beginning on a new kitchen. I have slummed it here for a long time because in some strange way I felt that I deserved to live an uncomfortable life. I didn't have the finances to do the place up and I don't now but it appears a final part of the jigsaw is falling into place. I always said that I didn't  want to live here when I was 50. Three years minus a month to make good my mistake/escape.

 

I also said that as I left, I would sing the Roger Whittaker song

Durham town and replace the word town, with the word Street. It is the street where they've gone and plonked a Greggs Bakery on the corner. Yet another reason to stay and become fat and fifty. With a Central Heating system and a new kitchen it appears that 'I won't know myself' therefore it is better that I plan my escape now so that perhaps 'I can find myself'.



Gwalia!

Yesterday I was with a working party of volunteers who went to the Museum of Welsh Life at St Fagans, Cardiff, to clear out some woodland ready for Bird & Bat Boxes to be placed. We had to watch out for newts, because of the weather they were late this year and as they are a protected species, like bats, should we see one, then it was down tools.

I think I had only been back to St Fagans only a handful of times since I had worked there one summer as a warden on the houses in the Summer of 92, when I started as a mature student at the University of Glamorgan.

We kept our tools and had our briefing at Hendre-Wen an old barn that had been moved down from Llanrwst. Apparently it housed the Tardis in an episode of Doctor Who but I remembered the Barn immediately from a Site specific Theatre performance that had been undertaken in the 1990's on the theme of World War 1 and the Suffragette Movement. It is a very vivid memory of being escorted from the main entrance by a soldier to the War memorial where the Last Post was played and the Roll of Honour of the Dead were read out. We moved to Oakdale, to the Tannery, to the Cockpit and to Penrhiw, the Unitarian Chapel and to the Barn at Hendre-Wen where we had watched a scene involving deserters/shellshocked from Battle hiding out in the little crog-lofft.

So here I was back again almost twenty years later and nothing it appeared had changed. Time stands still at St Fagans. We were treated to a lovely lunch in the café above the Gwalia Stores and then on our way back to the wood clearing I saw a man in his seventies standing tall and erect in a black suit and baseball bat with 'Espana' written on it. He smiled at me and looked at my badge thinking that I worked there as staff and he engaged me in conversation immediately.

"They should never have pulled these down" pointing at the prefabricated house at the end of the terrace at Rhydycar.  "They would solve the Housing Crisis" now he went on. It was as if he had a pre-prepared monologue that he wished to impart.

"I'm waiting for Yasmin and her son, we've come down from Bryncethin, I remember the Gwalia Stores. I'm an Ogmore Vale Grammar Boy. We both go to Church. Mam was Chapel, she was a Welsh Speaker from Ammanford and Dad was from Carmarthen but I lost the Welsh, I had it as a child. I think it is very important. We must never lose it".

I had only imparted a couple of grunts in response when Yasmin and her son came out of the Prefabricated House. I recognised them then as a threesome that had been having tea in the Gwalia Tearooms.

"I've just been telling this gentleman about Welsh"

"Oooh don't start swearing at me" she said in a very broad Bridgend accent

"I don't speak it and  don't understand it"

"Hwyl Fawr" I said to the old gentleman.

Yasmin held her hand up, face palm out and abruptly said "Goodbye"

For me in that one exchange at the Museum of Welsh Life encapsulated the attitude towards the Language. The attitude is on a spectrum but here was a dignified gentleman who had taken the trouble to give fellow church members a lift down to St Fagans. A man who had 'hiraeth' a yearning for his lost heritage and language accompanied by a lady who viewed it quite honestly as a threat. It was dismissed with pointed words and a hand gesture.

I returned to the Gang a little shaken but then got on with the work and finished the afternoon conversing in Welsh with a Frenchman who had learnt Breton and then Welsh but who also spoke perfect English.   

http://www.museumwales.ac.uk/en/stfagans/buildings/prefab/

I left St Fagans wondering whether it was the Museum of Welsh Life or the Museum of Welsh Death. When the exhibits are brought to life as in that Promenade site specific piece then history is brought to life. People in Costume relay information of the age because it is people that make places after all.

