We are starting our morning with the woolen mill so this made a change of plans again. Lynda was going to ride with us, return for lunch and then perhaps spend the afternoon. But with the Drefach Felindre Woolen Mill visit in the morning we are now going from there on to Laugharne, pronouced Lan. Like 'land' with no d. So Lynda and I set out in her comfortable car, her husband's family car, not the Mini. We would meet the group at the mill and Lynda conferred with Serge about route options and punched one into her 'sat nav.' Yea! Riding in a CAR! Long time no do!
Lynda and I took the scenic route which was much more scenic than the one the bus took. We were littler. The roads were mostly called 'un-named'. for the first time ever Lynda forded a stream! It was an intentional, paved ford but a ford none the less. We arrived before the others and had time for tea and Welsh Cakes. Sort of like a flat, sugared scone or a thick, dry pancake. Lynda had bought a lovely tea towel for me as a gift and then also insisted on paying the bill for our snack. The towel tells the story of the classic Welsh Love Spoon.
Lovespoons
No passing zone!
Obstacle Course!
Good thing I had gone in last week and bought this souvenir tee-shirt for myself!
At the mill in the tidy hamlet of Dre-Fach Felindre we paused by the River Teifi. This valley used to have as many as 24 woolen mills working and sending everything from socks to under ware to shirts to wedding dresses out around the world! The National Museum is housed in the old Cambrian mill and factory. We watched 'wool devils' comb the raw fiber and get out the mats and snarls. Then the carding engine smooth ans stretch the fibers into something that could be spun. The yarn is then loaded onto spindles and woven into traditional patterns. When we first arrived, in the field next to the stream was a teasel frame used for drying the finished work. It was stretched on hooks, above, below and at the sides. Have you ever felt like you were on "tenter hooks?" You guessed it. That term comes from the wool industry.
Lynda and I followed the tour but took a wrong turn. Glad we did because we ended up in a small courtyard where ladies of a spinning club were volunteering to show how it is done at home. I chatted with several of the ladies and especially with Janet. Janet spun her wool from her own sheep. Dyed it and knitted her sweater. Beautiful and surely priceless.
Janet in her hand spun, hand dyed, hand knitted cardigan!
Sarah and Janet had two different kinds of spinning wheels. Each handmade.
They had a lot of questions about America and why people there didn't like the new president. Everyone here respectfully calls him Mr. Trump instead of the derogatory diminutives our own people use. I explained why I in particular do like him and they were surprised that they had not heard that side of the story but could easily understand the confusion now. They commented that even if they did not like what was going on in Parliament they would never speak so harshly of the MP's. And certainly not of the Queen.
When we were through the tour and museum we had time for a tea break and Elva joined us. Elva seems very happy to have met so many very genuine Brits in the way of my cousins. Lynda was invited to the lake and when she comes to visit me we will have to go see Elva.
Woolen forest animals. . . oh, and Lynda and I!
Lynda's ring has a magnetic closure that is very decorative,
especially when it picks up her spoon!
The time came to go our separate ways. Lots of hugs and promises. Maybe even a girls cruise is in the works! As Lynda headed for the hour drive home to lead her girl guide rainbows, we headed to
Laugharne.
We had walk about time in the chill wind of Carmathan and lunch on our own. We walked to the Market Place and bypassed the outdoor stalls. Then I spotted a haven on the dreary horizon. Marks & Spencer. Seated in the window above the entrance two ladies sipped tea. Why not? We headed there. I bought a tee shirt and Elva hesitated over buying Felix a swimwear outfit for when he comes to the lake. But the lunchroom fare was not up to our standard set in Bolton. This was a small town and small store and pre-made sandwiches and no empty tables.
We continued to look for a lunch spot and saw Conwy and a lovely lady seated at the window of a small cafe. Bingo! Good enough for him is better than good for us. His wife was on the phone but came over to chat when she was through speaking with her son. It was her birthday and now her day was complete...no, not by meeting us but by taking to her two sons and by the gift of a woolen blanket from Conwy.
