The Big Change

Hume Gravell recalls the culture shock of moving from an urban parish to a rural one

1951, I was eight years old and my brother was six. My father was a curate in Llandovery when he became the rector of Bridell and Llantood in north Pembrokeshire – not far from Cilgerran and Cardigan.

Immediately, I felt that my whole world had changed. The first shock was the change in language. I remember my mother’s words within a day of arriving in Bridell: “They say ‘Wês, wês’ around here”. I had to get used to the Pembrokeshire dialect, and to hearing Welsh being spoken more often. The town of Llandovery was anglicised, one of the effects of the railway link with England, but Welsh was strong in Bridell, and many of the older people didn’t feel at ease speaking English.

The biggest change was living in a house. In Llandovery, we lived in a flat on the second floor of Church House. Everything had to be carried up or down four flights of stairs. Now, we lived in a modern house. But there was no electricity, no mains water – that had to be carried from a well half a mile away – and no mains sewerage. Nothing but a septic tank that had to be emptied every year.

And the school! A small school with two classrooms, the bigger one for pupils from the age of seven upwards; the smaller one for those under seven. No electricity, no central heating but a coal fire, and again, no water supply. Drinking water and water to do the washing-up was carried in a pitcher from next door. I can’t recollect washing my hands. Either the act of washing hands didn’t register in the brain of an eight-year-old boy, or.... hmmm!!! The toilets worked without water. Two blocks of toilets with an opening into a cellar that was dredged when necessary. Most of the lessons were in English, but Welsh was the language of the yard, unlike today.

Then there was the church! A small church in a circular churchyard, on an ancient site. The church in Llandovery was a town church with a choir with robes and surplices. In Bridell, there wasn’t enough room for a choir in the chancel, but the congregation was a choir in itself, singing the Welsh hymns with conviction and power. That’s when our hymnal tradition became a part of me. The congregation were also good listeners, a brief five-minute sermon didn’t cut the mustard for them.

And what about the members? Rural people, warm-hearted, kind and generous. A priest’s annual bonus at the time came in the form of the Easter offering, which was also a barometer of the congregation’s respect for their priest. Every year, the Easter offering was generous. I remember my father chatting and talking shop with the vicar of Eglwys Wen. The two were friends and hailed from the industrial area around Llanelli. They were in complete agreement: ‘This is a kind area’.