Wardens on a little bit over the minimum wage shivering bilingually wishing they were working at the BBC...perhaps

Advanced Directive

 

Advanced Directive

 

If I should play the Ukelele, naked in the snow and rain.

If I should continue banging my head despite the pain.

If I should scream in Russian at passing cars.

If I should play the Grand Piano in smokey old jazz bars.

If I should dress like Napoleon and wear Wellington’s boots.

If I should jump on shooting stars and wear lime green zoot suits.

If I should join the army at forty two, raid the pantry and paint my head blue.

If I should cry God for Harry, England and St George whilst on a day trip to Cheddar Gorge.

If I should write a sonnet then place a black tulip upon it.

If I should drink white lightning and say something rather frightening.

If I should take the neighbour’s cat on a world cruise, bet her in poker and then lose.

If I should write abusive letters to the Western Mail.

Christen vicars and end up in jail.

Then Dear Sir/Madam

 

Please let me.

 

Message from Masters

 

 

http://www.messagefrommasters.com/

Some Easter Thoughts!

I believe in God but I have doubts about Jesus Christ being the Son of God or being God on Earth in the form of a Human. Why I should believe in one and not the other! I find the idea of the Holy Spirit very attractive. I know the Lord's Prayer in English but I couldn't recite it all the way through in Welsh which is shameful.  



I believe that a Spiritual Awakening is required globally but especially in UK PLC and perhaps it will start in Wales, land of ancient myths and legends. If only to stop our collective insanity in its tracks. Something is required to slow down the never ending consumption and short term thinking.   A Secularist would call the Bible a work of fiction. I am not comfortable with a book written by Men professing the word of God. A Belief in a Higher Being is a personal thing so why am I writing a Blog Post about it? I suppose because it is a universally personal thing. On occasion when the 'sap' has been high and I have felt particularly in need of spiritual replenishment I have attended a church service. As a teacher in London I would make a pilgrimage to a Chapel near the Barbican called Jewin, the chapel where my parents met when it's services were held at the London Welsh Centre in Gray's Inn Road. I went for an opportunity to be in the presence of my mother tongue and worship in Welsh. I was a desperate man. My mood swings and intrusive thoughts were getting the better of me. Stress levels were high.  I am less desperate these days but you need to fill the God shaped hole. Some people do it with drink and drugs. Some people do it with...God. I have never felt comfortable in the Fellowship of the Church and was always the first to leave and tried to be the last to arrive at any service. I couldn't do small talk then and even now I find it a waste of time. I think I began following God because I got fed up of Man and what Man was doing in and of the world. I had a Spiritual Emergency in 2005 where I bargained with God. I prayed to a Higher Power. He/She kept their side of the Bargain and is still doing so and I am trying to hold my end up in the negotiation. It would be wonderful to see a Spiritual Revival start again in Wales like it did in 1904 with Evan Roberts at the helm. It kickstarted the Pentecostal Movement in America with the Azuza Street Revival.  If I attend a service now, it is to the Pentecostals I go because in my opinion if you are going to believe then you need to do it with a bit of 'hwyl' with a bit of singing and dancing in the aisles.

I always feel sorry for Jesus especially at this time of year and maybe we are meant to pause for reflection. Well we do get two days holidays in lieu of his crucifixion and resurrection so he's definitely worth a thought as we push our shopping trolleys around the Temples of the Moneylenders  I feel sorry that Man has put such a burden of belief upon him. Was he just a Man, a special Man or was he indeed the Son of God? Perhaps we shall never know.

Streipiau bach person da

 

 

 

Y lleisiau boreol ar Radio Cymru

Yn gwthio trwy fy ngwythiennau mawr

Fel saim a braster

Y llais bach miniog yna ar fore Sul

Yn son am beth ysbrydol mewn ffordd mor faterol

Yn atgoffa fi o'r pulpud, oedolion yn perswadio plant

I fod yn blant da, i gredu mewn Duw ac i gydymffurfio

Well, dwi yn credu mewn Duw, credwch neu beidio

Ond dim fel y Duw yn y Beibl,

Llyfr a gafodd i sgrifennu gan ddynion

Does dim rhaid i mi fynd i gapel neu eglwys i ddangos fy lifrau Cristnogol

Fy 'Streipiau' bach person da.

