Chapter 13

Although I had made a detailed and comprehensive specification, local builders seemed unwilling to give a firm and binding quotation. We eventually gave the work to a Liverpool builder, who, I knew, had already done similar extensions in North Wales. His first action was to remove the quite satisfactory slates from the existing roof presenting us with a virtual ruin. His building of the extension, although of a good standard was very soon behind schedule and we were obliged to move into a house very far from completion. We stored our furniture in the existing lounge and dining room and lived, ate and slept in the one glazed bedroom of the new wing. The roof was still unslated, the windows unglazed. No kitchen sink, not even a front door. I spent a very large part of the first night and many subsequent nights siting and emptying buckets and bowls in the roof space. On one occasion we had a "fireworks" display when the "leaks" became involved with the "electrics."

Our builder kept "flitting" to Liverpool to return with a few panes of glass, a sink unit, and eventually a front door. The intervals between the visits grew longer, finally he failed to return at all. Frantic 'phone calls, even an early morning visit to his home failed to get any response other than wild promises. We were near to despair which turned to determination when we realised we just had to complete the work ourselves. We found a roofing company in Nefyn (English) who took pity on us and agreed to complete the roofwork over a series of weekends. I had to obtain my own slates. Gwynedd planning restrictions insist on slates, although new ones are almost unobtainable following the closure of nearly all the quarries. I managed to locate some second hand ones in a local yard, even bringing some home in our own car. The only other professional help was to hire a plasterer on day work. I concreted floors, rendered walls, laid drains, and carried out plumbing. Doreen tiled the kitchen and bathroom. Ian installed a central heating system using a second hand oil fired boiler that I bought and collected from the Wirral. Nicholas built a brick fireplace and organised most of the concreting. Fortunately when our builder "flitted" he left most of his equipment including a concrete mixer. The local people could not believe that we were actually living there while all this was going on. They would peer from the windows of the buses that passed down our lane in wonder - or pity! Eventually with the valiant help of our paid and volunteer workers we had a beautiful home set in an acre of land that could at best be described as "wild," another opportunity for Doreen's talents.

The extra building costs we encountered, combined with rocketing inflation made it necessary for me to find a job. A chance encounter was providential. We were shopping at a plumber's merchant in Chester, and met Adrian Jones, with whom I had worked at Millers, and who now had his own company. I mentioned my situation to him, and on the following Monday received a phone request to meet him at a pet food factory in Liverpool. A project at this factory was the first of many. I worked for Adrian from home for the next six years. We bought a caravan as an office and sited it in the garden. I worked office hours, Doreen brought me a coffee at eleven and called me for lunch at one.

Adrian was very generous and encouraged me to take Doreen with me on several site visits. We had very enjoyable combined work and leisure trips to Cardiff and Glasgow. When I was involved with a feed mill in Hay-on-Wye, the second hand book centre of the world, Doreen was able to browse among the tens of thousands of books.

Although we were fully accepted by, and good friends with our neighbours, "Welsh speaking" Wales is quite a foreign land and I am sure we would have been referred to as the "English" people at Rhwngddwyryd. When we were invited to, say, a coffee morning, every effort would be made to converse in English, but almost imperceptibly, Welsh words would slip in until they had reverted to Welsh. A lot of English people think that this is deliberate, to allow them to say things that the English don't understand. Nothing is further from the truth, Welsh is their first and natural means of communication. Betty Owen, our friend and neighbour had real difficulty with English.

As soon as the summer visitors have left, one is addressed in Welsh everywhere from the supermarket to the Doctor's Surgery. It is an ancient language and there is no word for many present day items. Many words have been invented which are a mixture with English, some quite ridiculous. The menu in one café included Coffi and Sosej. Maes Parcio (Car Park) is seen everywhere. The strangest example we ever saw, a notice on the promenade at Rhos on sea, "Dim ridio bikio" had us in stitches.

Miriam, the little girl next door used to enjoy teaching me words. I remember one, malwen (snail). Amidst much giggling she told us the rather rude word for dandelion, "blodyn pi yn gwelu," (wet the bed flower).

Doreen, with more than a little help from me, was turning the wilderness into a beautiful garden. Digging the virgin ground to make vegetable and fruit beds, I removed literally tons of stones, some so large I was obliged to wait for visitors to help with their removal. There was no shortage of stone for walls or edging beds. The fruit bed was enclosed with a netting cage. One summer when the raspberries were ripe, I was continually having to release a blackbird which had trapped itself in the cage. Careful inspection of the netting revealed no gap or hole. Eventually I made a "hide" in which I crouched for ages before seeing our friend creep under the netting between the pegs securing it to the ground.

