Blogs
Welsh Singer Songwriter 'Courteous Thief' to release beautiful new single 'Mountains And Sea'
By Ceri Shaw, 2019-12-04
Courteous Thief returns with the mezmerising new single 'Mountians And Sea', a refreshingly beautiful indie-folk balled that will serve as a go-to alternative to the 'Christmas song'. 'Mountians And Sea' will be released via CEG Records on Friday 6th December 2019.
Described as both contemporary new folk and acoustic indie pop, Courteous Thief (aka Gary Roberts) has been a regular on the live circuit, supporting bands and artists such as Turin Brakes, Chris Helm, Catfish And The Bottlemen, Mark Morris (The Bluetones) and Tom Hingley (Inspiral Carpets) as well as festival appearances with performances at some of the UK's top venues and festivals.
Accolades from past singles and releases has seen Courteous Thief being championed By BBC Radio Wales, achieving the coveted BBC Radio Wales Single Of The Week, BBC live sessions, interviews as well as hitting the airwaves on BBC 6 Music, BBC Introducing, BBC Gloucestershire and recently hitting the British Airways Playlist.
2019 will see new release “A Bed For Me” released in June on welsh label “CEG Records, with more live dates and new tracks on the horizon for late 2019 and beyond. “Melodiously mesmerizing, harmoniously vibrant and warmly atmospheric folk-pop finery” (Nessi Hault, Carpe Carmina)
Courteous Thief Online:
www.courteousthief.co.uk
Facebook.com/courteousthief
Twitter.com/courteousthief
Soundcloud.com/courteousthief
Instagram.com/courteousthief
VOICES FROM WALES – THIRTY SEVEN OF FIFTY-TWO
AUNTY MAGS PART THREE – THE EAGLE INN
Here she is once again, ‘Aunty Mags Part Three – The Eagle Inn’ with a collection of stories related to the family pub in Priory Street, Carmarthen.
It’s a little bit different in this video as Mags talks of the involvement of the American forces in Carmarthen who frequented the pub and gives an insight into town life during the Second World War.
Her stories are supplemented with text from the 2nd Bn 112th Infantry History from October 1943, and also Our Kind of Town, by Jim Condon.
He was clad in a red all-weather coat with yellow flashing, so he could be seen easily in the low light of the Brecon Beacons National Park.
His much younger work colleague kindly unloaded his zimmer- frame and post satchel from the back of the red van, and waved cheerily to him as he pulled back off onto the main road through the rural village.
It was 6.00 am on Saturday Morning and in the eerie half- light of late October, the elderly man had already been up two hours before arriving at the sorting office for 5.00am.
Postman Arthur Rittik was 74 years and 363 days old and it was to be his last ever shift.
He had wanted to retire at 65 but successive Conservative Governments had consecutively upped the State Pension retirement age, forcing him to work on beyond his usefulness to his employer.
According to the Department of Work & Pensions, acting on instruction from Ian Duncan Smith, work was compulsory for all until 75 years of age, as unfortunately some of the lower classes were now living too long.
Under its new slogan of ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’.
Somebody had to pay for the poor deal negotiated over Brexit in 2019 and clearly that should not be the millionaires who could afford it, or those persons who had money hidden away in Hedge Funds and Tax Havens pretending to be Great Britons.
It should be the Proletariat.
After all they WERE the democratic ones suckered into voting for Brexit over the fear of mass immigration.
They were now the ones who could no longer afford cheap Thomas Cook flights to Benidorm or Marmaris to use their shiny new blue passports, after the Pound had been devalued below the level of the Euro and Turkish Lira.
Their feral children couldn’t even go and work in the bars of these places any more, as they couldn’t get Work Permits or Visas from the European Union Member States.
They now had to stay at home in a divided Britain with reduced worker’s rights and zero hours contracts to boot, whilst their REAL bosses- the Merchant Bankers & Venture Capitalists- drank champagne and eat oysters and caviar and retired wealthy, after dipping ‘Maxwell- style’ into the pension pot of their workers who had made them rich in the first place.
Poor Arthur Rittik’s only crime was to be born poor in Britain in 2019.
His family had fled Bucharest in Romania in 1939, with some foresight, fearing with just cause what the rise in Fascism would bring to their Mother Country.
His parents had moved to Wales and Merthyr Tydfil in particular at the time, as it was the second least expensive place to buy a house, after the village of Sellafield in Cumbria.
Despite its ‘glowing reputation’ they had chosen Merthyr over the Lake District.
His Father before him had worked on the post, mainly because he couldn’t speak English but also because he didn’t have any professional qualifications that were recognised in this Country.
Somewhat ironically however, his Dad still ended up with lots of letters after his name.
He always held a grudge against rich people ever since.
His Dad remembered the good old days of delivering telegrams to family members of the rich people that had been on the Titanic and telling them that their last words in the bar was requesting more ‘ice’ for their whiskey & tonic.
Fortunately, as he spoke in Romanian nobody could understood a word that he said.
He did have one advantage though, as he was a user of the Cyrillic Alphabet, he could easily identify where a poorly handwritten letter needed to be delivered.
Doctor’s letters were his speciality.
When Arthur took over his round, after he had retired through ill-health, he too found he had a unique way of dealing with illegible writing.
He would simply post them back to the Central Post Office.
Arthur Rittik noticed that he had developed the same occupational illnesses that his Father had from the cold, damp conditions of the South Wales Valleys.
Rheumatoid Arthritis, no knee cartilage, a crooked back from the weight of the letters and lots of sharp paper cuts.
In the Bleak Mid-Winter, there were often times when he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers or the toes on his feet- but he always made sure that just like the ‘Pony Express’- his post always got through.
How times had changed.
Now his profession was regarded with some ambivalence, being sneered at as ‘snail mail’ by the Katy Perry generation and where once the sound of the letterbox would bring joy to the householder children waiting for birthday cards or examination results, now it was met with disdain for junk mail adverts for kebab shops, pizza huts or OAP scams sent by Canadian Conmen that the occupier had won £100,000.00- asking the Local Government supplied list of unwitting elderly victims for their bank account details so the prize could be paid out.
Now he was made semi-redundant by e-mail or telephone mobile text message.
But what the young generation would find out in a few years that their use of electric and fossil fuel that powered their electronic devices was damaging Mother Earth and sending unknown radio waves through the population causing hitherto unknown cancers from electric forcefields.
His way was far more eco-friendly and he had a letter from Swedish schoolkid Greta Thunberg to prove it.
Whereas once he was considered a pillar of a rural Community, now he was largely anonymous.
Back in the day, he had lost count of how many schoolchildren had asked him if his name was Pat or if he had a black and white cat called Jess back home in Greendale.
Now schoolchildren were more likely to threaten him with a flick-knife or call him a Paedo, or ask him why he still wanted to live till 75 years of age?
Children had changed for the worst, mirroring the ‘I’m alright Jack -pull up the ladder ‘Little Britain’ Society Arthur now lived in.
Working class children were also bitter, as Brexit had robbed them of their ability to live and work anywhere in Europe and the divide between the rich and poor had widened to such an extreme that certain areas had become ghettos and other areas- walled communities.
Even Pontsticill had changed, with the continuation of benefit cuts and the resulting crime wave had led to lots of rural burglaries, so that most properties had close circuit television cameras aligned to their doorbell to check for uninvited guests.
The last great fun of doing his job had been taken away from postmen.
They could no longer pretend to ring the doorbell and leave an annoying note with ‘Please collect your parcel from the Delivery Office by 5.30pm’.
As most rural working customers couldn’t get there during normal working hours, they would have to take-up their Saturday Morning to fight through the congested traffic schemes only to discover with some dismay that the mystery parcel actually contained a copy of the Readers Digest.
Back in the day, Arthur was young and fit, he could manage to deliver his post to the entire village and in the process leapt more fences on his round than Grand National Winner ‘Red Rum’, but now with his limited movement, he could only manage one single estate in a day and usually fell at the first fence.
