Write. Right?

Redstar on Aviary   

I am working on a novel, with the title of 'Red Emeralds'. This has made me think of how privileged we, in the  Western World are, to be able to read and write. Thanks to the Education Act of 1870, ordinary people have been able to enjoy books and to write them.

I am glad that I began reading  Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, D H Lawrence and George Elliott in my teens and twenties because the enjoyment has lasted throughout my life. What I am finding now, though, is that I look out for diaries written by ordinary people, such as 'Housewife 47', written during World War 11 and the 'Red Leather Diary', written by a teenage girl in the early part of the twentieth century.

I sometimes give talks to womens' groups, very often in rural areas. After I've spoken, almost every time, someone will ask if it is necessary to have formal qualifications before you can write.

I always say the good thing about writing is, anyone can do it. All that is required is the need to put something down on paper.

In the  'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner', the sailor stopped 'one of three', because he had a compulsion to tell his tale. Similarly, a writer must want to make someone listen to the story.

The need to write can be so great in some writers, that it does not matter whether anyone wants to read their work or not. (Diarists write only for themselves, not wishing to reveal their thoughts).

It is often said you should write about only what you know. I believe this to be a form of tautology, because most people cannot write about what they haven't experienced.

Good writing is about sharing a universal experience and making it recognisable. Shakespeare is a genius because of this. Here is one of my favourite quotes, taken from Antony and Cleopatra:

'To business that we love we rise betime
And go to't with delight'.

Caerfyrddin

 NYCPrism on Aviary

I've been shopping in Carmarthen. The new town centre has all the big name stores and business is brisk.

Gone is the old market, open twice a week only, but occupying a valuable trading space. A new, slimline version of the market, clean and bright and open every day, is proving popular with shoppers.

In  Carmarthen, the old co-exists easily alongside the new. There are good antique shops in the town and a second hand book shop, if you like rare  books and out-of-print editions. There is a council run  art gallery and a shop where love spoons, jewelley, silk painted scarves, pottery and paintings give people looking for something individual the chance to browse.

For more than sixty years the Will Davy Rees family has traded in the town, supplying butter, eggs and bacon. Close to the new market, an enterprising  fishmonger has a license to serve drinks and fishy delicacies to customers.

Once a week there is a 'street market', with plants and  herbs for sale and stalls with jams and chutneys. Locally reared meat and sausages are available, also.

The town is not short of good places to eat, either. The 'Waverley'  restaurant offers vegetarian food of a high standard and the 'Ivy Bush' a more substantial meal.

Welsh can be heard everywhere in the town. Before the new development, Welsh language  programmes debated whether the ethos of the town would be destroyed with  the closure of the market, as though the language would die without the market. I am glad to say, the language is robust as ever.

Unconsidered Trifles

We went to Narberth on Saturday.  So did a lot of other shoppers. There was the added bonus of a craft fair, too.  The shops were so crowded, Peter waited outside most of them.

Narberth is a jewel of a town,  transformed in the last twenty or so years by little boutique shops, all privately owned.

'The Maltings' an antique emporium, exotic as any souk, is one of my favourite goody-bag places. It is large and rambling, but encloses small shop units, all displaying different things.

My Melyn Tregwynt blankets are from here, one in blue, one in a purple, pink and black pattern. I am looking for a red one next. I have bought cotton, crochet-edged sheets for the bed, and abundant teacloths and tray cloths in fine needlework.

Hats, bags, teasets, Sir Kyffin Williams paintings, furs, easy chairs and a whole kaleidoscope of treasures all await the enthusiatic shopper.

Athough the 'Maltings' was full, I found a  unit with no-one browsing, so I went in. Alas and alack, (I don't mean to sound like Dame Trot from the rhyme), I was immediately followed by a family of four adults.

Comfortably, there was room for two people. I decided on my exit strategy, which involvied a tight right turn and  straight out. I glanced, only glanced, at the handbags and the family followed me, going through the bags with intense interest. There were three other corners in the room, and I'm sure if I had gone to them, they would have followed.

I've seen this phenomenon many times, people developing an interest in what someone else is looking at.

I was in a Carmarthen store one day, reaching for a pot of jam, and a woman put her head under my arm to get something from the shelf.

Saccharine sweetly, I said:  'I'm so sorry. I would have moved if I'd realised.'
'Don't move. I've got it now' she replied quite insouciantly.

