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As a child growing up in Old Colwyn, the village next to Colwyn Bay, the imaginary borders of my home town were an imposing white hotel perched on the cliff overlooking it, and a pier that stabbed out into the sea. Everything after the pier was Rhos on sea to me then, the next village along the coast, and that reasoning has stuck in my head ever since. To me, these two objects were boundary markers set in stone, never to be moved or demolished, and I couldnt imagine Colwyn Bay without either of them.

The, Hotel 70 Degrees, (or, The 70s as we called it, even when it changed its name to the Colwyn Bay Hotel), was built in 1972 and became a noted piece of the local scenery fairly quickly. Eye catching and smart, it was visible for miles due to its position on top of Penmaen head, the rock overlooking the bay, and its dazzling white walls.

Alas, the only constant in life is change, and buildings are never as safe as we believe them to be. After facing the harsh northern winds of the Irish Sea for over thirty years, the 70s finally fell to an even harsher economic climate, and was killed off by a pen and a planning permission form.

The hotel was replaced by some very pricey blocks of flats that peer down their noses at the sprawl of the council estate I grew up on. To me, now a tourist to my home town, but once as native a Welshman as Owain Glyndr, Penmaen head will never be the same without that iconic palace of a building holding court over those below it.

However, a building built in the early seventies can hardly be called a piece of local heritage. Fetching and swish as it was in its heyday, its fair to say the 70s was only so well known because of its exceptional positioning.

Okay then, what about my other imaginary town limit, a Grade 2 listed building, built in 1900 and as much a part of Colwyn Bays identity as the sea?

The pier has been a part of the Colwyn Bay scenery since the turn of the last century. Having survived fire and the worse Poseiden can throw at it; it too has now fallen to a callous fiscal environment and the apathy, and some may say malice of the county council.

I spent my youth on its salted boards, be it fishing with my tad and brother, playing the machines with my friends, or at the disco on my infrequent visits home as a young soldier. The pier wasnt just one of my imagined boundaries; it was a statement of intent for the whole of the Bay area. The land Colwyn Bay sits on was bought by a group of Manchester businessmen in 1865 with the sole idea of making it into a seaside resort, and every seaside resort of note has a pier.

On the 12th December, 2013, the Conwy County Borough Council voted to tear it down. Citing a lack of funds for the project, a project that has been under their wing since March 2012, theyve opted to demolish it and have done with the problem. No money they said, despite the fact theyve recently spent millions on a white elephant on the seafront, (Porth Eirias stands on Colwyn Bay promenade, and has been nominated for The Carbuncle Cup, an award for the worst modern architecture built in the last 12 months) and paid for sand for a new beach to be pumped in from the sea.

As sad as that may be, for me, the real disgrace is that the piers death has been so horribly protracted and ugly. Riddled with egos and broken promises, the handling of the whole situation reads like a corruption scandal you normally expect to see in an Eastern European country. If the website run by the businessman who bought the pier in 2003 is to be believed, then I despair for my home town and its running.

Mr. Steve Hunt moved into the area with the best intentions in the world, namely to revive the Victoria Pier to be a functioning part of the town. He bought the pier as a private owner and set about refurbishing it. After a hotly disputed wrangle in the courts over unpaid taxes, Mr. Hunt was declared bankrupt in 2008 and the management of the pier was vested in trustees, Royce Peeling Green (RPG). Mr. Hunt maintains that records and money have been hidden so he couldnt use them as evidence, of personal vendettas against him colouring the councils dealings and insanely careless book keeping.

His website routinely labels the Conwy County Borough Council as corrupt and has a list of crimes and misdeeds made by councillors that beggars belief. Obviously, its easy to draw the conclusion that Mr. Hunt is paranoid, maybe a liar and definitely suffering from a case of sour grapes. However, a visit to his website and the page titled, Named and shamed. Council officers exposed, sets his grievances down publicly in black and white, with this declaration at the foot of the page,

Again I challenge any of the above individually, or CCBC as a whole, to sue me for Libel if they wish to allege any of the above FACTS are not TRUE.

Come on CCBC
I dare you
Your continued acquiescence proves your guilt.

To the uninitiated, like myself, its a shocking state of affairs, and one I find hard to reconcile with my image of a benevolent county council seeking whats best for its constituents. I was, at first, ambivalent about Mr. Hunt and his venture. The pier was a part of my childhood and youth, as it has been for countless other people, and for sentimental reasons I wanted it saved. Conversely, at such great cost to the taxpayers when money is so tight, I wondered at the practicalities of such a venture, and the running costs after its refurbishment?