Today, it was Castell Morlais with only 24 houses- all with an open expansive view of the former Norman Morlais Castle and the high former limestone quarries that were once favoured by the English Ironmasters that ruled the Town in a grip of fear.
The rape of the fair country had left behind many industrial scars but the landscape was still as stunning as it ever was – a silent witness back to the times when Arthur of the Britons had first roamed the Celtic Motherland.
It was breath-taking.
Now a different Arthur of the Britain’s stood looking at the Welsh Upland mountainside but at 74 years and still working it was also breath-taking to him.
In fact, the remainder of his breath was briefly visible in the half-light, as its moisture went off to add to the frost on the red tiled roofs of the houses.
Lots had changed in the village, as rich Englishmen from the Smoke could now afford to buy a mansion in Wales from the net proceeds of sale of a one-bedroom flat in London and still have change left over.
The price disparity was all there to see.
The new Ironmasters had arrived.
Many houses were now empty and used as holiday homes on AirBNB, with local wages preventing many Welsh people being able to afford to buy, leading to a rise in Welsh Nationalism and threats of ‘Meibion Glyndwr’ resurfacing in the Principality.
The promised ‘melting pot’ of races had not materialised and increasingly Welsh-born children no longer felt a welcome in the Hillsides.
Arthur looked up at number 24 Castell Morlais and could see a newly installed flagpole with the flag of St George proudly flying over the garden.
I bet that was popular with the few remaining old Welsh neighbours thought Arthur.
As he trudged his way on his zimmer up the uneven pathway of number 1, he tried desperately not to fall over- as he knew that if he turned turtle , he would have one foot in the grave, as people in our broken society already stepped over homeless people in sleeping bags- seeing them as an inconvenience rather than a consequence of the failure of a Government to find work and shelter for their population.
As he reached the letterbox, he carefully selected the right mail for the Property- as he was suffering from early onset vascular dementia- it proved quite a task.
At one time, this round was even harder and more confusing, as most people on this estate were called Jones, Williams, Evans or Thomas.
Now it was Smythe, Blenkinsop or Farquar.
Very few now spoke the Mother tongue and even fewer tuned into S4C.
One survey once established that no-one at all had tuned in to watch several of the Welsh Language Programmes.
But they were still running.
With his first delivery over, Arthur did a U-turn with his frame and made his way back up the shiny pathway.
Back in his youth, he loved the sight of crisp fresh snow- now he feared its very appearance as one slip could mean a broken hip or foot and could be fatal to an elderly postman no longer fit for purpose.
He also worried about how he was going to manage on his meagre state pension after he retired.
After all he wouldn’t even get a free BBC Television licence anymore from his Aunty Beeb.
But I suppose there was always S4C even if he didn’t understand a word of it.
Whatever happened to the Great British Empire and the promised ‘trickle-down effect’? he thought.
The Post Office wasn’t even owned by Britain anymore.
After 360 years of history, the institution was now owned by its shareholders with the resulting effect that the cost of a first-class stamp was now beyond most people.
With inflation, the cost of having a miniature profile of the Regent of England on the top left- hand corner of your envelope had risen to £1.50.
Opinion at the Post Office was divided, as to whether the cost increase or the Earl Grey- stained teeth of Queen Camilla had been most off-putting to the general public.
Either way the number of letters being posted had dramatically reduced.
Which was both a blessing and a curse to poor Arthur- as he feared that some latter-day ‘Robber Maxwell’ might now plunder HIS pension fund, especially as it was paid via a Private Company.
Thirty minutes had now elapsed since he had been first dropped off and he had only managed to deliver post to two houses.
But Arthur was resilient, he was determined to finish his ‘Royal’ paper round and not let down his customers.
Despite being not having originally born in this Country (just like the Windrush Generation) he still considered Great Britain to be his home, and in particular considered himself to be Welsh.
This was based on who he supported in the England v Wales Rugby Match.
As he headed for the third letterbox, he knew he would have to be wary.
There was a sign up ‘Beware of the Dog’.
He hated going into long gardens where the home-loving canine suddenly turned into the Israeli Defence Force and attacked him with those sharp teeth.
Arthur had been bitten so many times over his time with the Post Office he was immune to the tetanus jab itself.
He once did an entire round with a corgi attached to his front of steel toe cap boots by its teeth.
If he had a pound for every time a homeowner had told him –“He won’t hurt you love!”- he could have afforded to retire.
His stock answer was always:-
“ He’s not going to hurt ME love ….but you will be the one that has to climb up the roof of the extension to get him back!”
Many a customer complaint had been lodged on his personnel file for this reply.
So much so Head Office wanted to know if for Health & Safety reasons he wanted to be CORGI registered.
The Fire Station Commander had also complained about his antics in the past but now with a zimmer-frame for protection Arthur was much less belligerent.
However, Arthur’s talent was not limited to pushing paper through holes in doors or converting pets rugby style over garden walls, he had modified the frame just like Q had done for aging actor Sean Connery in ‘Never Say Never Again’, so that at a touch of a button , three six inch stiletto blades would shoot out of the assisted walking- frame.
It was ideal when doing the Post Round in the New Gurnos- as on occasion he had to duel with certain residents like he was one of the Three Musketeers over the retention of his postbag.
Vigilant at all times, Arthur made his way towards the front door of number 3, where he heard the distinctive low growl of a canine defender.
A Jack Russell Terrier by the sound of it.
He could tell the breed and size of a dog simply by looking at the scratch-marks on the bottom of the door or the size of the uncollected dog logs in the gardens.
Whenever, he reached a letterbox where a dog would wait at the back of the door to take off his fingers, he would carefully pick up a dog log with the home-owners incoming mail and then feed it through the flap to the waiting canine mouth.
What a joy it was to hear the dog retching at the taste of it’s own shit.
It was even funnier, as some breeds had short memories too.
With poor Fido having to pick up the ‘bill’ from it’s equally savage owner for a utility letter inside the house with dog excrement on it.
Arthur hated all breeds of dogs but especially German Shepherd’s- not just because of their Country of origin, but also as they were big, aggressive and very territorial.
Nowadays, few dogs bothered him, as due to his age, he smelled of imminent death and whilst the odd hungry one would try and take one of his bony fingers- his Bond villain invention- those of his ‘Rosa Klebb’ shoe-spikes attached to his zimmer- frame usually sent the dog yelping away with it’s tail between its legs.
Most homeowners didn’t blame the postman but assumed that the cats in the area had been issued with flick-knives by a Cat Protection Charity.
As he reached house number six, he was stopped at the top of the driveway by a female supermarket delivery driver busy reversing out of the cul-de-sac.
As it was a Morrison Van – her name was Carrie Abagfivepea and naturally had brown eyes.
Even if they were crossed like US comic actor Ben Turpin.
“What’s the postcode for Morlais Close in Castle Park?” asked the South Wales exponent of the ancient Japanese art of Bonkai.
“Are you talking to me?” asked the lady, whose eyes seemed to be concrete proof of the ability of females to multi-task.
“You’re a postman ain’t you?” countered Carrie.
Poor Arthur felt he was being cross examined and didn’t know which eye to look at- East or West.
“What’s that got to do with it?” asked Arthur.
“There’s no bloody mobile phone signal up here for Google Maps!” said the lost driver.
“Googlie-eyed Maps?” replied Arthur.
“Not my generation love….I couldn’t use a mobile to ring….let alone use Facetube!”
Carrie shook her head in disgust and reversed off at high speed, sending milk now passed its sell-by date and stale bread tumbling as she went.
Seeing the alternative ‘Meals on Wheels’ pull away made Arthur hungry indeed.
But the austerity measures of successive Conservative Governments had left him with a choice of Eating or Heating.
Private rental rates kept going up too with inflation but not in keeping with his meagre pay.
