Might Have Been Team

Although Alf Francis' book Racing Mechanic 1948-58 is generally considered to be one of the classics of Motor Racing literature, the Polish born spannerman himself is a figure of some controversy. To many he is one of the great characters of post-war racing, an intuitive engineer and someone whose hard work and determination kept the Rob Walker team on the road. For others he was "a mechanic with ambitions above his station" whose lash-ups were responsible for Moss's career ending 1962 crash.

In any case by the mid-60s Alf had removed himself to Modena where he went into partnership with Italian transmission specialist Valerio Colotti. For the 1965 season Ecurie Alf Francis purchased the old BRP transporter and two Cooper T72's with the intention of competing in the recently revived Formula 2 category. With Colotti transmission and an Alfa Romeo engine developed by Giancarlo Rebecchi, it was announced that the cars would be driven by Innes Ireland, Jo Siffert and a young Frenchman, Bernard Plaisance.

Innes and Siffert were listed to compete at the Oulton Park Spring Trophy meeting in early April but the cars failed to appear. This was to be the story for the rest of the year, non-attendance, non-qualification and just a couple of starts for Siffert and Plaisance. A 10th place for Seppi in the Pergusa Grand Prix, a circuit where a week later the Swiss driver would beat Clark in a closely fought Formula One race, was the only finish that Alf's team could manage.

Innes Ireland never got to turn a wheel in anger in the revived Formula 2 races of the mid and late Sixties. Alf Francis had flourished in the buccaneering 1950s but in the more technical atmosphere of the 1960s his time had passed.

"He will let his bleeding heart run away with his bloody head!"

George Lansbury (1859-1940) MP for Bow and Bromley was the leader of the Labour Party between 1932 and 1935 and like Nye Bevan - although see below - his maternal roots are to be found in Radnorshire.

In Lansbury's case his mother Mary Ann Ferries was born and raised in a cottage called Dolly Dingle in the parish of Clyro, the daughter of a Gloucestershire born mole catcher Moses and his locally born wife Catherine Jenkins. The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography is wrong, by the way, to think that Mary Ann's father was called James. Perhaps the variant spellings of the surname in various records, Ferris and Ferriers as well as Ferries, has confused searchers.

Lansbury was the grandfather of actress Angela Lansbury and also of the animator Oliver Postgate, creator of the Clangers ( see photo)

Footnote I believe it was the Michael Foot biography which claimed that Aneurin Bevan's English speaking mother Phoebe Protheroe came from Radnorshire. In reality she was born in Tredegar. Her blacksmith father did however come from that part of the parish of Glasbury that lay south of the river Wye. Up until 1832 this was indeed part of Radnorshire, although after that date it was transferred to Breconshire. As Phoebe's father was born around 1818, he at least was a Radnorian.

"As black a traitor as if he had been born in Builth"

Let me hasten to explain that it was the Victorian novelist Mrs Gaskell and not myself who slandered the good folk of Builth with the quotation that heads this post.

In any case let us rescue another son of Radnorshire from any association, however unfair, with Bradwyr Buellt. According to wikipedia David Milwyn Duggan (pictured), leader of the Conservative Party of Alberta and mayor of the city of Edmonton was born in Builth in 1879. In actual fact Duggan was born and raised at Hundred House Mill, in the parish of Llansantffraid yn Elfael, Radnorshire.

Caesar Jenkyns

I suppose it's understandable that the little Breconshire town of Builth Wells would want to claim former Wesh soccer International and captain of Woolwich Arsenal Caesar Augustus Llewellyn Jenkyns as one of their own, but is it true?

The census returns tell a different story, as this son of a policeman in the old Radnorshire Constabulary seems actually to have been born in the village of Boughrood, which is, of course, on the correct side of the river Wye.

By the way if you think Caesar Augustus was an unusual name, his younger, Cwmteuddwr born brother, was called Plato.

Sin and Other Matters

The Rhayader boy who supposedly disappeared into thin air is a reminder of an Australian version of the tale which was the inspiration for Picnic at Hanging Rock. The film, of course, starred Llanelli Baptist minister's daughter Rachel Roberts. There's a recent post about Rachel on that interesting Cardiff blog Babylon Wales, read it here.

Anyway here's the local connection: back in the late 1940s, while she was attending Aberystwyth University, Rachel shared a house in Borth with, amongst others, a fellow student, Llanafan born poet, T Harri Jones. Someone really should make a film about that seaside house. Rachel's sexual and chemical excesses were such that the Swinging Sixties really took off in Borth in the 1940's.

The Strange Case of Oliver Thomas

I remember reading about this in some pot-boiler back in the 60s and it's interesting to see that it's still being pedalled around the internet. Briefly the story goes as follows:

On Christmas Eve, 1909, an 11-year-old lad called Oliver Thomas of Rhayader went outside to fetch water from the well. His family heard him screaming for help but when they went to look for him he could not be found, although his footprints in the snow could be seen ending halfway to the well. In a nice twist the boy continued to be heard sobbing for a number of days, although he had disappeared, without trace, into thin air.

It seems that this story is a version of another tall tale, the disappearance of Oliver Larch. I guess if you are going to concoct a story of the supernatural it's best to set it somewhere slightly weird and out of the way, no doubt Rhayader fitted the bill admirably.

Sir Chicken

Innes Ireland gets a mention in today's Sunday Times interview with Jackie Stewart:

"The attitude of some drivers was even more curious. Innes Ireland, the first Scot to win an F1 grand prix, regarded Stewart as a “chicken”. The Belgian driver Jacky Ickx was another opposed to change. “Innes was a real brave guy,” Stewart recalls. “He’d had some terrible accidents and survived, but I think he regarded it as part of the culture. Jacky didn’t much like the ideal either . . . he wanted to uphold the purity of it."

As it happens Innes had a very high opinion of Stewart's ability as a racing driver, better than Clark and the nearest thing to Moss amongst all those that he had raced against. Jackie, of course, epitomised the new businesslike attitude to motor sport which Innes detested; Ireland tells the tale of a young compatriot, new to Formula One, who invites him out to dinner in order to ask his advice. Innes is flattered, only to find that the advice sought is not about racing but about contracts, sponsorship and the like.

