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Thanks to everyone who attended and supported the Wales Smithsonian Cymru program of the 2009 Smithsonian Folklife Festival in other ways by sending good wishes, visiting our Web site, etc. The Festival was a huge success with over 1 million visitors thanks to the great weather and interesting performances and demonstrations by over 130 Welsh participants and presenters. A lot of great photos and blogs were posted on our Web site, www.folklife.si.edu - please check it out!

Final Date For Submissions Three Days Away With three days to go till the closing date for submissions for this years Left Coast Eisteddfod we would like to remind readers that internationally renowned photographer Glyn Davies will be judging the Visual Image Competition. For more information about Glyn follow this LINK . For a selection of breathtaking images which Glyn recently uploaded to Americymru check out the slideshow below. Find more photos like this on Americymru If you are planning to submit an entry there is still time. Indeed if you are an Americymru member and you have already uploaded photos to the site you can simply copy the image location in a new group discussion on the Groups page and you are all done. The rules and everything else you need to enter can be found on this page:- Left Coast Eisteddfod Visual Image Competition . Please take the time to read the rules carefully before entering . Any queries shoud be directed to americymru@gmail.com . There is a first prize of $100 for the Visual Image Competition. The same applies to our other online competitions all of which are open for submissions till July 31st. Left Coast Eisteddfod - PIRATES! Left Coast Eisteddfod Tom Jones Impersonators! Left Coast eisteddfod - Short story Competition Judged by Lloyd Jones . Left Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition Group Judged by Peter Thabit Jones and John Good . We would like to take this opportunity to wish all our contestants the very best of luck in the various competitions. Winners will be announced at the Eisteddfod at 4 p.m.on Friday August 21st.

The Pain of LoveAdaptation and abridgment by Iain Williams from Poen wrth garu by Kate RobertsMair slipped down like a feather on to the pavement, not feeling her feet under it. Shehad had her first kiss ever from a boy and the thrill of that kiss remained. She had walkedout with Glyn before and that evening had been the preamble when she listened withinterest and in pity her love had already begun- as he told her of his home that was dirtyand untidy. She admired the lad who struggled to rise above his family situation. Buttonight there was no need to mention this. She had taken him into her heart and shewalked fearless towards her home. Last time she had been like a dog coming home afterbeing on a wicked mission. But tonight her step was light and she slipped into flight like abird and opened her wings as she made for the gate. Then she let them stand still. Hermother was on the doorstep with a fallen face.-Where have you been?She could not give an answer-I want to know where you have beenJust walkingWho with? That boy who belongs to that slut then, Sally Slut. Get into the houseJane Huws wasnt a woman to talk of things like that on the doorstep. She turned herback on her daughter and went straight to the fire and sat on her chair. Mair saw a pieceof haddock that had been boiled and was being kept warm on an iron stove. The butterhad melted and was running into the fish like seaspray on a beach. She saw this clearly.She hardly noticed her father sitting on another chair. He had his head down.Her mother went on-Do you know how much trouble you cause your mam?It was Mair who turned her back now and she went to the lobby and made her wayupstairs. She counted each step as she found her feet on them and noticed each flowerin the centre of the carpets pattern, something she had not noticed that well before. Sheswitched on the light upstairs and turned her chair to look out at the window. Gentledarkness like velvet lay over the garden and the light from her room was casting a bladeof light over it. Mair tried to silence the beat of her heart by sitting still but that wasuseless since her mother's image came to her unwilled. Yet she couldnt imagine how her motherhad come to know about Glyn without she herself having said anything to her in broachingthe subject of him. She had imagined how she would speak in Glyns favour , forge a wayforward and work on her mothers compassion by telling her of his circumstances at homeand his attempts to overcome them. Disappointing, almost fearful it was to see hermothers point of view. She knew her mother loved her and because of that she supposed (naively) that her mother would love those she herself loved.She turned her chair to look on the room.The love between her parents had been stamped on every little thing there, even in the small easy chair she was sitting on. In place of the double bed that had once filled the tiny room was a single one that made the room look bigger. The curtains were blue with pink flowers on them and the walls had been painted in a creamy colour.In the kitchen Jane and Bob Huws were talking in the heat of argument.You were wrong to speak to the girl like that. How can I do other when I see her chasing some neer do well like that?Glyn isnt a neer do well.What else? No difference between the dog and his tail. You cant say that. A dogs tail is different to the rest of him.You cant separate anyone from their familythe boy needs someone to look after him.Why choose our Mair?If Mair marries Glyn, shell have a good lad. Heres a lad who is starting at the bottom but is sure of climbing to the top. He s not good enough for Mair! He is a good lad. He looks after the children when the mam and dad are off gallivanting.Who told you this? Mairs mother asked.Bob Owen who works on the next line and he knows whats what. He said that Glyn came to work with a clean shirt, oddly enough, on a Monday morning a little while back. He had washed it and ironed it himself. Everyone thought the world of him for that, bar one. Sam Ellis made fun of himHe would, the sod.And Jane Huws began to weep. She got up and went to the bottom of the stairs to callMair. When she received no answer she went upstairs and found her daughter sleeping.She prodded her lightly and said with pityMair come and get your supper. Ill boil another piece of haddock for you.Mair got up and followed her mother down, her spirits lifted.---

