Today will see
the running of the 164th University Boat Race. But there’s a little bit of
Eglwyswrw hidden away in the Boat Race archives. In the 92nd edition in 1946
sitting in Seat 5 for the Light Blues of Cambridge was Geoffrey Cunningham
Thomas of JesusCollege. Geoffrey was born in Hirwaun,
the son of Dr Benjamin Thomas and the grandson of the Surgeon Dr Ieuan George
Thomas. His great-grandfather was Rev Benjamin Thomas, or ‘Myfyr Emlyn’ to go
by his Bardic name who was born in the foothills of the Preselis in 1836 and
who moved to Pantygarn in the village of Eglwyswrw in 1849 (his youngest
sister Anna married Stephen Lewis of the neighbouring farm Carnhuan - they were
my gg-grandparents). Young Geoffrey weighed in at
13st and 9lb - the heaviest of any of the participants in either boat on that
day, 30th March 1946. It was reported that many in the Light Blues had taken
unwell in the days leading up to the race which hampered preparations but the
race went on.
Sadly for Geoffrey and for
the family honour, 1946 would be the only race in the first 6 post-war efforts
that would see the Light Blues of Cambridge place 2nd! Geoffrey eventually emigrated
and married in Rhodesia in
1970. He passed away on 9th September 1999 in Waterfall, KwaZulu-Natal in South Africa aged
73. To my knowledge he had no children and as an only child himself, his story
will have been lost. But he isn’t forgotten and
neither is the fact that on this University Boat Race day, thanks to my Mam’s
3rd cousin, there is a little corner of west Wales that will forever support
the ‘Light Blues’.
It's been 2 years since I wrote in this blog about my burgeoning family history research that had been kick-started by the support of Mick Cole in Barry.
I honestly don't know where the time goes but it is now exactly 5 years since I finally decided to begin researching my family and it has been quite a ride.
As I stated at the time here in my blog, it all began with my paternal grandfather William Benjamin Cole's birth certificate from April 1899. With the help of Mick and so many other family relations, that tentative start has grown into a monster. A Family Odyssey
5 years on, my paternal tree now includes over 8,700 names. It includes non-blood family from around our home stomping ground of Martletwy, Landshipping and Loveston where neighbouring family married into neighbouring family - as well as telling a personal family story, it tells a fascinating tale of a tight-knit community prior to the age of change in the face of greater transportation.
My maternal family tree from up and around Eglwyswrw has in itself grown to over 8,100 in number with the same mix of blood relations going back generations, as well as the wider story of neighbouring families from around Brynberian, back to the village and into the hinterland around the Preseli Hills in all its fascinating complexity.
Annie Willoughby
So from one single birth certificate, a combined tree of over 16,800 names has resulted after 5 years of research.
As that time has moved on, the number of new relations to contact and new discoveries to find has gradually slowed down as most bases have been covered. So it's amazing when a big breakthrough is made out of the blue.
So it was only last week when I came across new photos of two of the greatest enigmas in my research. On my paternal side, thanks to my Dad's 2nd cousin Carole Thomas in Pembroke, a previously unseen photo album had come to light which included the image of my grandmother Maude Cole's first cousin Annie Willoughby. At the same time, my Mam's 2nd cousin Nia Roberts in Swansea had come up trumps with a first ever image of my great-grandfather Stephen Thomas Lewis' brother Griffith Alban Lewis.
Griffith Alban Lewis
Both Annie and Griffith led what can only be said were colourful lives. It is said that every family has skeletons in the cupboard and these two, on either side of my family, certainly had their fill of skeletons. So to find within a matter of days of each other, an image of both, having long given up on the idea that such images existed, was quite something.
It goes to show that the research never does end - even 5 years and nearly 17,000 names later. Never give in. Keep talking to family relatives. Keep asking for photos. Keep researching. It's incredible to think what information lies out there, undiscovered.
Where it ends, who knows, but the last 5 years have been greatly fulfilling in terms of self-exploration.
So for cousin Mick, who was with me for so many of those formative trips into our family past, it goes on.
The song was famously sung by Andrea Bocelli who happened to be a favourite of my late father Lance and it's probably as apt a heading to a blog post as any for what in many ways is a bittersweet juncture in my life. Because after much reflection and deliberation, I decided some time ago that I would not be submitting my name for re-election to Ceredigion County Council and Cardigan Town Council in 2017.
Back in 2014, I wrote this blog post on the 10th anniversary of my election to local government which explored those tentative early steps and my progress as a Councillor in Cardigan.
As mentioned, there have been many highlights, be it at a town or ward level. But as I stated then, it's those personal stories of support that never make the papers that will live with me.
That 6 or so year involvement with a local resident and her housing traumas which finally materialised in her finding a new home just outside of town. She's now studying as a mature student and I'm very proud of her for moving forwards with her life despite the many knocks on the way.
Then there was the call from a desolate local resident who had suffered years of domestic abuse who found out, on his finally leaving the family home, that he had left in his wake, countless unpaid bills. This resulted in a Council Tax demand and the threat of a visit from bailiffs within the week to recoup the amount owed in furniture and fittings. I spent 4 hours of a Sunday evening listening to the horror story unfold in her front room. The fact that she technically lived the wrong side of the road from my ward did not matter. She had come to me and I had to help her. I vividly recall going to sleep that night feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders as I had never felt before. Here was a truly horrific case, the like of which I had never faced to that day or since. The next morning I called a senior officer in the Council's finance department in Aberystwyth and asked for the bailiffs to be called off and to agree a regular pay-back plan with her. With letters of support from the local Women's Aid, local chapels and the local food bank, this was thankfully achieved.
Finally, my final major piece of casework was thankfully resolved positively only last week when a year long support for two local residents finally saw them move into the home they had first been promised by Tai Ceredigion some 18 months earlier.
These are only the tip of the ice-berg and I can look back at countless cases of support offered or guidance given in the hope that my presence and involvement has brought about a positive end result or at the very least, given moral encouragement to the one in distress in the knowledge that they are not alone.
A Change is Gonna Come
Over the past year however, I have felt an increasing need to press 'pause' on this life of service.
My seat in the Council Chamber with name tag
Elected aged 21, I have effectively spent my entire adult life in the service of others. Whilst I have enjoyed the challenge and the opportunity to make a positive difference in people's lives in that time, I have now reached the point where I need to take a step back, reflect and gather breath. That doesn't mean that I'm suddenly going to disappear off the face of the planet! I'm looking forward to continuing in an active role in the community life of our town but with the time to concentrate on a few specific interests of mine.