Ireland's views on safety were pretty antediluvian, even for the 1960s, for example he described safety belts as hysterical and mocked the fact that Jackie had his blood-group stiched into his underpants. About one thing Innes was surely correct and that was the fact that so much of the culture, the mystique of Grand Prix racing was based on danger and death. Even in 2007 it is this romanticising of death which permeates the interview with Stewart.

Frank O'Boyle

Back in the late 1930s Frank O’Boyle must have been the leading racing driver in the Irish Free State, his Alta Voiturette competing against the likes of Bira, Mays, de Graffenreid and Villoresi. O’Boyle’s car was maintained by the Evans family’s Bellevue Garage in London but Frank never once accompanied the machine when it was sent to and fro across the Irish sea; that task usually falling to Bellevue’s chief mechanic, the legendary Wilkie Wilkinson. The reasons for O’Boyle’s reluctance to leave Ireland have been hinted at, some trouble with the English authorities that may have occasioned a spell in jail. Here‘s some more detail.

O’Boyle was born around the end of the 1890s but by the summer of 1920, it seems, he was already the owner of a garage in County Tyrone. In September of that year he took part in a payroll ambush in which a driver, William McDowell was shot dead. The raiders getting away with the not inconsiderable sum of £1300. O’Boyle and two companions were soon arrested and after a jury trial failed to reach a verdict they were sentenced to life imprisonment by a military court martial.

One night in May 1927 O’Boyle, together with his companions from the payroll robbery, overpowered two prison guards at Belfast’s Crumlin Road jail, making their escape in a waiting motor car which was driven at great speed through the early morning Belfast streets. By 1929 Frank O’Boyle had been re-arrested by the authorities in the Free State for extradition back to the North. Dublin’s High Court disagreed and decided that it was unconstitutional to return a man who had been sentenced by a military tribunal, O’Boyle was free as long, of course, as he did not set foot on British soil.

What became of O’Boyle I don't know, he must have been well respected by the Irish motor racing crowd, a Frank O’Boyle Trophy race was held at the Curragh after the war, Stirling Moss even won it in 1951. The Alta was at the Bellevue Garage when war was declared in 1939 and could not be returned to Ireland, it was eventually sold back to the company for £250. Was O’Boyle a member of the IRA? He certainly claimed he was a political prisoner, although the British courts insisted he was a common criminal.

Taffy was a ...... well an Englishman actually

I've blogged rather a lot about that talented young Welsh Grand Prix driver of the early sixties, Jack Lewis. Now a Motor Sport interview with the man himself confirms what some of us have long suspected, Jack isn't Welsh. It seems that a Welsh surname and the promise of sponsorship from a Welsh firm - it never arrived - prompted the Ecurie Gallois renaming of Jack's H&L Motors team. Still, the sight of Jack's red dragon emblazoned BRM will always be a part of Grand Prix history.

Son of the Salt

This rather wonderful cigarette card shows Ab Jenkins' Mormon Meteor record breaker out on Utah's Bonneville Salt Flats. As well as breaking more world records than any other man in the history of sport David Abbot Jenkins - his father was from Merthyr Tydfil and his mother from Pembrokeshire - was also mayor of Salt Lake City.

Read some more about him here.

Silly Beggars

It seems that the Beguildy Community Council have recently rejected a request from Powys County Council that they should use the correct spelling, Bugeildy. Now this is an old argument. Back in the 1950s a local farmer, a Mr Harris, refused to sell a piece of land for a new school to the Radnorshire Education Committee because the Committee insisted that the new school should be called Bugeildy. Mr Harris was adamant that it should be Beguildy. In the end, the Education Committee backed down and Beguildy the school remains to this day.

Of course Bugeildy - the house of the shepherd - is the correct form and was written down as such as long ago as 1291. Bugeildy was used by Ieuan ap Hywel Swrdwal in his marvellous description of Bryndraenog and this is the word used in the old rhyme proclaiming the district as the best place in Wales for wool:

O Bont y Clas i Fwlch Bugeildy
Yno mae'r gwlân gorau yng Nghymru.

Of course Beguildy also has its literary associations, in the novel Precious Bane for example by Mary Webb - real name Gladys Mary Meredith.

The best solution would be to let people use whichever form they prefer and if Beguildy Community Council want to carry on using their meaningless spelling mistake, well good luck to them. Radnorian will continue to use Bugeildy.

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 42

This is a rather over the top praise poem by Lewis Glyn Cothi addressed to Dafydd Goch ap Hywel ab Einion of St Harmon, there are some interesting references to grazing lands in North West Radnorshire though.

No 190, Praise of Dafydd Goch ap Hywel

Good day to the bravest unto Rouen
The stout chieftain of Garmon's land,
Dafydd Goch, perhaps he is better
Than any man, or a hundred times better;
A Beuno of Hywel ab Einion,
Cast on his fair brow and talent;
Hywel's Gradifael of a hundred summers,
The root and great grandson of Adam.

Dafydd is the strongest man,
The richest, most generous stag.
From the thirding of Gwerthrynion,
His third is like the land of Non.
He loves a hundred feasts and to stock
The earth with his young beasts.
His cattle were upon Blaen Marchdeg,
Colouring it with their multitude;
Some on Blaen Gwy, with more to come,
Others upon the soil of Hirddywel;
A thousand colouring the hilltops,
Three thousand about St Harmon.

The cheeriest goodman of the council,
To his world he's like old Bedwyr.
He'll do, he's so gentle,
What Isaac and Esau would do;
Circling the greenwood for the deer,
Loving the staghounds raising the deer,
Charging to fair Nant Hyddgant,
Watching the ford for a chase;
Yonder is Dafydd coming home,
Calling his bard to have his reward;
Settling before me an endless feast,
A whorl of money in the palm of my hand.
In his home Weobley beer is my portion, and venison.
If every man was a suitor for ten lands,
If every mere man was a bard,
From his generosity, he'd have a gift
From the land of Garmon, three times too much.

His feasts, Dafydd had two thousand,
Were greater than the shoots of the forest:
Gentleness, the fairness of the father,
The mildness of his two grandfathers,
The courage of Lancelot and his bravery,
The strength of old Arthur and his height.
He holds, in a southern land,
The power of five giants in every finger,
The power of two great oaks, of twelve,
The power of nine from the land of fair Garmon.
Dafydd has been given Adam's form,
Given a better countenance, given the hand of Nudd,
And a serpent's fist to be turned into a seal,
And the claw of a man of war.

