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A couple of days ago I visited the Llechwedd Slate Caverns in Blaenau Ffestiniog. Llechwedd was formerly the second largest slate quarry in the world, with over 25 miles of tunnels at a depth of up to 900 feet below ground and has now been turned into a heritage attraction. On a tour the excellent young guide answered questions knowledgeably and with enthusiasm. I asked him after he mentioned the coming of the Trades Union to the quarry if it had been a difficult process like at Dinorwig and Penrhyn Quarries where there had been long lockouts by the owners with the intention of resisting unionisation a subject I am currently researching.

It turned out Llechwedd too had experienced intransigence and opposition resulting in a lockout for some months. The lockout at Dinorwig lasted two years and that at Penrhyn in 1903 even longer. Pause to consider; these men and boys were not being greedy, they worked in hard, dangerous, poorly paid conditions and out of meagre wages they bought their own tools, candles and blasting powder. They wanted safer conditions and a fair wage.

In the summer of 1870, the French Government drew their country into a war with Prussia but the French were surrounded and defeated. In Paris however, the citys masses had organized a National Guard and despite shortage of food, money was pooled to purchase cannons. In this move the wealthy saw a danger to themselves, no less than that posed by the Prussians. Their fear was that the masses were aroused to a revolutionary fervour and their guns could be swung toward the bourgeoisie (Government and middle classes) within the walls as easily as against the foe without.

On 18 March 1870 the Paris Commune was proclaimed. The Government withdrew with its troops to Versailles. Two months later, they attacked the Communards as they had become known, aided by Prussian officers, in May 1970 and butchered everyone. The Communards, worn and exhausted, were falling back before an advance that spared neither woman nor child. Thousands were killed where they stood; the old and sick were herded to open places to be shot and each detachment of the maddened Versailles troops was an executioner's gang, summarily killing every suspected sympathizer. The Commune was being drowned in its own blood. In that one week 40,000 workers were slaughtered and the wealthy, many of whom had now returned, stood on the curbs to watch the ghastly parade and congratulate themselves on their victory.

Other examples of mans greed resulting in inhumanity to fellow-man are numerous. In 1838 and 1839, as part of Andrew Jackson's Indian removal policy, the Cherokee nation was forced to give up its fertile and productive lands east of the Mississippi River and to migrate to an area in present-day Oklahoma. The Cherokee people called this journey the "Trail of Tears," because of its devastating effects. The migrants faced hunger, disease, and exhaustion on the forced march. Over 4,000 out of 15,000 of the Cherokees died. All because the white man wanted their rich productive lands.

The events in these three countries have two common themes. They all affected communities that were poor, seeking to better themselves, were committed to each other and had no means of defending themselves. The second theme was they were all exploited and crushed by powerful wealthy people without morality whose greed was without bounds.

News International Corporation is in exactly the same mould. They are ruthless, they crush anyone who opposes them and all for the aim of making more money at any cost. Unsurprisingly, they have a non-union policy. They committed a speechlessly cynical act yesterday in closing the News of the World, sacking their 200 employees men and women with families, mortgages and now, unemployment. All to detract from their plans to take full control of BSkyB and enlarge the Murdoch empire. Well, the Bible says What you sew, you reap and for my atheist friends Chickens come home to roost!. I hope it happens sooner rather than later.

A few weeks ago I discovered that the people of Wales had a remarkable involvement with the American Civil Rights movement. On 15 September 1963 (a fortnight after Martin Luther King's 'I have a Dream' speech) a bomb was planted in a Birmingham, Alabama Baptist church and four little girls were killed. The anger round the world was keenly felt by Welsh artist John Petts who resolved to donate a stained glass window to go into the rebuilt church. He enlisted the help of the Western Mail which appealed for subscriptions, the maximum donation being 2s 6d (20 US cents today) so no rich person could pay for it all. The people of Wales - especially the children - responded in their tens of thousands and the window was installed in the rebuilt church in 1965.

The event was dramatically captured in Joan Baez's haunting song Birmingham Sunday (see it on You Tube here) - long a favourite of mine. No other issue has shaped my philosophy, passion for justice, hatred of discrimination and my respect for all men than the Civil Rights movent. I grew up in the 60s with Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Peter Paul and Mary, Woodie Guthrie and other protest singers and I can still cry with some of the songs and images of the times.

That morning was one of my proudest moments in many years - to learn that the people of Wales joined in solidarity and friendship with the black people in the most racially bigoted city in the United States. I was never prouder to be Welsh.