However, after reading through Mr. Hunts website and the list of mismanagement, shamefully bad decisions and law breaking, Ive found myself driven into the save the pier corner by my anger. The challenge at the bottom of the page says everything to me; Mr. Hunt cant be telling lies if he so publicly throws the gauntlet down like that, can he?

Before the pier can be demolished it must be de-listed. The first foray into the battle will be to fight this in the courts. If you are from the North Wales area, or you have an interest in this subject for whatever reason, I urge you to visit Mr. Hunts website and have a read. You will be shocked, I promise you.

http://www.victoriapier.co.uk/

Hopefully therell be a petition soon, because the public voice is only ever heard when we stand together, and Ill be asking you to please put your name to it if you have an interest in the subject.

Saving the pier is not impossible, I read in the Daily Post that a Heritage Lottery Fund application for 4.37m is currently in the second stage, and the council could still claim close to 4m from EU funding and 4m from community grant funds for renovation. However, when the piers gone, its gone, and therell be no going back. So surely its best to try and find the money rather than give up?

Thanks for reading.

Reg.

The Beef Seeds, a bluegrass quartet from Newport, are in a competition for best cover of "Wake Me Up," by Avicii -

Ceri's been bugging me to watch their videos all week and I kept not doing it until yesterday and then finally did and WOW!!! I love them, they're fantastic!

Please watch and vote for them -

Click this link to go to the page to vote for them!

http://www.ryanseacrest.com/2013/12/10/finals-vote-for-your-favorite-cover-of-aviciis-wake-me-up/

If you like bluegrass (I do) and even if you don't, they're still a fun group to watch and listen -

Born on this day 1880 in Cardiff.

James "Jim" Driscoll - much loved and respected boxer who fought his way fight his way from a humble upbringing to become British featherweight champion and winner of a Lonsdale belt. 

 After winning the British and Commonwealth titles, Driscoll went to America where he fought World champion Abe Attell in 1910 and although he gave what is generally regarded as one of the greatest exhibitions of boxing ever seen, he was not able to knock out Attely.  At the time, a bout could not be won on points,  so the outcome was "no decision" which resulted in Attell holding on to the title.  However the American public were so impressed with Driscoll's skill and craft that they named him  'Peerless Jim.'  

Driscoll then turned down the chance of a rematch, because he had committed himself to a fund raising exhibition for the St. Nazareth House orphanage in Cardiff.  After the interruption to his career of  World War I, he continued to fight, even though his health was failing and he died of consumption  in 1925.  

At his funeral, the people of Wales, showed the high esteem in which he was held, with 100,000 people lining the streets of Cardiff.  To this day fresh daffodils are laid at his grave at Cathays Cemetary and a statue of him was erected in Cardiff in 1997. 

Sir Thomas Parry (c. 1515 – 15 December 1560) was a Comptroller to the Household of Queen Elizabeth I, responsible for auditing the accounts of the Royal Household and making arrangements for royal travel. 

Parry was brought up at Tretower Court, Breconshire and was a family friend of William Cecil, the chief advisor of Queen Elizabeth I.  He first appears as being on the staff of Thomas Cromwell in 1536, carrying out tasks relating to the dissolution of the monasteries.  Later when Elizabeth was confined to Hatfield House by Queen Mary, Parry was one of the few Protestants who visited her and his loyalty was rewarded by Elizabeth when she became Queen, by receiving a knighthood and lands in Berkshire.

It seems however that he was not popular at the royal court, as when he died, it was said by some of his contemporaries that his death was caused by ill-humour.

In December 2012, The BBC announced that its hugely popular fantasy drama Merlin, based on the Arthurian legends, which had run since 2008, was to come to a natural end with a two-part finale, concluding with the battle for Camelot.   

Born on this day 1938 in Neath

Michael Bogdanov - multiple award winning Shakespearean director, who has produced, written and directed Many works for the BBC and the Irish broadcaster RTE.  

Born on this day 1932 in Llanelli

Sir John Meurig Thomas - a prominent chemist, who the mineral meurigite is named after.  He is is a leading authority in the field of catalysts.  

Swansea was officially granted City status on 15th December 1969.

Mandela and Me

I stood in the buffet queue, excited that soon we would meet the great President Nelson Mandela. It was a meeting of the World Economic Forum in Cape Town, South Africa, I think it was in 1995.

