Walking with the ancients.

Last week, plans for a wind farm on my old stomping ground were rejected by all but one member of the planning committee. Before I left the area in 2013, I took some photographs, just in case the wind farm got the go ahead and this landscape I loved so much was lost forever.

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I also wrote in my journal about walking there…

Ripples of sunlight reflect off a quicksilver brook, swollen by heavy rain.

The chattering of water tumbling over stones.

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Sheep pause their languid grazing to gaze with idle curiosity, wondering why I am wandering in such wilderness as this.

I walk along the hallowed road that echoes with the footsteps of ancient drovers.

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The old road winds far away, up and over the hills, farther than the eye can see.

I cannot walk such ancient roads without thinking of those who have trod here long before me.

In my mind, I hear the hollow notes of distant cow bells ringing, and the drover’s voice a-calling ‘hey-hope, hey-hope’.

Over the rise he appears, in broad-brimmed hat and oiled long coat, with his herd of cattle and a gaggle of geese with their feet all tarred and feathered.

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I turn away from the ancient path to walk farther still into the mists of history, along the side of a tinkling brook, towards the remains of a settlement and hill fort, older still in its origins.

Faint are the outlines of stone wall boundaries, and crumbled are the circles of stones which once were ancient dwellings.

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I sit among the scattered stones where hearths once warmed chilled bones.

There is no sound in this sheltered place but the wind whispering through the grasses and a buzzard mewling overhead.

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I feel the tug of time spinning backwards, weaving the thread of my life into the fabric of the ancients.

Wherever I go from here, I shall carry the memory of this place with me until I, too, am no more.

Like the drovers and the Celts, we are all but passing through….

 

Jenny Lloyd is the Welsh author of The Megan Jones trilogy; historical novels set in early, 19th century, rural Wales.

Leap the Wild Water new book cover meadow     The Calling of the Raven updated book cover     Anywhere the Wind Blows Book Cover - jpg

You can read about the books or purchase them by clicking on the links below.

Leap the Wild Water: http://ow.ly/jEoi302jXkd

The Calling of the Raven: http://ow.ly/4uRO302jXmd

Anywhere the Wind Blows: http://ow.ly/73tq302Ov71

You can also follow the author:

Twitter; https://twitter.com/jennyoldhouse

Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/jennylloydauthor

Pinterest; http://www.pinterest.com/jennyoldhouse

Running with the wind.

Running with the wind.

Take my hand with your back to the wind that would sweep you from your feet if it could. Watch with me as the swallows swoop and the buzzard rides the air-waves. See how they go with the flow and don’t fight against that which cannot be fought. Take my hand and we’ll run with the wind as if we were never broken.

Yes, take my hand and I’ll lead you there where broken hearts are healed and sealed, for there it is the skylarks rise and fall to rise again. And they’ll sing to you as they sing to me  of hope and eternal promise; that out of sadness joy can rise, again, and again, and again.

 

Jenny Lloyd is the Welsh author of The Megan Jones trilogy; historical novels set in early, 19th century, rural Wales.

Leap the Wild Water new book cover meadow     The Calling of the Raven updated book cover     Anywhere the Wind Blows Book Cover - jpg

You can read about the books or purchase them by clicking on the links below.

Leap the Wild Water: http://ow.ly/jEoi302jXkd

The Calling of the Raven: http://ow.ly/4uRO302jXmd

Anywhere the Wind Blows: http://ow.ly/73tq302Ov71

You can also follow the author:

Twitter; https://twitter.com/jennyoldhouse

Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/jennylloydauthor

Pinterest; http://www.pinterest.com/jennyoldhouse

Now she is gone.

Now She is Gone.

Be fair, she never promised you roses or lazy days, romancing in the sun.
That was the thing about her, she never made promises she knew she couldn’t keep.
She promised you nothing but look at all she gave you when she turned up at your door, her arms full of violets, stitchwort, primroses, celandines, cowslips and purple bugle.
She even brought you wild strawberry flowers.
She gave you a bunch of the very first bluebells and showed you the first swallow swooping low above your roof.
There wasn’t a single day when she didn’t bring you something to delight and make you smile.
So many precious moments…with her it was you laughed every day at the antics of the lambs racing around the fields.
With her it was you listened to the skylarks singing their hearts out on the heath.
Together, you sat and watched the baby ravens deep inside the woods where the larches turned green at her touch.
She couldn’t help the way she was. Warm with you one day, cold the next.
You never knew what she was going to throw at you next.
That’s just the way she is, never sure which way the wind blows.
With one foot in March, the other in May, she couldn’t decide between sunshine and snow, as unpredictable as the wind.
And now she is come and gone too soon, will you mourn her passing?
No, of course you won’t, you’ve already moved on to the next one – the greatest beauty of them all, the one who fills you with longing because she always promises it will be like it used to be when she gave you everything you ever wanted.
May so rarely keeps her promises but every year you hope she will, this time.
April never promised you anything but remember all she gave you.
In Remembrance of April.