The best of a man is his face,
A man who knows dislike of no-one,
A wealthy, liberal man,
A man whose gold is as much as the river pebbles.
I have the silver of this man,
I share the gold of the same man,
I have the silver coins he wears,
Gold of the same kind upon the grandson of Einion.

Radnorshire Pop

There's currently an exhibition in Cardiff of record covers from Cambrian Recordings Limited, the Pontardawe firm who produced Welsh Language pop in the 60s and early 70s. Seemingly it is kitsch. I wonder if the show includes this 1971 EP from Radnorshire songstress Maralene Powell?

Femmes Pilotes de Courses Auto

Any book which mentions Sterling Moss has to be treated with caution on the factual front and yes this book has more than its fair share of errors.

Rita Don, for example, was not Freddie Dixon's sister, her brother was infact Kaye Don, who the author includes in his list of female racers! At the same time how many books even mention Rita Don and where else are you likely to find a photograph of this 1930s Brooklands girl?

This is not a work of scholarship, perhaps there is too much about the Monte Carlo rally and the Paris-Saint-Raphael-Feminin, and not enough about Le Mans. What the book does have are the glorious photographs and they make the book well worth purchasing.

Pictured are eight Brooklands racers who competed in the Duchess of York race at Brooklands in 1932. The author names from left to right: Eileen Ellison, the Australian Joan Richmond, then three unidentified girls, then Victoria Worsley, Kay Petrie and Bill Wisdom. Anyone care to put a name to the three not named?

New Innes Ireland Book in the Pipeline

I mentioned a couple of posts below that there was a whisper that a collection of Innes Ireland's journalism might be in line for publication. Author Ed McDonough has just confirmed in a guestbook posting on my Innes website that he is currently editing just such a book at the request of Innes's widow Jean. What a wonderful idea, I do hope that this comes to fruition.

One of Our Most Charming Favourites of the Stage

Two things we can say with certainty about Eleanor Bufton (1842-1893) was that she was one of the leading actresses of the Victorian period and that she came from Radnorshire.

The Dictionary of National Biography, she was well enough known to be listed in that august work, has it that she was born in Llanbister in 1842, the illegitimate daughter of an illiterate mother, one Mary Bufton. I'm not so sure. The 1881 census lists her husband Arthur Swanborough, actor-manager of the Strand theatre and his mother-in-law, an Esther Bufton who was born in Knill around 1812. Eleanor was away from home in Liverpool and her birthplace looks for all the world like Evenjobb. The 1871 census confirms that mother and daughter were born in Radnorshire. Eleanor had married Arthur Swanborough, his real name was Smith, in 1860 and the pair are listed under that surname in the 1861 census, again mother Esther is living with her daughter. Miss Bufton's age varies quite widely in these records, in 1861 she was 26, by 1871 she had aged a mere three years and was 29, while by 1881 she was 41, when she died in 1893 her age is given as 58, all of which suggests to me that she was born around 1835.

In 1871 Eleanor Bufton hit the headlines when she was involved in a minor railway accident which left her cut about the head and bruised. She successfully sued the Metropolitan Railway Company, her acting ability perhaps proved by the jury's award of £1600 in damages. In 1880 Miss Bufton was again on the front pages when she was the victim of an outrageous attack while walking home from the theatre. The perpetrator was never found, perhaps it was a shareholder of the Railway Company.

There are some photographs of Eleanor and her daughters Vere and Gussie here.

Book of the Month

There aren't that many books about women racing drivers, Sammy Davis's Atalanta and John Bullock's Fast Women spring to mind, so this French offering - with 450 photographs and new information promised on characters such as Violette Morris and Lucy O'Reilly Schell - is very welcome.

Dorothy Levitt

A couple of weeks back I posted about a 1904 motor sport event that crossed the border into Radnorshire, a time when the car was still a pretty rare sight in Mid Wales, there being just 33 cars registered in the county by January 1905. Anyway it seems that a BBC programme called the One Show recently had a piece about female competitor Dorothy Levitt, it appears that she is something of a mystery and they can't find anything in the public record. Here's a clue, her real name was Elizabeth Levi, daughter of Jacob Levi, a tea dealer and his wife Julia - Jacob later changed his name to John Levitt.

New Edition of Marathon in the Dust

Well this one passed me by. It seems that Mercian Manuals published Innes Ireland's Marathon in the Dust last April, a follow-up to their edition of All Arms and Elbows. I hear a whisper that a collection of Innes's journalism for Road and Track may be in the pipeline.

Anyway here's the publisher's blurb for Marathon:

This is the story of three men in a car; their journey took them from London, England to Sydney, Australia, a distance of some 11,000 miles. But this is no ordinary travelogue, for it was no ordinary journey; the 7,500 miles to Bombay were covered in 7 days and the 3,500 miles across Australia in a further 3 and half days. The three men, Michael Taylor, Andrew Hedges and the author, Innes Ireland, were competitors in the Daily Express London to Sydney Marathon, an event that will go down in the annals of motoring history to rank with the Paris-Madrid and the Peking-Paris races held at the beginning of the century which marked the birth of motoring sport. Written with verve and gusto Marathon in the Dust vividly reflects the adventures of this astonishing journey which include being stoned by political agitators in Pakistan, a breakdown in the Australian desert which left them stranded for a day and a night without food or water, and their personal triumph in winning the Private Entrants award at Bombay. It also reflects the humour, companionship and team spirit that existed between the three men bound by a common adventure. The story moves at a pace in time with the event, but through it all the author manages to impart a remarkable impression of his inner thoughts and conflicts.

Takes the Biscuit

Perhaps the earliest motor sport event to take place in Radnorshire occurred on 4th September 1904, when the Automobile Club's 1000 mile small car trial briefly entered the county from Titley, travelling via Walton back to Kington. The week long event centred on Hereford attracted the leading motor manufacturers of the day, with three gold stars being awarded to the Wolseley, Siddeley and Swift Motor Companies.

A noteworthy competitor was the only female entrant, 24 year old Dorothy Levitt, driving for De Dion Bouton. Mechanical problems on the final day did not prevent the De Dion company from being awarded a silver medal. Miss Levitt was accompanied by her rather ill-tempered black Pomeranian dog throughout her fine drive, the topic of much cruel humour on the part of her fellow drivers. Dorothy had the last laugh however, for although as a woman she was NOT invited to any of the evening functions, she did ensure that one such event was interrupted for the presentation of a small gift from Miss Levitt to each of her fellow competitors ....... a bag of dog biscuits.

