Porthmadog Station

Ever been hit behind the ear with a sock of wet sand? Let me tell you about what happened to me yesterday. North Wales weather gave us a bonus warm and sunny weekend, perfect for me to take my 3 year-old grandson Logan to the Ffestiniog Railway Vintage celebration as Logan loves trains -  only second to tractors. As this blog is about honesty, I now have to confess that I was indulging my own interest with Logan as my handy excuse.

As we walked across Pont Britannia at the estuary of the Glaslyn River, we saw 30 or 40 people with cameras and tripods ready to photograph a vintage steam train hauling  a train of slate wagons across the road, along the bridge and up towards Aberglaslyn, protected by the brand new level crossing. Recalling those glory days of the slate industry, I became part of a most odd group. One man was in headmaster’s robes complete with mortar board, another had a full morning suit with top hat, a couple even had genuine train spotter anoraks and all carried cameras, notebooks and a specially produced Working Timetable to which I sneaked a look from a kind gent in a frock-coat. I decided not to buy one as a map of the human genome would have been easier to understand.

I felt quite smug as I surveyed this sad bunch that needed to get a life. That was when I felt the aforesaid sock of (fortunately metaphorical) wet sand hit me with a thud. What was I doing? This was a group of people indulging their hobby, having a great time with like-minded enthusiasts.

Just the previous day I had joined a group called Wipeout Homophobia on Facebook and have been involved for many years in campaigning against discrimination in any form. I am opposed to injustice, discrimination, hate and even laughing at people who are different. I was deeply ashamed of my attitude yesterday – ironic, because I have a bunch of esoteric interests which would lead parts of society to put me firmly into a ‘loser’ category. I read a quote today, ‘If only closed minds came with closed mouths’. I’m glad my mind was opened yesterday and maybe I’ve earned the right to open my mouth, even if it is just to apologise!

By the way, both Logan and his Taid (Welsh Grandpa) had a great time being train spotters for a day!

'Bridge' album cover

Taliesin, Wright's summer home

Frank (left) and Clough

Portmeirion is a unique place – used for many tv and film locations and is set in wonderful scenery in the Mawddach Estuary. I shall enjoy it so much more now I know of its connection with one of my heroes.

Penrhyn quarry choir during the strike

No traitors in this house! Window sign in Bethesda in houses where strikers refused to go back

In the summer of 1870, the French Government drew their country into a war with Prussia but the French were surrounded and defeated. In Paris however, the city’s masses had organized a National Guard and despite shortage of food, money was pooled to purchase cannons. In this move the wealthy saw a danger to themselves, no less than that posed by the Prussians. Their fear was that the masses were aroused to a revolutionary fervour and their guns could be swung toward the bourgeoisie (Government and middle classes) within the walls as easily as against the foe without.

On 18 March 1870 the Paris Commune was proclaimed. The Government withdrew with its troops to Versailles. Two months later, they attacked the Communards as they had become known, aided by Prussian officers, in May 1970 and butchered everyone. The Communards, worn and exhausted, were falling back before an advance that spared neither woman nor child. Thousands were killed where they stood; the old and sick were herded to open places to be shot and each detachment of the maddened Versailles troops was an executioner’s gang, summarily killing every suspected sympathizer. The Commune was being drowned in its own blood. In that one week 40,000 workers were slaughtered and the wealthy, many of whom had now returned, stood on the curbs to watch the ghastly parade and congratulate themselves on their victory.

The Trail of Tears

The events in these three countries have two common themes. They all affected communities that were poor, seeking to better themselves, were committed to each other and had no means of defending themselves. The second theme was they were all exploited and crushed by powerful wealthy people without morality whose greed was without bounds.

News International Corporation is in exactly the same mould. They are ruthless, they crush anyone who opposes them and all for the aim of making more money at any cost. Unsurprisingly, they have a non-union policy. They committed a speechlessly cynical act yesterday in closing the News of the World, sacking their 200 employees – men and women with families, mortgages and now, unemployment. All to detract from their plans to take full control of BSkyB and enlarge the Murdoch empire. Well, the Bible says ‘What you sew, you reap’ – and for my atheist friends ‘Chickens come home to roost!’. I hope it happens sooner rather than later.

In the early 1870′s 110 quarrymen from the Glyn Rhonwy quarry declared themselves to be union members and were promptly locked out by the quarry owner. He soon realised he was losing money and within three weeks the workers returned and were recognised as union members.