He hadn’t a pay rise in five years and he too was finding the cost of food expensive.
He like most people was affected by the new phenomenon of ‘Universal’ Credit ‘shrinkflation’.
His food portions had shrunk in size and cost twice as much to buy.
A Mars Bar was now the size of Mercury but cost the Earth.
Fortunately, as so few people under 80 years of age wanted to eat them, Werthers were still original.
As he carefully unwrapped one with his blue bony fingers, he took comfort in sucking down on the sweet.
Next up, was number 8, a Jewess Widow he had had his eye on for a number of years.
He felt she had a soft spot for him too, as she often came to the door wearing a negligee and stocking and suspenders.
She reminded him of Rose from the Golden Girls on the occasions when she had her teeth in.
He always pretended there was something wrong with the letterbox and so she had to open the door to him.
None of the nine cats that lived with her seemed to object to his arrival either, as they all made a bee-line for the crack in the door whenever he came a calling.
Fortunately for Arthur, his sense of smell had waned over the years, as younger postmen used to recoil at the putrid smell of stale cat faeces and urine that escaped, just like the cats themselves when the door was ajar.
“Oooh good… my Strictly Come Dancing Live tickets have arrived at last!” said Widow Yom Kipper.
Arthur was pleased to make his favourite customer happy- on a ‘Strictly’ professional basis of course.
“Heavy Sack today Arthur?” she asked suggestively.
“Are you any good at dusting?” asked Arthur randomly.
He was of course thinking of the cobwebs around his cock that hadn’t been employed for some years now.
Widow Kipper took this as a slight and promptly closed the door sharply in his face, trapping one of the escaping cat’s tails and turning it into a Manx one.
Arthur, just like most men was puzzled as to what he had said to offend the woman.
He started back up the pathway, clicking the lozenge between tongue and teeth.
Next up was Mrs Quill, she was another widow but much younger and less attractive than the Widow Kipper.
She had spent some time in the USA previously but had left America after her husband had been killed by a bull in a rodeo accident at Calgary.
He had been a Circus Clown and had died in the ring protecting a bucking bronco rider.
The only consolation that Mrs Quill had in the tragedy was that it had taken the undertakers four days to get the smile off the dead man’s face.
Arthur from experience knew that the blue envelope marked Air Mail was likely to be a letter from abroad.
He was however, curious why there was a franking stamp silhouette of a horse drawn buggy with the face of actor Tom Cruise on the driver.
It read Amish-on Impossible.
Just like the Widow Kipper, she too loved to see Arthur’s mail coming through her letterbox.
She was happy to explain to the curious Postman that it was a letter from her friend in Pennsylvania.
His religious Amish community had banned the use of Skype, Mobile Application Facetime or other modern technology.
They believed that of the 4000 Gods that mankind had created since the dawn of time – their one was against technology.
The author of the letter was a pig farmer- making him the ultimate Pen-Pal.
They had corresponded every six months for the last decade, swapping news about pork prices, the effect of new President Donald Trump was having on the swill of the people and of course who was suey-ing whom in the US Court Legal system.
He had told her he was thinking of moving into a different agricultural field- that of chlorinated chicken, as the President had assured him personally that it would be the new big export market.
Most of Trump’s political rivals were talking about impeachment, but he personally didn’t think fruit was the solution.
The pair had developed their own USA/UK ‘special relationship’ since the death of her husband and hoped one day to innocently roll in the hay one day after Harvest Festival or Thanksgiving.
Or perhaps spend the New Year in Scotland once he had saved up enough Hogmanay.
The letter was always perfumed to disguise the smell of the farm.
Arthur bid his farewell and told her that she would soon have a young stallion taking over his round as he was being put out to pasture.
Next up was Mr Stoker at number 10.
He had always disliked Arthur, as he had never forgiven him for delivering a parcel by placing it in his wheelie bin to keep it dry, when he was out.
It would have been fine but unfortunately it happened to be bin day and he didn’t want the embarrassment of asking the local binmen to return his blow-up woman that he had ordered on the internet.
He had tried to convince Arthur that the company ‘Big N Bouncy’ produced inflatable bouncy castles for children’s parties- but as Mr Stoker had no children, spouse or living relatives it didn’t wash with Arthur.
But then again it wasn’t the only thing that didn’t wash.
Mr Stoker himself always appeared at the door in his dirty dressing gown and encrusted striped pyjamas, usually around Noon holding a bowl of cereal.
The Hugh Hefner lookalike had earned the local nickname of ‘Bran Stoker’, as his light was on all night and his habits were extremely regular.
Arthur pushed the overdue electricity bill through with a smug smile.
Fortunately, there was no mail in his bag for some of the houses otherwise, Arthur would have been there ALL day instead of just the entire morning.
He was shattered.
He still had at least four houses left to deliver to and he genuinely feared he would not make his final deliveries.
He had little else to show for his decades of loyal service but the one thing no one could take away from him was the pride in him doing a good job.
It had been drummed into him as a child, that hard work paid dividends.
What a complete lie that had turned out to be.
The only dividends he had ever seen were those he had delivered to the houses of the rich shareholders that had bought into the newly privatised utility companies at undervalued prices.
Successive Governments had sold off the state- owned Gas, Electric, Water and Telephone Services and he personally had not received a single penny from the sales.
He now had to buy gas from SWALEC, Electricity from British Gas, rent a telephone line in all the recent flooding from Welsh Water and water from Whitbread Brewery.
And that was before the Royal Mail had even been privatised.
He couldn’t afford to buy employee shares, as he currently paid more in tax to the UK Government than both Google & Amazon combined.
And the proposed Labour Government was proposing to re-nationalise everything- if they were elected….so the whole process would start again.
He was fed up of being screwed over and over again, as with added inflation he felt just like Mr Stoker’s inflatable woman.
He tried to console himself that at least he had a purpose to get up for in the Morning- until tomorrow that is- when he finished work compulsorily.
What would he then do to fill the hours?
Arthur didn’t know.
He didn’t want to vegetate and watch the moronic daytime television.
He had all those years ago thought that retirement would bring both time and freedom to do the things he had always wanted to do but put off because of his job.
Travel.
Holidays.
Enjoy not smelling the ‘Roses’ at number 8 Castell Morlais.
But now reality was starting to bite, he really felt short-changed by God.
The hand he had been dealt was not full of Aces but full of deuces.
He really felt bitter and someone was going to pay for it.
The Flag of St George fluttering in the cold mountain breeze too seemed to rile him even more than it normally did.
And then out of the corner of his eye, he caught a sight he had never seen before.
An unidentified flying object, that whirred and hovered in the air above the house with the English insignia.
It was painted a gaudy yellow with black lettering down the side.
Arthur squinted through his 74- year old cataracted eyes trying to make out what it said.
He was intrigued by the robotic UFO, as didn’t think he would ever see such a sight in his lifetime.
He didn’t expect to live long enough to witness people in jet packs whizzing about like they were members of the US cartoon series ‘The Jetsons’, let alone what he perceived to be a drone delivery from US warehousing giant Amazon.
The device seemed to pause, just like it was a mechanical homing pigeon checking its bearings before descending to the front door.
It then extended an arm and knocked the door loudly.
If Arthur had felt redundant earlier, now he knew he needed to be mothballed.
On its side was an LCD display with the words, ‘connecting to WI-FI’….
The electronic ‘Ring’ doorbell then sounded of its own volition and ten seconds later the door swung open only to reveal an out of shape male with a skinhead haircut, with a Chelsea FC football hooligan ‘Death to Spurs’ skull and crossbones tattoo on his muscular forearm.
Seeing Arthur staring at him from the top of the drive- he shouted aggressively ‘Wot U looking at?”
In reality, Arthur didn’t really understand what he was in fact witnessing.
The Amazon Drone opened a flap and in a mechanical voice ( not dissimilar to the robots from the 1970’s Smash advert for instant potato mash) spoke to the skinhead.
