Adventures with languages. Part One; Welsh by Steve Way

Thinking about how our blogs are generally about how we use language, predominantly in our case to bring stories and situations to life, I thought it would be interesting to write about my experiences and musings about other languages.

My first girlfriend was Welsh and when it began to look as though our association was going to become serious, she decided that she would like me to learn her mother tongue. At the time, back in the early 80s, a series of books, a precursor to the [Difficult subject you want to learn about] – for dummies (who aren’t really dummies) range, called [So and so] made simple, such as Einstein made simple or Genetics made simple, seemed to be very popular. All of these tomes alleged to make the complex comprehensible and were of a reassuringly consistent length – or outer thickness at any rate. (I certainly never read the contents other than a few pages of the forthcoming example.) They were all just under an inch wide. The only exception was Welsh made simple, which was nearly two inches thick. Einstein eat your heart out.

Despite the daunting thickness of the tome I volunteered to master this apparently straightforward language. I sat outside her parents’ house on a sunny afternoon (it wasn’t raining!) and began wrestling with Welsh.

As luck would have it the first chapter taught how to say, 'I like coffee' or for the truly ambitious, 'I like tea'. Despite the wrestling match taking a couple of hours or so, with the Welsh language definitely winning, I did manage to absorb the knowledge, made simple in this beginning chapter – the only one I was ever to read. Just as my head had stopped spinning, by remarkably brilliantly timing, my girlfriend came out and asked if I might like a cup of tea.

Dramatically I slammed the book shut as though I had fully absorbed the contents of Welsh made simple and boldly declared, ‘Rwy’n hoffi te’. She nearly fainted.

I learned a few more words and phrases, such a ‘good morning’ (‘bore da’) etc but the only other sentence I acquired from my book was, ‘Rwy’n siarad Cymraeg’ i.e. ‘I speak Welsh’. It occurred to me that on its own this is a profoundly useless sentence to learn in virtual isolation from the main body of the language.

Imagine the scene.

An accident has occurred; several of us rush over to the injured party. The first to reach the victim looks up at us and declares, ‘I think he’s Welsh. I think he’s trying to tell us something… does anyone speak Welsh?’ Instinctively I cry out, ‘Rwy’s siarad Cymraeg!’ Everyone turns to me hopefully, even the injured party raises his head a little. I back off slightly… perhaps the only useful contributions I can make at this point is tell the victim that I like tea… and possibly, though not completely truthfully, that I also like coffee. Let’s hope the accident occurs in the morning or conversation will soon run dry…

~~~~~

A couple of times we visited the ancient welsh capital proudly bearing the name Machynlleth. I have a sneaky suspicion that the ancient warriors of Wales, so often at odds with the English, created this name in an act of genius. It’s pretty much as sword in the stone scenario. Unless you are truly Welsh – and even then, it’s not a guarantee – you definitely cannot pronounce that name.

Imagine another scene.

The English King’s tent on the border of Wales. Inside, the king and his generals are pouring over a map of Wales.

King: So where be the capital of this rebellious nation?

Norfolk: (Pointing) It be here my lord…

King: Situated where it be, it should be an easy target. What name have the revolting natives given the place?

Norfolk: I believe it be called ‘Mac on Leith’ M’Lord.

Northumberland: No, I was told it be ‘Mick un Luff’.

Essex: My noble lords ye both be in error, it be ‘Mick in Leaf’ I believe.

The king’s generals begin quarrelling.

King: Forget it we’ll invade Wrexham.

Norfolk: Be that not ‘Wrecks ‘em’ M’Lord?

King: Shut up and raise the army!

~~~~~

Happy New Year everyone!