As well as De Dion Bouton, silver medals were also won by Humber and Allday & Onions. Bronze medals went to Speedwell, Brown Brothers, Star, Jarrott & Letts, Holland Park and Garner & Co.

Good Old Radnor Days

A newspaper report from 1879

Welsh on the March

Which was the last county in England to have indigenous native speakers of a Celtic language? I guess most people would say Cornwall but infact Herefordshire and Shropshire are more certain candidates.

The last speaker of Herefordshire Welsh is said to have died in the parish of Clodock in 1883, although Ffransis Payne maintains that five or six native speakers lived on into the twentieth century in the Golden Valley. In 1878 the statistician E G Ravenstein found that the Shropshire parish of Sychtyn was overwhelmingly Welsh speaking, as was the western half of Llanyblodwel, with substantial numbers also found in Selattyn. Looking at the 1901 Census for the neighbouring Denbighshire parish of Llansilin it is apparent that the great majority of those born in the Shropshire parishes noted above and also in Oswestry itself are listed as Welsh speakers. The Welsh language must have survived well into the twentieth century in these "English" districts.

What I find interesting about this is the complete lack of interest in this survival of the Welsh language in Shropshire and Herefordshire. The topic does not seem to excite those interested in the history of either county. Why on earth is it that such an important part of each county's heritage is ignored? Do local historians in the two counties perhaps have some psychological hang-up about the subject?

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 41

This ode by Lewis Glyn Cothi is addressed to Morgan ap Hywel of Croescynon, Llanbister.

No 160 Praise to Morgan ap Hywel

To you talisman of Llanbister through the three quarters
Of the world, be good health and a long life;
Your land which shall be tripartite,
will come to you in part.

Morgan, a man who shares, with a crested iron helmet,
The son of Hywel son of Philip,
Morgan the unbesmirched vineyard,
Who buys Burgundy wine by the pipe.

Tuns, pipes, with every finger
The soldier of Brwynllys gives;
A Tristan over part of the dominion,
A shield from Elystan's court.

Your gold, from the fair court, the bards' berries,
Son of the Wrist of Cymaron;
You gave the goods of this earth,
To minstrels as numerous as green trunks.

As the squirrel heads for the green trunks,
So we, the ten grades, to your hall, where there is praise;
By Mary and Egwad! I'll come to you,
Like the trout to the fishing line.

You bought from me a cywydd deuair,
Just as you would buy cattle at the market of St Mary's feast;
The man from the north who sells two heifers,
He knows the road to the fair.

Here I have a road to your house for my convenience,
A by-way is bad to a great fair;
A main road, a straight road is made to your hall,
Every course of worked stone fills my hand.

Twice as wide as the circulation of every groat,
The circulation of your chaired song;
Two courts, two lands were one word, for your father,
You'll rule two townships, two lands, three!

Morgan, your face will never be slandered,
Your spear, your breastplate, have been praised,
Your drove horses are fed on oats, in warfare
Your arms shine like dishes.

Your men wear steel, they are like haymakers,
Your stallions wear steel, your honour demands it,
And steel you've worn for your praise in Wales,
Your steel you'll wear down to the legs.

You turn above the perjures,
The turn of a wheel on a cart in springtime;
The turn of the harvest moon across the stars,
Like an eagle turning above the hens.

A just spear and sword,
That strike in battle to bring order;
Place a collar or two on petty squabbles,
Be a fetter upon the war host.

he'll not go for long without my laughter,
Morgan, I am nothing without you to praise;
By Christ, I'll not let you, by the relics,
be forgotten, not even one word from ten.

Anglesey, Man and Lundy will talk
Of your generosity and of your praise;
My tongue spills praise, a measured mass,
To you the apostle Paul of Llanbister.

Bogged Down?

Back in the big freeze of 1963 Innes Ireland imported a VW engined Swedish Snow-Trac, which he proceeded to use taking supplies to remote farms in the Scottish borders. Ireland was so impressed - he called it the world's greatest sporting machine, despite it having a top speed of only 16mph - that he became the vehicle's UK agent. The picture shows Innes demonstrating the Snow-Trac to an American journalist.

Down the Hatch

The past, they say, is a different country and the contrast between today's binge drinking culture and the Wales of the November 1961 vote on Sunday opening of the pubs surely bears that out.

The vote in favour of opening in Radnorshire came as a surprise to the mainly chapel led opposition to Sunday drinking - the county had been expected to vote against. On a turnout of 55% the 4205 "for" votes won the day with 58% of the ballots cast. Breconshire, too, fell to the pro-drink lobby 53% to 47% with a similar breakdown of the vote but this time in favour of the antis seeing Montgomeryshire continue as a "dry" county for another seven years.

In hindsight the continuing strength of the traditional chapel vote throughout Wales is remarkable. The vote was seen as being about the "Welshness" associated with nineteenth century non-conformity - the cosmopolitan cities of the south showing least interest, while in the Welsh-speaking heartland of Merioneth less than a quarter of the voters supported modernity and the "wets". At the same time it is wrong to think that all those supporting Sunday closing did so for the same reasons. Clubs were in any case unaffected by the ban and no doubt some of their members feared the loss of revenue which would result from the pubs being allowed to compete. Another group against Sunday opening, although they had to be careful not to do so openly, were those tenant landlords and their families who resented the fact that they were to lose their only day of rest during the week.

Howey Man's Story of Zulu King's Capture

Click to enlarge

Victorian Radnorshire

Victorian Radnorshire, Chartists, Rebecca Rioters, evictions, lawlessness associated with the fisheries, the workhouse, the emigrations in the wake of agricultural depression, the links with the coalfield - none of this gets much of a look-in with Llandrindod's somewhat middle-class, somewhat English Victorian festival. Here's a glimpse of that other Radnorshire from the 1891 census, just click on the image to enlarge.