“Are you Ed Hunter?” asked the device.
“If so…please place your left thumbprint on the receipt display!”
Ed did so.
The word ‘MATCH’ came up on the LCD display and a different flap opened to dispatch a small bag of white powder.
Arthur was still dumbstruck.
Ed shouted to the Postman.
“Ain’t you seen a delivery of Colombian Marching Powder direct from the Amazon before?” said the National Front supporter.
As the drone flew off with its own ‘mission accomplished’, Ed quickly closed the door with a loud slam just to annoy his next-door neighbour, who he knew was working a nightshift.
Arthur had seen enough but he knew there was a delivery for Mr Ed Hunter and much as he wanted to toss the item in the hedge, his sense of ingrained but misplaced pride in his job would not let him end his career with some unfinished business.
He looked down at the item and quickly discovered that from the weight and size of the packaging that it was a hardback book.
A slight tear caused by despatch from the book depot showed, it was entitled ‘The Holocaust- a work of fiction’
Arthur was already angry but to think that someone would class the murder of millions of European people as ‘fake news’ made him livid.
It was the 1940’s equivalent of Austerity Measures & Universal Credit.
Some of his fellow Romanians had perished at the hands of those Right Wing Extremists -the Nazi Party of Germany-, many of which were women and children.
If there was only one good thing to come out of Europe in the last 74 years it was that different Nationalities had stopped killing each other over fictional borders.
He continued to shuffle his aged bent feet towards the long and winding road leading to the front door of the Englishman’s Castell.
It took him nearly 30 minutes till he reached the racist welcome mat on the porch floor.
“Beware of the Wog!” it read with a Robertson Jam Jar musical band member emblazoned thereon.
He was so incensed with the Brexiteer home owner that he wanted to give him a piece of his mind- while he still had some of it left intact.
He was intent on dealing with a vampire in the same way that they did in Transylvania in his Paternal Fatherland by putting a stake through its heart.
A last post if you like.
As he rapped on the door with his bony knuckles with the last of his ‘remaining’ strength, it was opened by Ed Hunter who glared back at him angrily.
Up close and personal, he had tattoos on his tattoos and was flanked by an English Pit Bull terrier sporting a blue Mohican, a spiked collar and bore the name ‘Drool Britannia’ on his identity ring and a highly- strung cat with a neat ‘Adolf Kittler’ moustache called William Rees- Moggie.
He was now outnumbered by bullies in the usual ratio of 3:1.
“Are you still ‘ere?.......what do YOU want?” spat the EDF energy- enhanced homeowner.
Arthur had intended to point out the error of the Neo-Nazi’s ways but was surprised at what actually came out of his mouth.
“Have you got any of that ‘whizz’ left-it’s just that I need it to finish my Round!”
Margaret: Hmm! Thank you Ceri. Lovely to ‘be here’ in touch with people who love Wales as I do. We are now retired to Lincolnshire, but I still have such a strong hiraeth for the beautiful land that nurtured me for 23 years.
Most teachers will know how frenetic full time teaching is and how time consuming. However, although I had a delightful job running the kindergarten in a small school on Anglesey, I was in for a big shock. Chronic fatigue syndrome along with an exacerbated spinal injury ended my teaching career. We’ve all heard the maxim, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade,’ so, I decided to make the best of things and use my time usefully. I began to research and write the novel I had always wanted to read.
For me the book needed to be historical, have some sort of magical quality, be spiritually nourishing and of course have an edgy romance. It would have to answer unsettling questions about the sacred mountain where we lived when bringing up our children on the island of Anglesey. I was severely disabled, but I needed a raison d’être and new focus. I grasped the opportunity life afforded and, when I was bedbound, began painstaking research into the period of Romano Celtic history that followed the slaughter of the Druids on the shores of Anglesey (Mona) in North Wales 2000 years ago.
There was something so beautiful and mystical about the sacred mountain of Mynydd Llwydiarth where we lived; with a forest behind us and Snowdonia spread out at our feet. (It is now a red squirrel sanctuary) When feeling well, I had often roamed the mountain forest behind our cottage and allowed the plants and earth beneath my feet to ‘speak to me’. Ancient memories seemed to surface from the old rocks. I became convinced that a Celtic priestess had lived on the site of our house around 2000 years ago. Her story begged to be told.
When I was able to kneel, I began writing in short bursts, supporting myself on a kneeling stool. With hands on Reiki healing and medical herbalism I began to regain some measure of strength. I decided to train as a Reiki healer myself, so that I could manage to take away my own pain. I found this so useful in gaining empathy with Ceridwen, the main character in the novel. Like me, at the beginning of her story she is a novice healer.
As my health gradually improved, I was able to spend longer at the writing; but it took me twelve years. Then came the task of finding an agent and a publisher. It was so frustrating. Agents and publishers made encouraging noises, but nothing materialized, so I decided to go down the route of self-publishing. It wasn’t a good idea for a technophobe like myself. But, with the right support from friends and being able to find a brilliant professional formatter, it finally got published. It took 24 years from start to finish, but it is now an ebook and is also available in a glossy paperback on Amazon sites.
If you want to know more about the story, here’s the blurb I wrote for Amazon:
‘After the death of her grandmother, young novice priestess and healer, Ceridwen, is faced with the daunting responsibility of ministering to her Celtic tribe at a time when spiritual leadership is most needed. It is over two hundred years since Roman invaders attempted to annihilate the Druids on the shores of the island of Mona (Anglesey in North Wales).
Is now is the time for healing and forging a future from that hateful carnage? Is her attraction to a Roman surgeon, Marcus, a weakness, or her destiny? Dare she allow herself to be drawn into a relationship with him, now that she will be expected to mate at the sacred time of Beltane; and how can she steer her tribe away from its current chieftain, who usurps the nobility of Druid leadership in exchange for a reign of intimidation and terror? Their lives entwine and unfold in the setting of Mynydd Llwydiarth - the sacred mountain on the island of Mona.
Charged with passing the secrets and wisdom of her Druid training down the generations through the female line, she questions why she cannot conceive a girl child. The true magic she comes to learn, as her life unfolds, is more about love and loyalty than ritual, more about justice than tribe.
Interpreted as an allegory of the era we live in, where there are clashes of both culture and ideals, we can empathise with the process; but, for both Ceridwen and Marcus it is an agonizing spiritual journey of self searching and response to their times.
‘Where Rowans Intertwine’ is an historical novel which will interest those who enjoy a mystical tale, a spiritual quest, and a dip into the past. It will fascinate those interested in things Celtic, Roman or Pagan, and create an awakening to healing and life purpose.
More details can be found at www.margaretgrantauthor.wordpress.com
So far I’ve been lucky enough to have many five star reviews on all Amazon sites and Goodreads. I’m now busy doing local book signings in Lincolnshire. However, at Easter 2016 I managed a long awaited trip to North Wales to do book signings at Caernarfon Castle, The Ucheldre Centre, Holyhead, Oriel Môn, Llangefni and the Bulkeley Arms Hotel, Beaumaris. It was a great opportunity to sell signed copies of the paperback and meet old friends and new.
AmeriCymru: Do you think that Druidic practices survived the Roman occupation of Ynys Mon? Do you think that more should have been done to preserve those ancient traditions?
Margaret: I met and interviewed people on Anglesey who claimed to have been descendants of Druids. They said that, as Druid teachings went underground during the Roman occupation, the practices of healing, prophesying and conducting the sacred rituals at the festival times fell to the women. They claimed that the secret sacred teachings were passed down through the female line, emerging today in several formats such as medical herbalism, hands on healing as well as wiccan and pagan rituals.
It would seem to make sense. The Romans knew how politically influential the Druids were to the tribal chiefs and kings of the time. Destroying their power base was crucial to Roman civilization. To survive, Druid teachings had to go underground, but we can see echoes of it in Christian rituals at Christmas, Easter and Halloween. We hear echoes in our folklore, songs and traditions.