However, the owners of the other quarries were alarmed by this development and attempted to stop the spread of the trade unions by refusing permission for any meetings within the quarries or on any of the extensive lands belonging to the large connected with the quarries.

This is where the story takes a strange twist. Lord Newborough, owner of the Glynllifon estate west of Caernarfon owned some land near Llanberis on the shores of Llyn Padarn. He allowed the men to use a rocky outcrop (providing natural shelter) which became known as Craig Yr Undeb (Union Rock) to plan secretly the formation of a trade union. It’s fascinating to speculate his motives – perhaps he was in dispute with his aristocratic neighbours. Whatever his motives were, these secret meetings led to the creation of the North Wales Quarrymens Union which is commemorated on the memorial on the rock face.

The owners were unwilling to recognise the union. 2,200 quarrymen were locked out of Dinorwic Quarry in June of that year, after five weeks the managers agreed to allow the union. This was followed by a dispute at the Penrhyn Quarry, which resulted in a great victory for the workers and their new union.

One hundred years later, a plaque was erected to commemorate the centenary.

What is less known about the Fricsan is that almost exactly 142 years ago, an event took place a 150 metres or so away from the pub, under construction at the time, which had world-wide consequences.

On a very hot afternoon on 30 June 1869, two carts each containing a ton of nitro-glycerine set out from Caernarfon travelling the 8 miles to the Glynrhonwy slate quarry on the edge of Llanberis. Although the canisters containing the liquid explosive had been carefully packed into boxes containing sawdust and covered in straw when loaded onto the carts, nobody at the time knew how inherently unstable nitro-glycerine was!

Just before 6pm, just after the carts had passed the Cwm-y-Glo station goods shed, the cargo exploded with what was probably the loudest man-made explosion ever heard up to that time. Both carters died, plus a passing quarrymen from Glynrhonwy and two young boys aged 11 and 13, who were unlucky to be nearby. The inquest showed that the carters had spent some time at the Alexandria Inn in Cwm-y-Glo which meant the carts were cooking nicely in the sun.

No trace of the carters, horses or carts remained at the site and two deep craters approximately ten feet deep were left behind. Human and animal remains, as well as parts of the carts, were spread far and wide – with some of the debris being found in the neighbouring village of Brynrefail. The damage to Cwm-y-Glo’s buildings was extensive, many having roofs blown off and windows destroyed. Scarcely a house in the village escaped without damage. A wheel and harness from one of the carts landed a half-mile away and, to this day, the spot is marked by a large ‘X’ scratched on a stone wall which locals keep visible.

The far-reaching consequence of this event was the Nitro-glycerine Act 1869 prohibiting the manufacture, transport or sale of nitro-glycerine or any product containing it in the U.K.

A plaque commemorates the event which can be seen on the rock face opposite Y Fricsan.

Picture of Fricsan © Copyright Eric Jones and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Marchlyn Mawr Reservoir

Across the valley from my house in Snowdonia, about 2km away, is the Marchlyn Reservoir which feeds the hydro-electric power station inside Elidir, known locally as the Electric Mountain. What used to be a just a natural lake has been transformed into a reservoir which provides power rapidly on demand to the National Grid in an amazing 15 seconds. The used water ends up in Llyn Peris in Llanberis and is pumped back overnight using off-peak electricity. The difference in electricity prices makes it commercially viable.

Long before hydo-electric power had even been conceived as a notion, the area was the subject of a bitter dispute. The development of the two slate quarries at Dinorwig (in Llanddeiniolen parish, owned by the Faenol Estate) and Bethesda (Llandegai Parish, owned by the Penrhyn Estate) in the late 18th century began two hundred years of what at times became fierce rivalry. The infamous ‘battle for Marchlyn River’ is but one example. The dispute arose because although the river’s source was Marchlyn Lake located in Llanddeiniolen), it at one point flowed briefly in and out of Llandegai Parish.

In the 1830s, the Penrhyn Estate decided that it wanted the water to run a mill a mile or so down the valley in the direction of Bethesda. The Faenol Estate was incensed as the river water already ran a mill near Deiniolen (or Ebenezer as it was called then). The two estates had a difficult relationship at the best of times but as the Penrhyn Estate began to build a substantial leat (a trench or ditch that conveys water to a mill wheel) to take the water down towards Bethesda, things got extremely heated, indeed violent at times.