Choir of the World The Pavarotti Trophy

Simply the most prestigious choir competition in the world.....last night the winning choirs from the five major choral competitions of the Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfod sang in the Grand Final with The Westminster Chorus , California, USA being crowned winners and the Choir of the World. The Barbershop Choir were awarded the famous Pavarotti Trophy, named for the great Italian tenor who competed on the Eisteddfod stage in 1955 when his choir from Modena won the Men's Choir competition. In 2005 Luciano Pavarotti added his name to the Choir of the World competition.

The Westminster Chorus - California - USA- Choir of the world winner - Barbershop Choir Winners

The Westminster Chorus - California - USA- Choir of the world winner - Barbershop Choir Winners

.....help us make it into Google News. Every click counts:)

http://www.prlog.org/10279560-chris-needs-premier-at-left-coast-eisteddfod.html

Once Upon a Time in Goginan is a lively and entertaining account of the village which lies in the hills above Aberystwyth. It includes hilarious and touching anecdotes about the unforgettable local characters, the frequenting of chapels and pubs, the development of the local football league, the effects of the war, and the Boys Own-style adventures which the author experienced during an idyllic childhood in Goginan.

Author Ceiriog Gwynne Evans says: The idea of writing a book of this sort has been gnawing at me for years. Eventually someone told me to get on with it or shut up about it!

He was inspired to write the book when, on a trip back to Goginan from his present home in Trowbridge, he stopped at Nant-yr-Arian and took in the view of the Melindr Valley. As the memories flooded back, I saw in my minds eye a vibrant rural community which lived, laboured and died in this lovely valley. I decided there and then that I would try to perpetuate the memory of these folk by gathering as much information as I could about some of the individuals who contributed to the fabric of society.

One anecdote concerns the local division of the Home Guard. I well remember the first recruitment meeting of these elderly personnel. They were a motley crew; most of them were in working clothes, cloth cap or trilby hat and overalls, carrying an interesting variety of weapons. One or two had double-barrelled shotguns but most were armed with walking sticks, umbrellas or pick axe handles; some of the agricultural fraternity came armed with hoes while the more aggressive types brought pitchforks, some still caked with manure!

The authors family played a central role in many of the villages activities. His relatives included a formidable aunt, Marie, who lived over a hundred years. What was the secret of her longevity? A bottle of whisky a week and one Guinness a day.

The author hopes that his book will encourage people from other rural communities to stir up reminiscences of their own localities and write them down before they are lost in the mists of time.

Once Upon a Time in Goginan also traces the history of the village since the time of the Celts and the Romans, examining developments in education, farming, religion and mining. The book features historical photographs of Goginan as well as the authors own illustrations.

Ceiriog Gwynne Evans was born in Goginan and educated in local schools and the University of Wales, Aberystwyth. He spent his working life teaching and lecturing in and around the London area. He retired in 1990 and moved with his American wife, Cecele, to Trowbridge in Wiltshire.