Book of the Month

With hundreds of photographs and illustrations of Radnorshire pubs, past and present, this 358 page book from Logaston Press is good value for money at £12.95. A must buy for students of Radnorshire history, family history researchers will also almost certainly find something of interest here. For example one familiar photograph shows a rather cheerful gentleman who happens to have been my paternal grandfather, another photograph shows the long forgotten Clywedog Arms in Gwystre, home of my maternal great grandfather. I'm sure that most with Radnorshire connections will find similar items of interest in the pages of this excellent and fact filled book.

Buggered Up

The mention of Howey in the previous post reminds me that there was a time when the postal address for Llandrindod was near Howey. Of course Llandrindod forged ahead, especially when the owners of the new hotels in the town insisted that no railway halt be provided for the village. It seems they wanted to put a stop to the long-standing practice of visitors taking lodgings in the locality. At least that is the tale told in Howey, where the inhabitants took comfort in the following little rhyme:

Howey was Howey when Llandrindod was a pup.
Howey will be Howey when Llandrindod's buggered up.

By all accounts this prophesy has now come to pass.

Howey Choir c1912

There's no better book on Radnorshire than Ffransis Payne's two volume travel book Crwydro Sir Faesyfed. The inhabitants of Howey might not agree, however, with his dismissive comment about their village: Fel y dywedais yn barod yr oedd y lle hwn yn adnabyddus am ei gôr meibion hanner canrif yn ôl, am a wn i nid yw'n adnabyddus am ddim heddiw - "As I said before this place was well known for its male voice choir half a century ago, as far as I know it's famous for nothing today."

Well Mr Payne was wrong on one count at least as the choir in question was mixed rather than male voice. Here is a picture dating back to perhaps 1912, and in order to placate any wounded spirits perhaps we should try to put a name to as many of these faces from the past as we can.

Back Row standing (left to right): Stan Jones, Bill Lloyd, a Mr Tidman, George Thomas, Sid Thomas, a Mr Smout, David Charles Jones, Les Brick. Middle Row seated (left to right): Nelly Thomas, Ada Jones, Ida Webb, Veenie Jones, Phillip Gough, Nelly Cadwallader. With the cup: (?) and (?). Kneeling (left to right): Anne Jones, Dolly Jones, Katie Hughes. Any corrections or additions welcomed.

Fred Melenydd Roberts

This young fellow doesn't look particularly happy about things, although he was an heir to a great musical tradition - y delyn deir-res or triple harp. It's well known that the triple harp tradition was kept alive by members of the Romany clan, the Woods, at a time when a combination of Methodism and the fashion for pedal harps had all but driven the instrument out of the cultural mainstream.

Llandrindod Wells with its thousands of visitors was a lucrative market for the triple harp players and young Fred - a great great great grandson of Abram Wood, the clan patriarch - was the son of the harp player John Lewis Roberts (1853-1928), himself a son of the leading player of the nineteenth century, John Roberts, Alaw Elwy (1816-1894). Fred's uncles also played in the town, you can read about the Roberts family here.

At the time of the 1901 Census young Fred and family were living at Bank Cottage in Builth moving to Oak Cottage, Llanyre in 1902. Fred's mother Eliza Davies was from Llanbister and his grandmother Eleanor, who was born in Rhayader, was the daughter of another famous harpist Jerri Bach Gogerddan (1778-1867).

London Gazette

The London Gazette is a good source for filling in the biographical gaps for some of the more obscure pre-war racers. The Welsh-born Brooklands driver Philip Turner is a good example, the Gazette records his change of surname in 1919, the collapse of his business in 1935 and his death in Brighton on 30th March 1949. Irene Schwedler, her real name was Ilse, was a well-known competitor before the war who seems to have disappeared without a trace as far as the motor-sport world is concerned. What happened to her? The Gazette shows a change of name to Sadler in 1947.

Another good thing about the Gazette, you can check which of your neighbours has ended up in the bankruptcy courts.

Silver John

Silver John is dead and gone
So they came home a-singing.
Radnor boys pulled out his eyes
And set the bells a-ringing

According to W. H. Howse in his book Radnorshire this little ditty was sure to provoke trouble if recited in the presence of a New Radnor man, commemorating as it does the murder of the charmer and bone-setter Silver John by a gang from the village in the late eighteenth century.

According to this site Silver John was a member of the Lloyd family of bone-setters and the deed was done in 1830. Meic Stephens, a descendant of the Lloyds, in his Oxford Companion to Welsh Literature agrees that Silver John was John Lloyd and tentatively dates him as living between 1740-1814.

The records of the Court of Great Sessions have a different tale to tell. Here Silver John is named as John Jones of the parish of Llanfihangel Rhyd Ieithon. Now there is no reason at all, given the longevity of the Welsh patronymic system, why a John Lloyd should not also be known as John Jones. The murder however is dated to 12th December 1773, the body not being found until the following April.

Jones was described as an idle drunken person, who had been very troublesome on the night of the murder and had to be dragged out of the house of Edward Breese, a New Radnor carpenter. Others indicted with Breese were David Bedward, know as Edwards, also a carpenter; Margaret Herbert (alias Morgan); Jacob Holl, butcher; William Holl; John Meredith, labourer; and Alice Price (alias Phillips). The verdict "No True Bill" - no case to answer.

You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows

Time was we blamed bad weather on the wrath of the gods and placated them by sacrificing a virgin or some such. Nowadays we blame bad weather on the new god of global warming and are asked to sacrifice ….well, our cars.

According to the Independent; “It's official: the heavier rainfall in Britain is being caused by climate change, a major new scientific study will reveal this week, as the country reels from summer downpours of unprecedented ferocity. More intense rainstorms across parts of the northern hemisphere are being generated by man-made global warming, the study has established for the first time ­ an effect which has long been predicted but never before proved.”

Well done the scientists, although it took them long enough. After all the UK record for rain in an hour was set as long ago as 12th July 1901 in Maidenhead, 3.6 inches. Most rain in a day, Dorset, 18th July 1955, 11 inches. Funny how July keeps popping up in these records. Reminds me of the great Howey flood of 9th July 1853.

Anyway thank heavens the scientists have finally worked out the reason for all these unprecedented downpours, I’m off outside to slaughter the Metro.

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 40

Here is another praise poem to Philip ap Rhys and Gwenllian of Cenarth, St Harmon. Ffransis Payne considered it the best of the poems composed for the family. It is the only surviving work by the bard Ieuan Gyfannedd.

