(88) 'One Hundred days of Discovery'

[Ken]

Decades ago we left our big house on the hill for the last time and drove to the small town of Lampeter in far away Wales, soon to move into our small house on the side of the beautiful Teifi Valley.  This short memory is about that day and the first one hundred days we spent in our new home.  We stayed for just one night in the large attic family room of the Black Lion hotel, while our much loved dog Winston, slept in the back of our car.  In the small hours of that long ago morning of May 23'rd, 1985, I awoke to find my wife quietly crying beside me.  She had never complained or blamed me for the business collapse that had led to that moment but, when I saw her tears, I blamed myself, for my Jenny was not the crying sort.  The children were fast asleep so, as we comforted each other on that night between homes, we spoke very softly.  We found solace in the fact that although the future may be a little daunting, all would be well, for would we not be facing it together?  That absolute certainty seemed to help and the love of my life cuddled closer to me and was soon asleep once more.  I, however, was not, and those demons of the night played havoc with my mind in the long hours that followed.  I was relieved when at last I saw the daylight arrive.
     

I arose before the town clock struck 7'am and decided to take Winston for his morning ablutions.  That early morning walk was fascinating and made me realise just how different our life in this Welsh speaking part of Wales was going to be.  I saw a milkman saying a cheerful, "Bore Da," to everyone he met and I worked out those words meant good morning or something similar.  When he passed me I too uttered, "Bore Da," and then had my first conversation with the man I would come to know as Delmi the milk. Later, with Winston, fed, walked and watered, I put him back in the car and returned to the hotel and my family. Technically, for the next few hours, we were all homeless, for our new house did not become our property until midday and in theory things could still go wrong.  Ignoring that negative view, we enjoyed the longest of breakfast's.  I recall enquiring who made the delicious chipolata sausages they served.  I found out that they were made by a firm called, Hipkin's, and I vowed that within days they would be being cooked on my first ever Welsh barbecue.  At twelve noon my solicitor confirmed that the house was now our property and so this branch of the family Tuffs, Jenny, Kathryn, Morgan, Winston and I, went home!
 

In the weeks ahead I was to meet many people who were spoken of in the fashion of Delmi the milk.  I met, Morlais the meat, who drove the butchers van throughout the area and, Hywel the bread, whose van horn would honk as he arrived outside all of his customers homes.  Delmi, Morlais, Hywel and others were all to deliver to our new home regularly, there was also a greengrocery van who passed twice a week and a fishmonger who came on Fridays.  I recall enjoying the visits of Maggie the egg, a friendly and talkative lady, who called every Saturday morning.  But it was Hywel the bread who was the favourite with my children, for every Tuesday and Friday morning he would be outside our door at 10.30 on the dot.  In addition to the various types of bread he would have a selection of mouth watering cakes and during the School holidays, if we could afford it, Kathryn and Morgan would each enjoy the cake that took their fancy.  

In those first few months as a Saesneg immigrant in Wales, (Saesneg is the Welsh word for the English,) we were to discover many interesting things.  One was the reason why people were so often described by their first name and then their job, or some other description, e.g. Delmi the milk.  I was told this was because, compared to the English, there were far fewer Welsh surnames.  Evans, Davies, Thomas and Jones being among the most common names near my new home.  I think what explains it best is to tell of the three chaps called Tom that I met in my village pub shortly after my arrival.  I came to know them as they were described.  One was spoken of as, Tom Tyres, because he sold tyres. Another was called, Tommy trouble, who became argumentative easily.  Then there was the sadly named, Boring Tommy, who I discovered to my cost was not the most interesting person I'd ever met.  All of these Tom's shared the surname Jones, and necessity meant they had to be described by other than their surnames to differentiate one from another. ( The most famous Jones of all, the singer Tom Jones, real name is Thomas Woodward.)


Our new life was a learn as we went experience and we obviously made mistakes.  One was sending our daughter Kathryn to the village school for the last weeks of her primary education.  She was just three months away from her eleventh birthday and in the September she would be moving on to Lampeter Comprehensive School.  But first she had to spend some weeks being taught in the medium of the Welsh language, an experience she found both difficult and distressing.  It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the School, for both the staff and their pupils were pleasant people. It was just such a different culture for a ten year old to adjust to and at that time Kathryn knew few Welsh words.  I recall she would suffer stomach pains every morning and, when the doctor could find no cause, we decided it was triggered by the anxiety of facing another unhappy day.  Despite this, she soldiered on and in time she enjoyed parts of her new challenge.  She found that what she was being taught in the Welsh curriculum was not quite in sync with what she'd been taught in England.  She had, therefore, no worries of slipping behind, for she'd already been taught these lessons.  So she was given, among other things, a famous Welsh language poem to learn and by the terms end she could recite it perfectly in both words and pronunciation. This created praise and astonishment from both staff and pupils, especially from the Schools Headteacher.


One other event must be told about Kathryn's eight long weeks at her Welsh speaking primary school and that occurred on the school sports day.  Jenny, Morgan and I attended and I was soon roped in to help with some of the other parents.  Kathryn, meanwhile, was competing in various activities and to her surprise, and mine, she was doing remarkably well.  It would be fair to say that at her previous school, she had not shone brightly in her physical exercise. However, today was different, and I stated there must be something magical in the Welsh water, for in just eight weeks weeks of drinking it she appeared to have changed from a P.E chump to a P.E Champ.  We were to find out if this was correct in the last girls race of the day, the big one, the one that mattered most.  But the magic Welsh water was seen to be working again as my daughter and a dozen others began to run around a series of posts that surrounded a field.
 

