|
Memories of Dolgellau by Marianne Fenning Exactly 40 years ago I fell in love with Wales. It was a bright sunny day, the 10th of March 1965, when I left Utrecht in the Netherlands, the town of my birth and where I grew up, on my way to Wales. I was 18 and ready for adventure. I had written to the YHA Head Office in England asking if they needed a Youth Hostel Assistant for four months - anywhere. To my surprise they replied that they did….in Wales, in a place named Dolgellau. We tried to find information on Dolgellau, but did not find very much. How different life was in 1965! All I had was a picture postcard of Kings Youth Hostel with Cader Idris in the background. It looked impressive. The night of my departure my mother saw us off to the train that took me and my father to the overnight ferry from Hook of Holland to Harwich. My father travelled with me, to escort me through London. A taxi took us from Liverpool Street Station, past Buckingham Palace, to Paddington Station, where my journey began in earnest. Alone on the train with a huge suitcase, first to Shrewsbury and then on – into Wales. After Shrewsbury the landscape began to change. I did not find it very impressive, all these round little hills everywhere – in retrospect, exactly the landscape portrayed in “Postman Pat”, much later my daughter’s favourite tv programme. After hours on the train it got very quiet and empty, people got off, no one got on and I heard people speak in a language I did not understand. The train arrived at the Dovey Estuary; the sun in the clear cloudless sky was bright and low, it looked and felt like I had come to the end of the world. My arrival time was 6.15 pm and the name of the station was Fairbourne. An elderly man and a boy, the only two people on the platform, were there to meet me. They said my English was very good. I said I had learned it in school. It was encouraging. Upon my arrival at Kings my first task was to pour out the tea. And the first thing I learned was: milk first! Kings was everything it promised to be from its photograph and much more. A beautiful stream ran through the grounds in front of the house. The permanent sound of running water was new to me. And so was everything else. It was overwhelming for an 18 year old big-town girl who found that she was a country girl at heart. The hostel was run by Mr and Mrs Reynolds, a dedicated and very hard working English couple. Their 16 year old son David lived at home and daughter Jane had gone to Aberystwyth University. Life centred around the kitchen. There was a big table, a sink, a huge AGA, run on coal and a pantry. Work started at 7 am and in the busy month of May when the hostel was almost permanently full, we often worked on until midnight, day in day out without a break. There was room for 80 hostellers who often wanted 80 breakfasts and the same number of evening meals! It was done with military precision, in the busy times assisted by friends and volunteers who stayed for longer or shorter periods and lent a helping hand. For me, a Dutch girl, the food was a revelation, in particular the cooked breakfasts and the puddings. I could not get enough of it and never stopped eating. Usually, after lunch I had time off, varying from 2 to 3 hours, when I started to discover and roam my beautiful valley, exploring the hills, Cader, the Estuary. I made friends with the farmers who came to Mrs. Reynolds’ pantry to buy cigarettes and other necessities. Many happy hours I spent at Nancy and Will Ellis’ farm at Hafod Dywyll. It was a warm, cosy and friendly Welsh haven. In those days Welsh was the family language. A language that sounded like music to me. The boys at Islawrdref taught me two ‘useful’ Welsh phrases: one polite and another quite the opposite, just in case. I learned them by heart and remember them until this day. The book I bought with the title “Welsh in a Week” did not fulfil its promise…. Every morning Will the postman called in at Kings, delivering the mail, walking from farm to farm on his daily round. I remember him with his walking stick (and his dog ?). With a happy grin and in his singing Welsh voice he would say: “Are you happy now Marianne ?” whenever he had brought me a letter. And not only did he deliver the post; every bit of news and gossip was exchanged over the kitchen table and cups of coffee. At Kings, the kettle was always on. The first day after my arrival I was told about the old Roman Road, up in the hills above the farm. I ventured out on my first walk and managed to find it. It was a drizzling, grey and misty day and absolutely desolate. I was totally alone up there and so scared I turned back. But it did not stop me. For the next four months I roamed the hills around Kings every free moment I had, afternoon or evening, often without meeting another human soul. I climbed endless stone walls, never held back by a fence (there weren’t any) or even the fear of bulls in the corner of a field. I knew every path, every shrub, every stone around Kings. Sometimes I was so tired I just fell asleep where I lay down. Exactly after one month – I still know where it happened – I had the