Photo below is replica of the first steam engine. This invention at the time and many decades later would have a major impact on my family's lives.
I wasn't much interested in the castle as it was the home of the owner of the iron works and not of my family's social stature. The exhibits, however, were informative and enlightening. On our way out I happened to strike up a conversation with the museum historian who was thrilled to hear my story. Turns out there is a project underway to showcase the history of the Georgetown community where the family lived and to follow up on where some of the residents went. Not only that, Alison, the historian, is a Davis with family from Georgetown (kin perhaps). She was a wealth of information and offered to give us a personalized private tour of a cottage similar to where my family may have lived.
To be honest I thought we would just have to drive through the town trying to find a spot to snap photos. Alison made the experience fantastic. It was to Merthyr Tydfil those St. Ishmael wedding folk, Thomas & Jane Evans, moved with their family in 1841. Thomas was a carpenter, highly skilled for his time. His daughter, Mary, married Joseph Davis, a collier, in Merthyr about 1849. My great grandma, Mary Jane,was born here in 1853 at the height of the Industrial Revolution. By 1854 the entire family left for North America. After our visit today I have a much more realistic understanding of the lives of these people who toiled in Wales, had dreams of a better life, took that first step to follow the dreams and came to our land to lay the foundation of our lives. Too much to tell. I will save it for my book but share a few photos first. I did not expect this connection. Photos- #1 typical workers' houses, #2 barge canal for transporting coal and iron by horse and barge before the steam engine, #3 typical living room
We were pumped, even RP, with our Alison encounter and hoped the next stop 8 miles away would be as inspiring. We are learning quickly that nothing in this country should be assumed and that 8 miles is often 3 times further. My paternal grandmother, Annie Watkins, and one of my favourite people in my life was born 1895 in Tredegar, the small town 8 miles away. What we did not not know - there is an old and a new Tredegar. None of the streets in these villages have addresses as we know addresses. All have postal codes of 6-9 digits but the GPS only recognizes the first 5-6 digits and then you have several options to choose from. First choice took us to a village that didn't even start with "T", next to new Tredegar and finally to old Tredegar. Once in the village Bonnie GPS had a blond moment, went awol and just crapped out. It was pouring rain; we parked on a zigzag so I could take a picture of the iconic clock on town center (circa 1858); RP stayed in the car on guard for the parking police.
Off we went to the local museum, Bedwelty House, for lunch, a peak at the exhibits and maybe a chat with the locals. Bedwelty House has a grand total of 6 parking spaces, all occupied and it it is pouring rain. The car park turnaround requires Indie style driving skills and it is pouring rain. All the exhibit rooms are occupied with some big wig meeting taking place throughout museum and it is pouring rain. The lunch room is pre-booked with bigwig meeting folk and it is pouring rain.
I ask about the WWI memorial for my great uncle is honoured there. With directions I head off under umbrella to snap a photo. The memorial is undergoing restoration, complete with chain fencing, and it is pouring rain. Back to the car which RP has yet been unable to park as none of the 6 spaces have been vacated (damned bigwigs) and it is pouring rain.
We attempt to escape the perhaps pretty village of Tredegar but Bonnie is still awol. I think she didn't want to get her hair wet as it is still pouring bleeping rain. We go with our own radar and RP drops the first "f" bomb on the trip. I don't blame him. I did not expect this frustration and disappointment on our visit to Tredegar.
At this point I offer to pass on the next planned stop, THE BIG PIT, which pays tribute to the coal miners of Wales, the men of my Dad's family. RP decided we had come this far so what was a few more miles. After all the big pit is part of the Blaenavon World Heritage site, so it should be first class. Keep in mind, it is still pouring rain. We found Blaenavon with reasonable ease; Bonnie was trying to redeem herself. However, this world heritage site, which features no less than 10 historic venues, (e.g. ironworks, pit mine, steam railway, village etc.) has minimal signage. When we finally find the car park the rain is beginning to ease. I am sure we did the quickest big pit visit on record. Dont get me wrong, the entire world heritage site is incredible but we were done in. Back to Cardiff we went, finally reaching our hotel room after minimal wrong turns given the multitude of streets without signs, one ways not mapped and rounders with more exits than Bonnie is aware of.
It is our last night in Cardiff so we decide we will try a trendy, award winning Thai place. It was a lovely end to a long day - one very special but also very nerve wracking. A few photos of the THAI EDGE, in Cardiff - highly recommended. #1 outside, #2 inside, #3 our starter, #4 weary but happy travellers.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
No comments:
Post a Comment