A Winter in Wales
The last time I wrote on this blog I lived in England, would have considered myself to be From England and so on…but life had other plans for me.
Since moving to Gwynedd — ancient seat of rebellious, independently spirited Arthurian knights, medieval princes and their modern day descendents — I have been struck by the sense that I am from here — there are parts of me in these mountainsides and mossey outcrops. I was not born in Wales, have no ancestry (that I know of) yet I feel, and felt when I came here, that I belonged.
Recently, I went back briefly to England and the sense of disconnection to the land that I had previously lived in was palpable as the first set of roadsigns with dim Cymraeg slid past the car window. Alternatively in Wales, driving around one is constantly reminded of the history of this scarred land — the slag heaps, abandonned mining seams and signs saying ‘Cofiwch Dryweryn! ’ and ‘Annibyniaeth!’— this land has been used for it’s bountiful resources aswell as taken from by those that see it as ‘just another part of England’ ….which it most certainly is not!
The valleys have been here for aeons, the language spoken with pride ( Rwy’n dysgu’n araf!) and a sense of community that I’ve not felt for a while — it’s a hopeful place — part of that is my outlook on this new chapter, part of it is the mindset of those around me. The language in particular and it’s etymology and traditions of verse are everywhere — there is poetry in it’s lyricism — an ages old oral tradition — from the tales of the Mabinogi to it’s survival, revival and celebration at Eisteddfodau and Gosseddau — Thanks in no small part to the beirdd of Gwalia.
Finding oneself surrounded and held by these other-worldly panoramas is quite something…no wonder so many people turn to poetry to try and express the hiraeth and heart-swelling beauty of it all…
Of stone, slate and slopes
from these high-sided hills
are moulded the hopes
of Wales and her kin
A harmony of voices
come down through the ages
Blown upon the air
of sea-borne Southerly rages
And Down in the Valley
And Up on the Heath
Poems are sung
Whilst shearing the sheep
Bydded bob amser groeso yn y bryniau…