We still had time to kill after lunch. Three hours in a cold rain is a very long time. We wandered and finally went into a book shop but not before we saw a dog peeing on a statue of Merlin. This town, like others in this part of Wales have a connection to the Arthurian legend. St. David was thought to be a nephew of King Arthur. Merlin predicted his rise to power hundreds of years before his birth. Although in the legend Merlin lived, whether physically or spiritually, to be Arthur's contemorary and guiding force. But then that is how legends are made!
War Memorial to all wars including Crimean!
Town Hall and another memorial.
Our meeting spot.
Travel tip: Take a picture so if you get lost you can show a local exactly where you need to be.
We drove a little further and stopped at a spot to look up at the
castle. The rain was drizzly and little could be seen but we intrepidly
disembarked after hearing the history of the place. Here there was a
complicated system of law and taxation involving layers of appointees
and some of this still carries over today.
Of interest to many was that it was hear that Dylan Thomas led a miserable, alcoholic but prolific life We saw the tall but one room deep house that he had borrowed. He left and moved to the boat house which was literally a boat house. His writing studio was in an old garage above it. But the bay of the estuary was inspiring to him. The chill rain was inspiring me to which I had word more layers and big fluffy sweater. (I have no pictures because I left my phone on the bus since it was both charging and raining. I didn't know that we would not be returning after our 'little stroll!')
Dylan Thomas Boathouse. In the first photo you will see a good view of how the 'house on stilts' is high above at the road and the Boathouse had literally been a boathouse!
Dylan Thomas on his Birthday. Conway read us the poem and pointed out each feature that could be seen from the 'house on stilts,' his writing shed on tall metal poles above the bay. And yes, standing there and seeing what he say, the bay, the birds, the town on opposite shore I could identify with this autobiographical poetry of some despair. Thomas, encouraged by his younger wife, wrote to make just enough money to keep up his tab at the pub. And by encouraged, I mean Mrs. Thomas used to lock him in the writing shed until he had something with which the sale of could by them a drunken spree! He died young, just after his 39th birthday, but not here. In New York he took up the challenge of drinking 21 double shots in a row. The obituary said pneumonia! Newspapers were kinder in 1953.
We continued to walk to a deli where dinner was served early. Good thing that Elva and I had only split a burger at lunch and the shop was out of chips and crisps. Conway had said it was his friends deli and would be buffet. Well it was, I guess. We were seated and dessert of Welsh Cakes and a brown cake with fruit that reminded me of what we call Poor Man's Cake. It is a Depression or War Years recipe so is baked with little sugar, butter, or eggs.
Then the Lady, Susan, brought out steaming bowls Lamb Cawl which is a thick stew. Her son, Thoma was the cook and her daughter-in-law took drink orders and passed around extra helpings of everything. There was bread and butter and quiche on the table. Then came a salad of some sort. Then bread and butter and chutneys. Then sandwiches. Then an offer of ice cream. So more than a buffet it was like a progressive dinner all in one place. Quite good and in a warm and cozy setting on such a dreary day.
When I realized we were moving right on to the concert I asked Mark if we had access to the bus. He said it was down the street, what did I want. I told him my phone which was my camera was there and I would kike it for the concert. He said he would go get it. He asked and several others had phones, or sweaters or something they wanted so he made a run to get the things.
By now Conwy's wife had joined us and was drinking a celebratory double wine at the front of the shop. She had it put in a go cup and paraded with the rest of us to go next door to the concert. She had whispered to m e before we left the deli, right after I suggested the take-away cup, that there was a surprise. Conway was a member of the choir.
When the rest of our group, the only ones in attendance saw Conway come from behind the altar to introduce the evening and saw he was attired in the black suit, black shirt, and white tie that matched the gentleman of the choir they were indeed surprised! And the concert was delightful! Conway really stood out since there were only seven men singing and he has a most expressive face. Songs were sung in Welsh and others, like When I'm 64, were in English. Twice a young lady who also accompanied the choir soloed with two pieces including All Through the Night. We were tempted to join the song as Hillary had taught us to sing the refrain in Welsh just the night before.
What a perfect finale for a wonderful trip. We hated to say goodbye to Conway without whom the entire journey would not have been the learning experience that it was. His good nature added a genuineness to the program. He made us feel and understand as though it was our own history and not just as visiting tourists.
The ride back to the hotel, and the final packing were not so much fun but tomorrow is our last day A travel day!
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