©Jenny Lloyd.

Jenny Lloyd is the Welsh author of The Megan Jones trilogy; historical novels set in early, 19th century, rural Wales.

Leap the Wild Water new book cover meadow     The Calling of the Raven updated book cover     Anywhere the Wind Blows Book Cover - jpg

You can read about the books or purchase them by clicking on the links below.

Leap the Wild Water: http://ow.ly/jEoi302jXkd

The Calling of the Raven: http://ow.ly/4uRO302jXmd

Anywhere the Wind Blows: http://ow.ly/73tq302Ov71

You can also follow the author:

Twitter; https://twitter.com/jennyoldhouse

Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/jennylloydauthor

Pinterest; http://www.pinterest.com/jennyoldhouse

Up the creek and bricking it in the wilds of Wales.

You know how it is when you’ve got every thing planned for a great day out, right down to the last ingredient of that picnic you’re going to have? And then things begin to go wrong…

Believe me, it takes courage to drive alone along the mountain road from Abergwesyn to Tregaron. I’d put off this journey so many times over the past few weeks, waiting for the ideal weather that so rarely arrives in Wales, i.e. a day when that bleakest of roads would not be shrouded in mist or fog. In the best of weathers it is a road as remote as any you’ll find in Wales. From the steep hair-pin bends of the aptly named Devil’s Staircase onward, the road twists and turns through an ever bleaker landscape of desolate moors and mountain waterfalls…

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The road seems to go on forever and just as you’re thinking this can’t be right, you must have taken a wrong turn, you come across the reassuring sight of a telephone box in the middle of nowhere…

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Eventually, the road threw me out in Tregaron where I heaved a great sigh of relief. But my destination was a remote valley beyond Strata Florida, so my adventure had hardly begun. I was on a mission to get photos of some remote ruins where my ancestors lived. It was a long way up that valley until the road peters out into rough track. So I parked up in this gorgeous location…dig

…and walked up the track that leads further up the valley…

All seemed to be going well until I needed to take a footpath off this track and cross the river. The river, of course, was in flood after all the rain we’ve had – something I hadn’t thought of before setting out. It was far too deep and fast-flowing to cross. Dashing and bothering, I take a few pics before heading back to the car. In the picture below on the right, up in the distance; that’s the torrent of the river cascading further up the valley.

It is a stunningly beautiful valley, all the same, and worth the drive over even if I hadn’t achieved my goal, I think to myself as I head back to the car.

The plan from here is to drive up another valley the other side of the mountain in search of some more ancestral ruins. I’ve got a picnic lunch to take with me. I turn the key in the ignition. Cough, cough, splutter. I turn the ignition again and still the damn thing won’t start. Oh, that horrible feeling of dread when you realise you’re a long, long way from the nearest garage and a whole lot further from home. I was up the creek with no paddle, so to speak, and at this point, bricking it. I turned the ignition again, my foot pumping that pedal like no tomorrow and willing the damned thing to start. To my enormous relief, the engine sprang into life. Having got the thing started there was no way I was going to stop anywhere else for fear of not getting it started again. So, I just kept going, back over that desolate mountain road. Oh, what joy it was to have descended the Devil’s Staircase and find myself back in familiar territory, well on the way to home…

So, it was no picnic, all in all. And I’ll have to do the whole thing again – when the rivers are not in flood and I’ve had the dodgy battery replaced in my car. I’ll let you know how I get on!

Jenny Lloyd is the Welsh author of The Megan Jones trilogy; historical suspense novels set in early, 19th century, rural Wales.

Leap the Wild Water new book cover meadow     The Calling of the Raven updated book cover     Anywhere the Wind Blows Book Cover - jpg

You can read about the books or purchase them by clicking on the links below.