For those worried that this means a lessening of my commitment to my Liberal family and the liberal cause, have no fear. To quote Tony Benn on his retirement from the House of Commons, he famously stated that:
"I now want more time to devote to politics and more freedom to do so".
I can understand fully his feelings when he wrote that comment. I want to devote more time to politics and to support those who wish to contribute in their own way to civic life. I specifically would like to see myself in a supporting role, supporting others who wish to do what I have done. I would like to use my experience to bring forward and support new and exciting candidates who wish to support the liberal cause by being community champions in their own right.
In this light, I'm delighted that in my wake, I'll be supporting excellent new candidates in Cardigan this spring. Elaine Evans is standing to replace me in Rhyd-Y-Fuwch ward and having started the 1,000 strong online petition to save Cardigan Library in its old location and with her passion for the town of her birth, she will be a great voice for her community. Likewise, Sian Maehrlein in Mwldan ward is another well known Cardigan character who wants to support her home community and will be a strong and confident voice for residents in the Council Chamber. Steve Greenhalgh meanwhile will continue as he did in 2012 by speaking up for residents in Teifi Ward with that cheeky smile and commitment to social justice and fairness that is the embodiment of his character. They will be joined by Yve O'Neill and Marilyn Farmer on the liberal campaign trail - two more women with firm opinions and a resolve to help those in need in our town.
Put it in Perspective
So the liberal fight in Cardigan goes on and indeed, with 5 out of 6 of our candidates being female, we are also striking a positive blow for better representation in local government.
All of this has sought to confirm my view as to the future.
That name tag in reverse...Goodbye
If nothing else, I've always prided myself on having a good sense of perspective and that, along with a keen self-awareness, has led me to realise that if I feel that I need a break to re-charge my batteries as is the case, then it is certainly best to stand back and to allow these new and keen candidates to come forward to take my place.
I may have won 6 elections out of 6 in my local government political career to date, but that's no reason to keep on standing just for the sake of it. I'd rather stand down now whilst I'm still ahead with people asking 'why now?' than hang on as so many do to the refrains of 'him again?'
It was Calvin Coolidge, the 30th President of the United States who said in his memoirs of the reasoning for his surprise decision not to run for re-election in 1928 that:
"The Presidential
office takes a heavy toll of those who occupy it and those who are dear to
them. While we should not refuse to spend and be spent in the service of our
country, it is hazardous to attempt what we feel is beyond our strength to accomplish".
Ceredigion County Council is not the United States of America and its HQ at Penmorfa, Aberaeron is certainly not the White House! But when I read these words whilst reading up on the American Presidents during my last trip to America back in the autumn, the words struck home.
The opportunity to re-charge the batteries may give me renewed energy in due course to stand for elected office once more in the future or the freedom from the responsibilities that come with the role may become a newly found friend that I may not wish to relinquish. I do not know. The future is just that. It is an untold story that has yet to be written.
But for now, in the present, I feel that having spent virtually my entire adult life in the service of others, like Coolidge, I sense that now is the time to reflect and accept that the tank is empty and that I feel as if I have given everything that I have to give in elected office. So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Good Night
So it's time to say adieu and I know I'm going to miss it. Terribly.
The ability to help others is something that no money can buy. The change that can be positively made from local government, even in times of tighter budgets, can never be underestimated. For those who wish to do good, being elected as a Councillor gives a fantastic opportunity to do so and to put back into the community.
But then, help and support can take many forms and I will seek to continue to do my bit for my community, just from a different angle. Dare I say it, but from a different 'perspective'.
So this isn't the end. It's merely the completion of one chapter and the beginning of another.
The last 13 years have been a roller-coaster ride and if I had my time, would I ride it again? You bloody bet I would!
So it has been a historic day. The 13th March 2017. The
day everything changed. Forever.
The day when the House of Lords
caved in and allowed Theresa May to trigger Article 50 within days and also the
day when Nicola Sturgeon called for a 2nd Scottish independence referendum
within 24 months.
Of course, the two are
inextricably linked. Had England and Wales not voted for Brexit in as much
number as they did to overturn the Remain majority in Scotland and Northern
Ireland, Sturgeon wouldn't have been handed the 'game-changer' that gave her
the moral right to call a 2nd referendum so soon
after the first. I have to say it, she's right to do so.
So Theresa May and those who wanted 'their country back'
will get it. That country however won't be 'Great
Britain', it will be 'Little England with Wales on the
side'.
Good luck to Scotland as it moves inexorably
towards independence. As for Northern
Ireland? I think it's time that they
seriously look to unite with our fellow Celtic cousins south of the border - as
difficult as that will understandably be for so many in the communities of the
north.
So yes, 13th March
2017 is a historic day.
I don't say this with any pleasure. As a Federalist, I have believed in the strength of the Union of nations that has made up the United Kingdom. But the loss of our place at the heart of the European Union, for those of us who are internationalist to our bones, is a monumental blow. For those who live in Northern Ireland and Scotland who will see their country ripped out of the EU against the collective will of their own nations, it is a critical moment from which there is no turning back.
A Historian's Perspective
As I say, it is with great sorrow that I accept that these coming truths to be self-evident. I do so as a historian, with an eye to the past as a lesson for the future.
Many who voted for Brexit will not have realised the consequences of their actions. They will not have voted Brexit because they wanted to see the break-up of the Union. But their decision will result directly in that final destruction of the Union as we know it today and have known it for the past century. To not accept this fact is to be wholly condescending to the individual cultural and national identities that make up the Union. It is also to be deluded.
The decision made on the 23rd June 2016 changed everything. But dependant on the Government's precise response to that narrow 'Leave' victory, the Union could've been salvaged. But by pursuing a 'Harsh Brexit' that will see us leave the single market, a Tory Government, that bastion of Unionist sentiment, has set in train a domino-effect that has gathered momentum to destroy all that it cherishes. It if wasn't so sad, it would be amusing.
Efforts to put a brake on the process by at least giving the people who voted for the departure to have the final say on the destination once the full picture is known, failed today in Parliament.
So Theresa May will now invoke Article 50 and Scotland will seek to wriggle out of the ensuing mess that will follow.
So yes, 13th March 2017 is a historic day. It's the day that marks the beginning of the end of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
May the last one to leave the UK, please turn out the lights.
Over four years of family history research has re-enforced to me how we are all one global, single community.
It's incredible when you scratch under the surface just a small amount, to find so many long-lost, far-flung connections around the world all with roots back to the same place.