The Romans were pragmatic and as long as the Brythonic tribes did not rise in rebellion, the occupied peoples were allowed their old festivals and traditions. As a result many outward forms of Druid practice get mixed up in how we celebrate traditionally today.
In the 18th century there was a fashionable revival and interest in Druidry. When people started to take an interest in its spirituality during the 19th century we see traditions currently used in the cultural celebrations at national eisteddfodau beginning to be played out. These days the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids – OBOD would claim they have more of a handle on the teachings and run training courses. Here is a link to an overview of modern day Druidry.
https://www.druidry.org/druid-way/what-druidry/brief-history-druidry/history-modern-druidism
Christian institutions, from the medieval period onwards, played their part all over Europe in persecuting and hunting down ‘heretics’. Druidry was buried, but its threads were still alive in folklore and folk medicine and even in superstitions. The other way it survived was through inspiration. Sensitive people, working with meditation and prayerful energy, are inspired by those gone before. I was fortunate to be able to link in this way to Ceridwen as she helped me mould the story I was creating. As I was editing she would often stop me in process and tell me ‘No!…Watch! It was like this!’
AmeriCymru: How easy is it to research the period in which the book is set? To what extent does imagination supplement primary sources?
Margaret: There is much more archeological evidence these days than there was in 1991 when I began my research. Fortunately according to Professor Alice Roberts, nothing I wrote has been disproved. No world wide web for me in those days. I was reliant on books borrowed from Bangor University Library, giving me access to old Roman maps, articles on farming and Welsh culture and law during the Roman occupation. Visits to museums to look at artefacts and visits to the remains of Segontium fortress near Caernarfon made it easier to imagine life in those far off days.
At both Bangor Museum and Oriel Môn, Llangefni I was able to view some of the votive hoard found at Llyn Cerrig Bach during the Second World War. Now it is housed in the National Museum of Wales in Cardiff. The fascinating museum at Segontium, where I was fortunate to have the curator all to myself for a whole afternoon, is now not manned; but I believe you can ask for the key at Caernarfon castle if you book in advance with CADW. Chester Museum and the Deva experience there gave me even more material and a feel for the might of Rome.
The Roman chronicler Tacitus and writers Caesar and Pliny all give accounts of the Roman occupation of Britain, but current historians reckon that there was lots of bias and spin to their stories, proudly recording victory after victory and denouncing the Brythonnic tribes as uncivilized. Archeology has proved that wrong from the way they wove, fashioned tools, worked with gold, copper and iron, built houses and roads, traded, had supreme horsemanship and farmed the land sympathetically. Their laws were very egalitarian, supportive of family life and their links to the land.
In some ways, even though it took two years of assiduous research, I was relieved that I did not have to pin myself down to too much historic detail. So much remained a mystery; so I had to rely on a great deal of imagination and stimulus from my muse Ceridwen.
AmeriCymru: Will you be writing more historical novels? Will you be setting future novels in the same place and period?
Margaret: I am 74. Whilst I can still be a walk leader for Walking For Health and run meditation classes and Reiki classes from our home, I really do not want to tie myself to a computer as it drains me of energy. I want to be out in my garden tending the herbs or hosting retreats for people who need some peace and quiet in their busy lives.
However, if I ever do become immobile again I will follow up on ‘Where Rowans Intertwine’ with an account of Llew’s life in the same area of Anglesey. He is Ceridwen’s young son. I am convinced he was an ancestor of Llywelyn Fawr. Occasionally when I cannot sleep at night I feel his story calling me…
AmeriCymru: What is your process? Do you write a certain amount each day or do you wait for inspiration?
Margaret: It has always depended on what needs doing as a priority. During times of struggle with practicalities and pressure from family matters my creative writing has had to take a back seat. Recently, on becoming a Reiki master (teacher) I wrote my own training manuals. My writing energy is always better in the mornings, just after the two cups of real coffee I indulge in. Then, after a domestic tidy, I settle down to write for the rest of the morning. I might begin with a silly computer game to get my brain stimulated. Then I will open up my partially written manuscript and read it aloud to myself. As an ex drama teacher I am looking for dramatic effect and timing as well as typographical errors. I listen to it as though I am a member of its audience. As I go along I edit. When I have finished cleaning up what I have previously written, I pause. Maybe I will have a walk around the garden and smell the beauty, put out the washing, pray and meditate for a few minutes and then get creative.
AmeriCymru: What are you working on at the moment?
Margaret: I am just about to publish a children’s paperback. I will work on editing an ebook version during the Christmas holidays. It has been such a wonderful self-indulgent trip down memory lane. You see I am a cataholic……( No not a Catholic. My faith is Bahá’í, which means I appreciate each world faith as a significant chapter in the spiritual evolution of humankind.) I am a great fan of cats. We have been owned by nine of them during our long family association with felines. I must have read almost every book that has ever been published about cats.
Mine is called ‘THE NINE LIVES OF TIGGER DIGGER’. It is based on the true to life story of our latest family moggy, Tiggy. It’s the tale of how we imagined he got to be dumped on the South Yorkshire moors and had to learn to fend for himself before finding his forever home.
My lovely husband, Gordon, has done the delightful illustrations and both daughter Claire and son Andrew have contributed memories and ideas. It is suitable for 7-14 year olds to read by themselves, but it will also interest adult cat lovers. At the back there are discussion questions to accompany each chapter so that parents and teachers can prompt youngsters to think about moral values.
Here is a taste of the draft cover:
AmeriCymru: What are you currently reading? Any recommendations?
Margaret: I’m currently rereading Philippa Gregory’s novel ‘The Constant Princess’ on kindle. I was lucky enough to visit the Alhambra in Granada two years ago and it is bringing back strong memories of the region.
In paperback I am reading ‘All The Light We Cannot See’, by Anthony Doerr, a fascinating story of a blind teenager in occupied France and a young radio scientist who is singled out to be of great use to the Nazi effort. This is so atmospheric you have to savour each small vignette as it alternates each character’s story of the same war. I am half way through and the two main protagonists have not met as yet.
For those of you who love historical novels about Welsh history I recommend the writing of Sharon Kay Penman and Elizabeth Chadwick. Maybe you are already familiar with Sharon’s trilogy about the Welsh Princes: ‘Here be Dragons’ , 'Falls The Shadow' , ‘The Reckoning’?
For me, the historical writer par excellence is Elizabeth Chadwick. I have often observed that with some writers I am especially telepathic and when they begin to outline a character or place, even well before they have furnished a full visual description, I can already see what is in the author’s mind. I have a very strong connection with her writing. If you found Wolf Hall more like a PhD thesis than a digestible story then you will prefer Elizabeth’s writing.
There are tantalizing glimpses of Llwyellyn Fawr in ‘The Leopard Unleashed’, part of her Ravenstow Trilogy about the Welsh Marches.
Here is what she says about Garth Celyn, his Welsh stronghold near Aber in North Wales.
http://livingthehistoryelizabethchadwick.blogspot.com/2010/04/garth-celyn.html
AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?
Margaret: Keep the hiraeth flowing and the Welsh language safer than houses if you have it. Value your heritage and treasure the culture, but do not lose sight of the oneness of humanity, from which cauldron we are all born. Call others to discover the hidden treasures of Wales; her unspoiled and spiritual landscapes; her connection to sea and sky; her ancient wisdoms and her noble saints and seers. Sing, laugh and be part of an amazing landscape. If you have hiraeth and can make the sacred journey then come to her mountains, valleys and shores. If you cannot travel, then do so in your meditations and dreams. The welcome is always so warm.
