Fighting the elements

Well, the waters may be receding but, in the Biblical phrase, there is no sign yet of "a rainbow standing across the land". For the residents of Monmouthshire, and those in Herefordshire, Worcestershire and Shropshire, the effects of the floods will be felt for a long time to come.  Living on a hill, we are very fortunate, having nothing more than a shortage of drinking water to worry about (the water treatment plant in Monmouth was inundated and is without power). But for those living closer to river level the last few days have been catastrophic.

I've written before about how the weather and people's fight against the elements feature large in so much literature. I was looking back last night over some of my writing. When I was researching the background to my own family history in Monmouthshire in the nineteenth century for my book "Digging Up The Family - A Lesson In Social History" I came across frequent references to the great flood of October 17th 1883. That evening a fierce storm was blowing up the Severn Estuary and it corresponded with the highest tide of the century; at 7pm. a tidal wave of water six feet high suddenly engulfed the land all along the Caldicot Levels. Miraculously, all eighty three men trapped in the shaft of the Severn Tunnel, then under construction, were saved by the heroic measures taken by their comrades above ground (a story well worth reading). My grandfather, aged five at the time, and his family were in a cottage in the direct path of the wave, which swept up from the wharf, through their garden and into the house. My great grandparents and the older boys grabbed the smallest children (it was a big family) and fled with them to the comparative safety of the upstairs rooms whilst the storm battered at the windows. The devastation awaiting them downstairs and outside next morning was unprecedented.

Perhaps we now have more sophisticated approaches to planning for and dealing with "natural disasters" but it's becoming glaringly obvious how much we have ourselves to blame for the frequency and the extent of many of them. Our tardiness at getting to grips with climate change, policies that sacrifice safety for profit (inappropriate house building on flood plains etc.) - I could go on.  The politicians' knee jerk reactions to the present crisis and their fervent promises of assistance in the media sadly give little hope for any meaningful, long term strategies. 

"Whatever the weather ..."

I'm sitting here in my study looking out on the very wild morning delivered to us by Storm Ciara. I took the dog out for a two hour walk early on, before the rain set in, as she certainly won't be getting much of a one later. We had the wind behind us to start with but coming back into a head wind was definitely a challenge - hardly the 86 mph gusts they've had at Capel Curig, but enough to take me off my feet at one point. Carys, of course, was fine - this is when having four legs and a low centre of gravity is really advantageous!

No wonder the weather becomes such a major feature - indeed a character in its own right - in so much literature. The effect it has upon individuals, decisions they make, their environments, on history itself  (the decision when to launch the D Day invasion for example) - it has tremendous significance. At the moment I'm reading "Twenty Thousand Saints" by Fflur Daffydd, a novel set on Bardsey Island; the elements rule the lives of those living on Bardsey and those coming, as do Daffydd's characters, for recreation, religion or less reputable reasons. The narrow straight of water between the island and the mainland and the winds and tides that govern it subtly dominate the narrative. It's an intriguing story on many levels - well worth a read.

 

Love and St. Dwynwen

In Wales we don't wait for Valentine's Day - we have our own patron saint of lovers, St. Dwynwen, whose festival we celebrated yesterday. History tells us that she was the daughter of a medieval king,  legend (probably originating in the eighteenth century) that she was spurned in love because of her chastity, but granted by God three wishes because if it. One of her wishes was that all lovers "might either attain the objects of their affection or be cured of their passion"; another was that she should never marry. She is reputed to have died a nun in the church named after her at Llanddwyn just off the coast of Anglesey.

I've been rereading some of my favourite love poems in Dwynwen's honour. A great favourite has to be the clear-eyed, down-to-earth "There's a kind of love called maintenance" by U. A. Fanthorpe (do read it if you're not familiar with it - this is about the love that lasts). And I'm very fond too of the poems in Carol Ann Duffy's collection "Rapture" - so many that most of us can identify with. Her anthology of love poems, "Hand in Hand", contributed by a variety of poets who chose one of their own and a favourite by another writer, also makes good reading. But there's one poem I always carry in my handbag, one that's really special - W. B Yeates' "When You Are Old"; to me that's the greatest love poem ever.

An Absent Love

In threadbare hours

my mind weaves stories -

stories to tell you on the shores of morning,

when the tattered curtains of night draw back,

when grey mists thin,

when a rising sun glints

on the straining canvas of full sails

carrying you back into the compass

of these dreamcatcher tales.