A Pembrokeshire Base
I've been very lucky in my research in that I am based in Pembrokeshire where I can trace both my immediate paternal and maternal lines all the way back to the late 1700s at the very least.
Mine is a very 'Pembrokeshire' family on all sides with all 4 grandparents, all 8 great-grandparents and 14 of 16 great-great-grandparents buried in the county. The only missing pair are Thomas and Jane Davies who are buried in Treorchy Cemetery - I'm fortunate that their daughter Elizabeth decided to move back from the rush to coal in the valleys back to her homeland where she married David Cole. Had she not, I wouldn't be here today telling their story!
Going back another generation and again, all of those 32 ggg-grandparents that I have found are buried in Pembrokeshire apart from 1 ggg-grandfather who is buried in Glyncorrwg high up above Maesteg.
A handful of lines can be taken back centuries earlier on the back of old research carried out over many years by others and which is well documented. The Pictons of Pembrokeshire is a classic example. The current crop of researchers in many ways are standing upon the shoulders of the giants who went before and have given us so much information to work with. Our job is to add to that store of information for future generations.
An International Family
So I am very fortunate in having very firm foundations from which to explore more widely those lines off my direct branch that moved away from the county of their birth to start a new life abroad,
There is a significant family presence in Australia from various lines going back generations and links also to South Africa. There is still the much vaunted but unsubstantiated links to Patagonia in the middle of the 19th century. That is one 'lost-line' of my gg-grandfather's siblings from Brynberian that I would dearly like to discover.
Or did these 'black sheep' of the family not go to Patagonia after all but to North America?
I don't know, but if they did, they were in a long line of family lines that crossed the pond looking for a better life.
America
Many emigrated to find better employment in the burgeoning American coalmines after the coal industry in Pembrokeshire began to grind to a halt at the same time as the boom in the south Wales valleys.
But whether it was the coal of other issues that brought movement, move they did and over 4 years I have found a wealth of lines living throughout that great nation. With my global membership of Ancestry.co.uk I've been able to track down a lot information on these various lines and having vaguely made an effort at keeping all of this information in order, decided to put together a map to visualise that movement. It was greatly revealing.
Descendants in America
This map shows that from my research to date, I am confident that I have tracked down blood relatives who lived and died in at least 23 of the 50 states.
The biggest concentration focus on Kansas in the heart of America where at least 3 distinctly separate lines in my heritage converged. The same could be said for New York and Pennsylvania states. Though of all of my lines, it is the very well researched Picton line of my gggg-grandmother Elizabeth mentioned earlier in this post which has spread across great swathes of that enormous land mass.
But of course it's easy for it to have done so because we know so much about this particular family. What if as much was known about all the other lines in my family story? If only! No doubt that map would almost be full!
But then that's the frustration and in equal measure, great joy of family research - it never ends! As one door closes, so many more open. It is a never ending story.
So I shall continue to uncover that story. There is so much more to be told.
I don't believe that I remember the Presidency of George H.W. Bush.
I was 10 and a bit when he lost the 1992 election and handed over the Presidency the following January to Bill Clinton.
Before the World Became Important
It's odd but 1992 was a year when I seemed to become aware of a world outside of my own happy bubble at Hungerford Farm, Loveston in south Pembrokeshire. I became aware of football (and 25 years later am still saddled with being an Aston Villa fan). I became aware of F1 and delighted in roaring home Nigel Mansell to his only World Championship win that year (though I do have vague memories of the dismay as his efforts at the tail end of the previous season petered out).
I'd also become aware of politics. The 1992 General Election for this then 9 year old and the battle between Major and Kinnock loomed large that spring. But the downfall of Margaret Thatcher less than 18 months earlier in 1990? No memory. The first Iraq war of 1991? No recollection. Even by 1992, the world of international politics had yet to infiltrate my mind.
Bill Clinton
But things were to change. I began to realise that I had political instincts and a natural interest in the world at large, as well as local affairs, during my time in secondary school. As it happens, that 7 year period between 1993-2000 ran almost in direct parallel with the Presidency of William Jefferson Clinton.
Cheeky Bill
This of course was also the era of 'Blair' in his prime. Both got on well as they sought to forge a '3rd way' in politics. My socially liberal conscience was becoming ever clearer to me but it was also evident that I was no New, Old or any kind of Labourite. No, I was firmly a liberal and by my days studying A-Levels between 1998-2000, I was aware that I was specifically, a Liberal Democrat.
In America though, it was a simple case of Democrat Vs Republican and my increasingly burgeoning interest in national and international politics and the beating liberal heart that was growing within me meant that as far as American politics was concerned, I would comfortably ally myself to those old Donkeys as opposed to those great Elephants.
The Monica Lewinsky scandal of course rocked Clinton's Presidency in the latter years and yet by the end, it didn't harm his personality. He had overseen a benign economic decade in American history and his down to earth persona seemed to chime with that relaxed 90s vibe. Al Gore, no...George W. Bush!
I was in my opening term in Aberystwyth University and specifically, in the Pantycelyn computer room when the November 2000 Presidential election night results were coming through.
Of course, it was all dependent on Florida. One of the networks called it for Al Gore. Delight! The Presidency was his and Clinton's liberally sympathetic, centrist agenda would continue! But no, of course those hanging chards had other ideas and the Supreme Court would eventually hand Florida to George Bush Jnr despite his having won less of the popular vote than Al Gore.
Oh dear Dubya
Despair wasn't the word but of course worse would follow. Not so much the invasion of Afghanistan following 9/11 but the invasion of Iraq in 2003, without UN international support, rocked me to the core. I was delighted that my own party leader Charles Kennedy was so clear in his opposition at that time.
So when the 2004 election came around, I was desperate that a new JFK would knock Bush Jnr out of the White House after just one term, just like his father. I recall being at home in the Preseli Hills that November evening with my one and to date, only bout of tonsillitis. I was there by the Rayburn all night knowing that whichever of Bush or Kerry won two of Florida, Ohio and Pennsylvania, would win the election.
Kerry took Pennsylvania but Bush took Ohio and once again, that there Florida for 4 more years with Dick Cheney ever ominously there in his shadows as Vice-President.
It was a depressing 8 years for a liberal internationalist like myself to live through but hindsight being what it is, was it really all that? Probably yes. But time may just tell.
Barack Obama
In those early primaries, I planted my own support in the Obama camp from the off. I wasn't convinced by Hillary at the time though that would change, but in that young Senator for Illinois, there was a vision and a passion and enthusiasm that was infectious.
Happy Days!