VOICES FROM WALES – THIRTY SIX OF FIFTY-TWO, THE RIVER TOWY
Totally off the cuff, I woke up last Saturday and decided to take the dog, Eddy, on an adventure. I got dropped off just outside Carmarthen on the Llansteffan road and followed the Coastal path back to Carmarthen – not an enormous walk. I wanted to get the vibe of the river. I took my mobile phone with me, in case of accident etc and as I’m walking think I’ll take some pics and to a bit of a commentary. I hadn’t done any research regarding history, hence the links below. Maybe I’ll read up a bit and go back and do the walk with the knowledge and take Seimon, the cameraman and Eddy!
Rhyd Y Gors - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhyd-y-gors
Buffalo Bill - https://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/wales/entries/c5eb1659-9985-368b-9b86-8a35c9834aa7
https://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/museum-officials-trying-identify-scene-1926131
Ystrad Tywi - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ystrad_Tywi
White Bridge - https://britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/300080709-white-bridge-the-bascule-railway-bridge-carmarthen#.Xb_UrC2caPQ
Busy Carmarthen Port from a hundred plus years ago.
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AmeriCymru: Hi Dave and many thanks for agreeing to this interview. Care to tell us a little about your Welsh background and how it affects your writing?
Dave: Hi Ceri, thanks for having me as it were J. I grew up in the small, ex-mining village of Cilfynydd, which is just up the road from Pontypridd in south Wales. As a child I loved the Greek classics / stories and started reading Wordsworth, Coleridge, Pope and Milton in school, before moving on to William Blake, Brian Patten and T. S. Eliot whilst at college. I studied zoology at Cardiff University but always loved poetry and literature. After years as a biology, science and PE teacher in various schools in Wales, as well as a year in Kenya, I retrained as a software engineer and started lecturing photography and Photoshop to adults. I’d always written so encouraged by Welsh writer and environmentalist John Evans I began to think about producing my own books – www.david-lewis.co.uk
I produced my first poetry collection, Layer Cake, in 2009. The poems were collected from many years of writing and dealt with my Welsh upbringing, family, love, nature and travel. I won a runner-up spot in a short story contest a year or so later and included that in my second book, Urban Birdsong. After selling a few hundred copies (almost all just locally) I decided that maybe I could do this. I’ve since gone on to produce a number of books, twenty to date; featuring poetry, crime thrillers set in Wales, cycling travelogues, self-help and photography.
My cycling diary, Wales Trails – www.wales-trails.co.uk is an account of two weeks in 2016 when I cycled around my home country and my thoughts about the anglification of Wales as well as my efforts to inspire other cyclists to do a similar ride. Apart from my novels this book is probably my best seller.
I think that being brought up in Wales, especially in years past, will always make a lasting impression on someone and this is certainly true for my own writing. I always feel we are the underdog, have this big imposing neighbour and have to fight to be heard. My poetry certainly has this anger or at the very least a sense of injustice in it although my love of the natural world is always close by so that I can retreat and disappear when the modern, technological world becomes too overbearing.
AmeriCymru: When did you first decide to write poetry?
Dave: I was about nine or ten years old when I first started writing what I thought were ‘songs’, which I later discovered were poems (I’m not very musical, lol). By about fifteen or sixteen I was into Dylan Thomas, John Keats, then Shelley but still get excited today when I discover a new poet that I like. I love the way different writers deal with different subjects and have a huge list of poet heroes! Since starting writing seriously I have been inspired by many of the American ‘beat’ poets, Ginsberg, Kerouac and one of my favourites, Gary Snyder. My ever-growing ‘poetry shelves’ also include Akhmatova, Kavanagh, Basho, Sandburg, Bukowski and Sexton so you’re never short of something to read in my house!
Some poets can write to order. They can be given a subject and off they go. I find that very difficult, if not impossible. I tend to write when I feel like, when something has inspired, upset or moved me. Some poems just rush out onto the paper in five minutes and are fine, others take weeks of editing and are never quite right. It’s a weird profession alright J.
AmeriCymru: What can you tell us about your new collection:- 'Scratching the Surface'?
Dave: Following on from ‘Going Off Grid‘ (which began with a modern ‘The Waste Land’-type rant before the other poems deal with fighting back against digital capitalism through getting closer to nature) in ‘Scratching The Surface’ I’ve returned to themes I’m comfortable with, namely nature, love and family but have also tried to slide a few left field observations in there too. As well as some very personal pieces I’ve also tried to write a contemporary collection that pushes the door open on some of today’s accepted myths.
In my view, poets should constantly question authority and not blindly give in to the mainstream, politically correct narrative. I’m often very worried about the negative direction the western world is taking and feel someone needs to speak up on behalf of the voiceless masses as loud minorities take over. Politics these days is so polarised, we’re all expected to be either one thing or the other, either left wing or right wing. How stupid is this? I am Che Guevara as far as equal opportunities, working men’s rights and access to our national health service is concerned but I’m Thatcher, Hitler or Mao on punishment for terrorists or paedophiles. I want to reduce the Earth’s population, save the rainforests and everything in them but also abolish poverty in third world countries. I could go on but what I’m suggesting is that we all have different views on different things. We can’t all agree of course but neither should we be silenced from expressing an opinion. I’d like to think my poetry asks questions (often uncomfortable) as well as provides solutions to some of the world’s problems.
One of the best things about this collection though is when I plucked up the courage to ask one of my heroes to take a peek at some of the poems in it and I got the following quote back from him. I was well chuffed!
“The poems are sharp, clear, and confident. He has a clarity only a real poet possesses.” – Brian Patten
Another local writer has also summed up what the book is about, far better than I can, lol:
“An epic collage of nature, history, love, adventure and grief that leaps off the page and thumps you in the chest. This book is a sheer Tardis of themes with poems about Celtic mythology, the African bush, ‘The Matrix’, the Notre Dame fire and the lives of Ho Chi Minh and Kathleen Mary Drew-Baker. Others involve close family members, ex-lovers, an abused porn star, a transgender cousin and the constant struggle with mental health issues. This collection ebbs and flows as mesmerically as a river on its journey to the sea. An absolutely superb collection of modern poetry by one of the most under the radar poets in Wales and the UK. A fluid and heartfelt abstraction that speaks loudly to the passion that should run through all of us.” – Mark Davies
To see more - https://amzn.to/2pnTkmd
AmeriCymru: You also run the annual Welsh Poetry Competition online. Care to tell us a little about this? When is the next contest?
Dave: After talking with John Evans in his creative writing classes I setup the International Welsh Poetry Competition in 2007. We are the biggest poetry competition in Wales and growing each year. Truly international in nature we have had entries from over thirty countries and have a great reputation for honest, hard-hitting and passionate work. There are some great contests out there but there are also some very poor ones. All I can say is that the Welsh Poetry Competition is at least trying to bring serious topics to the attention of its readers. We are anonymous, our judges read all the poems and I’ve also produced two anthologies of winners’ work. The next contest will be Feb / March 2020, more details here: www.welshpoetry.co.uk
AmeriCymru: You have also written a number of thrillers. What can you tell us about the 'Hagar Trilogy'?
Dave: I had an idea for two crime thrillers, set in Wales and Africa, wrote them and never intended to have a third instalment. However after selling a few thousand copies (on kindle) and with loads of people asking ‘When is the next one out?’ I decided to write a third. The story involves a politically-incorrect Welsh valley hero, his haphazard love life and a serial killer who becomes entangled in his life. A host of very different characters eventually connect as we discover who the killer is (although I never intended it to be a whodunit) and further twists in the relationships come to light in the second and third books. The sequel and final book seek to explain why things are happening and to question the reader - do they have sympathy with the killer or not? I took seven years to research and write them, mainly down to the IT information contained within. I also have an idea for a fourth novel in the series but that might be a while yet…
AmeriCymru: You run a book publishing company - Publish & Print. What kind of books do you publish? How would prospective authors get in touch with you?