This was a sample blog that I posted a few weeks ago. If you'd like to read the blog of a Welshman living in Snowdonia on Welsh history or anything that is my passion of the moment, then click on www.hiraeth.org.uk/blog - the blog of a Welshman who heard the call of hiraeth , the link with the land of Wales, its half-forgotten past, its language, its call to the spirit. It connects with the rocks, the earth, the lakes and rivers, the trees and the waves. It's Wales.

Harry and Oliver used to be pupils at Ysgol-y-Preseli.After school theyplayed basketball in Whitland andoccasionally,I went to fetch them.

Tired beyond talking by then, they'dhave theirsandwiches and power-drinks from the Co-Op in Hendy-Gwyn-ar-Daf.

Once,we sawHawks from Brawdyout on an exercise.

'How old do you have to be to fly aircraft?'

I wasn't sure, but George Bush Senior was an eighteen year old pilot during the Second World War.

'He was eighteen?' -(they were fourteenish then). I knew how their minds worked. Four years and they could be in the air.

'He was often sick before going out on a sortie'.

'You mean really sick? Because he might be shot down?'

Thenthere was the eighteen year old Japanese pilot whotook part in the attack on Pearl Harbour.

'Sitting downto breakfast one morning he heardthe words,'Tora, Tora,Tora'.Thecode they were waiting for.

He returned to his room, changed into clean silk underwear.'

('Why? Because hemight be shot? Killed?')

'He ate two rice cakes,prayed to the Buddha. (Harry had a Buddha in his room. They'd learnt about comparative religionin school.)

'The Wing Commander led the formation. He putthe eighteen year old last, at the back, with an experienced navigator.

Thepilot keptone hand on the bomb release button and the other on the joy stick. It was difficult to keep in formation, because of the turbulence created by the other aircraft.

He expectedto beshot down at anytime.'

('Because he was the last? And the guns would get him?')

'The navigatorcounted themdown.The pilotwent very low, lower than the others.

Hereleased thebomb, they hit target.The plane had to turn sharply,slowing it down, butthey got back to base.'

'How do you know this?'

'I read itin the "Sunday Times".An American Museum asked the pilot for his uniform.'

'Did he give it?'

'Raid on Entebbe', the 'Yangtse Incident', 'Sink the Bismarck' and others I forget now were also popular with the boys.

I stopped these stories. Oliver and Harry liked them too much.

They're going to the School ofArt, Sir Gar. I'm relieved.

'Why?' asked my daughter.

'I was afraid they'd go into the Forces after the stories I've told them.'

'Mum. Are you nuts? They'd never get into the Forces.I have to drag them out of bed each morning, otherwise they'd never make it anywhere'.

Blodwen's Summer Sale Starts Today!

The Summer Sales are in full swing and Blodwen has been busily rummaging through her stock of beautiful artisan wares at her General Stores in Cardigan Bay, to find some amazing bargains for you.

Amongst the rails of stuff, youll find :

Clothing a wide range of sample garments some now available at half price Textiles sumptuous blankets , quilts , throws and cushions and some stunning vintage pieces again all reduced by 50%
Books , music , accessories and footwear are all heavily discounted for a Summer clear-out.

So come and take a look and get a beach bag full of treats products with provenance handmade with care in Cardigan Bay.

Click here to go straight to the sale section at blodwen.com .

Blodwen - Bringing thecraftman's way of life to your way of living

When my daughters were in the grammar school I used to like reading their set books. This is how I came to enjoy Laurie Lee's 'Cider With Rosie', which I enjoyed so much thatI read 'A Rose for Winter' and 'As I walked out one Midsummer Morning'. In one of his books, Lee says the smell of a pepper tellshim he is in Spain.

This morning, the kitchen was warmed by the scent of the tomatoes I bought in Fishguard yesterday.

I've not been to Spain, but I've been to Pollensa, in Majorca, a few times. In the market there they sell huge brutes of tomatoes, wet garlic, (large bulbs), parsley and chorizo.

Many countries have alingua franca of cooking, basic dishes which, plus or minus some ingredients, have a lot in common. Chorizo stew could be another word forCawl.

When I came home, Imade a version of Spanishstew, using chorizo sausage from Ultra Comida in Narberth, a wonderful Spanish delicatessen. (Here you can taste olives, cheeses, membrillos, and almond cakes. One morning, my daughters and I had a coffee each,toasted ciabatta and honey, plus a cup of thick chocolate. We dipped some of the bread into the chocolate. Divine!)

