Rich and poor

Two hundred years ago, on the 3rd of June, 1818, my 5 x great grandmother, Gwen, died in a ty-unnos near Strata Florida, Cardiganshire. Her husband, Rees, died a month later. They were in their fifties. One month later, their oldest son Thomas died aged 30 leaving a wife and two small children. This blog post is written on 4th June, 2018, and dedicated to them. They survived extraordinary times only to die under tragic circumstances. Theirs is a poignant tale which amply demonstrates how callous, political decisions can wreak havoc in the lives of ordinary, hardworking people.

Rees was born on a remote farmstead called Hafodeidos and took over this tenant farm from his father, Thomas, when he married Gwen. The last of their children to be born at Hafodeidos was in 1797 because by 1802 they had been dispossessed of this farm and their next and last child was born in a ty-unnos in the first of many of these ‘houses-built-in-a-night’ on nearby common land. Rees was the first to build a ty-unnos on this squatter’s settlement where upwards of twenty such dwellings were eventually built. His son, Hugh, my 4 x grandfather, would also build a ty-unnos here when he married his wife, Mary, in 1811. Hugh and Mary raised nine children here.

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According to R.U.Sayce, long moonlit winter’s nights were the favoured times for building ty-unnos. So, on such a winter’s night, Rees and Gwen and their friends would have laid rough stonework foundations and a chimney end, and a framework on this interwoven with stout laths, covered with clay, and smeared with lime-plaster. Timber for the framework came from local woods. Thatch for the roof would have been gathered beforehand. The door and window would have been made in advance, ready to put in place. All materials would have been hidden nearby prior to building. At dawn, the fire was lit and the curl of smoke from the chimney meant the building was complete. The amount of land around the house was determined by the distance the occupant could throw an axe.

The original ty-unnos would have been a flimsy dwelling and was quickly replaced by a more permanent stone-built dwelling over subsequent months. It is the remains of these stone-built dwellings which survive at this squatter’s settlement.

In Radnorshire, they were called ‘Morning Surprise’ – a very apt name as it would have been a great surprise to any passer-by to see a house standing where there was none the day before!

At the time when Rees and Gwen were forced to leave Hafodeidos and live on common land, land agents had begun to take a tougher line with tenants and made in-roads into reducing the length of leases. Custom had long been that leases lasted for 3 generations, i.e. father, son, grandson or father, widow, son. To gain more control over farming practices, agents sought fixed terms. Twenty-one-year leases became more normal but what the landowners and agents were aiming for and eventually succeeded in achieving was for annual renewal.

According to W.J. Lewis, rents per acre rose dramatically in this period during the Napoleonic wars. In Strata Florida, land which had been let for 5 shillings per acre in 1790 had risen to 45 shillings per acre by 1815, while prices fetched for the cattle, horses and pigs the farmers reared fell to between a half and a quarter of the previous years. Great quantities of imported grain and American flour drove prices down further. The years between 1795 and 1802 were also marked by a series of very poor harvests.

Ty-unnos squatters were often referred to by wealthy landowners as ‘the scum of the earth’. Yet, it was these large estate owners who were by far the greatest encroachers and grabbers of the commons, moors and waste lands owned by the Crown, increasing their estates by pushing back the boundary lines and enclosing previously unenclosed lands. But the wealthy were also the lawmakers, able to bring in laws which legitimised the enclosures of common land while outlawing the poor for doing the same. In the words of Alfred Russell Wallace, it was “legalised robbery of the poor for the aggrandisement of the rich who are the lawmakers”.

The disparaging view of the squatters held by the landed gentry is challenged by a study carried out by Jemma Bezant and Kevin Grant. Speaking of the settlement which Rees and Gwen began, they say this squatter settlement went on to prosper into the later 19th century with a total of about 20 dwellings on the site. Originally, they had been one or two-celled, stone-built cottages but by the late 19th century many had acquired brick lined windows, proper chimneys and staircases leading to a second storey. The ‘squatters’ were said to be well-educated, some described as scholars and collectively they had constructed a Calvinist Methodist Chapel to administer to the whole community. The chapel, too, is derelict now, though it shows signs of an abandoned restoration.

And so it was that the poorest in society were demonised and blamed for their predicament, even while it was political decisions which created the circumstances of their poverty and kept them poor, while the wealthiest in society were made ever richer. History repeats itself with alarming banality.