Dave: Unfortunately the book publishing scene is quite poor in Wales. There are just a handful of very small book publishers producing a small number of books each year with not much appetite for risk, so the more adventurous or innovative writers fail to get noticed in my opinion. I thought I could offer an alternative so after self publishing my own books I decided to start the company. I offer this service to other writers (worldwide) and now work full-time on this and as a writer myself. The business publishes all sorts of genres although I like to do poetry of course and feel I offer a professional service at a reasonable price. There is plenty of free information for prospective authors on our website and an authors page where you can see what we produce. We have some great writers on board too, for example the Welsh thriller writer Sally Spedding. All books are available on Amazon but start here: www.publishandprint.co.uk
AmeriCymru: What's the Writers of Wales database?
Dave: There used to be an A to Z database in Wales, which included details on many Welsh connected authors but it disappeared a few years back. Many writers in Wales have complained about this so I decided what the heck, I’ll just do one myself. I’ve not long started it and still have many authors to add but it’s well worth a look already – www.welshwriters.co.uk
AmeriCymru: What's next for Dave Lewis? Any new titles in the works?
Dave: I’m writing a novel based in Wales and London at the moment. It’s about a Welsh lad from a broken home who starts out as a bouncer in Cardiff before moving up to London and ending up working for a crime boss in the city. When things go bad he goes on the run and flees back to Wales. It’s quite a hard-hitting book with a fair bit of violence under the surface but the story is really more concerned with the relationships between the different characters. It’s quite a dark novel.
I’ve also been asked to do a ‘Selected Poems’ collection by a few people although I haven’t really thought about a traditional publisher as yet. It’s very competitive to get a poetry book produced by anyone in the UK so I’ll probably do one myself, maybe the end of next year as I have a fair amount of varied material to include now.
AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?
Dave: Apart from buy all my books and leave lots of 5 star reviews, lol, I’d like to see more people getting involved with the site. Wales is a poor country, abandoned by governments in England and we need you ‘Cymro-Americans’ to support and speak up for us as we fight a daily battle against the forces of evil over here. (I’m hoping to appeal to Star Wars / Lord of the Rings fans with that line btw). Hwyl.
AmeriCymru: Hi Sarah and many thanks for agreeing to this interview. What is your Welsh background and how important is it to you?
Sarah: My Welsh ancestry comes through—among others—my umpteenth great grandfather, William Woodbury, who self-identified as a Welshman when he arrived in Salem, Massachusetts in 1628. I am also descended from a host of Morgans, Thomas’, Kemries, Johns, Rhuns etc. The line I’ve researched most successfully descends from Llywelyn ap Ifor born around 1300. Six generations later, Sir John Morgan (1448) was knighted. One of my readers kindly researched my ancestry back all the way to Gruffydd ap Cynan, King of Gwynedd, through his grandson, the Lord Rhys (d. 1197), as well as Hywel Dda (d. 950). Woodbury is, of course, a very Saxon name, and those roots lie in Somerset.
We are all a product of the stories we tell about ourselves. I heard growing up that I had Welsh ancestry, but I never knew the extent of it until I started researching. Once I realized the extent of it, I read everything I could get my hands on about medieval Wales—and then began writing novels set in that time. I would say it is pretty important to me! At the same time, I know people with little to know Welsh ancestry who love Wales and Welsh history and culture, so I don’t think it’s a perquisite for becoming interested and involved.
AmeriCymru: How much of a challenge is it to set novels in medieval Wales? Presumably readers are not as well aware of Welsh history as they are of English or Scottish?
Sarah: After I published my first books, I used to say that part of my job was to educate as well as entertain. 1143 Wales is not the Tudors! It is always a balancing act between making the story fun and engaging and not writing either too much history or making medieval Welsh people and their lives so different that they become in accessible to the modern reader.
Books set in Wales have the additional challenge of having Welsh names and places, which can be inaccessible to a modern English speaker. Some English speakers have a gut negative reaction to the Welsh names that goes back generations and centuries. Some people can’t be helped, but many can be won over by stories that are so compelling they read them anyway—and then find themselves falling in love a little bit with the country and people and coming back for more.
Sarah: Crouchback is set in the medieval world of 1284, after the Edwardian Conquest and the death of the last native Welsh Prince of Wales, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. At Llywelyn’s death, Wales lost its independence and, after the birth of Edward II in Caernarfon in April 1284, King Edward declared him the new Prince of Wales, ensuring that the titular ruler of Wales from then on would be the son of the English king rather than a Welshman.
Unlike my After Cilmeri series, which is set in an alternate universe where Llywelyn lives, Crouchback is set in the real world, our world, where he does not.
It’s a pretty dark time for Wales and the Welsh people.
One of my favorite writing quotes, the provenance of which I am uncertain, says to write a good book, the author needs to give her characters a very bad day and make it worse. In the world of medieval Wales, there was nothing ‘worse’ than the conquest of Wales by King Edward of England. For the two main characters in Crouchback, Catrin and Rhys, their world had, in a very significant way, come to an end. In writing this book, I found myself exploring how a person could have something so terrible happen and still live.
Which the people of Wales did. They endured and even prospered for over seven hundred years, speaking their language and living their lives as Welsh men and women.
And thus, Crouchback isn’t about grief, as it turns out, but about hope and perseverance, courage and love—and finding joy in the darkest moments of our lives.
AmeriCymru: You have achieved incredible success writing more than 40 novels and selling over a million books online. What is the secret of your success? What advice would you give to budding authors who wish to self-publish?
Sarah: Amazingly enough, the secret isn’t to write books set in medieval Wales! During the five years my books were rejected by every publisher in New York, I was told over and over that their marketing department couldn’t think how to sell historical mystery/romance/adventure set in Wales. The answer instead, as it turns out, really isn’t a secret. It’s all about producing consistent quality content on a reliable schedule, just like any other job.
I write a thousand words a day, every day. I work very hard to take criticism well and to seek out people who will tell me the truth about my books before I publish them. I also treat my writing and all that’s associated with it (marketing, publishing etc.) as a business.
But mostly it’s a matter of sitting one’s rear in the chair and writing. Thirteen years of doing that, day in and day out, is bound to produce some books that people want to read!
AmeriCymru: What can you tell us about your YouTube series 'Making Sense of Medieval Britain'? What inspired it and how many episodes will it eventually comprise?
Sarah: The Making Sense of Medieval Britain video project began with some ideas that tie into a question you asked earlier about how few people know anything about Wales. I want to write great stories, but many of my readers, once they get into my books, want to know more about the world in which my books are set. The video series is intended to help with that, in three to six minute installments. And because I’m an anthropologist by training, the focus is on the people of Britain, beginning with the Celts, the Romans, the Normans, etc. The last third is focused almost entirely on the Welsh and medieval Wales. By January, we should have 44 videos in the series, which will complete the first ‘season’.
AmeriCymru: What's next for Sarah Woodbury? Any new titles in the works?
Sarah: Always! Right now, with the release of Crouchback on November 14, I’m working on the latest book in the After Cilmeri series—the one where I change history and Llywelyn lives! It should be out in March.
AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?
Sarah: If you do end up reading any of my books or enjoying the video series, I would hope you would reach out to me, either on Facebook or by email. I love meeting people, even remotely, who share my love for Wales!
Aspects of a Puncture in November or I Chose a Path But Don't Remember Which One
By Paul Steffan Jones AKA, 2019-11-15
What is the story of a bra jettisoned
on the white lines in the centre of a road
eyed by a bevy of starlings on a telegraph wire
while green wheelie bins line up
on a mucky grass verge
like recycled squaddies at ease
or lazy cut-price Easter Island statues?
our parents used to exhort us
to always wear clean underwear
to spare our blushes
in the event of emergency personnel
having to intervene
when some inattentive motorists
unseated us from our bikes
bish bash bosh
if you're free a week Thursday afternoon
why don't we start to dig up
the clogged-up motorways
then do the same to their feeder roads
and the unclassified roads
and any slither of poor
potholed tarmac or concrete
for they are teeming and pollutant
not the fresh air and ideas
of the caravans from the Middle East
the old books promised us
instead we gag on the rank fumes
of millions of vehicles going nowhere
very slowly in the congestion of our lives
Annie: It’s a pleasure to be talking to you and thanks for being interested.