Leap the Wild Water: http://ow.ly/jEoi302jXkd

The Calling of the Raven: http://ow.ly/4uRO302jXmd

Anywhere the Wind Blows: http://ow.ly/73tq302Ov71

You can also follow the author:

Twitter; https://twitter.com/jennyoldhouse

Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/jennylloydauthor

Pinterest; http://www.pinterest.com/jennyoldhouse

Top Reads of 2016 #Books #AmReading #TuesdayBookBlog

Over the moon to find Anywhere the Wind Blows on this reviewer’s top-reads list of 2016

BetweenTheLines

It’s that time again! This year has gone so quickly and it’s been filled with really great reads. Narrowing down favourites is a difficult task but here they are. As always, they’ll be either 4.5* or 5* and clicking on the cover will take you to Amazon UK. 

28111823Dead Is Dead ~ Thriller

Private investigator Jack Bertolino, previously an inspector with the NYPD, is employed as technical advisor, consulting on a movie being made of his last case. His job includes protection for the female star, who is being targeted by a disturbed, out of control stalker. Susan Blake is beautiful, haunted by a past that she can’t lay to rest.

During filming there’s an actual shooting several blocks away, which results in the accidental and tragic death of little Maria Sanchez and also that of known drug dealer, Tomas Vegas. Cruz Feinberg, the technical wizard in Jack’s company, knows…

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The worst Christmas ever?

Apparently, storm Barbara is heading for the British Isles just in time for Christmas with the risk of disruption to transport and power supplies and some possible structural damage. The one thing we all share, wherever we are in the world, is our powerlessness in the face of severe weather. For our ancestors, the consequences were far more devastating.

It’s a sobering thought, but exactly 200 years ago, running up to Christmas of 1816, people were in the midst of a famine right here in Britain thanks to a volcanic explosion on the other side of the world.

In 1815, the effects of the massive volcanic eruption of Mount Tambora, Sumbawa island, Indonesia,  were felt across the world and led to devastating crop failures across the Northern hemisphere in 1816. It has been dubbed ‘the summer that never was’.

The summer of 1816 was so severely cold and wet it led to one of the worst famines of 19th century Europe. Red snow fell in Italy, Eastern parts of North America were under a cloud of volcanic fog, snow fell in Albany, New York in June, and riots broke out in Britain and Europe following the cataclysmic failure of crops.

Families in Wales are said to have traveled great distances begging for food, such was their hunger.

I may not have learned of this extraordinary disaster if I hadn’t been recently researching some unexplained deaths in my family history.

My 5 x grandparents, born in Ceredigion, both died within a month of each other in the summer of 1818. They were younger than I am now. Also, one month later, their oldest son died at the tender age of 30, in the same house. In the neighbouring house, another two relatives had died in that summer; aged 28 and 36. The obvious nagging question was why had so many died before their time and over such a short period?

Causes of death were not entered in the parish registers, so any one of many diseases such as smallpox or typhus may have been responsible. In Cardiganshire, even malaria was not uncommon in marshland areas. But looking for possible diseases led me to the historical occurrence of’the summer that never was’ in 1816.

People weakened by hunger are more susceptible to disease, and disease follows famine as surely as night follows day. In Ireland, also affected by the famine, a typhus epidemic ran from 1816 to 1819.

I will never know for sure what killed those ancestors of mine in 1818 but one thing I can be sure of is that they suffered unimaginable hardship and hunger in the two years leading up to their demise. Luckily for me, their son, my 4 x great grandfather and his wife survived and my 3 x great grandfather was born in 1820.

I’ve discovered many tragedies in my family’s past but this one has shocked and saddened me more than most. It brings home to all of us, I think, how powerless we are against the forces of nature.

We in the Western world live in an age of excess and never is this more evident than in the weeks running up to Christmas. This year more than ever following this most recent research, I am giving thanks for and appreciating how lucky we all are not to be enduring the hardships our ancestors did and which too many people across the world are enduring as I write.

In wishing a Happy Christmas to all my followers here on this blog, I particularly wish you a stress-free holiday in which you and yours do not angst over whether everything is perfect but simply enjoy and celebrate our great good fortune not to have been born in a time or place of great hardship.

 

 

 

A Call to Arms. #Powys #Wales #sayNOtowindfarms #Cymru

I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing held sacred anymore in this world of endlessly growing consumption, fueled by the greed of a minority and their pursuit of wealth by any means.

Many of you may not have heard what the Welsh Government and Powys are now planning for us, the people of Breconshire and Radnorshire. Their ‘further focussed changes’ (October 2016) development plan threatens our familiar and beloved landscapes of Abergwesyn Common, the Begwns, Pant-y-llyn Hill, Merthyr Cynog, Drum Ddu, also, the hills around Llandegley, Abbey-cwm-hir, Hirnant – all now designated ‘Local Search Areas’ for wind development.