Now the World Economic Forum is for big shots, but I got there anyhow, because I was and still am interested in all things African. After all Id lived in West Africa, Id become conscious of the evils of Apartheid through the protests of Peter Hain when I was forced to cancel going to a rugby game because of the cause Hain espoused for a Welshman this is a serious matter. I dont mean to be flippant but it is important to note that during the third quarter of the twentieth century despite Sharpville, Verwoed, the Rovinia trials most of us ordinary men and women were not really conscious of the evils of apartheid. Young Hain was to many cricket and rugby followers a pain in the butt.

For the man in the street it was easy to argue that sporting ties as well as business investment were the best ways to build bridges, the arguments went on and on. For Dai Jones or Henry Higgins the games must go on damn nuisance these long haired liberals spoiling the pitches at Arms Park or Lords.

The arguments were rooted in the right build bridges, and the left sanctions and economic and political pressure, I guess I was, and still am, a wavering Welsh liberal, wobbling badly and missing the Springbocks with anguish.

My time in West Africa was a difficult one as the head of a young family in the melting pot that is Nigeria. Despite all the anguish and laughter of that period I always felt slightly ashamed of being there, doing a job that could easily have been done by a Nigerian. The post colonial patronage was insufferable and I became forever convinced that racism was sustained and encouraged by post colonial Britain and western vested business interests.

Time moved on and in the late eighties I was offered the job as Regional Director for my companys subsidiaries in Africa. Our biggest interests were in South Africa where we were much involved in supplying the mining industry. I had already been involved there but not with the authority that was now mine.

The mining business, coal, gold and other minerals is a hard theatre, not for the weak. I had routinely visited the deepest mines, over a mile down and half a mile or more from the shaft bottom, in seams not much higher than your dining table, the temperatures were up to 43 degrees centigrade and the humidity over ninety per cent. It was a tough place to work; with loss of life a fairly common event. My company supplied strata support materials and we worked hard with our R & D and other partners to produce products which improved safety and productivity. During those years I was always uncomfortable with the way that the African Miners were treated, low pay, and impossible social conditions not to mention the dangers at the coal or ore face.

So when my promotion came, I did think long and hard about accepting the post, True my ambition was probably a great driver, but it came down to the old argument; would turning down the job do any good? Could I do more good in the job than on the sidelines?

For the next eighteen years South Africa was my key interest. We employed more people here than in any of my other areas, over seven hundred souls, mainly shift workers drawn from the Xhosa and Zulu tribal groups. All the supervision when I started in the companies was white. Many of the managers and sales people denigrated the blacks at every possible opportunity.

Apartheid was built into the business, to complicate things further the businesses never made a penny, though the research benefits of working in such difficult conditions was immeasurable for like businesses round the world. Further the business climate was corrupt and the white management by and large self satisfied and smug. A challenge then!

I like to think my team made changes, positive changes; sweeping changes of management, the introduction of local supervision and management, improvements to working conditions and much better labour relations. We did all these things in a very hostile business environment, with very aggressive local competitors who thought nothing of stealing intellectual property rights or for that matter spreading inaccuracies and lies about our company. I was, we were, under pressure too from our parent company as profits staggered around breakeven at best.

I made it my business during these years to learn more about Africa its business and its culture and attended many WEF meetings particularly concerned with African business affairs. My Boss in UK was very supportive.

As the eighties came to a close, I was very much aware of the calamitous state of affairs in the Republic, the cause of Mandela was blazoned across the worlds press; meanwhile labour relations were at an all time low with individual companies struggling with miserable returns and ever declining productivity. In the mines, the hard Afrikaner mentality ruled, elsewhere in both black and white business communities there was a real impetus for change. The WEF was central to international business response; it was a question of hanging on through the chaos and supporting the changes we all hoped were imminent.

In the WEF I was fortunate to meet leaders of business and politics, make contact with the ANC youth and discuss the importance of business to the newly emerging democracy that was now surer every day. There were many powerful business leaders including Nicki Oppenheimer, Clem Santer who were in the forefront of the drive for change, then there was Cyril Rhamamposa who was a beacon of progressive light from the aspect of Black business and entrepreneurship, there were many others, all looking forward with imagination and good will towards the now inevitable changing scene.