sudden notion that I loved this place. And when, after another month at one point I felt very low and contemplated leaving, I realised I just did not want to leave this beautiful valley and the friendly people I got to know. Food shopping for up to 80 hostellers was done in Dolgellau on almost a daily basis. I was introduced to the shopkeepers and other friends and loved meeting and greeting my new acquaintances in the street whenever I ventured into town, particularly on busy market days and Saturdays. It gave a feeling of belonging, something I had never known where I came from, not surprisingly in a town of 250.000 inhabitants. Dolgellau was strangely beautiful, even when it rained. The stone houses became almost black. The other thing I remember vividly was the smell. To me that was Dolgellau. I suppose it was the smell of coal fires.. Two days after my 19th birthday, I undertook a “big walk”, from Kings down to the estuary, where I tried to negotiate the recently discarded railway track, which I soon gave up as the railway sleepers were impossible to walk on, then on to Arthog and over the railway bridge with spectacular views of the Mawddach Estuary, to Barmouth. From there, where possible through the salt marshes and along the muddy shores of the estuary all the way back and across the toll bridge to Penmaenpool, where I landed in the George, quite exhausted. It was my first acquaintance with a British pub, with its different bars. Of course I was in the wrong bar, engaging in interesting conversation with some local farmers and was “rescued” by the friendly owner who introduced me to her daughter who showed me around the house. Towards the end of May things were looking up, I could take a “holiday”, a few free days saved up, when I hitched, hiked and bussed through North Wales, staying in other youth hostels, discovering beautiful Snowdonia. The ‘maps’ I used were two postcards and the first meal I cooked was a tin of Ambrosia. What comes most to mind is the ultimate feeling of freedom, the unexpected encounters, the grandeur of the landscape, the deserted roads with few or no cars. On the eastern shore of lake Bala I walked for two hours without a car passing. Even though there were cars, you could walk on any road without being in danger of your life. I saw the valley change, from the dead of winter to finally opening up into spring and summer. Sheep were dipped and sheered, foxes were hunted, girls were chased, cars were raced and I walked through fields of flowers. Cader turned red in the setting sun. One light night in June I was awake, unable to sleep any more and decided to go out and see the sun rise over the estuary. I made my way down the fire escape and at 4 am set off to climb the hill that would allow me to see the sunrise in all its splendour. An hour later I enjoyed the most glorious and moving spectacle, of which I took a photograph. I made it back by 7 am, in time for work….that day in the kitchen my feet hurt with every step, like walking on daggers, punished like the mermaid in the famous fairy tale. And then there was entertainment….or perhaps too big a word ? The Cinema was marvellous. You could see two films (unknown phenomenon where I came from) for the price of one and for very little money. A few I remember: “A taste of honey” with Rita Tushingham, “Saturday Night, Sunday Morning”, and several exciting Bond movies, …. Goldfinger ! But the most memorable night was when I saw a horror film, of the gruesome kind, heads being cut off by the dozen….I knew I should go and cycle home before it got dark, but sat there glued to my seat, unable to move, through the whole of the film, mesmerised …. It was full moon that night, which was lucky, as the bike had no light, pointed out to me in a friendly and fatherly fashion by the local policeman on the road to Penmaenpool. But when I reached the thickly wooded Gwynant valley, every oddly shaped tree suddenly showed a ghostly shadow, which transformed into a creature trying to grab and kill me and when an owl started to hoot repeatedly…. I cycled like my life depended on it. When I made it to Kings’ light, safe and sane kitchen, visibly out of breath, they asked me why I looked so pale…. The horse riding was a bonus, a little girl’s dream come true, made possible just like that, with a few hard earned shillings, especially saved up, no fuss, you got on the horse and off you went ! With Mr. Jones, down at Abergwynant Farm. It was an absolute thrill going high into the mountains on a horse ! Some horses would not trot, whatever you undertook, but others with certain encouragement, would try and loose you…This girl never fell off, I must have been a natural. And then, there was The 10th of July I got on a bus in Dolgellau’s Eldon Square which was to take me to Liverpool, and from there to the Lake District, the place I had wanted to see ever since I learned about the Lake Poets in school. Then to London, and finally home. When the bus drove away from Dolgellau I looked back in a haze and saw the town and the mountains disappear in the distance. It was not the end but a beginning. Back to Dolgellau Memories |