My home, in the valleys of South Wales - black and white views
Llanhilleth
I live in a small ex mining village in South Wales, it is an area which throughout the years has seen a great deal of deprivation, as the South Wales valleys as a whole has. An area which once was very rural with small farming communities was plundered and devastated by the industrialisation of the 18th century that continued well into the 20th century. Foundries, steel works and mining has taken its toll on this land and its people.
Still, I find it a land that stirs the imagination, it is timeless!
As children we wandered the hills above out little village, we knew all the old farmsteads, we played in the ruined barns and cottages. We dammed the little streams and walked the high moorland for hours, it was our playground.
We imagined, Celtic tribesmen with their horses and chariots racing across the moors, Roman patrols heading out over the hills and Cistercian monks, guarding their sheep and administering to their human flock.
There is an ancient little church high on a lonely headland, it dates from the 12th Century a small hamlet grew around it. An old pub stands next door, welcome relief for the drovers of old and favourite watering place for farmers and locals down through the years. Stepping through the doors is like walking back through time, huge flagstones and wooden benches, log fires, smoke embedded walls.
It is quiet up here, home to Red Kites and Buzzards, Foxes, Weasels and Hill Ponies. Sometimes the only noise is the wind through the forestry, and the occasional car along the mountain road. But it is not lonely, there are always other walkers, farmers about their seasonal work, dog walkers and cyclists all seem pleased to stop and chat.
The weather can change quite dramatically, a mist creeps down the mountain and hides the valley below, and brings to mind the old stories of ghost and fairies, the Tylwyth Teg, Fairy funerals, The Cwn Annwn (hounds of hell) and Joan White in her three-pointed hat leading travellers astray.
There is an entry in the “Black book of Carmarthen” from 1250 (The Stanza’s of the Graves) which is associated with our land, it reads:
After things blue and red and fair
and great steeds with taut necks,
at Llanheledd is the grave of Owain
It is something that has always, sent a shiver down my spine.
I live in a small ex mining village in South Wales, it is an area which throughout the years has seen a great deal of deprivation, as the South Wales valleys as a whole has. An area which once was very rural with small farming communities was plundered and devastated by the industrialisation of the 18th century that continued well into the 20th century. Foundries, steel works and mining has taken its toll on this land and its people.
Still, I find it a land that stirs the imagination, it is timeless!
As children we wandered the hills above out little village, we knew all the old farmsteads, we played in the ruined barns and cottages. We dammed the little streams and walked the high moorland for hours, it was our playground.
We imagined, Celtic tribesmen with their horses and chariots racing across the moors, Roman patrols heading out over the hills and Cistercian monks, guarding their sheep and administering to their human flock.
There is an ancient little church high on a lonely headland, it dates from the 12th Century a small hamlet grew around it. An old pub stands next door, welcome relief for the drovers of old and favourite watering place for farmers and locals down through the years. Stepping through the doors is like walking back through time, huge flagstones and wooden benches, log fires, smoke embedded walls.
It is quiet up here, home to Red Kites and Buzzards, Foxes, Weasels and Hill Ponies. Sometimes the only noise is the wind through the forestry, and the occasional car along the mountain road. But it is not lonely, there are always other walkers, farmers about their seasonal work, dog walkers and cyclists all seem pleased to stop and chat.
The weather can change quite dramatically, a mist creeps down the mountain and hides the valley below, and brings to mind the old stories of ghost and fairies, the Tylwyth Teg, Fairy funerals, The Cwn Annwn (hounds of hell) and Joan White in her three-pointed hat leading travellers astray.
There is an entry in the “Black book of Carmarthen” from 1250 (The Stanza’s of the Graves) which is associated with our land, it reads:
After things blue and red and fair
and great steeds with taut necks,
at Llanheledd is the grave of Owain
It is something that has always, sent a shiver down my spine.
Linda