The author will be signing copies of Once Upon a Time in Goginan on 18 July between 12 and 3pm at Waterstones, 27 Great Darkgate Street, Aberystwyth.

Who is Ray Thomas, you ask? Have we no Moody Blues fans out there? I believe you might remember that he was one of the original members, and was the flutist. I believe he is of Welsh descent. He also wrote and sang, one of his more memorable tunes being about Timothy Leary, (another Celt!). Anyway he was married today in Wales, and for you Ray Thomas and/or Moody Blues fans, here is a nifty site to check out, which includes the announcement. http://moodybluesattitude.yuku.com/topic/2533

I havent been able to get on to the website for a while because I have been so busy in school. As always the summer months are a particularly busy time. I am sure it is the same in America. As teachers approach the end of the school year there is so much that needs to be done and everything else, like normal life, takes a back seat. But at last things have started to calm down and I have been able to get out into the countryside once more.My wife Liz went up to see our daughter in Chester and I travelled to the half way point to meet Laura and her family and bring her home. That half way point, right in the middle of Wales, is Llandrindod Wells.It is an unexpected place, a Victorian town that seems to erupt unexpectedly from the beautiful isolation of the green countryside around it. As the name suggests, Llandrindod is a spa town.It owes its status to the medicinal waters from a spring with the wonderful name of Ffynnon Llwynygog- which means The well in the cuckoos grove. This was a saline spring, though some of the others in Wales were, and remain, much more pungent. Many of the spas across the country provide water which is rather unpleasant and sulphurous but is widely believed on little real evidence at times to be very good for you, apparently based on the premise that the more vile it is the better. The most southerly of these at Llanwrtyd was very smelly indeed. The spring was in fact called Ffynnon Drewllyd which means stinking spring.In Wales there are a number of spas, all very close to each other at Llandrindod, Llanwrtyd, Llangammarch, Builth now all include the word Wells in their name. It is Llandrindod Wells that is the only one which is still commercially operative. You can still take the water by the glass in the Pump Room.The saline spring was in use in the 17th century. In the next century Mrs Jenkins discovered sulphur water close by and started offering cures. Some verses which appeared in The Gentlemans Magazine in 1748 started to attract interest and soon people were travelling to the developing town.The real boost to visitors however came in the 19th century, with the development of the railway. A line linking Llandrindod to South Wales was opened in 1865. So, where there were about 180 people living there in 1817 by the end of the century there were over 80,000 visitors. The town flourished and became a fully-inclusive holiday resort. There was musical entertainment from early in the morning, exercise and visits to the spa. You could even sit in radioactive mud if you wanted. All the time you were surrounded by those beautiful Victorian buildings.In those days the water was a penny a glass. However, since it was generally believed to be necessary to drink as much as a gallon a day, it was better to buy a day ticket. For a small fee you could then drink as much as you liked. Some authorities felt however that it was better to bathe in it.There were warnings though. On no account should visitors take the water in the afternoon, since it had, shall we say, a purgative effect. It was certainly more than capable of ruining your evening.What it offered was an apparently natural remedy for a whole range of complaints including skin disease, kidney trouble, rheumatism, bladder disease and gout.There was a genuine belief that taking the waters worked and I suppose in the end that is what mattered. Personally I find a glass of champagne to be far more effective in all circumstances, but perhaps I am just weird.I had a pleasant walk around the pretty town whilst I waited for Liz to arrive. It was quiet and calm. The hotel guests were sitting on the verandas enjoying the warmth and the soft evening light, as people have done since the waters became important. It seemed a very civilized sort of place. In the past it was a much racier, full of fashionable gamesters and libertines. On summer evenings like that one it was hard to imagine it was ever like that. And although its grandeur appears to be fading, I think I prefer it as it is.

