Memories Of A Happy Childhood

A Memory of Coed Mawr.

I was born and grew up in the little village of Llanfairpwll. Mine was a happy childhood, free of drugs, vandalism and graffiti. Everyone knew everyone in the village, which in those days, over 60 years ago, was predominantly Welsh. We were taught in Welsh at the Infants School. Until one sunny afternoon, the excited English voices of evacuees from the English cities of the North were heard. Each home in the village was allotted their share of these children. The war had come to Llanfairpwll. Very soon afterwards, all the trees in the Column Woods were cut down and hauled away, to be used in the war effort.
The grand old house, Plas Llanfair was commandeered for barracks for Army personnel. First came a Welsh regiment. These were followed by a Scottish Regiment, the Lovett Scouts. Their pipe band marching through the village streets were a sight to behold, and it was the very first time I heard bagpipes playing.
When the Scots departed, the Yanks moved in. I had never before seen African Americans, or Jeeps, or had doughnuts and chewing gum. But we soon got accustomed to seeing the Americans going about their daily business. Not too many people will know that at this time, the great Brown Bomber, Joe Louis visited the troops at Plas Llanfair to give an exhibition. I think that the Yanks must have taken their leave just before D-Day.
My memories of the war were not that unpleasant. We had rationing and gas masks, but the war was never a reality for me as a young boy. Until one night, a German bomber discarded its unused cargo of bombs over the village. The only real casualty was No 8 Maen Afon, which was totally demolished. The other houses were intact and a canary in its cage survived. The other bombs in the stick fell into fields surrounding the village.  One fell behind the railway station.
The railway station, famous for the long name set up along the platform, played a big part in my growing up.  As a young boy, it was from here that we used to catch the Sunday School Trip train to one of the nearby seaside towns, such as Rhyl or Colwyn Bay. It was a very eventful day in our young lives, and we went on this trip annually.
I was later to work on the Station as a Junior Booking Clerk, a very happy time in my life. I was surrounded by older workmates who taught me and teased me endlessly. They were all characters in their own right, and I remember them fondly.
Names that come to mind are William (Information) Williams, a Porter, who knew a little about everything. There was Will Goods and Will Davies who ran the Goods Yard from what is now the Cafe and Souvenir Shop. The Station House was occupied by the Station Master and his family. This gentleman was always immaculately dressed and always appeared to me as a miniature Welsh Guardsman.
All this changed for me early one morning in April 1953. This is the day that I turned round to wave to my mother and father before turning the corner at Miss Owen's shop. Case in hand, I was on my way to the Station to catch a train to Wrexham. It was the end of childhood, a happy one for me. I had been conscripted into the Royal Air Force to do my National Service. I left Llanfairpwll that day with a mixed feeling of sadness and anticipation. In the years to follow, I was to further enlist in the Royal Navy, get married and have a family. I was never to settle back in Wales and my village home. I have lived in Australia for over three decades. It has never felt like home. Home will always be that little Welsh village. It is where my best and sweetest memories stem from. It is where my parents were born, and where they lived out their lives. Home is the little slateroofed house into which my parents moved on their wedding night, and from which my mother moved to another kind of home in the village. She had lived in her little house for over 70 years and had brought her five sons into the world there. She died very recently at 99 years of age. What a host of memories she would have had.
During my short and rare visits to Llanfairpwll, I am struck by the many changes that have taken place over the years. It has grown and many of the quaint little cottages have been extended and covered in pebble dash. They in turn have been surrounded by larger and more modern houses.  The little green fields, where I romped as a boy, have been taken over by fancy named housing estates.
Welsh is still largely spoken, but English can be also heard in the streets and shops.
I know very few people that I meet . For an ageing man, an exile, with only precious childhood memories of the place, the changes I see have not improved my village home, which was always perfect.
But I consider myself extremely fortunate. I can go away and only retain the memories of Llanfairpwll that I had as a boy, where I lived among careing, kind people.  I go away with memories of a happy childhood.

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