Here’s the best way to demonstrate why climbing on a dry stone wall can be hazardous to your health. This wall in my garden had been showing an alarming bulge for the last few months and yesterday, this was the outcome.
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.
My student ID
Finally today, five frantic, bewildering, exhausting, confusing, amusing, frustrating, exciting and even inspiring days have come to an end and I’m a fully-fledged, card-carrying ‘Is-raddedig / Undergraduate’ at Bangor University.
I started the week planning to read Welsh History and Archaeology and finally settled on Welsh History with History (it makes sense even if it looks odd!) with an intermediate level Welsh language module. I’ve experienced the student frustration of hanging about between sessions killing an hour here and there and concentrated on finding all the places I could sit comfortably and get a coffee.
My personal tutor is a Welshman and we hit it off straight away. He helped me change my course and sorted out the problems with my login which still wanted to look at my IT courses I did in the Spring rather than my brand-new shiny School of History ones. We were told in our school induction that we have to look for information in our email inbox, on Blackboard (the University course info board), notice boards in a dimly-lit corridor, in our pigeon holes and I suspect, in true Harry Potter fashion, brought by owls. If you’ve seen our building, it does put you in mind of Hogwarts but with marginally fewer towers. I’m sure I shall miss vital information in all that lot!
The Module Fair was a complete scrum, everybody attempting to get to desks of harassed lecturers and administrators, staggering around looking dazed and confused. My form with a changed course as some false starts would have presented a major problem in interpretation but somehow seemed to have worked.
By the end of day two, all of us were bonding rapidly. This was mainly because information overload meant we could only survive by piecing the information together from the scraps we individually retained, that had managed to penetrate our ears which felt like they were bleeding from overuse!
The main event of day three was Serendipity (the Freshers’ Fair) which my sons (both ’90s graduates) had encouraged me to attend and, “Join everything Dad, you’ll love it. And you’ll get a free Pot Noodle and a tin of baked beans!” Well, I spent over two hours there and I have to be honest and say that like the Curate’s Egg, it was ‘good in parts’. (Google ‘Curate’s Egg’ if that reference baffles you.) My problem was that at 61 years old I simply didn’t look like a student and many people didn’t know whether to speak to me or not. I am sure nobody was intentionally discourteous and eventually I started to speak to people when they handed leaflets to students preceding and following me. Two people thought I wasn’t a student and another said they thought I wouldn’t be interested (but I was), and two others simply apologised and gave me literature. It’s going to mean positive choices on my part to fit in: I’m three times older than most students and I live off-campus in Deiniolen (8 miles from Bangor).
I did join a few societies: the Welsh Learners’ Society, Seren, the African-Caribbean Society (because they were the friendliest people at Serendipity), the Christian Union, Unity (the LGBT society to support my son) and a few others. I got some dry instant noodles from the Lidl stand in their goodie bag but no baked beans! I also got a year’s supply of pens and pencils, no less than five (!) bottle openers, a mug, a torch, a mouse mat, some notepads and far too many sweets, all of which I gave away immediately!
The final hurdle was Registration (that capital ‘R’ is appropriate as it’s the culmination of the week) which took place on day 4. The day was complicated for me as doctor’s visit for my wife resulted in a very rapid appointment at Ysbyty Gwynedd and I dropped her at the hospital and drove on the mile or so to the University to register. I was about the join the 700 yard queue when my phone went with a text. Christine had texted me, “Had scan now waiting for op”. I went white as a sheet – straight into the operating theatre? One of the organisers of the event (I suspect the head man because of the way all the staff deferred to him) asked me if I was OK. I explained I was there to register but I’d dropped my wife at the hospital and I was concerned to get back. He immediately said for me to come back tomorrow to register if I could. I asked him if it would be possible to jump the queue and he took me up to collect my magic green form and I was through registration in 10 minutes!
I texted Christine and asked her to call me as soon as she could. The phone rang almost immediately in response. I blurted out anxiously to Christine, “So what’s this about you going in for an immediate operation, you said you were waiting for an op?” A puzzled silence followed, then through helpless laughter she responded, “No, not an operation, I’m waiting for out-patients!” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or to kill her.
And so all I have on my agenda today is a social for mature students over a pint tonight. I’m not sure whether I want to make a strong association with mature students or not. I see myself as a student who lives off-campus and want to make friends with my fellow students of all ages. Later in the semester, I plan to invite some home for Christine’s home cooked meals and to use our house to relax.
I’ve worked out my timetable for lectures and seminars and can’t wait for week 1, semester 1, year 1 of my course at Bangor University to start on Monday.
Probably the most-asked question I’ve been asked since moving into the shadow of England and Wales’ highest mountain is, ‘Have you been up Snowdon?’ Until recently the answer was no, but on my birthday a few days ago I took the train to the summit. I will pause here for the boos and tuts from veterans of the Pyg track, the Miners’ track, the Watkin path etc. My excuses were: a) it was my birthday; b) Christine was in Surrey with my younger son (on my birthday! c) I like trains and d) I was too lazy to walk.
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.
Bangor University Arts and Humanities building
I’ve just attended day ‘minus one’ on my BA course in Welsh History and Archaeology at Bangor University which really starts on Monday with Freshers’ Week. This was an induction day for the students who live locally so will miss out on the shared community of living in Halls.
To backtrack a moment; I’ve never been to university, so at the age of 61 I’ve become a full-time undergraduate mature student. My friend David Lindsell encouraged me to keep a record of my time at Bangor in the form of a blog and this is episode one of my ‘Diary of a mad student with a bus pass’.
The first hurdle was the walk from the bus stop to the university (I used my wrinklies’ bus pass for the first time!). It’s a climb up about 250 feet mostly on steps. Talk about a cardio-vascular workout. I’ll take it slower next time.