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Llandegley Rocks

Oh, and if that were not bad enough, great swathes of our hillsides will be obliterated by solar ‘parks’ – solar ‘Local Search Areas’ reach from one side of the county to the other below Newtown. Nantmel, Llanbister, and Aberedw will be encircled – vast acres of hillside will be covered with industrial scale solar panels. If the developers get their way, not one among us will be unaffected by such changes. Let’s face it, people don’t come to live here or remain here, or holiday here for the weather. They are here, mainly, out of love for our beautiful, wild spaces with their kites, buzzards, curlews and skylarks and the quiet, rural way of life.

In addition to the decimation of our landscapes via turbines and solar panels with all the associated damage to wildlife, bird-life, habitat and human well-being, there will come the disruption to our roads, massive transportation lorries, tracks across our hilltops, pylons – in short, the wholesale industrialisation and rape of our beautiful, wild and green spaces.

The people of Breconshire have had so much taken from them over the years; glorious Eppynt taken by the military; our water polluted and wildlife and birds robbed of thousands of acres of moorland habitat, planted by the Forestry Commission; whole communities uprooted and valleys flooded to provide water for others, not ourselves. And now, are we to have the best of what we have left desecrated to line the coffers of the main beneficiaries – a handful of landowners selling us out and the multi-billion pound companies who would smother every Welsh hillside with their giant monstrosities for their own gain?

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Eppynt

When considering the human costs, let us not forget that it is not only the unspoiled beauty and tranquility of these landscapes that will be lost to us. Our unchanged landscapes inherently represent our heritage, our identity, and our history. Rob us of our familiar landscapes and you rob us of an essential part of those vital things which give our lives meaning and continuity. Our lives will be the poorer in many more ways if we allow this to happen. We will suffer a psychological disconnect between the past and the present when our inter-generational connections to the landscape are severed.

I am sickened by the relentless march of what some call ‘progress’ which tramples all in its wake. I belong to a generation who I’m ashamed to say has done more damage to this planet in fifty years than all the generations who have gone before.Vast areas of our oceans are now littered with plastic and this littering of our landscapes with the proliferation of wind farms across this fabulous county is spectacular visible evidence of escalating human greed on a scale hitherto unknown. Do I care about the environment? Yes, I do. Do I care about carbon emissions? Yes, I do. Do I believe these hulking, inefficient, unreliable turbines are a cure for the disease? I do not.

When will it end? When there is not one windswept hill left without turbines and every slope has been covered in industrial solar panels? This latest change in policy proves that this search and push for more is relentless. The proliferation of wind farms across the country is a symptom of, not a cure for, the problem. Some years down the line, we’ll be back at square one and will have sacrificed our rural idylls for nought because they contribute too little towards our energy needs and an insignificant effect on carbon emissions. The loss of our upland habitats and their role in carbon sequestration means that replacing them with wind and solar farms that do a far less efficient job of reducing emissions is counter-productive madness.

Under the Welfare of Future Generations Act we have a duty to consider the impacts of our actions in the present on future generations. When, one day in the future, these great, hulking turbines and all their associated financial, human and environmental costs are finally outmoded and debunked, what will happen then? Will the renewable energy companies honour their obligation to dismantle and remove these monstrosities from our landscapes when their only consideration is profit? Or will we be left with these rusting giants littering our landscapes for ever more? Call me cynical, but I’ve lived long enough to know that the latter is the highly more likely outcome. They’d opt to pay the fines rather than dismantle. And that will be our legacy to future generations. I don’t think they’ll be thanking us for that. It is reckless and irresponsible in the extreme of government to continue with the proliferation of wind and solar farms without consideration for a future when they will have been replaced with newer technologies.

Government is famous for short-sighted policy making. Government, local and national, now urgently needs to take a step back and a serious re-think before it is too late. Once they are up, they are not coming down again, ever.

If you love and value our Welsh landscapes, our wildlife, our way of life, our heritage, our history, and value our deep and historical connections to this fabulous green heartland we are so privileged to live in, then I urge you to answer this call to arms to defend and preserve what is left. If our collective voice of objection is big enough, they will not have any choice but to hear it. So, please take up your swords (well, your pens or keyboards, anyway), and do one or preferably all of the following: write to your county councilor, write to your assembly member, register your objection with Powys, join CPRW (Campaign for the Protection of Rural Wales). We have only until 5pm, Monday 21st November to do this. Thank you.

For more information and guidance, follow this link and look under current news:

http://www.cprw.org.uk/

The relevant pages on Powys’s website: http://ow.ly/lw2I305TGJO

 

Honouring the dead.