Praise of Philip ap Rhys and Gwenllian vz Owain Glyndwr (IG)

Philip, a generous royal stock,
Ap Rhys, there‘s mention of you,
Lover of our song;
And much, too, of Gwenllian;
Honour to you and this goddess,
Famed Arthur of Gwerthrynion.

You dwell in the house of fame,
You and the girl from Glyn;
You are firmly seated
On the bench of the men of estate;
Loyally the bards, all who would cultivate
Your land, would not leave its support
In summer or in winter,
God’s blessing on your house.

I’ve composed a wide acre of praise
In the borderlands, it’s honourable;
Like an agreement for joint-ploughing,
I refer to you in furrows of harmonious praise.
The datgeiniaid have sung, have harrowed,
Have dug over an acre of song.

It has been sown a hundred times
With the blessings of the weak.
Chieftain of our land, your praise was ever
A fresh shoot, like that of Rhys,
It has been sown, like the seed corn
From the wheat, the world’s blessing.
Your dominion is more than a saint’s,
The land has been sown with a chaired poem
In your praise, Mary’s blessing upon you;
The world has been sown, unto the grave,
With songs to the girl from Gwynedd.

This tall house in the hill’s fold
Is the wheat store of blessings;
You are the best of men, with a fair wife
And a house for every charity;
Your hall has been stitched
With good poetry, your delight;
The carpenters of praise measure their trunks
By a man’s goodness, not with greenwood;
Today, Rhydderch’s nephew, is lifted up
By the work of carpenters of love,
And on high, the belfry of their praise
Will be ready by morning.

A long life to you and the girl from Gwynedd,
To give there in mead and song.
A long life was given to Moses,
Old Noah lived to a great age,
You and Gwenllian will grow old
In the land of fame, in the hill’s fold.

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 39

Philip ap Rhys of Cenarth, St Harmon was the son-in-law of Owain Glyndwr. After Maredudd, Owain's son received a pardon from Henry V in 1421 it seems that Philip refused to surrender and continued the war against the English. In this poem the bard Llawdden praises Philip, still at large in the woods of Arwystl.

Praise of Philip ap Rhys of Cenarth (10)

I’d love to go with a fine poem,
Merlin’s gift, to where great fame is found,
Dear Philip, form of a stag
The lover of this southern land.
The stag of Rhys loves to give
Gold and a steed, in maintenance,
A lord from Philip Fychan, a true support
A Bendigeidfran of provision.
More than anyone he’s our life,
The face of Arthur for Gwerthrynion,
Another Ieuan Llwyd, lord of Glyn Aeron,
On to victory, chieftain!
Proof of the spirit of the nobility
Is found with this heir and his mead,
The wood in the apple-tree then
That causes its branch to sprout on high.
Philip ap Rhys is a tree from
The highest bud of the Isle of Honey,
The fine customs of a baron,
Generous God bestow on him,
The generosity of Einiawn’s race,
The face of a Goodman with the fairest look.
Majesty was given to my eagle,
The manner of a falcon amongst the goodmen,
A fine sight on a stallion, without ugliness,
Princely, God’s salvation for him!

There’s a longing amongst his nation
For the fair governance of Cynan’s grandchild.
In our land none but the birds and
The woodland branches care for him,
No minstrel, we who once made merry,
None can be found to salute him.
A fine journey awaits me, for love of him,
By the three months of summer,
I’ll cross yonder Pumlumon
With poems as gifts for him;
By my faith, how distant the respected one,
I’ll meet with my swan.

Jesus, I have a great longing,
He was in his beloved land,
A generous ruler, tall son of a chieftain,
When he left, a hunting ground.
Give him, powerful ruler,
A blow like Owain ab Urien;
In his story he succeeds,
Like the man on the Llychwr shore.
Old and fitting was the one who made,
A long campaign, a fine outlawdom,
Until he had justice and land and houses
From on high, he did not make peace.
After the nobleman’s son fled,
Philip is the equal of the Goodman:
He has rejected unjust rule,
And calls for victory,
Until which he dwells where he wishes,
Free like one of the stags.

As long as there is a fine mead feast
In the bright lands of Arwystl,
Swiftly to our land from Powys
A fair chieftain will come.
Where the houses and haunts of the father are found,
And the cultivated land of the great grandfather,
There one as old as Rhys’s son will dwell,
There he’ll deign to be by Christmas,
Let a long lifetime of fame and affection
Be given to the nephew of Rhydderch!

Book of the Month

After Lewis Glyn Cothi the bard Llawdden was perhaps the most prolific of the Fifteenth Century poets writing to patrons in and around Radnorshire. At least half the poems in this newly published book in the University of Wales's Centre for Advanced Welsh and Celtic Studies' series Beirdd yr Uchelwyr have a Radnorshire interest. As usual the book is full of genealogical and historical interest for students of local history with copious notes on every poem.

It seems that Llawdden retired to farm in the parish of Cefnllys and what was to become Radnorshire was certainly his main area of bardic activity. Of particular interest are the five poems to the family of Phylib ap Rhys of Cenarth, St Harmon, poems to patrons at Croescynon and Garddfaelog in Llanbister, a fine obituary to Elen Gethin of Hergest and poems to patrons in what is now Herefordshire

What's in a Name?

Some of the old mechanics, who were around in the late 50s when Ireland first started to make a name for himself in the world of Motor Sport, still call him McGregor, rather than Innes. Why so? Well the answer is that this was the name that Innes himself used at that time. Here's an example from the 1958 Telephone Directory, where Ireland is described as a Sports Car Builder, his previous Rolls Royce repair business at the same address having closed as his interest turned to sport.

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 38

This is a translation of a cywydd by Lewis Glyn Cothi in praise of the Sion and Hywel, two sons of Ieuan Coch. Lewis composed a number of praise poems to members of this family living in various parishes in Elfael Uwch Mynydd

No 155, Praise to the two sons of Ieuan Coch

Two generous men in fair Elfael,
Two braves, two oaks,
Two good sons and heirs
Of Ieuan Coch, a generous chieftain,
Both grandsons of Cadwgan,
The stags who break castles;
Sion with his successful look,
And Hywel, no-one is more generous.