The sheer joy I felt at his election in the fall of 2008 wasn't just because of what he could bring to the plate but also as a direct result of the release from those 8 years under Dubya. Allied with Obama's victory was the Democratic sweep of Congress which meant that in those first two years of office, he made the sweeping changes to America's healthcare system with the Affordable Care Act that was so desperately needed.
But of course the backlash and the emergence of the Tea Party that came from 'Obamacare' would cast a shadow over the remaining 8 years of his Presidency. Much has been said about the lack of progress that Obama made with his domestic agenda. But following the mid-term elections of 2010, it is possible to make the case that he faced the most aggressive Congress ever set against an incumbent President.
What chance did he have against such an insurmountable system of checks-and-balances that is fundamental to the American constitution?
But he left so much more than a disappointing domestic legacy. He brought America back in from the cold and into the international arena with a measured, sensible tone that had been so lacking under the Presidency of the previous incumbent. The gravitas and sense of intellectualism that Obama brought to the podium when he spoke was a breath of fresh air. You could see when he spoke and when he hesitated momentarily to ponder a reply to a question that he was thinking deeply about what he was about to say. Not a sound-bite, but a carefully analysed and considered response to yet another complex and intricate problem facing his administration, his country and our world.
His Nobel Peace Prize was premature. It was clearly given in the belief that he meant well with what he said. Of that there can be no doubt. But as much as we desire positive change, such are the ways of diplomacy, it never was so easy in reality and on issues like conflict in the Middle East, we are possibly falling further back from the idea of a sustainable two state solution than we were in 2008. But if that is the case, the blame can not be placed at Obama's door - but at that of Benjamin Netanyahu.
Thank You Mr President
His Presidency has not been all that he or we liberals had hoped. Those days of wild optimism in late 2008 were probably akin to those of early May 1997 back here in the UK. Maybe we should've known better. Life is never that straightforward as there are always the conflicting interests of conservative forces seeking to hold back the change that is always needed.
Progressivism Vs Conservatism will always be the big battle in contemporary politics.
But despite these trials and tribulations, Barack Hussein Obama and his worthy Vice President Joe Biden and fabulous First Lady Michelle, showed the way to those like myself that optimism, intellect and a liberal, progressive agenda can be pursued with humour, compassion and kindness.
Whatever the future may bring, I thank Obama and his administration over the past 8 years for proving that good can be done in the world...if only you will it. God Bless the 44th President of these United States.
Much has been said about the political reverberations of the actions from the previous 12 months and much also about the incredible loss of well known celebrity and professional life during this tumultuous period.
I will touch upon it all only very briefly in a rare blog post.
The Postitive?!
Now it hasn't all been relentlessly awful. But whilst the highlights have been overshadowed considerably by a cesspit of despair, I have to mention that wonderful summer in France.
As I wrote in this blog at the time, Wales's odyssey to its first footballing finals in 58 years was something that this sports mad idiot lapped up for all its worth. Those trips to Bordeaux and to Paris will live in the memory for as long as my memory allows them too. But even above those wonderful days lurked the shadow of that vote in June. The Paris match for Wales' last 16 match against Northern Ireland fell on Saturday 25th June just two days after the Brexit vote. To say I was at a low ebb is the understatement of all-time. Even travelling back to the continent that morning I couldn't get out of my head the fact that the passport that allowed me to do so, may not in a few years time.
Truth be told, the match itself was incredibly nervy and not one that I could enjoy. I didn't want to consider the impact of being knocked-out against unfancied Northern Ireland having previously hit the heights of beating Slovakia and Russia. That on top of the events of 48 hours earlier would've been catastrophic for my already rock-bottom morale!!
But thankfully Wales came good and the power of football, of sport and of a command band of humanity coming together for a cause against the odds (because following Welsh football with a degree of hope in the possibility of success has always been against the odds!) was an incredibly cathartic one.
We will always have those halcyon days of France last summer in our hearts and for that at least, I say thank you to 2016. The Politics
But that's basically it. 2016 in all other ways has been a slurry pit from hell.
It is scarcely believable that since last January 1st, we have as a country voted to leave the European Union. As a fervent internationalist, I will not budge from my belief that the decision taken on June 23rd is going to cause serious harm to some of the most vulnerable in our society for years to come.
On the crest of the wave of this populist outrage, America voted (not in raw numbers but through its Electoral College) for Donald Trump over Hillary Clinton to take over the White House from Barack Obama in 3 weeks time. My head is in a spin with it all.
It's as if reason doesn't count for anything anymore. Playing to people's fears seems much more productive than playing to their hopes. Spin 'em a line, reel 'em in, and let 'em drown when you've got what you want. They say politics has a bad name now - so what's happening with that extra £350m a week that will be going to the NHS? When will Trump build and then force Mexico to pay for that wall?!
There's going to be a lot of anger when the politics of grievance and division that has visited us this past year doesn't pay out as promised. What then??
I'd like to think that informed rational debate may come back into vogue again. But I'm not holding my breath.
The People
Then there's been the scarcely believable loss of the lives of people who, through their own realm of expertise, have made an impact on the world. From the world of entertainment, science and public service/activism, it has been a year of bewildering loss.
The one that shocked me the greatest was that of Victoria Wood. One of my comic idols, she has been a happy companion along my road in life since I was a teenager. To lose someone like Victoria who brought so much joy and happiness to the lives of so many, at age just 62, is heartbreaking.
The loss has been relentless over this apparently festive period but for me, it's almost apt that we end a year that started with the shock loss of that musical genius David Bowie with the loss of another colossus in George Michael.
Now I can't hand on heart say that I was a huge fan of either. Don't get me wrong, I respected them both and their back catalogue will stand the test of time. But despite my vague indifference to their talent, they have in my mind, book-ended in their departure, a year that has lost so much talent and potential, be it in the personal, or in the politics of where we are today and where we may be, or could've been, tomorrow.
It has been striking since George's death to read of the many stories of his quiet philanthropy. It is so sad that, even if it were his will, that we did not know just how kind a man he was until it was too late to thank him for his generosity.
In the same light, it is only in the coming darkness of the tortuous Brexit negotiations and the Presidency of Donald J. Trump that some may come to appreciate after it is too late, just how good things actually were.
Freedom from 2016
George Michael and these 250+ listed above are now free from such concerns. They are now in another place. It's probably not a bad place to be. Indeed it was George in that early incarnation as Wham! that sang what for me was always my favourite effort to come from his impressive songbook.
So here is the full 7m long version of that Wham! classic 'Freedom'.
There is still one more day to survive in 2016 but on the dangerous presumption that I can get through these next 24 hours alive and in one piece, I will be seeing in the New Year in the Gogerddan Arms near Aberporth with a Band and Buffet.