Black Dragon began back in the early 70’s, when the world was a significantly different place. My husband and I had sold most of our possessions to go on an adventure to the USA – when we got home, we didn’t really have anywhere to live and a friend volunteered us their barn in Wales. We set up a workshop and I began using the leatherworking skills I had learned in San Fransisco while he made candles.
We were invited to exhibit our wares at a show and needed a name for our enterprise: Black (because we were trying to buy a house called Llyn Ddu), Dragon (because we were in Wales) and Crafts (because that was what we were doing).
This was in 1974 and our work started to sell quite well, mostly in local gift shops and at Craft Markets. But we didn’t buy Llyn Ddu because a better place came along, then two children arrived, business expanded into shops and markets in England and we were living the dream. My leatherwork was Celtic, the kids were happy and the sun was always shining. Then in 1989 he left us. There were clouds covering the sun for a while but the world didn’t end and I had created my first Celtic bead within a couple of years. I never looked back.
AmeriCymru: Care to describe your workshop for our readers?
Annie: My current workshop is the best ever. Everything started in a barn adjoining the cottage, then the weather changed and it all migrated to the kitchen table. It soon outgrew the table and I bought a big wooden shed to plant at the top of the garden. It lasted for over 10 years but the roof started leaking and everything went mouldy so I bit the bullet and built a proper building. Insulation galore, double glazed windows (with a fabulous view out of every one), green cladding, a pot bellied stove and proper workbenches. I started taking it all a lot more seriously and began winning prizes with my beads.
My workshop is a building of two halves – I make the beads in the dirty half (lovingly called The Beadoir) and the jewelery in the clean half. 15 years on and it has settled into the landscape, green was a good choice. Visitors think it is all very well organised but it’s a busy space, there has to be some order and a plan. Having said that, I currently only have one helper and she has been with me for over 30 years, seen it all. There are changes afoot – I ought to be contemplating my retirement but I seem to be enjoying a growth spurt instead. Do I need more staff?
AmeriCymru: What was the significance of beads to the ancient Celts? How are yours produced?
Annie: Beads have always been used for adornment and trade, by every tribe and everywhere. Mine are unashamedly decorative and I cast them in lead free pewter. I heat the pewter to around 350 degrees C, then pour it into rubber moulds in a centrifugal casting machine. I fettle and file them by hand, then tumble them in a big tumbly machine to burnish and polish them. It’s a hot, dirty, noisy, dangerous and dusty process, which involves many hours on my feet and zero romance. But I love it. To start with a 1kg stick of raw pewter and end with a batch of beads is wonderful and never ceases to amaze me.
AmeriCymru: What can you tell us about the range of Jewellery available from Black Dragon? How is the jewellery produced?
Annie: In case you haven’t noticed already, I love my beads and I thread them in as many different ways as I can. I also love my gemstones, so we have developed different jewellery ranges which showcase the various styles of beads and stones. And each stone has its power or story, all carefully researched and printed on the packaging. There are massive 12mm gembeads in the Big Beady jewellery interspersed with our Globe and Bauble beads. Boxed Beady jewellery is made in many different bead configurations but mostly uses 6mm gembeads. Cwtch heart jewellery and Seren star jewellery both use mainly 6mm gemstones and you’ll find little hearts or stars dangling throughout. The agate jewellery is full of beautiful 8mm agate stones, in all of the colours you can think of. They are challenging to pair on earrings because they are all so very different but stringing the bracelets is quite therapeutic! And on it goes – with the Beady , Cyfrin , carded Beady and Dragon jewelley . Then there are little TWT bracelets for the wee ones and even a Boy-o range for the boys (large and small!) As you can imagine – there are lots of components for each range, so we use our tried and trusted “templates” to make sure that the bracelets turn out the right length and the necklaces are symmetrical!
AmeriCymru: You also offer 'Crystalight' and 'Celtic Chakra' products for sale on your site. What can you tell us about these?
Annie: We’ve been making Crystalights for many years – we stopped (for a decade!) when I realized that there was a spelling mistake on the packaging! Repackaged now, they make a perfect gift. “A cut crystal glass drop, genuine gemstones and a pewter Celtic bead...hanging at your window it will capture the sunlight and scatter glorious rainbows” What’s not to like?!
And what can I say about my Celtic Chakra jewelery? People are searching endlessly for “wellness” and everybody loves a rainbow. Just in case you don’t know about the Chakra – the human body has seven Chakras or energy wheels and each of the genuine gemstones used in this jewelery relates to one of those power centres. Combined with the magic of the ancient Celts and threaded with hematite to give you courage, this jewelery should help to keep you balanced and energized. Try it?
AmeriCymru: I'm sure that our readers would love to know more about the 'ORIGIN' shop in Carmarthen. Care to share?
Annie: The Origin shop in Carmarthen is a wonderful place to go for treats and treasures, all hand made in either Carmarthenshire, Ceredigion or Pembrokeshire – the old county of Dyfed. The shop is on King Street, which is in the old part of the town and far away from all of the multiple stores that you can find anywhere in anytown. On our street, most of the shops are independent and interesting – there’s an antique centre, three other galleries, a couple of nice eateries, a delicatessen, a couple of lovely gift shops, craft supplies, a smattering of charity shops plus vintage, interiors and clothing. Origin was the first Community Crafts Co-operative in Wales and was established back in in 1990, at a massive public meeting. It exists to promote local arts and crafts, to raise the standards of craftsmanship and to increase sales opportunities for local artists and makers. For my sins, I am a founder member and have been an active Director since the beginning. We all take it in turns to steward in the shop and we “muck in” to redecorate and move the displays around. We have three shop windows, changed every month, to give all co-op members their chance to shine. We have ceramics, fine art, glass, jewellery, metal, photography, sculpture, textiles, wood, slate and marbling – on two floors and all gorgeous.
AmeriCymru: What's next for Annie Wealleans? Any new products or product ranges in the works?
Annie: I’m 68 now and I ought to be thinking about retiring...but I’m not sure that I ever will. I love my work and I am very proud of my beads. I’m just an ordinary person but I have created something extraordinary – put ‘celticbeads’ into Google and there I am, top of the page. I had my first webpage in 1996 and have recently had a whole new website. You can register as a trade customer and buy for your shop, or you can buy for yourself. You can pick your preferred currency and have your own account, there’s plenty to look at and you can always ask if you can’t quite find what you want. And my beads are gorgeous – each one with its own peculiarities and flaws but that’s what makes them special. I’m always dreaming up new shapes and designs but each one takes an age and costs a fortune, so I can’t be constantly launching new ones. I’m currently wondering about more little pendants and maybe even some torc bracelets but that’s a whole new departure. The casting equipment in my Beadoir is all getting rather old and tired (most of it came over from Poland before the war, literally! It was used in London to create buttons and trims before I had it...but that’s a story for another day). I’m currently thinking about replacing it with something a bit more 21st century and taking on an apprentice. It would be a giant leap but this black dragon has still got plenty of fire left to breathe... and I may (brain permitting) start to learn Welsh soon. It’s kind of late, now that I’ve been living here for nearly 45 years ... but better late than never!
AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?
Annie: Hey, it has been lovely talking to you! It has been a bit one-sided but still lovely. Wales joins us all and as you know, I am not born welsh but I’m certainly “honorary welsh”. It’s in my heart and I couldn’t live anywhere else now. If you haven’t been here yet then you really need to come. My parents had their honeymoon in Tenby, just a few miles from my workshop, back in 1947, They bought my sister and I back here for many family holidays – usually camping in a leaking tent but always happy. I wish they were all still here to see the way it all turned out - me happy with my beads and still loving life on the side of this Welsh hill with my dragons. I am,very lucky.