There’s no more than an archer’s mark
Of woodland between their liberal homes,
And I am Lewis the strong archer,
Their two courts are my target,
I’ll shoot a poem from
My jaw at the two marks;
I’ll shoot a cywydd across the Ithon
At Sion, that is my office;
And then a bolt to where Hywel comes,
An ode of gwawdodyn metre.
I know well an idle game
Of bars between these two pure stags.
My feet have been running
Down between their fair homes.
I’m as swift as a swallow
As I follow after them.
I’m quicker to the sons of Ieuan
Than a breath of wind to a high bank,
Than white snow along the moorland,
Than a brown falcon to the forest,
Than an old eagle to the great cliff,
Than a wounded roebuck to the river cliff.
I’m a man of no use, in Llanfaredd,
For Sion, rose of the tribe.
I do not need to call for poems
From a book, just for Hywel his brother.

There are two more brothers
Who both learn the books of the others.
They’re four saplings from one oak,
They’re four fledglings.
There is no feebleness with these on side,
They’re loyal to a man.
Sion is the trunk in place of Ieuan Coch,
A stag, whom you know;
Hywel is the longest branch,
An old coffer I’ll get from him.
Two stags in the two battles,
Two swords of their country.
God gave Moses two tablets,
Golden images in two cloths;
Two are earth and sky,
Two bodies which are related;
Two days were one for a man,
For Roland against his enemy.
Two brothers are the men who permit us,
Stags, the same charity.
Two stars are special,
Two men dwell to turn steel aside.
Jesus, he who is an old man
Would give an age to these two men.

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 37

In this jolly poem addressed to Ieuan ap Gruffudd Fychan of Gladestry, Lewis Glyn Cothi mocks a bardic rival called Hywel Bongam, none of whose work has survived.

No. 160, Praise of Ieuan ap Gruffudd Fychan.

You are a terror to the unwise,
Wise, silver-tongued Ieuan;
You are the liberal limb of yonder land,
A lieutenant over the land below.
Where you give, you are a Daniel,
A prophet, son of Gruffudd,
A Solomon seen throughout the March,
A Sir Ffwg of Llwythyfnwg and her lands.
Let the life of Gruffudd Fychan,
Be there upon your face, goodman.

Your strong word comes from the root,
It stands throughout Maesyfaidd
Like the green trees of Meifod
Stand above any snowfall.
You are a man who has grown wise,
An oak or some such tree;
Silver coins are your berries,
There is gold in the roots,
Under your branches, good prince,
I come quietly to shelter.

Yonder are my brothers.
We share an oath on the relics of Enlli;
Between us, by the image of Thomas,
There is a noisy battle for silver metal.
Hywel Bongam was very loud,
Not a single word is tolerable;
He comes from Manafon,
A servant of Morys ap John;
For myself, like office for the English,
If he deserves it, then I resign!
Jovial Dafydd asks you,
"Is every man to be a victor?"
This suitor is an adulterer,
The man has sought your patronage,
He seeks to seduce your oath;
For his own ends he does so.
I must insist, Ieuan,
To have my share from an Ifor Hael.
Men of poetry, my knave!
Who praise you in the dialect of Gwynedd!

You are a member of the chief council,
You are the Duke's right ear;
Do you deal justice fairly
Between the men there?
You are a foot in the land,
To uphold the office of the lord.
Along a road of propriety it should run
To the pathways of high law.
Ieuan, you are the right hand
Of the earl, watching over his share;
Hold that patronage like a harp string,
Through the means at your disposal.
Bring profit there for the Duke,
The Duke has given you good office.
Duke Richard brings and has given
The land of Llwythyfnwg to your ward,
He takes in Llanfar four lifetimes,
God will give you four lifetimes.

Memorabila

This unusal item was recently for sale on ebay.

A Bit of a Rant

We all know that English speakers can mangle Welsh names but what about some of the linguistic nonsense inflicted by Welsh speakers on the place names of Radnorshire.

A glaring example is Cwmdeuddwr which I guess most locals would pronounce Cwmteuddwr. Well Cwmteuddwr is infact the correct version, the full name of the place is Cwmwd Deuddwr (the Commote of the two waters if you like) and that d.D in the middle of the words naturally hardens to a T in spoken Welsh. So who decided the locals were wrong and inflicted the modern Cwmdeuddwr on the unfortunate inhabitants?

Here's another example Ffynnon Gynid - that's what the locals call the place, as did Lhuyd in his Parochiala of 1700. Nowadays the authorities insist on Ffynnon Gynydd, no-doubt they were convinced that the Radnorshire folk couldn't pronounce a DD. The fact is that what we have here is the Well of St Cynidr - the final r being dropped as in familiar words like ffenest for ffenestr. So a placename of some historical importance is mangled by the authorities presumably at the behest of a Welsh speaker who thought he knew better.

Next how about Llanyre - Llanllyr - the LL in the middle of a placename quite naturally being dropped in spoken Welsh as in the Cardiganshire Llanllwchaearn or Llanychaearn. The academic publishers of a Welsh atlas came up with the nonsensical version Llanhir. The old cynghanedd of the old bards showed that the local pronounciation is correct, spell it Llanŷr if you like. Something similar happened at nearby Nantmel where the experts decided that the brook must be named after honey or mêl - infact it's named after a person Mael.

A final example - generations of Llandrindod High school pupils have belonged to a house called Aran, named after a river - the Aran - which runs in a valley called Cwm Aran. Trouble is that there is no such place, the river was always called Cymaron by those real experts on Welsh placenames, the Welsh bards.

The Whole Truth

If an article in this month's Motor Sport is anything to go by then John Surtees wasn't Innes Ireland's biggest fan. Innes he says had "a big tantrum" when the new boy crashed the Lotus 18 testing at Silverstone. Later Chapman wanted John as his number one driver for the 1961 season and asked him who he wanted as his number two.....Surtees chose Jim Clark. "But Innes Ireland wasn't happy at all. He said I'd kicked him out of his seat at Lotus and there was a lot of ranting and raving. So I walked away, just couldn't stand the pressure."

Now of course this isn't the first time Surtees has spoken on this subject. Here's his description of the same incident from an article in C&SC a number of years ago:

"Colin said to me, "John - you're my Number One and you can have your choice of team-mate, Innes or Jim. I don't know," I said. "I've had so many mechanical failures that I'm getting a bit suspicious of your green cars."