Jenny, Morgan and I were watching with a crowd of other proud parents as these would be Olympians charged along the first quarter of the giant field.  I could see Kathryn was not far behind the leaders and, as they sped along the second quarter of the track, I noticed some of those competing were faltering.  My Kathryn was not one of these quitters though and, by the time the runners reached the final quarter, I realised she was one of just four girls left in contention. I can guarantee that among that crowd of adoring parents, not one was cheering as loudly as I.  As the race approached it's end it was obviously between Kathryn and a girl called Rose but I could see that she was still slightly ahead of my daughter.  Neck and neck, the two ran as we watched them charged towards that finishing line.  I've no idea if I my vocal pleasure was too loud when I realised it was Kathryn who'd crossed it first.  If It was, then Jenny didn't tell me to be quiet as she usually does.  Perhaps she and Morgan were cheering as well.  Kathryn had won her race magnificently and it was a treasured moment.  The Magic Welsh Water had worked!


In addition to the time Kathryn had spent at the village primary school, our son Morgan had also been attending the nursery school that was held in a large caravan in the school playground.  This meant that Jenny would visit the school two to four times a day, which resulted in a whole host of new people meeting the smiling Sais lady with the big white lurcher dog.  Most were friendly, but not all.  I found the same when I visited the three thriving village pubs and although in the main I was treated with friendliness, I found some who were not so inclined.  I called them Bork's.  I have always been a bit of a pub ethologist, and I can pick up on negativity.  I found it fascinating that a person could dislike me just for being English, I heard more than once the word Sais muttered as dark looks were cast my way. A favourite joke among these Bork's was, "The Sais are like piles, okay if they come down for a little while, but if they stay, they're just a pain in the arse!"  I don't mind anyone disliking me because I'm loud, or big headed or a tad pompous, but to dislike me on sight just because I'm English is surely ignorance and stupidity personified!


In those first one hundred days I found such Bork's were rare, but they did exist. ( A Bork was once my brother Bobs word for a cross between a berk and a bore.)  I remember one such dope was always going on about how he'd only watch the S4C Welsh speaking channel on his television set.  The Sais channels are rubbish he'd declare, as his gaze fell on me.  Many years later when Rupert Murdoch launched Sky TV, the first Sky disk I ever saw was on the side of this Bork's home.  He didn't appreciate it when I asked him if he watched it with the sound turned down so he didn't have to hear the accursed Sais language.  Another thing I heard from some of the Welsh speakers was that you weren't a proper Welshman if you didn't speak the language.  Perhaps, as a newcomer I was unwise to challenge that ludicrous statement but I did. I quoted my Welsh brother in law, Jack Williams, who lived in Burry Port, and warned that they had better not let the likes of Jack hear them say that.  I pointed out that the population of Wales was  three million, but only six hundred thousand of them spoke Welsh.  I queried whether it was wise to write off four fifth's of their nations citizens, 'As Not Properly Welsh?'  I know some never forgave me for that comment.
 

However, the majority of people just wanted to be friendly and one such couple I met in the Cwmann Tavern.  They were called Norman and Mary Lewis and they said the best place to meet people was in the Ram Inn early on a Friday night.  Norman invited me to bring the family so he could introduce us to all and sundry and he wrote his telephone number down and handed it to me.  A couple of days later I phoned him and we arranged to meet.  I turned up with Jenny, Kathryn and Morgan and they were there with their Daughter Rita, who was about Jenny's age, and her son Gary who was the same age as Kathryn.  We had a splendid couple of hours together and they introduced us to a whole range of the locals.  There wasn't a Bork in sight.  It became obvious to me that young Gary was somewhat taken with Kathryn, had he, I wondered, watched her all conquering success  at the sports day races.  Thirty years have passed since then and sadly Norman and Mary have passed away, but I will be forever grateful for their friendliness.


So that's a brief tale of the first 100 days spent in our Welsh home.  Days where we discovered the beauty of nearby Sarn Helen, which we dubbed, the Little Mountain.  We also visited Llyn Brianne, a man made lake set in even higher mountains, I will never forget Kathryn uttering an astonished, "Wow," when we first rode through the beautiful Cothi Valley roads that led there.   Jenny and I have now lived here for over 10'000 days and they've been happy ones.  We know we're liked by most of the locals but we've never made any close friends.  Perhaps we haven't wanted to for in truth we're very happy with our own company and we've ample friends from days gone by.  The likes of Colin Bowbrick, the families Bushell and Scott, and the many siblings and friends we've been blessed with.  Who could ask for more?
 

However, there's one last event that occurred in those first momentous 100 days that must be told, and it stems from Kathryn's heroic sports day victory.  Because of it, she was picked by the school to represent them in various girls events at the much larger and prestigious district sports.  Some of the Shire of Carmarthen's finest young athletes were there and we, as proud parents, went to watch.  Kathryn may not have practised with her running as she should have, but my cheering ability was honed to perfection.  It was held on a sunny day on the playing fields of the village of Llansawel. There was a carnival atmosphere that day, with ice cream vans and the like, and I told my nervous daughter to just do the best she could. She did........and she came last...... in every thing she had entered, she came bl**dy LAST.  The magic of the Welsh water had failed her in her moment of need and my Kathryn's illustrious athletic's career was over.  She was once again the P.E. chump of Britain.  On Monday, September 2'nd,  Kathryn enjoyed her first day as a pupil of 'Lampeter Comprehensive School.'  Exactly 100 days after we  arrived in Wales but, we all knew, we'd be happy in our new Welsh home!

 

[Ken]

This memory of a life changing period of my life tells of both success and failure and the joy of discovery.  It also introduces a new word, 'BORK;' that apply describes that boorish minority of humankind known worldwide as bigots.