Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts

Tuesday, 24 July 2007

Of Wizards and Rebels, and the Frankly Unlikely


Carmarthen has an ancient and amazing culture and history. It's the alleged birthplace of Merlin for one thing, who is supposed to have made many predictions about the place, including that one day a bull would climb to the top of St Peter's church tower (this apparently did happen a hundred or so years ago when one escaped during the weekly livestock market). He also predicted that should the tree known as 'Merlin's Oak' be felled, Carmarthen would be swallowed by the sea. The local council has taken pains to avoid this eventuality, first patching up the ancient - and by now dead & decaying - oak with concrete and iron bands, and finally removing it to a place of safe keeping when it was threatened by a new roundabout.

Carmarthen was also as far west as the invading Romans got in their attempt to subdue the Celts. The oldest part of the town still retains the layout of the original Roman streets, and hidden away are the ruins of an amphitheatre, although little is made of it in terms of either cultural heritage or tourist attraction.

Later, less than two hundred years ago, the town was at the centre of the 'Rebecca Riots', during which farmers revolting against excessive road tolls dressed themselves as women (to avoid being recognised), and calling themselves 'Rebecca and her daughters' (a biblical reference) went on a tollhouse-burning rampage (something the owners of the overpriced Severn Crossing would do well to remember).

Another quirk of Carmarthen? A few remaining coracle fishermen still fish the river Towy from the riverbanks in town.

I could go on and on listing things that make Carmarthen unique. But one characteristic of the town seems to go quite unremarked by other observers. The fact is - Carmarthen has weird graffiti.

There's some, (though not too much) evidence of the usual 'tagging' in the town centre; but I've noticed some graffiti around the junction of Blue Street and Lammas Street where someone regularly scrawls the names of their favourite rock bands/artistes in chalk. What I find remarkable about this is that the bands listed are invariably those fashionable 20-30+ years ago: Rod Stewart, AC/DC, Depeche Mode, The Stranglers, Blue Oyster Cult, InXS, David Essex etc. The graffiti is regularly removed, presumably by business owners or the local council, but then reappears: neatly scrawled lists of slightly naff 'golden oldies' who are mostly unheard of by today's young trendies. Who is the mystery scrawler? Is it someone old enough to remember these bands the first time around and hence really old enough to know better? Or someone younger, trawling their parents' record collection for inspiration? And the neat lists look so polite and unrebellious. No in-your-face slogans, or even declarations that 'Phil Collins rocks!!!', just neat columns of has-been names (apologies to any die-hard fans of any of the above. But fact is, even for those of them still around, their heyday is over). Isn't graffiti supposed to have an element of subversion, a whiff of revolution?

My other favourite piece of graffiti was painted on a wall outside Marks & Spencer for several years. It was a poem, with the title 'For YOU', which invariably made me smile when I passed by. It read:
'You're as young and as old as the ocean,
You smile and skies unfold
Wind and heaven
Are still and solid
You have an unearthly GLOW...'

I always wondered if there was supposed to be more (doesn't it sound like there's supposed to be more?), but it was written in a very neat, unhurried hand, so I don't think the painter was interrupted at his task. And although it was there for a number of years, nothing further was ever added. It has recently been pasted over with home made 'pop-art' style posters - that area seems to be the wall of choice for the creative and artistic vandal-about-town.

They may not fit the usual stereotype of graffiti, but actually I think the examples above are subversive, rebellious, revolutionary - for the very fact that they don't fit the mould. They don't seem designed to shock, or claim territory or status, they're polite and even sweet. Think about it - how subversive is that? Perhaps they are actually the perfect graffiti for a town like Carmarthen: a town of wizards and rebels, a town of ancient heritage and the frankly unlikely.

Wednesday, 9 May 2007

Magic in the Mist

It was a cool, wet, misty morning. As I stepped out of the back door to start the daily chores, a movement caught my eye. Overhead a heron flapped slow, silent wingstrokes across the sky, unhurried and graceful for all its size. Isolated from sounds by the enveloping misty drizzle, it was a moment outside time. I could just as easily have been an Iron Age woman starting the day outside her roundhouse, suddenly transfixed by the ghostly appearance of the breathtaking bird.

This old, magical land often feels to me like there are many strata of time and experience overlaid into an almost tangible fabric. I often feel that if I were just a little more sensitive, a little more attentive, I could break through the veil into the thousand other lives and experiences which are woven into an exquisite yet delicate pattern, telling the story of this land through the ages. Neighbours have told me that the lane we are on was once a Roman Road; there are standing stones and ruined castles nearby; sometimes in the garden I turn up pieces of broken china, the fragile bones of a deceased vole, a child's lost toy, a cobbler's last (our house was originally owned by a cobbler). The stories this land has to tell, if I only knew how to ask, or to hear.

This part of the country is the supposed birthplace of Merlin. Truth or myth, it seemed credible on such a morning, as the silent, elegant heron flapped enigmatically away into the mist.

Tuesday, 27 February 2007

Laughing, loving and loved


I am back home again after a wonderful whirlwind of a weekend in Somerset celebrating my brother's 40th birthday.

Unfortunately because of the animals we could only be away for the one night - not fair to impose on the neighbours for longer than that! So we drove down on Saturday, having first picked up my Goddess-daughter Rachel (who attends University nearby) and her new boyfriend. I have to admit I was a little apprehensive, having only met him once before for about 30 seconds! The idea of a 3+ hour car journey trying to make polite chit-chat with a virtual stranger was a bit daunting.

I needn't have worried. He is lovely - and they are so wrapped up in eachother chit-chat was quite superfluous anyway. Driving down through blinding spring sunshine and squally showers, with the two of them giggling and flirting together, I found myself with a huge grin on my face as their happiness permeated the entire car. I felt like a teenager again myself. Oh, first love! There's really nothing like it is there?

The party itself was wonderful! It was such a joy to walk into the room and find so many loved ones there! My brother is a professional Henry VIIIth re-enactor (his website is here: http://www.goodkinghal.co.uk/) so the party had a Tudor theme: many people (including yours truly) had come in Tudor fancy dress (some more historically accurate than others!), and authentic Tudor food was served - plentiful and delicious. The entertainment included live music from a wonderful folk duo, and - one of my personal highlights - a half-hour comedy playlet penned by my brother, enhanced by much witty ad-libbing and hilariously wonky sound effects. It was one of those evenings during which at some point you look around and think how lucky you are just to be here, with these people, laughing, loving and loved.

Oak has written on a similar theme recently in 'I am the wealthy one', on her blog (http://branchesup.blogspot.com/), and today I feel like agreeing, 'Oh yes, me too, me too!!'