We had several mature apple trees, which despite their age provided a substantial crop each year. During one very severe winter we were invaded by a large flock of Fieldfares to feed on our windfalls. They arrived a day before the frost and left a day before the thaw, almost as if they had advance warning. By frequent mowing and filling of hollows, the meadow grass was turned into quite reasonable lawns. The stream which gave the cottage its name ran across the highest point of the garden and we were able to use it for irrigation. We learned from a neighbour that this stream had been diverted over the years to pass through every property on its way down from the mountains behind us. We left a small part of the garden with thistles, nettles etc. to provide a "wild" area for butterflies.

Our friends John and June Beeley had also moved to Wales, they had bought a house in Anglesey with a large area of land on which John kept cows and sheep. Edna Coleman had also moved to Anglesey, where she and Cyril had owned a holiday cottage for some years. I drew up plans to extend it. Sadly, Edna had an alcohol problem which was to lead to her early death. As is common with this disease, she was able to conceal it for a long time and we were puzzled and worried about her strange behaviour, having no suspicion that she was drinking heavily. One evening when we were at her home she kept disappearing. The penny dropped when I found a half empty bottle behind the bathroom door.

Among many visitors the most constant were John and Dilys Wintle. John's "wobbles" had been diagnosed as Multiple Sclerosis and he had been obliged to retire. They always enjoyed their visits as did we. Doreen made a special fuss of John. She and Dilys shared a quite special relationship due, I am sure, to their similar country background.

Nicholas was working in Cumbria, where he met, and fell in love with Christine Thornton. They lived for a while, in a caravan near Whitehaven, and later in a flat in Morecambe. They were planning to buy a house in Lancaster (with cellars!). During a pub lunch in Cartmel with Nick, Chris, and Chris's parents, we persuaded them that it might be the right time to fix a wedding date. The wedding was at Grange-over-Sands on 11th April 1981. It was a "marathon" wedding carrying over until the following afternoon with a party at Chris's home. The happy couple eventually set off on their honeymoon at about 4:00pm. Doreen and I were very proud of the behaviour of our grandchildren at breakfast in the hotel.

Doreen was diagnosed as having angina. Regular medication and a certain amount of care allowed her to continue with her active lifestyle including her beloved gardening.

We still had many visitors, and numerous places to take them. One regular venue was Portmeirion, a "fantasy" village built over a period of years by an eccentric architect, Clough Williams Ellis. It is on a steep wooded side of a beautiful estuary near Portmadog. The buildings are of Mediterranean style, some just a fa‡ade including the campanile which dominates the village. Others housed shops and cafés and provided accommodation for visitors. Pretty walks through the woods lead to sandy beaches from which there are magnificent views of Snowdonia.

A small but happy party of friends, neighbours and relatives celebrated our ruby wedding at home. The caravan enabled us to sleep the whole family in comfort. Louise and Ian's labrador Ben was shut in the garage where he chewed his way through everything chewable and had a go at some things that were not. We looked after Ben from time to time. One day when we were on a beach near Harlech, we took our eyes off him for a few moments to see him crossing a narrow stretch of water to Shell Island. As we watched helplessly the incoming tide was fast widening the channel. Eventually he sauntered back quite unconcerned (unlike us) and swam across.

On the day of the Royal wedding we were watching events on television when it was announced that the Red Arrows were to fly past Caernarfon Castle. We were able to watch them through the window and on the television at the same time.

We were saddened to hear of the illness and death of Will Strachan. I never cease to marvel that Will, John Wintle and I, who had all been at Quarry Bank, (at different times) should marry nurses (two of whom trained at the same hospital) whose homes were in a thirty mile triangle in Mid-Wales. It says a lot about Quarry Bank Boys and Mid-Wales Girls, and even more about fate.

Following a period when I was not very well, culminating in a gall bladder operation, Doreen suggested that we might contemplate moving nearer the children. Similar thoughts must have been in my mind and she was quite surprised when I immediately agreed. She should not have been, we always came to the same conclusions at the same time. We decided to look for a house in North Yorkshire. There was still a seller's market and houses were being sold before a "for sale" board could be erected. We were fortunate to find our little house in Great Ayton. When we saw it we made an instant decision, as with all our house buys. It had open views - Doreen, like mother, had to have space, but the garden was minute, the contrast with Rhwyngddwyryd could not have been greater. In considering the actual removal it was quite evident that a removal van could not possibly enter our gate from the fifteen feet wide lane. I asked the council to close the lane to traffic for a few hours - I should have known better. Officials from the council came to measure the road, our gateway, and everything else in sight - I was surprised that the did not ask us why we wanted to move. When the authorisation arrived I noticed that copies had been sent to various authorities including the county council, the Welsh office, the AA (I think) and finally the Ministry of Transport in London - all for the closure of a very very minor road in Caernarfon for three hours. My lesson learned - NEVER seek permission. In the event, the buses ignored the ROAD CLOSED signs and after several arguments the van was obliged to reverse some hundred yards to the cross-roads to allow buses to pass.

We were very sad to leave the lovely Welsh home which had given us so much happiness over so many years. Doreen could not bear to look back and her eyes filled with tears. We both realised that it would be our last move.