We don't know what 2017 will bring but for one night we can at least rejoice in seeing the back of 2016. When the clock strikes midnight I will raise a glass to the freedom that we will have gained from the shackles of this slurry pit from hell. Fuckety Bye 2016.
Another sizeable gap in my blogging can at least be brought to a close for good reason.
Earlier this month, my father Lance Cole would've been 80 years old. I had for a good year and more planned to respect his memory, by writing an article about one of his life-long passions - photography.
Well, as is self-evident, my blog has remained woefully quiet of late and that is most certainly something I intend to rectify sooner rather than later.
Pembrokeshire Life Magazine
But in the meantime, I have greatly enjoyed taking the opportunity when chance has arisen and time allowed, to write articles for Pembrokeshire Life magazine.
They have consisted of snippets from almost 4 years of family history research which I found absorbing and stimulating. In 4 years, I have had 4 articles published in this popular monthly publication - one in each year since 2013 as it happens.
In 2013 I wrote an article about Dad's paternal Cole line from Pisgah and the lives of my gg-grandfather Johnny Cole and his brother Benny Cole who were stalwarts in Pisgah Chapel near Carew. It was published in the October edition of that year.
In 2014, I wrote an article in memory of my extraordinary maternal grandmother on the 50th anniversary of her death. It was published in the April edition which I blogged about at the time.
In 2015 I wrote about the 1844 Garden Pit Disaster at Landshipping which claimed the life of my ggg-grandfather James Davies whilst completely coincidentally, above ground the Clerk that day was another ggg-grandfather James Cole. At Whistun, I hosted a big family reunion of descendants related down from this James Cole including family from America, at the 'Doghouse' down at Lawrenny Quay. The article on the story and the reunion was published in the November edition.
I am extremely grateful to Pembrokeshire Life editor Keith Johnson for publishing these articles to date.
A Farming Photographer
But at the back of my mind for some time was my father's upcoming 80th birthday and my desire to bring to the wider attention of the local community, the story of this farmers love of photography and many of those photos that he took in the 1960s and 1970s.
But I couldn't tell the whole story, only that which I personally recalled in the 1980s and 1990s. To go back to the beginning of his odyssey in film, I needed the recollections of Patrick Jones, a distant family cousin who more importantly, shared that passion with my father and who worked with him on many a wedding and project in those formative years.
It took some years for us to get it together, but I was delighted when it was published in its entirety in this month's edition including one of Dad's photos being used on the back page. It has been great since to have heard from so many from the area who have taken great enjoyment from being reminded of those earlier days from the photos that he took back at that time.
I have re-published the 5 pages of that article in this blog post.
In this, what would've been his 80th year, William Lance Cole's legacy lives on.
Well this weekend, I was one of around 25,000 fans that made the pilgrimage across the water to see that history being re-written as Wales not only made its debut in the European Championships, but went and won against Slovakia with style, passion and plenty of guts and determination to boot.
Road Trip!
A gang of my old University mates had decided when the tournament draw was made that we'd have to make every effort to get tickets for the opening match. Not only was it a favourable opening tie against Slovakia, but it was also in equally fashionable Bordeaux but critically, was on a Saturday which meant we could work around our work commitments to make it so.
We had been fortunate to draw 2 tickets out of the FAW draw allocation and purchased 4 others from those selling tickets online when their team had not been drawn to play in that particular fixture. So a hire car arrangement saw 6 of us drive down on the 900 mile, 17 hour drive through France to reach our literal goal on Friday night/Saturday morning. It included an unplanned, SatNav detour through the heart of Paris at 3.30am - at least the roads weren't too busy at the time!
With our Slovakian Cousins!
Arriving at 9.15am, we had a McDonalds breakfast whilst keeping a close eye on a narrow defeat for Wales in the rugby against the All Blacks and after checking-in early to our hotel, made our way down on the 4 or so mile walk to the town centre. It became quickly apparent that the reds of Wales were clearly going to be outnumbering the blue and whites of the Slovakian supporters and as we made our way towards the centre, enthusiastic local French drivers kept beeping their horns in encouragement and support - it's a good thing they won in the opening match of the tournament the night before otherwise they may not have been so welcoming!!
On arriving in the town centre, we went to the huge 'Fanzone' for some early drinks, to sample the building atmosphere and to watch the first half of Switzerland Vs Albania. It was very quickly apparent that there was a great sense of camaraderie between the Welsh and Slovakian supporters who were mingling freely with each other throughout the Fanzone and indeed the entire town, with no hint of concern for any potential flare-ups. For me, it was simply a privilege to be able to mix with our European cousins as Wales dined at the top table of European football in a way they had not done since that World Cup in Sweden in 1958 when Pele famously broke our hearts in the Quarter-Final.
So we took it all in and I took the opportunity to contact and catch-up with a number of old friends who were also making the trip - so many it was too easy to lose track of who was in Bordeaux this weekend!
The Tram!
We set off after 3.30pm to get to the stadium on time in a crammed tram - despite the French's best efforts to scupper our plans by hosting a series of public transport strikes over the weekend, extra trams were set aside to deal with the volume of transporting over 40,000 fans to the stadium some 5 miles north of the city centre.
Singing was the order of the day and en-route, I managed to easily coax a tram full of Welsh fans into song by starting up both 'Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau' and 'Calon Lan'. Whilst they were fewer in number, we also applauded and welcomed the intervention of our Slovakian friends as they also gave us a song! The locals on the tram meanwhile, seemed to be willing to put up with this heady, joyous outpouring of mild mayhem with an amusing look of bewilderment!
Because these are moments you can't script. You can't make them up. They were just the the reactions of Welsh football fans delirious at the prospect of watching something that had been promised so many times before but that had cruelly been snatched away from our grasp each time. The match against Romania in 1993 and against Russia in 2003 obviously stand out in my mind but for those from an older generation, the match against Yugoslavia in 1976 and against Scotland in both 1977 and 1985 as well as the failed folly against Iceland in the run-up to the 1982 World Cup and again against Yugoslavia in 1983 added to the list of glorious failure that had become frustratingly synonymous with Welsh football.
The Match
We arrived in good time at the stadium to take in the carnival like atmosphere and to prepare ourselves for what was to come.
From our fantastic vantage point in the corner directly opposite the main bulk of Welsh fans, we saw a great opening display before the teams arrived and the opening strains of 'Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau' could be heard around the stadium.