President De Klerk, who eventually shared the Nobel Peace Prize with Nelson Mandela, was at worst a brilliant pragmatist and at best a brave and visionary politician. I like to think the latter, did he bow to the inevitable or perhaps drive positively the unbelievably difficult task of wresting power from the Nationalist Party and handing it over to the ANC.

Charles Schwab head of the WEF as always with almost missionary zeal mobilised international business with guile and ennthusiasm.

The scene was set and in1990 the world changed, but how it changed. There walked upon this earth a man of such magnanimity and generosity of spirit as was beyond anyones imagination. Nelson Mandela.

On my way to South Africa aware of what was about to happen I was seated next to Jeremy Paxman of the BBC who spent little time before berating me for doing a job in South Africa entirely prejudiced and unaware of how much good will had been put into the changes going on in those momentous times. In retrospect Im by and large proud of what we did, we kept going, producing goods, generating wages and preventing mass unemployment. Certainly there was a lot of enlightened self interest but there was a great deal of genuine good will and real sacrifice for the promise of what was to come.

We had heard about him, we had read about him but now we see and hear him. However we were not prepared for the real Nelson Mandela; wise, shrewd, charming, kind and simply good; unbelievably good. A saint to all believers; a redeemer of political miscreants and a forgiver of sin. Madiba father to a nation.

In 94 expectations were high, President Mandela acceded to power. His task gargantuan, he needed to change a nation and he set forth to do so. History will say he did, he did create massive change, some will argue that he did not deliver the change that the rank and file South African expected. What is beyond doubt is that he and his fabulous team including the irrepressible Bishop Tutu led a bloodless coup, he created a chance for a new South Africa. His message was and is simple; Forgive the past and build a future- so simple, so demanding, and so profound.

And so to the buffet queue in 1995, it is lunchtime there are a few delegates from the WEF and several press men. I know many of the delegates and I am chatting to my friends, one hand on my plate and choosing from the sumptuous buffet. There is someone tall next to me in the queue, I turn, I look up and I am looking into the eyes of President Nelson Mandela. I am lost for words.

Mr President, I stammer, Please go ahead. I stand back.

No, you were here before me, go ahead. He hits me with a wide smile.

I am still befuddled, what to say? Should I insist he goes first, what can I say? I cannot shake hands because I am holding my dinner plate and knife fork and spoon.

Sir, I stutter some more, It is a great honour to meet you. I make a mess of gathering the cold meats.

It is very good to meet you. Says The President .

We fill our plates I am anxious not to drop my food on the floor, we begin to chat, he wants to know who I am and where I m from. Within minutes we are surrounded by press men and admirers. My private moment with Nelson Mandela is passed.

There is a kafuffle at the entrance to the dining room. President Mugabe enters with a phalanx of security men; his food is delivered on four separate plates to a side room. The food is tasted by his bodyguard the door is closed, I assume Mugabe has his lunch.

In the meantime Mandel is chatting to delegates, as is Thabo Mbeki. Mbeki is quiet , shy almost, he speaks very quietly. He is a very neat man, his beard grey and trimmed, his suite neat as can be, his shoes polished mirror-like. He is very engaging articulate and obviously very bright. There are other heads of state there from the so called front line states, including Namibia, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Botswana. All the heads of state seem relaxed except of course for Zimbabwes President; locked up with his security guys.

The meeting is called to order Charles Schwab is at his avuncular best. The room is quite informal with the heads of state gathered on settees and easy chairs on the stage and the delegates and press assembled in front of them.

Mandela speaks, he has no notes, he speaks of the future and how much a strong economy matters. He is intelligent he does not dwell on the past at all. When he has finished, a notable talk of fifty minutes without a note, he asks for questions. The press bombard him with questions about his prisoner years he ignores them all and states quietly but with absolute authority, We must come together, no matter what the past. We must come together for our childrens sake, we must reconcile, forgive and look to the future to build a South Africa where there is opportunity for all. His words are final. He sits and invites Thabo Mbeki to say a few words.

Mbeki chooses to talk about reconciliation. He does so with quiet dignity, he talks from his heart and he asks,

I want to know where my sisters partners remains are, so we can bury my dead comrade and begin to forgive the past. He went out one evening six years ago, to get some food, he was an activist for the youth wing of the ANC, we have not seen him since We want to forgive but we must reconcile and be at peace and allowed to bury our dead, then we will be, and only then can we be, reconciled. The truth and reconciliation commission is not an institution it is the only way to stop our nations heart from bleeding.

I have never been so moved in a public place, every one there, hardened journalist or seasoned business person wept. There was a silence and then the other Heads of State took to the stage. I do not remember a word any of them said.