If I only hesitate to look at something in a shop window, people gather round and stare at it with interest.
There must be a label for this psychological condition: 'annoying fellow shoppers syndrome', comes to mind.

Enough was more than sufficient. Narberth was too busy for us. We decided to come back mid-week but the question is, what makes this little town so successful?

It helps that it looks like something out of Enid Blyton's Toytown. (Noddy and Big Ears might just go by in their car with the 'parpy' horn.)

There are little tea-rooms,  a surf shop, three art galleries, a newspaper shop, a hairstylist a chemist, a Clock Tower with a shop, a bargain box shop, three shoe shops, three grocers. Magical.

'To think there's this place, in the back of beyond, with all these goodies', one shopper from Cardiff said.
Well, get down here quickly for your Christmas gifts, I say.

The 'Snow Queen' and her carnival will drive by one night in December. Mulled wine and a mince pie, anyone?

The Great Divide

Starry_Night_by RavenMadd & AlphaWolf on Aviary

A twelfth century time traveller would have no difficulty in recognising present day Haverfordwest.

Approaching the town from the east,  the outlines of the churches of St Thomas a Becket, St Mary's and  the spire of St Martin's together with that of  the Norman castle dominate the horizon, a perpetual testament to the skill of the medieval stone-masons' craft.

'To Haverfordwest, from the earliest period, there was a degree of consequence attached', wrote Fenton, the Fishguard historian.

Romans, Scandinavians and warring Norsemen came to this part of Pembrokeshire from the fourth century onwards. A small town developed, in response to the need for protection and to establsih a centre of trade.

Following the Battle of Hastings, the Normans established their control over this country and over Pembrokeshire.

It was the military, occupying presence of the Normans that brought about the most profound changes to the life of the town.

Pembrokeshire was carved in two, the northern area governed by Martin de Tours and the south of the county by the ruthless Arnulph de Montgomery.

Of the de Montgomery  family, Henry of Huntingdon wrote: 'Their sins were enough to frighten the devils themselves'.

The Welsh in the southern part of the county sought sanctuary in the Preseli Mountains, becoming refugees in their own land, the king displaying an arrogant disregard for their needs.

De Montgomery was allowed to keep his ill-gotten gains and populate the southern areas with English settlers.

The Normans were brilliant strategists, consolidating their victory and forcing the Welsh to remain in the north of the county. Soon, a line of Norman castles scarred the landscape, effectively separating the north from the south.

Castles were built in Laugharne, Narberth, Wiston, Haverfordwest, Camrose and Roch, Carew and Pembroke, ruled by Norman barons.

Psychologically and linguistically, they created a divide that became known as the Landsker line. Those living in North Pembrokeshire spoke Welsh and those in the south, English.

Haverfordwest Castle is a prime example of eleventh century European military architecture, and was an important garrison in the line of defence.

For the Welsh, these castles became a hated symbol of subjugation, a constant reminder of an alien military force.

A potent reminder of their legacy is that south Pembrokeshire is become known as 'Little England Beyond Wales', the inhabitants mainly speaking English. In the north of Pembrokeshire, Welsh is an important part of everyday life.

Thus, the legacy of the Normans lives on.

The hand that rocks the cradle

Motherhood began for me when I was twenty one. I'm now sixty eight and I'm still involved with my children and grandchildren.
I worked in the Civil Service for a number of years but my ambition was to have a family. I had a vague idea that when they were older, I might work part time, but a job would have to be secondary to my family.

My elder daughter was born in 1964, a significant date, when life was changing for women. Automatic washing machines, frozen food, central heating and what was known as the 'pill' had all made their arrival, making life easier and changing social attitudes, too.

During the late 1940's men returning from the war were given prioroty for available jobs. Married women teachers were not employed by many authorities in Wales.
Women were not perceived as having the right to work or their own income. They were the responsibility of their husbands.  Highly qualified professional women, such as doctors and solicitors, were not frowned on in quite the same way if they worked, whether they had children or not.

During the sixties, Marry Quant, the Beatles and the mini burst upon the scene. Suddenly, youth culture was discovered.

By the seventies, the world had changed. It became socially acceptable for mothers to have a job if the necessary child care provision was available.

I've been reading 'How Does She Do It?' a book about a 'superwoman' fund manager who worked all hours of the day, plus giving birth to four children in rapid succession. (What was she wanting to prove?)