It is difficult to put into writing the enormity of the feelings that came over me when a stadium so full of Welsh fans sang our national anthem in such passionate, full voice. This remember, was the first time that it had EVER been played in a major footballing tournament - in 1958, the team led by John Charles, Ivor Allcurch et al were introduced each time by God Save the Queen. It was spine-tingling and many shed tears at that moment. I confess that none of the tears were mine - I was too focused on singing our anthem out as loudly and as proudly as I could, Which I did!
On kick-off, any nerves that we had amidst the excitement came to the fore when a 3rd minute goal-line clearance saved us from an early disaster. But it didn't take long before anxiety turned to jubilation as a Gareth Bale free-kick in the 10th minute put our Cymru into an incredible early lead. ABSOLUTE PANDEMONIUM!!!! I was hugging all those around me - whether I knew who they were or not mattered not one jot!!
It settled our nerves and dared us to dream of the icing on the cake - an opening match victory?!?! Surely we're not that lucky - we're Welsh!! But confidence grew and an assured first half saw us retain that lead at half-time despite having had a stone-wall penalty appeal turned down during that period.
In the Stadium!
The match turned though on the hour when a shrewd Slovakian substitution and some uncharacteristically poor Welsh defending led to the equalizer. Despair. Here we go again. So close, but not quite good enough. Suddenly, it was the Slovakians in the ascendancy and for a good 15 minutes, holding onto the draw and an opening game point seemed like a more than reasonable result for us now. But then Chris Coleman played his aces and brought on Ledley and Robson-Kanu and the new energy that they brought to the pitch saw another swing in the pendulum. It was now at this time with about 15 minutes left that the fans sought to lift the boys on the pitch with an impromptu rendition of 'Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau'. Yes, I joined in, but not as vociferously as I had shortly before kick-off - my nerves were in shreds and I had to rely on the lungs of my compatriots to sound out that war cry to give those 11 on the pitch the strength and encouragement to carry on!
It must have worked because within 5 minutes, Ledley's precision ball to Ramsey found its way to Robson-Kanu who beautifully scuffed the ball into the back of the Slovakian net! 2-1!! PURE ECSTASY ONCE MORE!! Cue more hugging of those same nearby strangers!!
Yes, the dream was back on and despite Slovakia's late striking of the post, we weren't to be denied this time. Because this Welsh team have got a belief and confidence in themselves as an unit, having qualified in the first place, that was missing from those squads past. The resolve and sheer bloody determination that got them to France to begin with, now saw them through to 94 minutes with that newly won back lead still intact.
What a result!
FULL TIME - VICTORY!!
It took 58 years for Wales to get back to where they left off in 1958 and having earned that chance, the boys weren't going to just show up for the party. The commitment shown by the whole team, backed up by a fanatical, ecstatic support, saw the Dragons in red ROAR their way across the line for a win that will go down in Welsh sporting folklore.
The 3 points now puts us firmly planted with one foot in the last 16 of the competition. But then, there lies complacency. Another point is needed against England or Russia to make sure but that is for this coming week.
The hear and now saw us march back to town (by foot, the entire way!) with thousands of likewise jubilant Welsh fans, revelling in what we had just witnessed. Did that really happen? Was this for real? Oh yes it was!!
We could only stay in the Fanzone for a few hours to watch Russia equalize in injury time against England before we had to make our way back to the hotel ready for an early start back home. So whilst our compatriots drank into the night, we had a relatively alcoholically relaxed time of it as time was pressing against our 24 hour flying visit. What was clear though as the weekend developed and into the following Sunday was that the Welsh fans had been wonderful representatives of their nation. Full of beer? Without doubt. Full of song and good humour? Without question.
Bordeaux turned red this weekend in what was a Welsh celebration of footballing redemption. No-one was going to spoil the party. The result just made it an even more special atmosphere than it already was!
Homeward Bound
We set off after a light breakfast at 9.30am on the Sunday, barely 24 hours after we had arrived. We were back in Folkestone via Rouen at 6.30pm and we were back in Wales before midnight.
It was a whirlwind, rollercoaster 72 hours in my life that will remain indelibly marked in my memory. Whatever happens now, those ghosts of Welsh footballing pasts have been well and truly dispelled with. It shouldn't be another 58 years before we qualify for a major footballing tournament but hell, even if it is, there will be 25,000 Welsh fans who will be able to say, to quote Max Boyce, that 'I was there' when Wales did actually strut their stuff with the best of the best and showed that we were in good company.
The best night in Welsh footballing history? Quite probably so. A night and weekend to remember? Without a shadow of a doubt!
As I mentioned in my last blog post, I was pleasantly surprised to receive from the Carmarthen Journal at the beginning of the year, an offer to contribute to their expanding Welsh language content with a column of my own.
Having published my initial column in January, I'm glad to report that the Journal have seen fit to keep this new arrangement going by publishing column number two!
My initial column came in at about 650 words in length but I've managed to bring this second effort in at about 550 words which will be my target for future columns.
A Pembrokeshire Mongrel
Again, whilst the lay-out is slightly altered to the first one of a month ago, it remains eye-catching and I'm pleased with how it has been set out.
So, having again re-published it here in the original Cymraeg, I also do so in English below for those who do not have the good fortune of speaking the language of heaven...
A Pembrokeshire Mongrel (2)
It’s a pleasure to have the opportunity to write a regular
column for the Journal with my views and opinions from the vantage point of
being a Councillor and former Mayor of Cardigan but also from being a
‘Pembrokeshire Mongrel’ – born and raised in my paternal homeland ‘below the
Lansker’ around Martletwy but with my maternal heritage ‘above the Landsker’ at
Eglwyswrw in the Bro Preseli. All in the language of the ‘wes wes’ (west Walian
Welsh dialect) of course!
A Chance Lost for
Cardigan Library
The news that Ceredigion Council has decided to downsize
Cardigan Library has frustrated many. The frustration lies in the fact that the
Council had been offered an opportunity by the owners of Canolfan Teifi where
the library has been located for the past 20 years, to remain there rent free
for a minimum of 5 years. Efforts to call-in the Cabinet decision for greater
scrutiny and to fully consider the offer made, failed however and the authority
are now set to move the library from its current location, despite a great
amount of anxiety expressed by users about the effect that it will have on the
service.
Goodbye to the Rain!