(copyright Gill Garrett 2015)

Looking forwards

A month's gap since that last post - let's just say the year didn't perhaps get off to the start it might have! But two thirds of January are now behind us, the evenings are gradually beginning to get just a little bit lighter and spring may not be so far off. In fact I saw this daffodil out on New Year's Day and over the weekend I found quite spectacular banks of snowdrops in the hedgerows when I was driving through rural Shropshire. The worst of the winter weather may well yet be to come but signs of better days always cheer me no end.


The other thing that has cheered me no end in the last couple of days has been planning a couple of new projects and arranging two visits to Ty Newydd, the National Writing Centre of Wales, over the summer. Ty Newydd has to be one of my favourite places on earth; I never fail to be inspired by my visits there. For various reasons I've not been able to go for a few years now, so I shall be delighted to get there again. One of the weeks I'll be spending there is dedicated to "Writing Wales" - fortunately with bilingual facilitators as my learner Welsh may not stretch to accommodating anything else quite yet!

In the meantime I'm well into the scripts for a series of programmes for Upbeat Radio which may appear at some stage in book form too. I'm looking forward to restarting "The Writers Room" broadcasts before long as well; the twelve month series which ran 2018 - 2019 was very well received and gave a platform to a variety of local writers. I enjoy the challenge of live radio work - though being expected to master the technology when working with community radio stations I sometimes find intimidating! No major calamities so far but quite a bit of flying by the seat of my pants ...

Christmas greetings

After a turbulent year for so many and with an uncertain future ahead, here's hoping for a restful and peaceful Christmas for us all.

Routines and rituals

I can't remember how many years ago it was that the tradition started. But Christmas hasn't begun for me until I hear Messiah sung somewhere locally - then you can legitimately bring out the mince pies, "deck the halls" etc. and wish people a Merry Christmas. Yesterday evening we went to hear the Three Castles Baroque in St. Mary's Priory Church in Monmouth with four superb soloists and first class instrumentalists - a really lovely evening. Now I feel galvanized into preparing for the coming festivities!

Near Goytre Wharf

But it's prompted me to think about the rituals and routines that we as writers often adopt, the little things we "have" to do to get ourselves going, to focus on the job in hand. I don't think we're obsessional, but I know so many people for whom the same pen, the right chair or the order in which they approach a task makes the difference between achieving a writing objective or not. For me an essential at the planning stage of a new project is a long walk; last Sunday it was along the Monmouth and Brecon Canal as I tried to get to grips with a plethora of ideas that had been forming for some time but refusing to coalesce into some sort of coherent whole. Another definite is getting something mapped out on paper in long hand (be it a long book or a short poem) before I start; the laptop is redundant until I can literally see the shape of what I'm doing.

The evening also started me off thinking about how large Christmas features in so many books and stories - usually, though not always, highlighting the negative! The enforced jollity, the high expectations of family get-togethers that crash to the ground on the first evening - we've all had them; the alcohol-fuelled outbursts, the stifling cocooning from well-meaning parents, the intrusive questioning about a life thankfully being lived out miles away ....  No wonder writers capitalize on the season for dramatic effect in their work. There are, of course, happier accounts; I was rereading A Child's Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas recently (it so reminds me of some of my own childhood experiences there) and I love Laurie Lee's tales of carol singing and family Christmases in Cider With Rosie. Let's hope that for all of us this year there are more pluses than minuses in whatever the season finds us doing!

Catching up before Christmas

If it hasn't been looking after someone else, it's been looking after myself since that last post! I hate being ill at the best of times but when life is as busy as it should have been ... Still, I'm back in the land of the living again now, and fortunately was in time for our Women Aloud Christmas lunch, which I would have been very sorry to miss.

But things have got very behind schedule with a couple of deadlines missed and a rush on now to get things done before the festivities are upon us in two weeks time. I'm working on a series of radio scripts for when I resume hosting The Writer's Room in the New Year, to which I'm very much looking forward now. The series is going to look at Welsh life past and present; I've had a very enjoyable couple of days working on a programme about Welsh folk tales, some of which I've known most of my life but several of which I've come across more recently. Fascinating stuff - and a welcome relief from current reality with this week's election business hanging over us! Although how much of that comes into the realm of fantasy ...

Fall asleep on Cadair Idris and you'll wake
up as a poet or a madman!