WRITING TO THE NEWSPAPERS

by Sara John

Some time ago, after moving on from being “Disgusted, Dinas Powys” I risked writing occasionally to newspapers on issues on which I felt strongly or to contribute appropriate stories or items of particular concern. Here are a small selection from the last decade or so, which The Observer, the Times, The Scotsman, The Glasgow Herald and others, saw fit to print.

When these are responses to material originating in a newspaper unfortunately it is not possible to reproduce here the original item therefore what follows is therefore only my side of the story.

To the Sunday Herald WALES V SCOTLAND IN CARDIFF ON SATURDAY

Dear Editor,

As a Welsh woman now resident in Edinburgh, I offer a few words of advice to Scottish Rugby supporters attending the match in Cardiff, especially those going for the first time.

A ticket is not essential. You can stand outside the Millennium Stadium and follow the match from the noise inside the ground. There is no long walk to or from town. You are in both places at the same time.

You will all be made very welcome. For extra special attention from the fairer sex I recommend dressing as Scottish as possible. But be warned Welsh Women are dangerous. Kilted Scots report being “practically molested”.

Following a possible interrogation and threatened strip search by the Welsh girls, I strongly advise you to have an alias handy to use if under pressure, (always worse if Wales wins), such as “Jimmy Tomintoul from Orkney. Presently working on oil rigs all over the world”. That should keep you safe and never to be located in future. Be early. The atmosphere will be electric. Learn all the words to ‘Delilah’. Talk to your neighbours. Topics must include which positions have been decided on and which have not. Also, what a lovely girl Katherine Jenkins is. Do not mention The World Cup. Or Cards of any colour or any description.

You will need a clean hanky for the Anthems. Do not be surprised at the Welsh spectators singing Flower of Scotland, it will almost be as loud as the Welsh Anthem. You will never hear it sung like this except at Murrayfield. Welsh singers never waste a good song. And, they believe both anthems have to be heard in Heaven, as well as Galashiels and Tonypandy.

Afterwards, high teas are hard to find, teas in Wales are generally quite low. Best to follow the crowd. Do not miss out.

Have a wonderful time and do not forget it does not matter who wins as long as it’s not………. !

To The Glasgow Herald

WARM IN THE WEST, COOL IN THE CAPITAL

Dear Editor,

As an outsider, from Wales, I would like to comment on the friendliness of Glasgow people (Tale of two cities, Letters,

December 15). When I first visited Glasgow last year I wondered how so many people (like everyone) I had contact with made me think, “they must know me from somewhere”.

On the other hand and a mere 50 miles away in Edinburgh where I now live, I am convinced the inhabitants have been enrolled in a mass witnessprotection programme and given clear instructions not to give anything away.

To The Scotsman

SCOTTISH RUGBY

Dear Editor,

Allan Massie writes with concern about the ‘fortunes and reputation’ of Scottish rugby and proposes finding a better way of ‘managing the transition from amateur youth to adult professional’.

I write to offer a few ways forward based on following and observing International Rugby in Wales since well before the glory days of the seventies. And, ever since.

Wales never had academies, but they did have grammar schools, with under age specific fifteens. These made a good start for developing players. Wales also has a strong sense of Welshness so far as the game was concerned, with many players having a useful working knowledge of the language. This gave them an advantage, yr hen iath (the old language) gave them useful words in Welsh to use as a secret means of communication on the field of play.

More importantly there were three other activities which were said to be highly influential in the later very successful careers of many of the household Gods (or players as the opposition might refer to them).

Firstly, in South Wales playing soccer in the street or in the local park, was the main outdoor activity. Good soccer players made better rugby players.

Secondly, most of the towns and villages had very popular Boy’s Clubs with basketball courts, dedicated coaches and a network of teams, leagues and competitions. The keen high/hand coordination, quick footwork and allround dexterity required for playing basketball was instilled in young men at a very early age and never forgotten.

Thirdly, when the Welsh team was seen to be struggling in more recent times “someone” had the inspired idea of sending the players to train with a leading modern dance company in Cardiff. Now, that was fresh thinking outside anyone’s box.

Allan Massie writes that the coach Vern Cotter cannot wave a magic wand and put things right, but he will certainly not be short of advice from others, myself included.

To The Observer SPIT SOAKED FEATHERS

Dear Editor,

There were spit soaked feathers on the breakfast table on Sunday Morning as I read Philip Inman’s article (Boomers Mania for saving leads to economic madness). Surely The Observer, as such a wellrespected newspaper, should know better? A little bit of research would have provided sound statistics regarding regular readers’ profile including average ages!

The article accused me and many, many others of my age group of being ‘in the pursuit of the holy grail of wealth’. (A mixed metaphor if ever I have read one). In addition to this crime, we were being held responsible for wanting to keep saving as they (we) move into (our) 80’s and 90’s.

How dare we? Such irresponsible behaviour! We must be ashamed of ourselves! Or are we?