When Mandela and Mbeki left they shook hands with us all, the President once more looked into my eyes and said, It was very nice to meet you, thank you for supporting us.

I was not composed or worthy to reply, and he was gone.

Years have passed and Mandela is no longer with us, Mbeki started well but made mistakes and now Jacob Zuma is subsumed by corruption and incompetence.

But it is a new day, forgive the past and build the future.

Thank you Madiba.

Who's heard of Helen Carey? Yes! an author from near Newport in Pembrokeshire. Her latest novel, SLICK DEALS, is an exciting contemporary suspense novel set partly in West Wales. Read more about Helen on the Made in Pembrokeshire blog at http://www.made-in-pembrokeshire.co.uk/blog/

Alfred "Fred" Bestall was born on 14th December 1892.  He is remembered as the writer and illustrator of the Rupert Bear stories in the Daily Express, from 1935 to 1965. 

Most of the landscapes that Bestall used in his illustrations were inspired by his childhood holidays in Snowdonia, an area he revisited regularly as an adult, settling in a cottage on Mynydd Sygun, in Beddgelert in 1956.   

Born on 14th December 1908 in Garnant.

Claude Davey - former Welsh rugby international and captain.

He is best remembered as being the captain of the Welsh side that beat New Zealand 13 -12 in 1935.

Born on this day 1831 in Swansea.

Griffith John - evangelist and first translator of the Bible into Chinese. 

After becoming ordained as a Congregational minister, John took a missionary appointment to China in 1855, based initially in Shanghai, before moving to Hankow in 1861.  John embraced the challenge by learning fluent Chinese and travelling vast distances to preach and to help him, he translated the  New Testament into the Mandarin and Wen-li languages, which were published in 1885.

John returned to Wales in January 1912, which was towards the end of his life, as he died in July of that year and was buried in Swansea.   

Margaret Davies, born 14th December 1884 in Llandinam, in Powys and her sister Gwendoline were social philanthropists, who compiled one of the largest art collections in the UK.

The sisters, who were brought up as strict Sabbatarians, were left a fortune from their grandfather, David Davies of Llandinam, the industrialist and founder of Barry Docks. They were both devout teetotallers and neither ever married, so they were able to use their money to travel widely across Europe and indulge in their passion for art, collecting pieces from Turner, Carrière, Monet and Rodin.

Margaret and Gwendoline settled at Gregynog Hall, near Newtown, where they housed their collection and established the famous Gregynog Music festival, which attracted the composers, Vaughan Williams, Elgar and Holst and the Gregynog Press, which produced limited edition books.

They also ran Gregynog as a troop canteen during World War One and as a convalescent home for injured soldiers during World War Two. Gregynog was gifted to the University of Wales in 1960 and many of the art pieces were given to the National Museum and Art Galleries around Wales. Gwendoline died in 1951 and Margaret in 1963.

At the General Election held on 14th December 1918, Millicent Mackenzie was the first woman to stand for parliament in Wales.

Millicent Mackenzie was born in Bristol and became the professor of education at Cardiff University in 1908. She was a founder member of the Cardiff branch of the suffragette movement in 1912 and unsuccessfully stood for parliament in 1918, representing the Labour Party for the University of Wales. She was also the author of many books on teacher training.

Love this funky art by Dorian Spencer Davies. Now on sale at http://www.made-in-pembrokeshire.co.uk
Order now in time for Christmas 16 x 12 mounted prints, signed by Dorian

Peter Thabit Jones ( editor, Seventh Quarry Magazine and WCE Poetry Competition judge ) has announced that the 2014 Competition winner will be invited to submit 10 poems ( and a two page introduction ) for inclusion in a chapbook which will be distributed with the Winter/Spring issue of the magazine.

This will be a supplement to The Seventh Quarry and the winner will receive 20 complimentary copies of the chapbook. The rest will be distributed with the magazine.

This is a great opportunity to win international exposure. We must stress that the winner will be chosen from amongst the entrants to the WCE Online Poetry Competition and that contestants are NOT required to submit ten poems. The winner will be invited to submit ten poems for inclusion in the chapbook once the adjudication has taken place.

Further Details

• You may submit up to five entries.
• There is NO entry fee.
• There is also a cash prize of $200 for the winner.

WEST COAST EISTEDDFOD ONLINE POETRY COMPETITION SUBMISSIONS PAGE