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Talgarth memories

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Memories of Powys

Burning Feet

When I was about 12 years old, with feet as thick as young, strong leather, my father, who was a pilot (Allan Dyson) and Nina (my mum, Nina actually) took us all from our home on a plot of land in Halfway House in the Transvaal (some distance from a town or city) to Glasbury on Wye.
There, in the blacksmith's house, the farrier was beating iron. We stood to watch and then the farrier asked 'What's burning?'. We all looked at each other and sniffed. Then I felt it. A hot coal had made its way through the sole of my Transvaal foot and we had trouble removing it quickly enough. My Welsh cousins were impressed with that only, my gran, May Saunders, amazed. We were a little too wild. But I remember how we loved Pop Pop; Fred Saunders, fisherman extraordinaire!

A memory of Glasbury On Wye, shared by Kayte Dyson.

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Alli in Glasbury

Fred took Allan fishing some time in the 1950's, when Allan was in his twenties. He had just married Norah (Nina) - (her mother used to call her No). Allan remembers wading out in Fred's waders and standing in The River Wye until the moon came up. Then Nina came and called him in. There was a shed, where they kept tea and a kettle, and when they went down, they would have tea. Alli always forgot time when he was there, in the river. They used crumbs for bait, in bottle with bottom removed to catch and watch sticklebacks. They were there to catch a trout and they did. About a year later, Alli and Nina went to Africa.

A memory of Glasbury On Wye, shared by Kayte Dyson.

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Oh! Happy Days of Childhood.

I first came to Glasbury when my father - Fred Whitchurch - became head gardener at the Maesllwch Castle Gardens. This was 1945, when I was but six years old. I went to Coedybolen School, where at that time there were many evacuees who, like us, were from the London area. However, we stayed on, and all of my schooling was either the result of efforts by Gwyn Evans at Coedybolen, or E.V.Howells and staff at Llandrindod. I left school in '55 and joined the RN, but emigrated to Canada in 1965. Glasbury still evokes many wonderful memories for me - most of all, every summer seemed to be sunny - but doesn't it always? I remain in contact with someone who was in my classes throughout school - Sheila Morgan (Sharpe), but have not been to the village in many years - I think in the 90's at some time. There are only my brother Dave and I left now, but time has not dimished the delightful memories. I... Read more

A memory of Glasbury On Wye, shared by Robin Whitchurch.

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Early Memories of Hay During The Second World War, Part 1.

Memories of Hay during the Second World War. When I was still quite young, I recall that there were three phrases used by my father over and over again in conversation. The first, tellingly, were those remarks, usually making contrasts of some kind, beginning "Of course, before the war". And then post-1945 there was the obvious "During the war". And finally there was, with contrasts doubtless still in mind, "After the war". What is obvious is that for people of his generation the Second World War was the great watershed of the century, bringing cataclysmic changes that even impinged on small towns like Hay. And I suppose it is fair to say that two of those phrases were used to contrast the present (usually unfavourably!) with distinct former periods of personal history, years when the speaker was younger and when local society was supposedly more cohesive (the 'war-effort' etc.). Little wonder that social historians of the twentieth century may now describe the revolutionary effect that the Second World War had... Read more

A memory of Hay-On-Wye, shared by John S. Batts.

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Wartime Memories of Hay: Part Two

Memories of Hay during the Second World War: Part Two. (Continued from Part One) Thoughts of 'Dad's Army' remind me that the local Home Guard occasionally used Forest Road for some kind of exercise. I've dim recollections of one or two coming into the garden of 'Wayside' with their rifles and taking up whatever position was thought advantageous. Soldiers marching through the town was not an uncommon sight. I have quite a vivid memory of a large column of soldiers with pack-mules proceeding westwards up Belmont Road past the Wye Cafe, probably on their way to Brecon. Likewise, a small boy was always likely to be attracted by processions of army vehicles, Bren-gun carriers, tracked vehicles in camouflage khaki livery. There was a petrol station opposite the Swan Hotel (J.V. Like's garage in peace-time) manned by American soldiers who not only responded favourably to requests of "Any gum, chum?" but also were known to give away tiny pairs of (?army-issue) light-weight dice. Each small, top-like, die (less than an inch long when... Read more

A memory of Hay-On-Wye, shared by John S. Batts.

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