To make the stew Iused chopped lamb, a chorizo sausage, white pepper, salt, four or five tomatoes, a few cloves of garlic, (fresh or dried, as you like), a tin of chick peas, a swirl of olive oil. All you do is put the ingredients in a large saucepan, cover with hot water (I put a stock cube in as well, flavour is all)and simmer slowly for a few hours.

In Spain, they mash stale bread into the soup to thicken it. I prefer a thick stew, but it depends how much water has evaporated as to whether it needs extra bulk. Accompany the stew with broad beans, not overcooked, and garnish with chopped fresh parsley for flavour and sparkle.

Bay Watch on Harry and Oliver: Harry is in Whitesands today.

Last week, in Newgale, a dog named Chunky chased a seagull out to sea. Realising theHungarian viszla could not get back to land, Lifeguard Sam Ellison swam out and brought Chunky back on his rescue board. Chunky lives in Maidenhead and his grateful owners have given a donation towards theRNLI lifeguards.

Oliver and girlfriend are off to the Greek island of Rhodes next week. Hannah got a bit narky with Oliver when he kept dropping off to sleep on the settee when she was searching the web for a holiday.

She can't complain too much though, because he's doing two extra shifts to pay for it. Happy Holidays!

Welsh/English text.

Yn ystod y ddau benwythnos diweddaf, oedd 'da fi'r bleser hudol o ymweld a rhyngweithio a dau gymuned hen braidd eto bywiol AmeriGymreig: Beaver Creek OR a Malad ID.

Over the past two weekends I've had the fascinating pleasure of visiting and interacting with two quite old yet active AmeriWelsh communities: Beaver Creek. OR and Malad ID.

Mewn llawer o ffyrdd maen nhw yn debyg iawn eto oedd yn brofiadau pur wahanol.

In many ways they are very similar and yet were quite distinct experiences.

Gaf i gyfrif y ffyrdd:

Let me count the ways:

Cartref Eglwys Bryn Seion yw BC. Es i'r ardal gyda fy ngwrp werin Gymreig Tramor i chwarae mewn cyngerdd ac arwain y Gymanfa Ganu.)

BC is the home of Bryn Seion nondenominational church. (I went to the area with my Welsh Folk band Tramor to do a concert and lead the Cymanfa Ganu.)

Bryn Seion

Cymuned LDS yw Malad. Es i fan 'na gyda'r chwedleuwyr Mythic Crew i recordio a pherfformio chwedlau hen a newydd, Cymru/Malad yn ystod yr yl Gymreig..

Malad is an LDS community. (I went there with the storytelling Mythic Crew to record and perform Welsh/Malad tales old and new at the Welsh Festival.)

Malad city

• Cafodd y ddwy 'i setlo gan ffermwyr Cymraeg eu hiaith yn y bedwaredd ganrif ar bymtheg canol i hwyr ar l teithiau hynod o arwrol o Gymru.
  
• They were both settled by Welsh speaking farmers in the mid to late 19th century after incredibly heroic journeys from Wales.

• Dyna bobl o dras Gymreig yn y ddwy ardal yn gweithio, mynychu'i heglwysii hun ac yn cynnal elfennau diwylliannol Cymreig ac yn dipyn bach o'r iaith ble mae cerddoriaeth a barddoniaeth yn chwarae yn rhan bwysig, grefyddol a/neu ddaearol.
• There are still Welsh descendants in both areas working, attending their respective churches and upholding Welsh cultural elements and some language in which music and poetry play a significant roll, either religiously and/or temporally.

• Yn falch iawn ydy'r ddwy o'r eu tarddiadau.
  
• They are both proud of their origins.
  

• Mae'r ddwy wedi teimlo fel teulu i fi.
  
• They both felt like family to me.

• Dydyn nhw ddim yn unigryw ond yn dod yn adar prin.
  
• They're not unique but are becoming rare birds.

• Dylai'i gwyliau ar eich rhestr pen teithiau.
  
• Their festivals should be on your list of destinations.

Pan oeddwn i ym Mhryn Seion yn arwain y gymanfa ganu, daeth Gabby i lawr i fy nghyfweld fi

While I was at Bryn Seion conducting the Cymanfa Ganu, Gabby came down to interview me:

Teimlwch yn rhydd i gysylltu a fi. Dyna lawer mwy am ei ddweud.

Feel free to contact me. There's lots more to tell.