I am immensely proud of these remarkable ancestors who were so resourceful amid times of great hardship. Simon Fairlie, in his Short History of Enclosure in Britain, explains how the poor were able to survive off their rough patch of common land. Here is an extract from his article:

A poor cow providing a gallon of milk per day in season brought in half the equivalent of a labourer’s annual wage and geese at Otmoor could bring in the equivalent of a full time wage. Commoners sheep were smaller, but hardier, easier to lamb and with higher quality wool, just like present day Shetlands, which are described by their breed society as “primitive and unimproved”. An acre of gorse — derided as worthless scrub by advocates of improved pasture — was worth 45s 6d as fuel for bakers or lime kilns at a time when labourers’ wages were a shilling a day. On top of that, the scrub or marsh yielded innumerable other goods, including reed for thatch, rushes for light, firewood, peat, sand, plastering material, herbs, medicines, nuts and berries.

In 1820, William Cobbett wrote the following; “Those who are so eager for the new inclosure, seem to argue as if the wasteland in its present state produced nothing at all. But is this the fact? Can anyone point out a single inch of it which does not produce something and the produce of which is made use of? It goes to the feeding of sheep, of cows of all descriptions . . . and it helps to rear, in health and vigour, numerous families of the children of the labourers, which children, were it not for these wastes, must be crammed into the stinking suburbs of towns?”

Women, too, were able to derive extra income for their families from the commons -from carrying loads of peat from the moors to sell at the coast, to gathering wool shed by sheep on the mountain wastes. I can testify there is certainly no shortage of peat on this common land as I had to walk through half a mile of peat-bog to get to the settlement. It is slowly reclaiming the small parcels of land which were once cultivated here.

Rees and Gwen survived by hard work and making the best they could in times of great adversity. They would have been entirely dependent for food from whatever they could grow and provide for themselves from the small parcel of land they cultivated around their ty-unnos, while making some income from casual summer labour on nearby farms or from the selling of peat and gorse gleaned from the common.

Having survived in this way for over sixteen years, they were to be finally defeated following events which occurred on the other side of the world, in a place they would have known nothing about.

In 1815, there was a massive eruption of Mount Tambora on the island of Sumbawa, Indonesia. The following summer of 1816, there was a ‘volcanic winter’ dubbed ‘the summer that never was’ and it preceded widespread famine across Europe. In Wales, it was said to have caused terrible suffering for hill farmers and dwellers. By 1817, another summer of poor weather, many of the poor were wandering around the Cardiganshire countryside begging food and work at the houses of gentry.

On 7th June that year, a David Williams of Bronmeurig was moved to write of the distress of the hungry poor. Bronmeurig is only a couple of miles north west of the settelement. He stated;

‘ …the imagination cannot conceive the prevalent distress – none but those who witness it can conceive its extent and its intensity…The farmer cannot employ the labourer because he has neither Corn, Money nor Credit to give as recompense for work done….the whole of the labouring population is out of employment and have been these last six months…The poor are attempting to prolong life by swallowing barley meal with water – boiling nettles etc – and scores in the agonies of famine have declared to me this last week that they have not made a meal for two days together….hundreds have therefore been in the constant habit of begging from door to door….I fear half the labouring poor will perish as things are, before next harvest in this neighbourhood…I have witnessed scenes of distress and wailing and lamentation and ungovernable ebullitions of rage prompted by the severest suffering…that my memory will bear the impression wherever I go and as long as I live.’

To add insult to injury, the Black Act of 1723 was still in force. This most vicious Act against the poor was brought in by Walpole. It made the poaching of wild game a hanging offence in Britain and was in response to gangs of poachers who blackened their faces to avoid detection – hence the name. Thus, it became as great a crime to kill a wild rabbit for food as it was to commit murder. To add to the injustice, the landowning gentry were granted license to hunt wild animals for sport, while a hungry man desperate to feed his family could be hung for killing a rabbit, even if it crossed his garden.

Rees and Gwen and their children would have suffered unimaginable hardship and hunger. In the summer of 1818, within weeks of each other, Rees and Gwen Jones and their son, Thomas, died at the squatter’s settlement. Causes of death were not recorded in the parish registers but were most likely to have been the succumbing to disease precipitated by weakness due to the preceding famine.

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The little river which runs below the settlement. 

Rees and Gwen’s son Hugh, my 4 x grandfather, and his wife Mary, survived these terrible times and my 3 x grandfather Rees was born at the squatter’s settlement in 1820. Hugh and Mary moved to Brynbedw in the parish of Tirabad in the 1830’s. Hugh was a shepherd and Mary was a healer of some renown. Their son, my 3 x grandfather Rees, worked in Abergwesyn as a shepherd. Here he met and fell in love with Mary Jenkins of Penybont Uchaf. Their children, including my 2 x grandfather, Hugh, were born at Blaengwenol. Their daughter, Mary, was the grandmother of the Anglo-Welsh poet, Harri Jones. I have no doubt that the writing gene has come from this side of my family and is one for which I shall be forever grateful.