The University is 125 years old this year and the buildings look every year as old. Internally, the walls are covered with hideous green ceramic tiles. Not just any green but a cross between avocado/snot/Victorian public loo/khaki/slurry/cheese mould green. They may be a bigger problem than the assignments I get!
We were welcomed by the Vice Chancellor with a wholly predictable speech but were entertained by three second-year locally-based students who gave a helpful insight into the pros and cons of living out. Basically you had to balance home cooked food, getting your washing done, having all your own clothes and stuff accessible against being woken up at 3am by drunks coming back to halls and putting loud music on. No contest!
I didn’t actually meet anyone on my course but I got enough flavour of what’s to come to be excited and apprehensive. Come Monday I’ll be officially part of the student body of Bangor. Bring it on!
TV news has provided us all with defining, emotional moments in our lives. I recall five occasions I cried over a news item: the Jonestown massacre in Guyana in 1978 when 918 people died; the Bhopal disaster of 1984 where the initial death toll of 2,259 has risen to 15,000 today; the murders at a primary school in Dunblane in 1996 where a madman killed 16 children and a teacher; the 9/11 events of 2001 where 2,974 died.
None, however, affected me as much as the events of 21 October 1966 when the news was of a colliery waste tip which collapsed on the Pantglas School in the South Wales mining village of Aberfan, killing 116 children and 28 adults.
Somehow, I can identify more with Aberfan than all those other tragedies, because I knew Aberfan well as my family are from Cilfynydd only six miles away, several still there today. Many of those relatives worked at the Albion Colliery, the next colliery to the Merthyr Colliery which had produced the slag heap that moved and wiped out so many lives.
Earlier this year, as part of my Bangor University course I had an assignment to produce a website using the techniques we had learned. I decided to produce a website to tell a new generation about the loss of a generation of young children in Aberfan. Had I realised how emotionally draining it would prove to be I probably would never have started the project but now I’m so glad I saw it through. I discovered that nowhere on the web is there a list of those who died so I made it a project to research local newspapers and I have listed all the names of the children but not all the adults yet. As I transcribed the witness accounts in their own words of parents, survivors, rescuers, miners, police and ministers, I kept having to stop because of tears.
You can see the results of all the work on my website www.hiraeth.org.uk/aberfan and I’d love you leave your comments on this blog. Over the summer I’ll be adding to the other headings you can see on the Hiraeth site and I’d be pleased to have any contributions on things Welsh, particularly under the headings I’m using: Industrial history, Llanberis area, Walking, Castles, Dramatic events, Culture & language, Religious heritage, Snowdonia and Where to stay. This blog will form part of the site later. In my heart-of-hearts, I don’t really believe it’s going to be a ‘barbecue summer’ so my August will be writing a lot of web pages!
We all know that the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. However, I’ve tried to start that journey with a huge seven-league step without the necessary magic boots.
What I’m seeking to do is to create on online presence using a variety of different ways, all seeking to do a slightly different task. Here’s what I’m working on…
Foolishly, I’m working on all these things simultaneously. I basically don’t work well unless there’s some pressure, so publishing this is committing me to work on all these things and maintain them!
I’d be pleased to include your contributions to www.hiraeth.org.uk They can be about anything Welsh: history, mountains, castles, railways, mining, beaches, language, politics, people, religious history. Send me copy and photographs (for which you own the copyright which I’ll acknowledge).
The Welsh word for journey is taith. However, it means more than the English word of getting between point A and point B. It is about all that happens along the way, an adventure, a trek, a quest, a venture, a voyage, a mission. My journey to write all those items is certainly going to be a taith.
I attended a course today on ‘Communicating through Touch’ with Christine to help us in our work with autistic kids. There were two young facilitators, skilled and proficient from a charity called Touch Trust. However, in the scene setting DVD that was shown, the narrator quickly started talking about ‘our aura’ and ‘energy stroking’. The New Age content was very strong and I tuned out much of the subsequent exercises we were asked to perform as a result.
At lunchtime I had to slip home and walk the dog but I confess I took the opportunity to miss the next session which was more of the same practical stuff with the New Age approach. The day was redeemed for me by a remarkable DVD shown later which portrayed how music therapy could release children locked in autism. The Trust is fortunate to be located in the Wales Millennium Centre and is helped by the Welsh National Opera. I was in tears watching WNO baritone Owen Webb singing with the kids.
We came home emotionally and spiritually exhausted and I did what I often do when I’m unsettled – I surf You Tube listening to the music that helps me to do what the Quakers beautifully put as, “centre down”. Usually, I start with some Welsh language music which I find very relaxing. Coincidentally, last weekend at our church, a friend who was addressing the church described the Welsh nation as having “a connection with the land”. I almost cheered – she had put in five words what I was frustratingly unable to express about what I felt about coming home to Wales, the first time I’d ever experienced a sense of place.
I started as I often do with Cerys Matthews singing Arglwydd Dyma Fi http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Axw_i0WxMk (I Hear thy Welcome Voice), surfed to a version of the wonderful Welsh revival hymn, Dyma Gariad Fel Y Moroedd (Here is Love Vast as the Ocean) with Katherine Jenkins http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liWYLxitHkU Unfortunately Nikki Rose’s wonderful version isn’t on You Tube but I clicked on a link titled Revival Hymn http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwbps9k5Dj0 and was profoundly moved by a 35minute presentation on Revival. At the end of it my perspective was restored and I caught again that cool breeze those wonderful Celtic saints experienced when the breath of God blew and touched the land of Wales. Do try and find some time to watch it.
Hosey B – how to terrify your father Life in the vertical Friar Mike Dyfed Roberts blog
