IT REALLY IS A SMALL WORLD

Last month I wrote about coincidences and little did I know at the time that I can relate to comments or situations written about by three of my fellow contributors to this wonderful community magazine. Not exactly coincidences, more like similar experiences that make me comment, “It really is a small world!” Let me explain. Wyn Evans recently wrote a lovely piece about his daughter, ‘The Girl’ as he calls her, who has Downs Syndrome and is quite fiercely living her life with the attitude of ‘disability does not mean inability’. ‘The Girl’ attends Cardiff High School and takes her place among her fellow pupils as an equal and loves to take part in many physical activities, with high levels of achievement. Go (The) Girl!

I am in awe of that, and it only confirms what I have seen for myself among a couple of my friends who have Downs Syndrome and others with either physical and/or learning disabilities and their parents or helpers who do everything they can to help them lead a full a life as possible. My wife helps with a group of adults with learning and physical disabilities, Cardiff Prospects or Causeway. They meet together, at 3.00 pm every other Sunday afternoon at Albany Road Baptist Church and, they brighten our lives and are a joy to be with. It gives us a small insight into what it is like to have a family member with different disabilities and the way that they really enhance the lives of those who know and love them.

Secondly, Vince Nolan, who always manages to make me smile and, sometimes, laugh out loud, with his stories and anecdotes about people he has observed or overheard on his travels or visits to his local hostelries. It seems that we both love rugby and Guinness and I laughed at his needing to finish off the remaining cans he bought after one exploded. They say that Guinness is good for you, it really shouldn’t be trying to kill you off. Vince ended his article by saying that he was disappointed to learn that the phrase, ‘having murderous intent’, was nothing to do with camping. That reminded me of my early days in Chapel, regularly learning to sing hymns by repetition.

By Michael James

In the hymn, ‘Who Would True Valour See’, comes the line, ‘his first avowed intent, to be a pilgrim’, had me wondering, “why on earth would a pilgrim be making his vows, in a tent?” It wasn’t until many years later, singing from a hymn book, that I first realised how wrong I was. His final paragraph, about David losing his ID and is now known as Dav, had me remembering about a school mate, David Davies, being known as Dai Twice. Nothing new under the sun, eh Vince?

Finally, and this really is a coincidence. It seems that I have more in common with Sara John than just being a fellow contributor. We were both brought up in the little village of Ton Pentre, in the upper reaches of The Rhondda Valley, but did not know of each other’s existence. It really is a small world. In the February edition, Sara wrote about her first visit to the pictures (Cinema) to see The Red Shoes, in the Workmans Hall, the local Institute of the miners from the Maindy and Eastern Colliery. I used to go regularly to the ‘Works’, sometimes twice a week, if and when I could afford it, not to see the same film but because the main programme used to change twice a week. Unlike Sara, I can’t remember my first visit but one early visit I do remember was with my Mother and Father to see the 1943 version of, ‘The Phantom of the Opera’, starring Claude Rains. Not the most suitable film for a boy of about six or seven, I was scared stiff and suffered nightmares for many weeks afterwards. To this day I still don’t watch horror films!

I suspect that Sara must be much younger than I because I cannot remember her and, of course, as she is married her maiden name will have changed but our childhood memories will have been of similar places and occasions. Ton Pentre is not a large village, it’s main street is probably no longer than Albany Road but much life was packed into the surrounding terraced streets of miners cottages, although, not seemingly growing out of the steep mountain sides as drawn by Gren in his wonderful cartoons of the Welsh Valleys. Unlike many South Wales villages, Ton Pentre as nearly all on the flat floor of the steep valley between two large mountain ranges. It does not even have a

rugby team although, from my time as a young boy, up until quite recently, the local soccer team was one of the top teams in the Welsh League, often at the top, which on one memorable season, qualifi ed them to play in the early stages of the European Cup.

The long main street, with two banks, a large post offi ce, two garages/car showrooms, a mixed infants school and two junior schools, one each for the boys and the girls and a doctors surgery, was full of individual shops of various trades, not a large national retailer in sight, except for the local Co-operative Store that catered for everybody with everything that they needed, including sales of locally baked fresh bread, delivered daily on a gypsy styled horse and cart. Our milk was also delivered on a horse-drawn milk fl oat, from which I helped to deliver milk on Saturday mornings, thanks to my Uncle, the milkman, who in true Rhondda style was known as, ‘Mal the Milk’.

The street was also home to at least three pubs which were outnumbered, for the good of the population, by six Chapels, two with Welsh-speaking congregations and, two large Churches, one Anglican and the other, Church in Wales. Right up to the late 1970s these Churches and Chapels fl ourished with many of the population attending services at least twice on a Sunday and once or twice mid-week. Sadly, the congregations are much smaller now and some of the buildings have closed, while the three pubs still cater for those who wish to use them. Thinking of what we now call the hospitality sector, the little village also had three fi sh and chip shops, all within about 100 yards of each other and doing a roaring trade every day, with one even selling, ‘wet fi sh’ twice a week. Two of the traditional fi sh and chip shops are now, respectively selling Chinese and Indian meals. The third shop is still fl ourishing and has been renamed, ‘A Fish Called Rhondda’. Brilliant rebranding and, in my opinion, serving the best fi sh and chips in the Rhondda.

I am sorry to have been going on about my hometown in, what after all, is a local community magazine but, perhaps it might cause you to think about the area of Cardiff where you were brought up. We live in such a large, changed City now, with so many different local communities, what are your memories of ‘back in the day?’ I used to visit Cardiff a lot during the summer holidays as I had an aunt living in Cathays and was a young supporter of Cardiff City (I still have my original, Blue Birds, lapel badge) and worked here from 1956 until retirement in 1996 and have lived here for the last forty-fi ve years, I have many Cardiff memories. Too many to relate now, perhaps best left for another time, except perhaps, just three to fi nish with, all of which relate to the cinema.

I fi rst met the girl I was to marry, travelling together on the train from The Rhondda to Cardiff. We became friends but I was too shy to ask her out. One day, she said that she would like to see, ‘High Society’ but thought that her parents would not like her travelling home, by herself, on the last train. Seizing my opportunity, I gallantly volunteered to watch it with her, just so she would have company!! The next time I can remember was going to watch, ‘Psycho’, in the old Capital Cinema in Queen Street. It had received great publicity and all those who had seen it were asked not to say anything about the ending. You may remember that I mentioned earlier that I don’t like watching horror fi lms, well we decided to go to see this and yes, it lived up to its publicity. I ‘manned up’ as they say but my girlfriend was so shocked by it all, her nervous shaking had the whole row rocking with people moving about in their seats and I was asked to try to keep her quiet. The third memory was attending a world-wide premiere of ‘The Bridge on the River Kwai’, a truly epic fi lm but which started at midnight. I had to stay overnight at a friend’s house in Canton as we had to be at work the next morning. A great experience and well worth every penny.

I know that I ramble on but having been fortunate to live a long life I have so many memories that something will just trigger them off. Perhaps some of my thoughts and those of my fellow writers for Cardiff Times will jog your memories of happier times that will give us hope of creating more in the future. To quote a commentator on the CNN TV network as he ends his late-night programme, “May your memories be a Blessing”.

Wishing you a Happy Easter and may God keep you safe and well.