Oherwydd addoli yn gyhoeddus ydy hwnna, rhag eich cywilydd chi.

A waeth i ni siarad am gywilydd ar ddiwrnod Saint Padrig

Gyda'r Pab newydd da i slippars coch dan fwrdd yn y Fatican

Dwedwch wrthyf y rhai ffyddlon, pa ddaioni ydynt yn ei wneud?

Fel bob sefydliad arall mae ei chysgod yn fwy gwnâi het

Rydym ni bobl gyffredin, y werin, wedi ein gorthrymu gan grefydd

Yn gweiddi 'Thou Shalt Not'.

Roedd yr addoliad yn fawr ddoe yn Stadiwm y Mileniwm.

Digon o 'Hymns and Arias' a ffydd, gobaith cariad i bara tan flwyddyn nesaf

Ond dyn ni yn genedl o ragrithwyr dweud?

'My People'

No I don't think so, I am not one of them.

A hwnna ydy'r unig ffordd i guro'r gormeswyr?

 

 

 

Collective Sigh (Ochenaid) Cymraeg

Here he goes again! Collective Sigh: Ochenaid the noo och aye. Was having a convo in a Cafe in Cardiff this afternoon and was discussing the Welsh Language in English. Half an hour previously I had been in an other establishment talking in Welsh and was met with disdainful looks by passers by to the table. Yes in the Capital City of Wales and I am not being paranoid. The second conversation went along the lines that if all Welsh Speakers were to wear the above badge then spontaneous conversations could be had by people who would otherwise not know you spoke it. Especially in the Capital City more conversations could be had between strangers. Life can be breathed into it by this one simple, small action. At the moment it is being taught in Secondary Schools but it stops generally at the school gates as people don't wish to be forced to do anything especially young people. There is a distinct lack of self confidence regarding the language. Surely as a nation it would be in our best interests to become a stronger bilingual nation but we must get over this obsession with Britain and the British and their yoke of oppression. The truth is that it's happened all over the world. We just happen to have the Castles to prove it. In Cardiff on Saturday Welsh Nationhood will be tested to its absolute limits. For the urbane English it will be water off a duck's back whether they win or lose but unfortunately for us it is a matter of national pride and this is VERY unfortunate beacuse we appear to have nothing else to hang our collective three cornered hat upon. If we can strengthen Welsh Language and Identity then to use a footballing analogy success breeds success. The Assembly will become stronger and we will have a stronger more confident sense of self. You must have noticed that Alex Salmond and the S.N.P have become rather quiet of late because Scotland's membership of the EU will not be automatic should its people vote for Independence. Heart over Head we would all wish for Wales to be an Independent Nation but the rules of the Market apply unfortunately and with a population of 3 and 1/2 million people we do not pay enough tax into the collective Westminster coffers to be allowed that luxury at the moment. It is a duty upon every Welsh Speaker to now become an Ambassador for the language. To nurture and encourage Welsh Learners wherever they may be found. To wear the badge to encourage conversation in the street. I saw somebody wear the badge in Canton and we got into conversation. He was from Anglesey and had come to work in the Assembly. I conversed with two Nurses in Welsh at the Heath Hospital purely because they were wearing the badge. I would not have known otherwise and an opportunity would have been missed. I don't know about you but I feel better after I have spoken Welsh not to make money or to show off, just for its natural intrinsic value. For me it is like going back to the source of  the river and I do not wish to do it in bars and clubs where drink manufacturers will reap the benefits of me crying into my beer. If somebody has a problem with the native language as some do, that is their problem, not ours. They will have a problem with anything and anybody different to themselves.

 I won't translate this blog post into Welsh because in the words of the Cardiff Bigot

 "They all speaks English Anyway"