For one, I am not.

It has taken me a lifetime of hard work and long hours to accumulate sufficient funds to open my bank statement without a brief prayer; I now take a taxi when I need to; I can have the lobster lunch on the menu; I can buy a new hat if I wish to even though I am not getting married – again.

I grew up in South Wales just after the War and benefitted from the Marshal Plan, Mr Beveridges’ report (as a child I thought it was about how good Ovaltine was for you, their adverts were everywhere) and Rab Butlers’ Education Act. The background to life was in black and white: there was poverty of experience and poverty of opportunity. All set against a backdrop of staunch non-conformity and left wing politics. In fact in the Rhondda Valley, being left wing was considered to be middle-of-the-road.

For me and many others there were no bicycles, no holidays, no cars, no telephones, no treats, no eating out, few new clothes. In fact, almost until I was on my way to grammar School, there were many goods which we post-war children had no knowledge. For example, books you could actually keep and did not need to take back to the library, were not available or very expensive, or still very scarce.

But at Sunday School there were tales of bushels and talents, there were stories of wise and foolish virgins. I listened, I learnt. However it would be some time before I understood the almost forbidden word, virgin. I only noticed it on little bottles of olive oil. I never asked.

However and this is, for me the most important ‘however’, there was a first class Public Library within walking distance.

I persuaded both my parents to join so that I could use their lenders tickets as well as my own. But it was still a toss-up on a wet winter’s evening between a 3d bus ride home or getting soaked while enjoying a bag of chips walking home through wet gas-lit streets.

Like many of my cohorts I worked hard all my life and well beyond retirement age. A good job meant I could provide comfort for my parents while they were still able to enjoy it, modest though their needs were. All those old-fashioned values of thrift, no waste, make do and mend, do not borrow, or, even worse do not borrow money, are still very much part of my way of life. Because of that I, and others are berated for putting something away for security, emergencies, minor operations and treats. Are we now to blame for the economic circumstances this country is in? If we had not saved previously when we could, there would be fewer sources today for the younger generation to borrow from. Then there was no provision for young people, often students with no income, to have credit cards as is the norm today.

The article included the notion that “older savers resist spending some of their pension”. That is simply because we lived through hard times, and, we were aware of even more difficult circumstances suffered by our parents’ and grandparents’ experiences.

Letter to The Royal Treorchy Male Voice Choir

CONCERT IN MURRAYFIELD

Club’s hops in Ton or Ystrad in the late 1950s.) The applause from the standing ovations that NEVER happen in Edinburgh ringing in my ears, and that triple amen forever in my heart.

That night I was reminded that the Rhondda experience continues to obliterate boundaries and any degrees of separation are instantly removed when those affected by it meet up.

So far as Treorchy Male Voice Choir is concerned the Scottish question is, will ye no come back again?

To The LETTERS Editor, Ashley Davies, The Scotsman

Scottish Soldiers

Dear Dean,

What a night! We brought friends with us who had never before heard – up close – a male voice choir going “full pelt”

We sat near the front row, dead centre. It was just as well.

Most of the audience were Edinburgh folk, dressed up and prepared for a nice concert. When the choir opened with ‘Men of Harlech’ the two front rows were almost blown backwards with the enormity of the sound. It was clear to me that they had not, previously witnessed the Power of the Force that is “The Treorchy”.

The concert continued with a delightful programme of hymns, arias, romantic tunes, folksongs and music from the shows. The applause was deafening, the compere and host for the evening, Dean Powell had to pause before making each introduction. The clapping went on and on. And on.

The choir had plenty of voice, melody and variety in their programme. Stamina too because I discovered later that a number of them had, that afternoon been singing on the Royal Mile and collecting even more cash for the Wooden Spoon charity. That reminded me of the groups of miners who sang in the streets of London during the Depression when Paul Robeson, who was appearing in the West End at that time, heard them and a deep friendship was formed between him and the people of Wales the memory of which endures to this day.

I left the event having spoken to many of the singers, (one or two I might well have danced with at Boy’s

Dear Editor,

The poignant front page photograph of Scottish soldiers in yesterday’s World War One supplement (July 8) brought to mind meeting an elderly man at my father’s funeral in Wales in 1974. Old Mr Morris as he was known in the Valley was particularly pleased to meet my husband, whom he greeted warmly as a “Scotchman”. He went on to relate his particular affection for the Scots. Like many others he had been less than honest about his age (fourteen at the time) to join up in 1914 and had found himself, with his brother soldiers in ‘dire straits’ somewhere in France not long afterwards. Surrounded by the noise of heavy bombardment, fragments of hymns being sung by others the Sergeant suddenly called out for ‘quiet!’ Everyone listened to what Old Mr Morris said was the most awful terrible noise. “What is that?” the boy soldier asked fearing the worst. “That my boy” said the sergeant is the sound of the ladies from hell. Scotch boys playing their bagpipes. Thank God they have come to save us.