I mentioned in my first column last month about the persistent
rain that had well and truly put Eglwyswrw on the map. Since I wrote that
column, our little village has gone global – as far as Australia and New Zealand! I even found myself
giving a live interview on Dutch Radio about our predicament and in all
fairness, their pronunciation of Eglwyswrw was to be commended! But all things
come to an end and finally, the weather eased - after 85 days of rain, we had a
dry day in the village. We should’ve celebrated really but in fact, there was
almost a new sense of frustration abound because we ended up just 4 days short
of breaking the near 100 year old British record of 89 days of constant
rainfall. They say any publicity is good publicity and it seems that the
residents of Eglwyswrw well and truly took to that mantra by the end!
Thank You to Robin
Lewis
During my year as Mayor of Cardigan in 2009/10 and
particularly when I chaired Ceredigion County Council in 2012/13, I would often
find myself in the presence of Dyfed’s Lord Lieutenant Robin Lewis. Not only was
he and Mrs Lewis good company, but we also had much in common. His business
contacts took him to Whitland, where I was schooled for 13 years and they live
in Cresswell Quay near Carew which is only a matter of miles from where I was
born and grew up.
So I was really pleased, some years later, to receive an
invitation for Alyson and myself, to his recent retirement reception in Carmarthen. It was a good opportunity to catch-up with
fellow members of the ‘chain gang’ but more importantly, it gave me the chance
to personally thank Robin for his commitment and duty to his role over the past
decade and more. But more than that, the fact that he did so with such good
humour! Best wishes to Sara Edwards who is known to many of us through her
career in journalism, as she steps into Robin’s very sizeable shoes.
At the beginning of the year, I had an unexpected but pleasant communication from the Carmarthen Journal, looking for new contributors to help expand their Welsh language content.
I've always had a great enjoyment in writing. Indeed, if I could have my time again I may have done a post-graduate degree in Journalism instead of plumping for the safe choice of history which I eventually choose. But due to my political activity over the past decade, the opportunities for me to write freely have been limited.
One of the few opportunities that I have had in that time was when I wrote an article on the historic coming together of the DUP and Sinn Fein in Northern Ireland in May 2007 having made the trip to be in the grounds of Stormont that very day. Having been a pupil of history with a great love of all things Irish, it was a great moment in my life to see this unlikeliest of partnerships come together in person and to subsequently have an article on that experience printed in the Carmarthen Journal.
A Pembrokeshire Mongrel
So when that very same newspaper approached me looking for a regular column on topics of my own choosing, how could I say no? Doing so in the Welsh language would also give me the chance to brush up on my written Welsh.
So last month, my first monthly column was published in the Journal. I must admit that I was very pleased with the format and presentation of that first column as put together by the Journal staff and I hope that same format will be retained for future columns.
As a Pembrokeshire boy, born and bred in my paternal homeland in the English-language dominated south but with firm roots in my maternal Welsh-language dominated north of the county, I offered the column name 'Mwngrel Sir Benfro' which translates as 'A Pembrokeshire Mongrel'. It may sound odd but I've always taken great pride in my split Pembrokeshire heritage and how better to embrace the history of both than my taking on that very title?!
I have re-published it here but for those who do not have the good fortune of speaking the language of heaven, I have translated it into English below...
A Pembrokeshire Mongrel
It’s a pleasure to have the opportunity to write a regular
column for the Journal. I will be doing so with my views and opinions from the
vantage point of being a Councillor and former Mayor of Cardigan but also from
being a ‘Pembrokeshire Mongrel’ – born and raised in my paternal homeland
‘below the Lansker’ around Martletwy but with my maternal heritage ‘above the
Landsker’ at Eglwyswrw in the Bro Preseli. All in the language of the ‘wes wes’
(west Walian Welsh dialect) of course!
An Eisteddfod for
Cardigan…in Pembrokeshire?!
Ceredigion will be hosting the 2010 Eisteddfod and
expressions of interest from different communities have been requested. The
strict criteria for land that is suitable for the size of such an event limits
the possibilities but there’s one location that ticks all the boxes. Cardigan
looks set to put forward land at Llantood as an option though some eyebrows
have already been raised at the fact that the site sits a mile the other side
of the Ceredigion border…in Pembrokeshire! But with the re-opening only last
year of Cardigan Castle, the birthplace of the Eisteddfod in 1176, there is a
strong sense locally that it would only be right to see its return for the
first time since 1976. CardiganTown Council has already
written to local community councils throughout south Ceredigion, north
Pembrokeshire and north-western Carmarthenshire seeking support for a bid and
hopefully by the end of March deadline, Cardigan and district will be
green-to-go. As for the site being a mile the other side of the Ceredigion
boundary? Well that makes it a mile closer to Eglwyswrw so I support it
wholeheartedly!
Eglwyswrw – or E-gwlyb-wrw?!
It’s been a wet winter. No getting around that. But in
Eglwyswrw, where I’m the manager of the family’s Dyfed Shire Horse Farm, it has
been particularly so. Now, Uncle Howard who has lived there at Carnhuan for all
of his 73 years, is a force of nature…when it comes to talking about the
weather! But it was still the shock of my life last weekend when Uncle Howard’s
face stared back at me from the Western Mail, being interviewed about the
village’s 90 year record of over 80 consecutive days of rain since late
October! Before we knew it, he was being quoted online with the Daily Mirror
and BBC Wales News were on the ‘phone expressing their interest! It’s not
exactly the best reason for the village to make the news. Having said that, it
was amusing to see many English people try and pronounce the word Eglwyswrw!
West…was nearly Best!
Many racing fans from west Wales would’ve been shouting for
Bob Ford from Rebecca Curtis’ stables in Dinas in the recent Welsh Grand
National at Chepstow. Not only was I one of them, but I was there cheering him
on from the stands…in the rain! Why? Because one of his owners John Rees from
Llanboidy happens to be my father-in-law! Now, our Bob’s form is consistent in
his inconsistency! If he isn’t winning, he’s likely to be pulled up but he
likes heavy ground and boy, it was heavy that Saturday! Against high calibre
opponents, he gave it his all and was in the leading pack throughout before
slipping back and falling, for the first time in his career, a handful out. He
was fine thankfully but despite the fall, he can hold his head up high. As for
his form? Well, it’s be a pleasant change, for the only time hopefully, to see
a ‘F’ instead of another ‘P’ amongst those ‘1’s’!
