Lee Evans at the door of her ancestral home in Aberaeron, County Ceredigion, Wales
Page 17
Continued from page 16
I settled into the easy chair in front of the fire as the women told me wonderful stories in between playing their songs. You can tell a lot about a culture by their ‘sayings’ and here’s two that they believe reflect Welsh culture: “By the time you say ‘it’s 25 past eleven’ in Welsh, it’s 26 after.” They explained that while the Welsh language (Cymraeg) is beautiful and melodious, it’s faster to tell time in English. They also told me about a recent radio interview with a Welsh historian in which she was asked about ‘Welsh time.’ “Do the Welsh have a saying like ‘manana’ as the Spanish do, indicating whatever it is can wait until tomorrow? “ “Oh, no. Nothing so urgent as all that!” replied the historian.
That night a full Welsh moon woke me, shining in the skylight over my bed, and I fell back asleep to the sound of an owl softly calling in the cold spring night. I woke next morning to the sound of a symphony of songbirds, more than I’d ever heard in Ohio. After a lovely breakfast in the garden of tea and fresh rhubarb on bara brith, I was off to Aberystwyth to the library for a little research.
I had set up an appointment for a ‘family surgery’ – a tutorial on how to use the genealogy resources. After the lesson, I walked over to the desk in the genealogical section and there, on the counter, was a pamphlet for the Wales-Ohio Project. I ended up having tea with Menna Morgan, the librarian assigned to the project. It is not an exaggeration to say that everyone I met in Wales was more than willing to talk about their country and answer any questions I had, and Menna was no exception. By the end of the day I found the name and burial place of my great-great grandparents in Aberaeron and New Quay along with more information on my ancestors from Carmarthenshire. If I had one thing to do differently on my trip, it would have been to spend more time at the library because it’s such a source of information that I hadn’t found elsewhere.
That night Hanna asked me if I wanted to go into Lampeter for dinner. I accepted, and to my surprise soon found myself hiking across pastures, up hillsides, over fences and through a pine forest on our way into town. She remarked that I wasn’t like ‘most Americans’ because I wasn’t in a hurry and was willing to walk. As I caught my pants while climbing over a barbed-wire fence in the dark while holding onto a tree branch, I decided that ‘walking’ was a bit of an understatement to describe what we were doing.
The following day I headed out to Aberaeron on the west coast. It’s a thrilling sight to drive that 16 miles and crest a hill and see the beautiful Aeron Valley stretched below, with lovely Aberaeron sitting like a jewel on the Cardigan Bay. The sparkling Aeron River, named after a Welsh goddess, empties into the bay and is known for its salmon and trout. In the local cemeteries there are gravestones of women named ‘Aeronwy’ (pronounced A-ron-we).
Aberaeron, a port town built in 1807, is unusual in that it was a planned town with Georgian architecture. The houses are painted lovely shades of green and pink and yellow. About one in four houses have special architectural or historical significance. One of the most charming aspects of Wales is that houses and farms have place-names, names like Aeron Maid, Geraig, and Porth House. In rural areas the names tend to be in Welsh. My family lived in a terraced house called Portland Place, beside the Aeron River and overlooking the Cardigan Bay, a fitting place for a sailor’s house. While walking by the house, I met a gentleman out on his stoop painting. I inquired if he knew who lived at 6 Portland Place, my family’s ancestral home.
“A genealogist!” he exclaimed, and within 15 minutes I was sitting on his porch, drinking tea with him and his wife and discussing local history and genealogy. James Maurice and his wife Julie became my tour guides and friends for the next two days, accompanying me to the cemetery to translate my ancestors’ gravestones, arranging for me to see the inside of my family’s ancestral home, showing me around Aberaeron, and taking me on a special trip to New Quay. New Quay is the quaint seaside village that Dylan Thomas wrote about in “Under Milkwood” and also the home of my great-great grandfather. Julie took me to the site of an outdoor movie set that was the reconstructed cottage of Dylan Thomas and his wife Caitlin (complete with plastic ivy climbing the walls!). The film, “The Edge of Love” is about Dylan Thomas’s relationships with two women and involves a real-life incident in which Thomas’s home is machine-gunned by his lover and her husband. It’s due to be released this year.
As I was leaving, I asked James to write a line or two in my journal about what it meant to be Welsh. He inscribed “To live in Wales, a man could do no better.” Julie gave me a book of Dylan Thomas’ poetry while James bestowed upon me a very old Welsh Bible from the 1800’s. Although James was a retired banker, he surely had the soul of a poet himself.
In Wales I found a card that said “To be born Welsh is to be born privileged, not with a silver spoon in your mouth but Music in your blood and Poetry in your Soul.” In 1989 I fell in love with the wild and ancient Welsh countryside. This trip, taking my time, I fell in love with the generous and vibrant Welsh people I met on my travels.
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Lee Evans at the door of her ancestral home in Aberaeron, County Ceredigion, Wales
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