"Then we'll paint 'em black!" said Colin, and he prepared a contract giving me choice of second driver and saying that the cars would be painted black. I told him that I would like Jim Clark as my number two, as I got on well with him, but then a few days later Innes Ireland called me from Paris. He told me that he had a contract for 1960 and '61 which stated that he was Number One at Lotus and that he had choice of team-mate! "What the hell is going on?" he wanted to know.

I went to see Colin."It's not true." he said, "I've got no arrangement at all with Innes. We're fixing him up with the British Racing Partnership." Innes still insisted that he had everything in writing, so I fixed another meeting with Chapman, taking Innes with me. He brought his contract, which said exactly what he claimed, but Colin just shrugged the whole thing off, so I said "I'm sorry, but that's it" and I walked out."

So there you have it and no doubt Ireland's "ranting and raving" are a bit more understandable when you have the full story rather than the truncated version in the Motor Sport article.

The Last Amazon

A new book has been published in France charting the life of Marie Marthe Camille Designe du Gast (1868-1942), the first woman driver to compete on equal terms with men, details here.

Camille's exploits are legendary: the parachute jump from a hot-air balloon in 1895; a 33rd place out of 122 starters in an underpowered 20hp Peugeot in the Berlin-Paris race of 1901 - she had been required to start last; the attempted duel fought on her behalf by the Prince de Sagan when the lawyer Barboux suggested that Camille was the model for a Gervex nude.

The ill-fated Paris-Madrid race of 1903 saw Madame du Gast among the leaders before she stopped to help the injured Englishman Stead, by the time the authorities had forced the abandonment of the race at Bordeaux she was still 45th out of 275 starters. Camille's reward, L'ACF banned women from competing in 1904!

Camille turned to the new sport of powerboat racing and was victorious in the ambitious Algiers-Toulon race of 1905. Not that she finished, her boat was closest to Toulon when she came to grief - the entire entry having been sunk by unseasonal storms.

A campaigner against bullfighting, her activities led in 1930 to the Minister of the Interior banning the "sport" in the department of Seine-et-Marne. Several thousand citizens marched through the town of Melun in protest, carrying an effigy of Mme. Du Gast accompanied by a cow and picadors riding asses. The effigy was burnt outside the prefecture to cries of Death! Now not many racing drivers can claim to have been burnt in effigy, not even Schumacher.

Radnorshire Bardic Poems, 36

This is an elegy by Lewis Glyn Cothi for Hywel Goch ap Rhys ap Dafydd ap Hywel Fain of Gwestun, Llangynllo:

No. 179, Elegy for Hywel Goch

The falcon with the long golden hair,
Who I saw in Rhiwlallt,
Today, he does not pay the costs
In the land of Gwestun.
He went, this great grandson of Hywel Fain,
Through the throng to the oak and the winding cloth.
He went, as if across a sea,
From Rhiwlallt, on a bier.
Hywel Goch, who would hunt the wicked,
Son of generous Rhys of the ready purse,
Famed throughout the land,
A bed of earth for Hywel ap Rhys.

He was a planted tree in Llangynllo,
He was tired after the planting.
God keeps a fair dwelling,
The vineyards of God are full of leaves,
There he cut down, after summer,
The tallest of the young growth.
Hywel was a very tall plant
From a straight, well-bred vine;
A useful plant where I played,
God is the carpenter who cut him down.
He cut down an oak tree of Maelienydd,
And now the woodland is weaker.
He broke a string with a talent
To sing out from the centre,
He broke a fine bow with a
Talent for aiming straight.
A fair, modest falcon has fallen,
By magic, as he flew.
A tree in the top of the river-cliff uprooted,
By the sun, the greatest in Rhiwlallt.
The hand of Rhys ap Dafydd
Has been hidden in the choir of Cynllo.

Rhys was a stag from the conquerors
His seven antlers were truly beautiful,
And the seventh, his favourite,
Has fallen beside Rhys.
Rhys was a tree for us throughout the dominion,
And upon it were seven roots,
Jesus with his axe one night,
Cut a good one from the seven.
There was a castle on top of Gwestun
With seven towers, one was shot down,
Once again one of the seven is broken
By a cannonball from heaven.

Many the wounds on my cheek,
Many the cries of woe for Hywel Goch.
No healthy man, not two, can sing,
No human laughter with the string music,
No-one who comes is cheerful,
No-one puts on weight because of Hywel.
Are not the sons of widows upon every bench?
Are not the youngsters in a wretched state/?
Is not the world unpleasant for everyone?
Are the brooks of Gwestun not weeping?
Hywel is where we cannot see him,
We have need of him this month.
There is weeping for the soldier,
Heaven is now his home.

Eye Spy, Something Beginning with C

Back in July 1903 the Automobile Club held a series of events in the Emerald Isle which it described as the Irish Automobile Fortnight. Here for example we find C. S. Rolls in a 70 horse power Mors winning the cup presented by the Cork Constitution newspaper for the fastest time over a two mile sprint course, Roll's time 1-49.6. But who is this in third place in a 50 horse power Wolseley in a time of 2-04.5? A Lieutenant Cumming, much better known to history as Sir George Mansfield Smith-Cumming. In 1903 Cumming was already director of the foreign section of the Secret Service Bureau, later he would become the first director of MI6, the legendary C of popular culture.

Cumming is better remembered as a sporting pioneer of motor-boats rather than cars, but he was the first of quite a number of individuals linked to the world of espionage who had racing connections. No doubt we will highlight some of them over the next few months.

Llandrindod, A Welsh Canberra?

On 9th June 1919 the Chairman of the local Urban District Council, Mr Jeffrey Jones, opened the Welsh Home Rule Conference in Llandrindod Wells with a promise that the council were ready to donate a site for a Welsh Parliament House. That week's conference was covered by the London papers, which is more than can be said for this week's discussions between Plaid Cymru, the Tories and the Liberal Democrats about forming a coalition government at the National Assembly. As far as the English press are concerned the remarkable possibility of Nationalists and Conservatives sharing the admittedly limited powers on offer in Cardiff might just as well be happening in Tierra del Fuego.

Another summer, another meeting in Llandrindod. Nearly 700 "leaders of Welsh political, cultural and industrial life", as the Times described them, met on the 2nd of July 1950 to launch a petition calling for Parliamentary Self-Government for Wales. Some 57 years later and of course we are still waiting for a genuine law-making Parliament in Wales, I wonder if the council still have a spare site?