In the 1870’s, Rees and Mary moved to Llanerchyrfa along the stunningly beautiful Abergwesyn pass on the mountain road between Abergwesyn and Tregaron. Mary died here, and their two youngest daughters died here, aged just 23 and 28.

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Two hundred years on, I wanted to pay my respects and visit the squatter’s settlement where these ancestors lived and died. It was quite an adventure to find this place and very moving to finally stand within the remains of where they lived and died.

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

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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:

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The value in knowing your own worth.

Most people who follow my blog know me only as an author of historical novels, but novel-writing is a relatively recent chapter in my life.

If you too are a person who does not believe in yourself, if you lack self-confidence, I hope the following will encourage you to take stock and re-assess your self and capabilities. I’ll begin with an honest admission; I have never rated highly anything I’ve done. I’ll see the flaws in my own work that others may not, but be the first to recognise the talent in others. The up-side is that I strive to do my best in anything I do, the downside is that whatever I do I never believe it is quite ‘good-enough’.

It is a fact of life that a great advantage on the road to success in anything is the ability to ‘sell’ yourself and promote what you do. And that is a near impossible task for a person with integrity who does not believe in themselves. If you don’t know your own worth, you will always sell yourself short, not only in your working life but in your relationships, too. In the competitive culture we live in, there will never be a shortage of people who will gladly undermine your talents, so why add to their number?

All of this has been brought home to me this week when I was going through old photographs in a chest that hasn’t been opened for some years. I was looking for something else when I came across the ones that would be a revelation. One small envelope of photos has revealed to me what I rarely admit to myself – that my worst enemy throughout my life has not been someone else but my own lack of self-belief. I’m certain I’m not alone in that.

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Before – stripped back to the bare bones and transformed!

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After

The envelope is labelled ‘work photos’. I’ve worked since I left school at fifteen. I trained first as a seamstress, making women’s clothing. In my twenties, I trained with a furniture upholsterer and cabinet maker. He was a kind man who encouraged me to employ my skills as a seamstress to branch out into soft-furnishings. And that was to be my trade for the next thirty years of my life, until my life went awry and I had to leave my old home. I made my living through transforming old pieces of furniture and making tailor-made furnishings from curtains to loose-covers.

You’d think, wouldn’t you, that I would possess a large portfolio of work photos after all those years? But no, these are all I have, and they are poor ones at that. I only have the ones I do because those customers had asked me to take them, for insurance purposes I think it was. It never occurred to me that there would come a day when I might like to possess a record of the hundreds of jobs I had done over thirty years. The fact that I’m a keen photographer and I have taken literally thousands of photographs of the things I value, from family and travels to landscapes and pets, speaks volumes. It tells me I did not value my work as I did those other aspects of my life. It is too late now.

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A fire damaged sofa had to be stripped back to the frame, rebuilt, and reborn….

Looking at these photographs, I was confronted with evidence which totally contradicted the view I’d had of my own abilities for most of my life. Back then, when I was doing stuff like this every week of my working life, I didn’t believe I was doing anything remarkable. When delivering these items, which were invariably met by happy customers, my abiding emotion was relief – relief that they thought my work was ‘good enough’ to actually pay me for it.

I am honestly stunned by these images because they tell me what I didn’t see at the time – my work was always more than ‘good enough’ and I’m shocked and saddened that I failed to recognise it myself. I’m not saying I got no satisfaction from transforming people’s rooms and furniture in this way. I’m saying my lack of confidence led to my being so anxious over the quality of my work that it blinded me to what I’d actually achieved. So now, looking at a small fraction of the things I did and thinking of the many more I have no visual record of, I’m thinking what a shame it is I was so unaware of what I was able to do.

It was my daughter, artist Heidi Magdalen, who first told me I could write those books I’d always wanted to write. She told me many times before her words permeated my disbelief. Her faith in me encouraged me to take a leap of faith of my own.

From experience, I’ll say that nobody else can give back to you that self-belief or confidence taken from you early on in life. It is something you can only regain via a battle with your self which has to be fought, every single day. I know that for those who have never had to do this, it is hard to imagine. But the positive words and belief of others can encourage you to at least try what you would not otherwise. That is why it is so important, not only to know your own value, but to have people in your life that truly believe in you. I am ever thankful to those who have encouraged me to try to fly.

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

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You can read about the books and 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/i1sy302jXXK

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The winter in pictures.

Did I say we don’t get proper winters anymore? I eat my words…

Mid-December

And then came March…

Looking forward to spring!

