Blogging Blaenau


Overheard on the steam railway from Porthmadog to Blaenau Ffestiniog: "What is there to do in Blaenau?" "Not much there. You'd be better getting the train straight back". How much damage may be done by such an off-the-cuff remark dismissing a whole town from the attentions of a carriage full of trippers (sometimes referred to locally as "excursionistas")? 

To the unfamiliar it may appear bleak. The town, surrounded by slate spoil, a shrine to its rich history, a memorial to the many who died prematurely, is now celebrated as the centre of a UNESCO World Heritage site. It had been a larger and busier town than nearby Porthmadog. Blaenau Ffestiniog is an enclave of Gwynedd totally surrounded by Eryri (the National Park). In 1950 Sir Clough Williams-Ellis was tasked with drawing up the National Park boundary. He made sure Blaenau Ffestiniog as a working industrial town was excluded, as was his well-known architecture project Portmeirion (maybe to avoid stricter planning regulation).

One of the nation's largest bilingual bookshops (mostly Cymraeg, new and used) now occupies the old Post Office. Across the road, a popular Kurdish baker plies his trade. His vegan pies are legendary. Further down is one of Cymru's three Orthodox Churches. Not far away is a Cymreig/Greek cafe in a stunning lakeside setting, the lake's level fluctuating with the demand for hydro electricity (water from Llyn Stwlan pump storage reservoir high above). All day breakfasts and occasional Greek evenings and music nights are popular.

Thrill seekers can descend the slate mines or soar above them on a zip-wire, but will hopefully also learn about the horrors that met the slate workforce every single day - except Sundays. Saturday afternoons they were sent home in the hope of creating the next generation of workers. Due to a combination of accidents and the inhalation of slate dust, their life expectancy averaged 47 years.

Although from the south, my partner Linda learned that her paternal grandmother had been born in Blaenau Ffestiniog from a long line of Joneses across the vicinity, several of whom would have worked these mines. She and her Nain had both returned in retirement to Yr Hen Gwlad eu Mamau (the old land of their fore-mothers). We have together learned Cymraeg for eleven years, and would never have entertained the idea of moving here without doing so. She is overjoyed to be proficient in the language denied her as a child in South East Cymru. I have now shared the majority of my life with a Cymraes (woman of Cymru), which I'm sure has had a greater influence on me than vice versa. Does this, combined with a few Cymreig genes rolling around in my ancestry somewhere, permit me to call myself Cymro? I was delighted and eternally grateful when TV presenter Betsan Powys introduced me as "Cymro Newydd" (a new Welshman) during a current affairs programme in 2022.

It would be too easy to romanticise the scenery while objectifying the people. To talk of the slate spoil shining in the sun after rain, or likening these great crags to grotesque cathedrals is glossing over the challenges faced by local communities: affordable housing, better jobs (not seasonally dependent on tourism), language and identity under constant threat. Thomas Firbank and George Borrow were well known English writers who, along with others then and now, wrote often condescendingly about Cymru and the Cymry. Borrow tried to excuse himself in the extent to which he had learned the language. At least my blog posts have limited readership. I wouldn't claim to be at their level of literary prowess, but do at least try to be aware of the challenges in writing as an 'outsider'.  Even now, popular news media do little to help Cymreictod (Welsh identity), as it seems to be written as if for visitors, by a large media group based in Surrey.

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I look forward to your comments. Also it would be nice to know where you are in the world. Thanks for reading.

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