My opinion is you cannot have children and a demanding job. This fund manager learnt this truth a little too late to be home with the elder three but, after the Twin Towers disaster, when she was in New York, she resigned her job.

Why do we admire women like this ? (I don't, as it happens).
Why do these women bother to have children if they don't spend any time with them?
Once you have a child, your world changes. If you're not prepared for this, don't have a family.

The family of the woman on whom the book was based are now in boarding school. Far better to delay the career until you have time for it, because putting the children on hold is not going to work.
I think women now are able to combine work and family in ways they weren't previously, but if you want to be 'Superwoman', think carefully.

The Wild West

Off to Tenby

Peter and I were in Fishguard today. Peter and I were the only shopperes in Fishguard today. (I use the term 'shoppers' loosely, because there are hardly any shops in the town and there were hardly any open today).

Peter bought a tube of gel in the Pharmacy because he had scratched his gum on a hand-sliced, pan-fried, sea-salted, vacuum-packed crisp. I bought Chaucer's 'The Wife of Bath's Tale' in a charity shop for forty pence, so we were happy.

We should have arrived on horseback, two strangers reining in their  horses roughly before narrowing their eyes against the dust, scanning the  horizon.  But as this wasn't 'High Noon' we'd come by car, Peter driving as he likes to do.

We saw a funeral in the distance, just like in a cowboy film, but there were few mourners, so there was plenty of room in the car park.

Thirty pence was cheap for two hours parking, but I thought we should have been paid for coming and encouraged to make the thirty mile round trip again. The town needs as many shoppers as it can get.

We walked around the deserted streets, Peter saying 'It's like a ghost town. Why?'

Pembrokeshire relies heavily on tourism, but this year the hotels have suffered, with holidaymakers staying in caravans and self-catering establishments. Despite Tenby being a Georgian gem of a town and having had four television programmes devoted to it, the hotels are only half-full. 

Tenby's coastline can rival Italy's Amalfi Coast and though the boat does not leave for Capri, it goes to Caldy Island when the weather is fine.
Pembrokeshire has many attractions:  each year there is a 'Fish Week' and a County Show, plus Classic Car rallies and Tractor Rallies. Pleasure flights leave Withybush Aerodrome and are popular. So it's not for lack of trying that tourism is suffering.

A report suggests that European funding has not done a great deal for Wales. This country, like Malta, Spain, two regions of Portugal and four in southern Italy, has suffered a drop in relative prosperity during the past decade.

I have just eaten a pot of 'Rachel's Organic Yoghurt', gooseberry flavoured and produced in mid-Wales. An enterprising farmer's wife created the brand one winter when the milk tanker failed to get through the snow to collect the milk. 'Rachel's Dairy' is now a top brand. What we need is creative thinking like this if we are not to become the 'poor man' of Europe. Enterprise will assure our places at the top table.

Living and Partly Living

Redstar on Aviary

A neighbour stopped to talk to me today when I was in the garden gouging out some difficult weeds. She and her husband lead active lives and so I was surprised when she said she was lonely.
'Oh, I see and talk to people all the time', she said, 'but I have an aching emptiness inside'.

A report says that the natural state of humans is to be asleep most of the time. We should only wake long enough to find some food to enable us to go back to sleep again.  (That should please those who would like extra 'duvet' days). 

Since we don't live our lives like this, we have to acknowledge that loneliness is a problem that affects all ages and thugh we have sophisticated means of communication, human contact is essential if we are to feel involved with what is going on around us.

Apparently, those who live within a fifty mile radius of where they were born have better mental health than people settling in a strange place. Being able to visit family  often makes for happiness.

I was born in a farming community and though I moved away, (fifty miles), I was not living in a totally different environment and I was with people who spoke Welsh and English. 

T.S.Eliot said,'Hell is oneself/ Hell is alone'; that is assuming one does not like being alone.
The retirement age, is moving towards the late sixties but this might not be a bad  thing. Some studies suggest that giving up work is not always a blessing because, for many, it  results in a diminishing social circle. Work is not just about money, it is about friendships, self-worth and image, too.

Years ago, when there were less labour-saving devices there was not the time to be introspective. Leisure a chance to rest, rather than a time of feeling lonely.

Perhaps, to solve this problem of loneliness,  we shall have to  redefine our lives and challenge ourselves in different ways to create meaning in what we do.