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

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#ThrowbackThursday ~ Leap The Wild Water by Jenny Lloyd #Histfic #BookReview

Many thanks to @CathyRy for this reminder of my first novel, Leap the Wild Water, the writing of which was an absolute joy and will stay with me forever…

Between the Lines ~ Books’n’Stuff

Renee at It’s Book Talk began this meme as a way to share old favourites, as well as books that were published over a year ago. Not to mention those that are languishing on the to be read pile for whatever reason.

This week I’m revisiting Leap The Wild Water, a debut and the first book in a historical fiction trilogy, published in 2013.

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A solitary wanderer upon the Epynt mountain.

Puddles of sunlight on bare-bleached scatterings of harvested fields…

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Rich red-brown fields turned upside-down by farmer’s plough…

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Sheep spattered fields and slopes, Llanafan’s hills dappled by cloud-shadows. Country lanes winding lazily from farms to village and away, again, over the rises and falls of the rolling landscape to distant mountains, lush with green bracken, where Garnwen cwtches in Drygarn’s lap…

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Tormentil beneath me, steep gorges on either side. Above my head, the skylarks singing their songs of joy…

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Today, I am free, to wander without purpose or cause…

Breezes stir the mountain grasses from their slumbers, and they whisper to me of things I cannot understand or know, of the great wisdom of the earth that lies just beyond my reach.

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

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On this day in 1853. #Wales #history

On the evening of the 9th July, 1853, the residents of the Duhonw valley of our local Epynt mountain had no idea of the terrifying events which were about to unfold.

On the banks of the Duhonw brook stood a little cottage called Dolfach. A Mrs Lawrence lived there with her daughter and two grandchildren, and a maidservant. Mrs Lawrence farmed 25 acres around the cottage. A 164 years ago, it would have been a simple life, keeping a few sheep, and a cow perhaps, eking out a small living in this tranquil, idyllic location.

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Location of the former cottage of Dolfach

The weather on that day had been heavy and sultry with dark thunder clouds bubbling up over Builth – not unusual at this time of year…

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View of the Epynt mountain from my house, this morning, 9th July. The Duhonw valley lies on the other side of the Epynt.

On the night of July 9th, a storm began in the little village of Penybont in Radnorshire and worked its way south. The heavens opened and a deluge of rain fell over Builth, followed by hail-showers which left a covering of hail some four inches deep. Thunder, sheet-lighting and fork lightening illuminated the Epynt as the storm increased.

Then came a cloudburst as had never been seen before and a waterspout fell on the Epynt mountain. Such was the volume of water that fell in a short time that the Duhonw brook became a raging torrent. While the inhabitants of the cottage slept, the fork in the Duhonw brook above the cottage became jammed by the large boulders and trees which had been uprooted by the volume of rainwater and carried downstream. The raging torrent was now forced down a narrow channel towards the little cottage.

Further up the valley stood Dolau-newydd mill worked by a Mr Thomas Evans. In the flood, part of the mill was swept away and the floodwater rose so high that Mr Thomas urged his family upstairs. As the floodwater rose ever higher, he and his family were forced to seek refuge in the attic while Mr Evans frantically began cutting a hole in the roof through which his family escaped onto the roof.

Back at Dolfach, a cottager living on the opposite side of the brook witnessed what happened next. He’d been stirred from his sleep by the noise and discovered that rainwater was flooding his home. Looking out, he saw that the kitchen and outbuildings of Dolfach had already been swept away. As he watched, powerless to help, he saw water gushing through the upper windows of his neighbour’s cottage. The scene must have been one that nightmares are made of as he then saw two trees come crashing down with the water, into the back of the cottage. Before his eyes, the cottage crumbled and the debris and inhabitants carried away by the ferocious torrent.

The dawn of the next day was to reveal the extent of the devastation all down the Duhonw valley. A total of 18 bridges were destroyed by the floodwater. Along with the bridges destroyed, chasms had been torn in roads and the farms on the hillsides and further down the valley turned to mud, their crops destroyed.

Poor Mrs Lawrence’s body was found the next day, 18 miles away down the river Wye along with furniture, trees and debris from her cottage. She was still dressed in her nightclothes. The bodies of her daughter, grandchildren and maidservant were discovered some days later, near Builth. Her grandson had only time to put on his trousers, her granddaughter was still wearing her nightdress but had managed to put on one boot, and the maidservant’s body was found clutching a blanket – all signs that they were about to make some attempt at escape before they were swept away.

Now, as then, we are powerless in the face of freak weather. When I go to my bed tonight, I shall give a thought to those poor people destroyed by the ‘Epynt Waterspout’.

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

 

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

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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

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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

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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

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