It was Newport, Pembrokeshire,for Harry today, who wasfeeling better after yesterday'shepatitis jabs, which are advisable for Lifeguards.

Ollie was in Fishguard,learning how to administer defibrillators. The boys have one car between them and since their starting times were different, I took Oliver to Fishguard.

Before coming home, Ibought some locally growntomatoes.

Someone once remarked that if you're educated, you knowa tomato is a fruit, but if you're knowledgable, you don't put it in fruit salad. Quite. How about makingtomato jam?

Surprisingly, the tomatoes lose their peppery taste when jammed and don't even taste like tomatoes.

Fresh tomatoes deserve to be eatenuncooked. We're having a tomato salad tomorrow with toasted rosemary bread and slices of Havarti cheese from Denmark, to give a tangy taste. But when the tomatoes are a few days' old, I'll jam them. Here's how.

Ingredients:

1kg of tomatoes

1kg of preserving sugar

2 unwaxed lemons.

Method

Skin the tomatoes. Plunging them in boiling water first willmake things easier. Quarter them, remove the cores and seeds.

Microwave tomato flesh for 5 minutes until it is tender.

Grate the rinds of the lemons and squeeze the juice out.

Put all ingredients in a very large saucepan and warm slowly, until the sugar melts. Now bring to a gentle boil, mixing all the time, so the sugar does not burn.

Keep on a slow boil for 30 minutes or so, stir occasionally, but don't leave the kitchen. All sorts of horrible things can happen if you do, like the jam boiling over, for instance.

The liquid will reduce in this time. Put a spoonful of jam on a saucer. Take saucepan off the boil.Test in 5 minutes to see if thejam is setting. If not, give it ten minutes again, when it should have set.

When cool, pour into glass jars.

The addition of a bunch of thyme, added as it cools but removed after 10 minutes, gives a savoury bite. The jam could then be used to accompany roast pork or spread in a bacon and Brie sandwich.

http://www.zazzle.com/learn_welsh_t_shirt-235452769441001896

You know you want it.. C'mon, ddysgwch Cymraeg boyo!

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It was a Friday evening. The boys weren'tgoing toCardiff, so Iwas staying the night, just to make sure theyremembered to breathe in and out, eat, sleep, the usual things.

The girlfriends were coming andI was going to cook an easymeal beforegoing to bed, nice and early. Later, the boys wouldput next door's cat over the wall, switch off the computers, double lock the doors, put the chains on.

By midnight, they'd be in their rooms above me, ready to start exerciseson the wooden floor, go downstairs, put all the lights on again, trip loudly on the stairs, unlock the kitchen door, make protein shakes, creak their way back up the stairs, shower, accidentally drop a few files on the wooden floor, move their office chairsback and fore,(no, I don't know why, either) this way and that, then jump into their beds, knocking the headboards againstthe walls.There is comfort in routine, if you think about it.

Well,this particular evening, when I arrived the front door was open, never a good sign.I caught a kip of a skateboarder (a "friend") going around the corner. Inside, about fifteen others (guests,as it happened, but I was a bit slow on the up-take) were scattered about the house. One of them was scootering up and down the kitchen andTrish and Dex, nice pair butnot met them before,were huddledover the computer, too busy to look up.

Icalled Harry and Oliver. 'I didn't know you were having company. How long are they staying?'

'You can't tell with parties'.

'Is this a party?'

'No. No'. Oliver was thinking on his feet, walking and chewing gum at the same time, as it were. He likes to keepeveryone happy. 'We're just having a take-away.'

'Yeah. That's right. Just a take-away.' Harry looked admiringly at Oliver, silently congratulating him on his quick thinking.

'When you go to parties, dothe parents mind when there are a lot of you in the house?'

'No, they're fine, just fine. They're easy about it'. (Harry).

Notwantingto spoil things,I rang my daughter, who seemeda trifle irritated with me.

'Mum, you're the adult. You tell them what to do. Send them home if you like. Ididn't know they'd asked a crowd over.'

I felt at a loss, a bit like the Queen who twiddled her thumbs in an agony of indecision whenasked by alittle girl what her name was. (She could have tried 'The Queen' or 'Queen Elizabeth', but said nothing).

Notwanting to spoil everyone's enjoyment,I stillwanted theparty guests to go home.(It's not that I don't want the friends, but I don't want them, but I didn't put it like that, quite).

When the scooteristwent to the toilet, Igrabbedmy chance and dumpedthescooter in the basement.After he came back, he appeared to be looking for something.