The dispute became so fierce that the Bishop of Bangor had to intervene. It was eventually agreed (after much litigation and counter litigation) to place a stone known as the ‘Heater Stone’ at the exact spot where the river was split. The name derives from the Welsh ‘Carreg Hetar’. The ‘Heater’ refers to the shape of the stone which resembles an old iron for pressing clothes.
The Bishop’s Coat of Arms was carved onto the top of the stone (which you cannot now see as the wall has since been built above it). Now the water had to be shared – a period for one estate then for the other.  The Heater Stone swivelled on its base restricting the supply to Bethesda to power the mill in Deiniolen or visa-versa. The stone even became an early tourist attraction.

If you look closely at the stone today you will be able to see rope marks on it where horses were used to swivel it into the appropriate positions. Today a wall has been built over the stone which marks the boundary between the parish of Llanddeiniolen (which Trosgol is located) and the neighbouring parish of Llandegai. An old boundary stone can be seen just above the Heater Stone.

It’s worth a visit as you may also find the cave in which King Arthur’s treasure was left. It is said to be “a source of bedazzlement to the wanderer who sees it, and of disaster to the pilferer who touches it.” You are warned!

(With grateful thanks to Gareth Roberts who told me the story and provided the photographs). Do take a moment to click on his amazing night photography

Rhosyn

So, when you realise that you have to walk the length of a field to get to a gate because of a dry stone wall, DON’T be tempted to climb over!

Climbing at the Beacon

This was the third such competition and numbers increased from 35 participants last year to 62 on Saturday! Registering over 30 new competitors and creating judging score sheets in 30 minutes was a nightmare. My role as stated on my bilingual badge is “Computer Dude / Dŵd Cyfrifiadurol” (we try to be bilingual in everything!). It just means I sit on a hard chair at a table, in a draft, collating the scores from the judges, round by round, of the different age/gender groups into a spreadsheet to identify the winner in each group and also to keep an eye out for score-ties which need a climb off. I’ve been doing this role for three years for the bouldering competition and for British Mountaineering Council (BMC) Youth Climbing events which combine bouldering with roped ascents.

These competition are the highlight of the year for me and every time I can’t help but marvel and be inspired by seven year-old boys and girls less than a metre tall and under 20kg in weight climbing with determination and confidence. The other heart-warming thing is the way all the kids (and their parents) call out to encourage and help a child who may be faltering. They’re in competition with each other but you’d hardly know it. Far from the middle-class cutthroat competions in Surrey where I lived. I recall an incident at a competition at Plas Y Brenin last year where a 12 year-old lad got stuck about 7m from the ground but he was determined not to give up. Despite being exhausted, he continued to try and try again. Gradually, more and more people came to watch this boy and shout encouragement. He fought for 12 minutes and eventually completed the route to a combination of deafening cheers and several parents with tears running down their faces.

I’m proud of of my son Mark who is the BMC Youth Climbing co-ordinator for North Wales and the part he plays through his work as an instructor and organising regional and national competitions in developing the skills of these young people. They inspire me with their dedication and skill and I always come away from a competition feeling elated – plus exhausted, cold, nursing a numb bum – but checking the date of the next one.

The line has only been reopened for three months or so after a long closure to demolish ‘the highest slum in Britain’ (the old café) and to create a new café and improve access to the summit. Three years and an eye-watering £8.3million later we have Hafod Eryri.

Actually, it’s a rather fine building (at £8.3m, it should be!) but it’s still just a still just a place for a cuppa and a pee. Much thought went into the design and interpretation and I loved the Welsh poetry etched in the windows and the factoids carved into the granite floor. Behind and above Hafod Eryri is a concreted path and steps to the top. Yes, steps. Because 350,000 people visit the summit annually, the wear and tear on that small piece of the mountain is immense. It all felt terribly false.

To be honest, I hated all the steps and concrete and I understood Mark, my son’s view that despite living locally, working for the Beacon Climbing Centre and devoting his life to climbing, he had never been to the summit and had no intention of doing so. When I saw the scrum at the trig point, I could understand why.

However, five minutes later, I was there at the top and for about 45 precious seconds, was alone. Everything I could see on that glorious morning was down and for that brief interlude, nobody in England and Wales was higher than I was. It was magical and I can’t wait to do it again.