Wales was one of the featured nations at this year's Smithsonian Folklife Festival held over two weeks on the National Mall in Washington D.C.I had the honor of working for the Wales Smithsonian Cymru program over the past three months and wanted to convey how much of a pleasure it has been to represent my country in this capacity and work for such a renowned institution.This was a unique opportunity to lift Wales' profile and share our wonderful culture with the people of America and the world. Wales put on a diverse program, from poetry, song and slate splitting to sustainable building, sports and animation. It proved a huge success and the level of interest was truly amazing.I also wanted to share a link to a BBC show shot at the Newseum where I had the honor of appearing on a panel with First Minister of Wales Rhodri Morgan and Gareth Howell, who works for the U.S. government in D.C.http://www.s4c.co.uk/clic/c_level2.shtml?programme_id=353172547here's a link to the Festival site:http://festival.si.edu/

What every writer dreams of, a beautiful space to write uninterrupted, and a small community of like-minded people to share ideas, inspirations, thoughts and dreams. This is what was on offer at Hawthornden Castle in Scotland, where I've just spent the past month as a Fellow. At times, I felt like I was walking around on a film set, or had woken up in inside a novel by Sir Walter Scott. Hawthornden is built on a craggy rockface above the River Esk, its foundations a web of caves once the home of Picts (and Scottish outlaw William Wallace). Walking up to the castle gates to get a mobile signal early in the morning, I met with two curious red deer and a host of birds - thrushes and goldfinches and dozens of swifts (who were nesting in the crumbled castle wall just visible from my bedroom window). The days are your own to write, read or reflect, sometimes a combination of all three.My original plan was to draft a novel set in Croatia, but that project had to be brought forward to meeting a funding deadline, so a week before I headed to Scotland I needed to think up a new plan. I'd just heard that my short story Indigo's Mermaid is to be published in a European Fiction Anthology by Dalkeys Archive Press (USA) in January 2010. A while ago, an editor of literary magazine had advised me to think about using the same story as the basis for a novel. So, I gathered together a copy of my short story, a number of my favourite notebooks (bought from a lovely bookstore in Barcelona) and headed for the hills. My writing is usually shoe-horned into spare hours and weekends away from my day job in an opera house, based in Cardiff. I travel a lot with that job, and I also have new responsibilities heading up the digital media strategy, which so far has seen me sidetracked into scripting & co-directing short films. All fine and dandy, but the novels don't get written! Here was a chance to really put myself to the test: would the short story expand into a novel? Would the characters still come to life away from their original setting and confrontation point? The chance to return day after day to one project, to test things out, re-write, re-invent was invaluable. I even wrote a (very) rough first draft. If that's inspired you in turn, and you're a published writer visit http://www.transartists.nl/air/hawthornden_castle.4272.html for details on how to apply.The castle is set in the middle of nowhere but it's still only a short bus ride away to Edinburgh. This is a city I've only ever seen in the middle of its busy, crazy arts festival in the summer. To be able to take time to explore the place without being mobbed by hundreds of anxious theatre promoters was an experience in itself. I heard Willie Doherty talk about his provocative and stunning video films at the Fruitmarket Gallery (www.fruitmarket.co.uk), drank smoothies in Hulas near Grassmarket and spent happy hours in the evocative West Port Bookshop, crammed full of second hand books balanced precariously on wobbly wooden shelves. Don't miss the Moose Head sculpture, if you get to go. And yes, we did relent and made for The Elephant House, otherwise known as the cafe where one JK Rowling wrote her first novel about boy wizard Harry Potter. It's a great cafe and not a tourist trap in spite of that pedigree. (www.elephanthouse.biz).So, what's it like returning to the real world after living like an aristocrat in a castle? Well, Dalkey's publish the mini-version of Indigo's Mermaid next year. The editor is Aleksandar Hemon, the American Bosnian writer, so it should be an interesting anthology on many levels. And today, I learnt my mother's out of the acute ward in the cardiac unit in Brighton General - and my novel set in Croatia will be published by Alcemi in October 2010! Alcemi are involved with Left Coast Eisteddfod in Portland, so you can find out more about this brilliant publishing house in Wales by popping along to one of the events scheduled for August. More details can be found on AmeriCymru's website.Hwyl!