Trish and Dex stirred at the computer: Theorder for theChinese takeaway was all sorted. DidI want anything? I'd wondered whatwas engrossing them so much.

'No, I'm fine', I replied, keeping my voice even.

Trish called everyone to attentionas shechecked if enough fried rice, egg rice,dim sum, dumplings, duck, pork, noddles, seaweed, battered this, fried that, had been ordered.Three hundred pounds had to bechecked and ready to pay the delivery man.

I felt my head jerk- (I live such a sheltered life). What was this?A banquet? A bacchanalian food fest? Heavens, I knew people whose wedding breakfasts had cost less than what they were spending on a take-away.

I jumped to my feet.'I can make food', thewords came out in a rush.

'Chinese?' (Oliver)

'Yes, but not now.I'll go round to the chippie and get a few things.'

Harry smiled at me indulgently.

'No worries.Once they've got the order, the food'll be here in half an hour'.

Two guests hadn't ordered. They were catching the 'bus for Newport, Pembs.

'Make sure you getthe 412. The other onegoes only as far as Fishguard'.

(I knew this because Harry's girlfriend livedin Newport). 'You'll have to be quick.' It left in ten minutes' andit wasa brisk ten minute walk to the 'bus stop.

I held the front door open for them, praying they hadn'tforgotten anything.

'We'll come back if we don't catch it'. My heart sank.

Trish and Dex lived in Llandescwt, a place so isolated it might have been bandit country or an area of the Navajo desert.

'What time were you thinking of leaving?' (Afterthe Chinese, obviously. I'm not totally insensitive).

'My Nan is picking us up at ten, whenshe's had her treatment in hospital'.

Alarm bells went off. I couldn't see an elderly patientleaving the hospital at ten o'clock at night and driving to a remote area. The last bus for Llandescwt left at nine o'clock.

My face must have registered some emotion they understood. 'It's ok. We can always sleep here'.

I was in bed when the delivery came.The boys came up to see if I wanted a taste, but I was fine. There was a quiet lull for the five minutes it took them to eat everything, so I would say it was a success.

Some time in the wee small hours, doors closed, opened, toilets flushed, people laughed, shrieked, mattresses were pulled across landings but, day must dawn and it did.

The sun was shining and the house had the silent rhythm of people sleeping deeply.

I tip-toed downstairs, I don't know why, because it takes a whole lot of something to wake a teenager.

Well, to cut a long, long story short, I was thinking of theseweekendsI've spent with the boys and their friends the other day.

You see there's somethingI haven't told you. The boys are going to the school of art, as you know. What you don't know is that I'm going, too. Yes.The three of us have had unconditional offers.

At my interview I was asked a number of questions. I remember the last one best:

'How do you think you'll get on with your fellow students,teenagers, that is?'

Ihad thereply on the tip of my tongue: 'Fine. Just fine. No worries'.

And I mean it. I'm going and I'm looking forward to it, and theteenagers willgive it a plus factor.

Now look here!

As its July 4^th may I be the first to congratulate the people of The United States for keeping my colony in good order for the last couple of hundred years or so.

I was just checking the deeds and I see that your lease is up on December 12^th 2015. I never had a great opinion of my forebears but great great great grandpapa Rowley Whistleton Thynne had a whiz of an idea when he bought America for a hand full of shiny farthings back in the days when a farthing was worth something.

By my estimation the return on such a small investment is going to be astronomical. I was just pouring over the US GDP figures for the last decade and I must say even given the odd trillion or so that seems to have been wasted my coffers look like expanding to gargantuan proportions.

Before you start remonstrating that I dont deserve such returns let me put your minds at rest. I AM A GOOD LANDLORD. As my tennents I will care for your every need. Of course as time passes we as a communal ongoing concern will gradually revert to a feudal system of government where I and my lineage the boy Tarquin is very excited about this will become Kings of America. By the by please be assured that in addition to shipping in an impeccable English aristocratic class to run things as twere I will also offer positions of prestige to natural born Americans with an eye for the main chance. Titles such as Duke of Tennesee and Earl of Biloxi will be made available to those with suitable sums of money or daughters of a marriageable age. Im particularly looking forward to handing out the title of Prince of Las Vegas.

Please dont attempt to thank me for my beneficence because as you Yanky chappies would undoubtedly say Thats the kind of guy I am .

Toodle Pip

Quentin Whistleton Thynne ( Col Rtd)