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Bryngwynfel, my mother’s birthplace.

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The view from above Tyn-y-beili, where my mother grew up.

It is the anniversary of my mother’s death and I thought it would be a good time to share a particular family story she told me, because it is one that has been passed on by word of mouth through three mothers – my mother, her mother, and now me. It is a story which had remained untold since her own mother died and which would not have come to light if the memory had not been prompted by my research into our family history.

I unearthed many tragic stories while doing the research, things my mother would never have known about her ancestors, otherwise. But this particular story would have disappeared with my mother if she had not told it to me. My mother was told it by her mother, my granny Annie, and my mother was eighty-five years old before she related it to me. How many such family stories are lost for the want of someone who wants to know, or for the want of telling?

I’d been recording my granny’s sisters and brothers on the family history chart and was asking my mother if she remembered any of these aunts and uncles of hers. Well, she had something to tell about each of them but I shan’t go into those stories now. What she did say, in her lilting Welsh accent, and which made my ears prick up was ‘But wait a minute, there was another one, you know’.

‘Was there?’ I was incredulous.

‘Yes! A baby! She was named Medi!’

I had no knowledge of this child, at all.

‘Well, now, you listen, and I shall tell you what my mother told me’, my mother said…

‘The baby was poorly. From the start, you see, there was something wrong with her. And her father, Huw – he was a lay preacher, you know – he was very worried because it didn’t look like the baby would survive and she hadn’t been baptised, you see. And so Huw decided they must go to the chapel and get her baptised. And off they went. But it was a terrible day, pouring down rain, and they all got drenched before they even got to the chapel. They only had the pony and cart, you see. Well, the upshot of it was the baby died, anyway, but that wasn’t the last of it. Medi’s mother, my grandmother, caught pneumonia that day and never recovered. Six months later, she was gone, too. My mother, Annie, was just six years old when her mother died, you know.’

It was my daughter who realised the significance of Medi’s name. Medi is Welsh for September, which turned out to be the month of her birth. After my mother told me this story, I searched the BMD index for a Medi, and there she was; her death recorded in the last quarter of 1896.

Now, every September, I remember Medi and her mother, and poor Huw who must have suffered greatly for the decision he made on that fateful, wet day and through which he lost so much. Huw had already lost one wife to childbirth. He never married again after he lost the second one. And I am haunted by the fact that I have failed, still, to find their graves. Another September is come and gone. This time, this year, I will find them, I tell myself with every September that goes by. Perhaps I will, this year.

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Cwmchwefru, where Medi and her mother died.

My mother, had she been born to a different life, would have loved to write stories, I think, for she certainly loved to tell them and told them well. She was very proud of me having written two novels (she did not live to see the third). She read the first two and greatly enjoyed them, then lent them to all her neighbours and friends, saying ‘my daughter, Jenny, wrote these, you know. She’s an author!’

The moral of this story is; if you have elderly relatives, be sure to ask them questions while they are still here, and pass the stories on to your own children. My mother was the last one of her brothers and sisters to die, and one thing I’ve often regretted is that her siblings had died before I began researching our family history. There was so much they died not knowing and so much more they may have contributed.

Imagine if my mother had died without telling this family story. Little Medi and her short and tragic life would never have been recorded as it deserved to be. Ask the questions and pass on your family stories!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anywhere The Wind Blows (Megan Jones Trilogy #3) #TuesdayBookBlog #Historical Fiction @jennyoldhouse

Book reviewer, Cathy Ryan, capturing the essence and intent of Anywhere the Wind Blows with this wonderful review.

BetweenTheLines

  • 31305130Author: Jenny Lloyd
  • Published: August 2016 by Jenny Lloyd
  • Category: Historical Fiction
  • five-stars

Eli’s suicide may not be what it seemed and rumours of murder are rife. The tide of goodwill towards Megan and Morgan turns to one of suspicion and doubt as Mary Williams spreads her wild rumours with impunity and the preacher’s finger of suspicion and vengeance points toward Wildwater and the mill. 

The final part of the trilogy begins with Branwen’s point of view. Branwen believes Megan has forgiven her for the part she played in her, Megan’s, short and traumatic marriage to Eli and desperately wants to be her friend. Megan can scarcely forget the humiliation and harm she suffered at their hands. Branwen is lazy, slovenly about the house and dairy, and Megan is losing patience with her neediness and petulance, unaware of the lengths Branwen has gone to for her sake. 

Megan’s troubles are not…

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