Blissful Times

A Memory of Gwespyr.

My Mother and I arrived in 1974, from a divorced Warrington and the dilapidation of the north-west. Merrily drinking tea and eating custard tarts in the bare miners' cottage living room, sitting in a deck chair and eating from a camping table, food cooked on a camping stove. The 'village children' always formed a free to roam daily mass of fun and squabble and dirt who were always at play in the safety of our rural idyll. One could never NOT go out as each others' houses would have somebody else's children walking in through unlocked doors to virtually drag you outside to play. The Boys were always assembling a 'scrapheap challenge' of our own swapped bicycle pieces to see who could create a new masterpiece - which never really happened. Jumping from the top of the village quarry- next to a popular place known as 'the rocks', where we played hide and seek- and into the tops of the trees and climbing down into the quarry and playing in every car and lorry; even finding the 'secret' steps down to the tunnel which carried a little railway track down to the spoil heap at the bottom of the village, where a 'fine-tasting' stream emanated from its base over which we made an enormous rope swing. Ever pity the girls with short socks and short summer dresses who always had to tuck their dresses into their knickers then had to be carried over the nettles. Next to the rocks is 'The Park' a large expanse of open field, where we could run and run and seemingly never reach the other side. In the centre is a strangely eerie circle of trees where we spooked each other with scary stories of murder, madness and hanging. The Cows could surround you in this little wood, and often did. Next to this, we played over and in the ex-army buildings, recreating times of war, usually with the invading cows which we often chased or were chased by. I remember the sad day when the quarry bulldozer climbed to the hill at the end of the village and flattened the wartime lookout post we used to play in and call very loudly for our friends, and shout rude words to the less popular people. The Abbey, at the bottom of 'The Park', with the scary Nuns who would box our ears when caught scrumping apples and unable to scale the 12 foot walls to escape at any speed - and the folly, an amazing shell grotto with a tower, inside which held many sculptures of mythical beasts, which when viewed through the half dead torch-light and damp matches, would scare us out of our wits. Going on a long-days-journey of exploration, walking for miles and eating whatever was in the hedgerows and drinking the stream-water. Collecting fresh milk from 'Top-Farm' - the farmer still knowing me by my christian name when I returned some 25 years later! Speaking of which, there were the two crazy milkmen Brothers called Bickley, who looked like tramps and spoke gobbledygook mixed with various quotes from the PG Tips Chimps, had an old Austin pickup truck which was naturally hanging with children when they came to our village. They would chase off one side only to turn around to find the other side carpeted with a variety of infants. The more business-headed children took a sack-truck ('borrowed') down to the bus-stop on the main road and helped the tourists carry their cases to the Talacre caravan-sites - for a pound! We all used to creep into the show caravans and play house until the girls protested(!) We made rafts from the polystyrene insulation of abandoned warehouses and paddled around the streams and ditches of Tanlan. We played in the lighthouse at Talacre - which used to be in the sand dunes, along with many since buried houses, including the long since disappeared house that was at the bottom of it! The sand dunes were ENORMOUS and we could easily drop 20-30 feet before reaching the steep slope of soft sand, which in winter froze like a sheet down which we used to sledge. People still lived very happily in the shacks of the warren with no water or electricity. The village still had a very local and busy little shop, outside which was the village standpipe, which we often drank from, especially in the later drought. A Post office too, with the most enormous Alsatian dog behind the counter. The post box sadly accidentally catching on fire when me and 'Richard' played with matches! (We were severely punished!) There was even a working bakery with truly gorgeous cakes and bread. Next to which was an old barn which was used when it rained. Every day seemed to be a momentous haze of discovery. I even discovered my first kiss with Colette Harrison on the back of a farm trailer when nobody else was around. The glorious summer scorcher seemed to go on forever and we wished that it would never end. Starting with the Jubilee street party, which I didn't attend as the Queen on telly was far more appealing; the summer fun seemed to meld into a fantastically awesome endless drift of winter, whereby the 10ft hedge-tops were the new safe paths to walk - and walk to school we all did, taking the smallest ones on our shoulders or piggyback. All with frosty fingertips and toes and snivelling dripping noses. The village seemed to have still been largely Welsh enough to be a traditionally good community before the English sadly never went back home again. We all sang welsh tunes to a crowded Miners' Institute in our school concert at Ffynongroew. Too much Coca-Cola and chicken-in-a-basket with chips. Whatever happened to Cosher Bailey? The future was happening around us. I wish it was 1977 forever. It's all gone now, as I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes and want a hug from my Mummy.