Time passes by quickly. Too quickly more often than not. But pass by it does all the same. Exactly 3 years ago to this day on the 24th January 2013, I wrote this blog post about finally making the leap into exploring my family history after years of prevarication. Since then, those tentative first few steps into my own genealogy have turned into a project so vast and never-ending that it has become a significant and very happy part of my life. Shamefully, I have not committed as much of that research and learning down in writing in this blog as I should have, save for the odd irregular article over the past 36 months. I hope to put that write and blog more about this research as time continues moving on. But 3 years on, it's important for me to remember and commemorate the man who started it all off in the first place. 'Cousin Mick' As that initial blog post of 2013 stated, it all begun earlier via a photograph of Martletwy Church that my father had taken in Easter 1962 and which I posted here in my blog on its 50th anniversary in April 2012. Read the comments to that post from April 2012 and you will see that within 2 days, it had garnered a response from a Mick Cole in Barry. Who was this? It was all new to me but I replied days later. On the 15th April 2012, I wrote...
"I'm hoping to catch-up with a distant cousin Max Cole in Carew who I gather has a family tree of Benjamin's side of the family and am keen to follow that up with a catch-up with cousins on Maud's side who now live in the Loveston/Begelly area".
Of course, like all good intentions, it never happened but then my reply went unanswered for over 9 months and no doubt I would have forgotten about this fleeting connection and been distracted by something else to excuse finally making the leap into the research. Then, as our conversation thread in the comments re-commenced on 19th January 2013, it turned out that Mick had met my Dad's sister, my Aunty June, down in Martletwy previously. Suddenly, I was alert and intrigued! He not only spoke a good game about Cole family links back to my homeland, but he'd clearly made an effort to make those connections a reality. So when Mick asked how my own research had been progressing since our previous communication 9 months earlier, my reply was...
"The research hasn't really got going yet such has been the pressure of work commitments but your contact has spurred me on again to look into it".
This time, there was no prevaricating. I started asking my mother questions on Dad's family and thanks to Mick's contact, I was spurred into signing up with ancestry.co.uk within 48 hours, on the 21st January 2013. My first blog post was to follow 3 days later after initial research had been completed.
Researching with Mick
So it's absolutely bang on the money to state that it was Mick's contact that finally pushed me into researching my family links. The comments in the thread mentioned above give a reminder of that and the timescale says so.
But Mick didn't just start the research off - he became an integral part of it.
He had been doing his own research for some time and was keen on more visits back west to Pembrokeshire where he had spent some of his youth around Manorbier. So he did and over the next two and a half years, we would regularly meet up in west Wales to chew over the latest piece of research - to lock our heads together to see if we could make a breakthrough and to visit the locations of our shared heritage.
We first met within a few months in the spring of 2013 on the occasion of Wales Vs England in the 6 Nations Championship decider. We met at the Carew Inn for lunch with Mick's lovely wife Nikki and we moved on to Tenby where we'd all booked in for the night. We watched in absolute delight in the Crown Inn on Lower Frog St, as Wales thrashed the English 30-3 to not only end their Grand Slam hopes, but to steal the championship from under their noses! The Guinness flowed, the banter did likewise and a life-long friendship was well and truly formed.
When we weren't together, we'd send e-mails back-and-forth as we tried to make more progress. Mick was brilliant. He would come up with crackpot theories about what may have happened with various 'lost' family members. I'd learned with the research over time having made my own mistakes along the way, to treat everything with caution. Half the time, Mick's theories turned out to be as crackpot as they sounded. But the other half of the time, he struck Gold. Certificates would be purchased to prove what he believed to be be correct time and time again but his best find was to make a contact with a very distant Cole relation to a family now living in America. His proof was good but I just didn't see it stacking up. I was very cautious and kept batting away his firm opinion on the matter. That was until I found a travel document back to Wales in the 1920s for one of this American family's descendants and it saw her return to the very address in Pembroke Dock where her maternal aunt had lived for decades. Unbelievable - Mick was spot on all along! We since made contact with a living descendant, Ted Wilson in Kentucky who was delighted at our research and connection. We are now firm Facebook friends.
Over the following visits, we'd trudge our way through cemeteries and graveyards, enjoy the odd curry and sup a good pint or three as we spoke about not just old family, but our own families, sport and politics. He'd often rib me about being an Aston Villa fan - couldn't blame him!
Most of our visits centred around Pembroke Dock. Having barely set foot in the place since I was a child, I came to greatly look forward to our get-together's there. At the heart of it were our regular visits to the 'First and Last' and the 'Welshman's Arms'. Beer, live music, banter with the locals and in the latter, Henry the huge Irish wolfhound wondering 'round the bar - what more could you want?! Perfik!
A Lawrenny Family Reunion
Throughout all of our discussions, we'd always had the idea of organising a family reunion of our family back in Pembrokeshire. As the research developed, it was clear that it would take time to organise something of note.
By Xmas 2014 we had set Whitsun Bank Holiday weekend aside for the venture and booked the marquee at the Lawrenny Arms. Sadly in the interim, Aunty June passed away peacefully aged 79 in the March.
But in her memory and for all of those who had gone before, we continued with the plans and we had a great time as over 30 family members travelled west to meet for the first time in decades if not for the first time ever. New photos came to light and new, unknown corners of the family story became evident as a result. This was particularly so for our Mick.
The two page article republished here is that which I wrote for Pembrokeshire Life on the back of that successful get-together.
Goodbye Cousin Mick
It came as a great shock when I received an e-mail from Mick on Armistice Day last saying that he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and had only been given 6-12 months to live.
He remained upbeat and was even talking of 'one final trip' back to Pembroke Dock in the New Year. Sadly, it was not to be. Mick passed away peacefully at home in Barry just 7 days later aged 65. I've lost close and dear family members during the past year but losing Mick so suddenly was numbing. The article which I had written for Pembrokeshire Life had just been published in the November edition. I had told Mick of this by e-mail but I never got to send it to him to read in person.
We'd not even known each other 3 years but when it came to the family research, we were as thick as thieves. We were a double act, bouncing ideas off of each other and helping the other with their research. With hardly any warning, he was gone. All of those plans of further joint escapes, were not to be.
His funeral mass in Barry was a lovely service and Nikki and his boys Sam and Jack did him proud. He always spoke so highly of them all when we were together and it has been great to have got to know them all over the past 3 years as well. Sam and Jack spoke movingly and amusingly of their father at the service. I give them immense credit for doing so because when I lost my father suddenly aged 20, there was no thought that I could say something in his service. But not only did Sam and Jack speak of Mick, they also touchingly mentioned his and my friendship over recent years in their eulogy. It was truly humbling to know through them, that their father took as much enjoyment out of our joint ventures as I had done.
To 'Cousin Mick', I miss you greatly. The family history research that began so tentatively after your initial contact has now swollen to make a family tree containing over 11,000 names.
But..you didn't just make it happen, you made it fun.
It won't be the same without you Mick boy but I will continue as we would have done and everything I do now, I do so in your memory.