Or as Google Translator would have it (I definitely wouldn’t know) Blwyddyn Newydd Hapus pawb!

~~~~~

Recent publication ‘I’m going to be a Computer Programmer (Careers in STEM)’ One of a series of books for children exploring careers in STEM subjects

ISBN 1910828904

Wells and Welsh - Eloise Williams

 

Thrilled, delighted and over the moon that my novel ‘Seaglass’, as yet unpublished (hint, hint), has come in as Runner-up in the Wells Festival of Literature Children’s Novel Competition this year.

Please do a happy dance for me.

Wow! You really do have the moves!

 

So, I went to Wells – beautiful City of extraordinary eateries and superlative shopping opportunities and shook Camilla’s hand. Yes, the Camilla. As you do.

Hello there, security people. Yes I AM coming into the marquee in the Bishop’s Palace Gardens thank you very much. And so is my mum.

 

Anyway, a lovely day was had by all and I am so chuffed that my story is so liked.

On that note – a bugbear. Time to get something off my chest.

Writers in Wales are often told not to make their stories too Welsh. Or, to put it another way, make them less Welsh.

 

 

Just because our stories are set in Wales and have Welsh characters populating them, it doesn’t mean that they won’t have Universal appeal. *Pulls extremely cross teacher type face*

‘Seaglass’ is a ghost story set on the Pembrokeshire Coast. It uses the local landscape and history as its setting and its main protagonist is a Welsh Gypsy. I specifically chose to write about the place because it is a place that I love with all my heart and is also where I am lucky enough to live. I chose for Scarlett to be a Welsh gypsy because that’s how she was born in my head.  

There are loads of brilliant writers setting their stories in Wales because it is interesting here! Even some writers who weren’t even born in Wales! Shock! Horror! *Picks self up from fainting position.*

I’m not saying that I will never set a story somewhere else – N.B. I probably won’t because there are all those procrastinational jobs to do – but I see absolutely zero reason why I shouldn’t write about the people and land where I live and still be relevant.

Eloise… can you make you make your stories a bit less Welsh?

Erm… No.

 

Will you make your stories a bit less Welsh?

Erm… No.

Perhaps if you could…

I’ll stop you there.

Erm…No.

And so to celebrate the success of ‘Seaglass’, I’m in a cabin in North Wales, overlooking the sea from the Llyn Peninsula, close to the mountains of Snowdonia, learning to siarad Cymraeg badly, discovering my next story and editing Gaslight, which is set in Cardiff and was written with support from Literature Wales.

Of course the Welsh word for Congratulations is Llongyfarchiadau. As you well know.

Llongyfarchiadau Seaglass! Da iawn.  

And just to get rid of the teacher face a spot more happy dancing if you please… I’ll just get put on some Tom of the Jones!

 

 

Welsh writers are coming out of the hills! – David Thorpe

Writers in South Wales seem suddenly to be realising that it does them good to get out of their solitary office chairs and meet each other.

A Welsh children's writers and illustrators branch of SCBWI was begun last year and now boasts 32 members on its Facebook page. It was begun by the regional network coordinator Marie Basting with help from yours truly and now is administered by new young children's writer Zoe Thomas.

Welsh SCBWI's Zoe Thomas.

We have regular meetings, usually either in Carmarthen or Cardiff. There have been expressions of interest from writers and illustrators in North Wales, but they grumble at having so far to come, so we wait with bated breath for them to form their own North Wales Gog chapter. (For the non-Welsh, 'Gog' is Welsh slang for North Walians!)

The Society of Authors recently encouraged members to form local chapters as well, and so author Tony Riches has taken on the awesome responsibility of organising one in South Wales. This is also on Facebook and anyone wanting to be a member should let Tony know here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1798769160336943/.

It only has 15 members at the moment and needs to reach a certain critical mass before the Society will back it. The Society offers to send out emails and help with publicity for regional meetings but only if 100 members in a given area sign up to join.

The Society has 142 members in South Wales, so expecting 70% to sign up is a tall order, but we'll see.

Welsh children's publisher Firefly was represented at the Tenby book fair last month, organised by writer Judith Barrow, where editor Janet Thomas talked about what she was looking for in submissions and awarded prizes for a children's writing competition.

Firefly's Janet Thomas and competition winner. 

Janet and another winner.

Sharon Treegenza, fellow ABBA blogger, was also there and wrote more about this yesterday. Among the prize winners were Catrin Thomas, Leo Robertson, Olivia Robertson and  Libby James, William Russell, Darcy Conbeer, and Zihan Lin.
   

Winner Catrin Lawrence

There was also a Young Adult Flash Fiction Competition for entrants aged 12 - 18, a 100 word Creepy Tale, sponsored by Cambria Publishing Co-operative, which also publishes children's and YA books. This was won by Gracie Ardolino, Catrin Lawrence and Zack Spencer. Catrin, aged 18 (pictured), has already decided that she wants to be a pro writer and enrolled on a Swansea University creative writing course.

Bookfairs seem to happen faster than sunny days at this time of year, with another last week in Carmarthen and another one next week in Crickhowell.

Writer Christoph Fischer is organising a further bookfair in Llandeilo for December and a fully fledged literary festival in the town for next spring.

Finally, my own new writing class which I am running in my new hometown of Llandovery (an absolutely delightful place) has drawn over 20 writers out of the hills.

Me at the Tenby Bookfair

All of this demonstrates to me the enormous appetite of the Welsh to continue their rich literary tradition in the year of the Roald Dahl centenary.

[David Thorpe is the writer of Marvel's Captain Britain, the sci-fi YA novels Hybrids, Doc Chaos: The Chernobyl Effect and the cli-fi fantasy Stormteller.]

At last! A Welsh Branch of SCBWI! - David Thorpe

I am pleased to announce the formation of a new Welsh chapter of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI – known affectionately as Scoobies).

For anyone who's been off-planet for a decade, SCBWI is a great international membership organisation that provides support to lots of creatives who are starting out in this field, as well as to many have been around for awhile. It's launched quite a few careers as well as some great friendships. A more supportive crowd of people you could scarcely find anywhere.

There hasn't been a Welsh branch for a while, the main problem being the huge geographical spread of the country. It's not that there is a dearth of creatives in the land of the bards, but it can take over three hours to get from one end to the other.

And many of us are salted away in the hills scribbling in secluded valleys or wandering (and wondering) pensively on deserted beaches and mountaintops. The spirit of Taliesin pervades the landscape, and myth and magic abound (even in Port Talbot!).

About seven years ago I tried to start a Scoobie branch here, when I lived in mid-Wales, and we met two or three times, but holding it together was difficult because of the travel times. Out of it grew, if memory serves, the Dragontongue blog, which merged with the Awfully Blog Adventure about four or five years ago? (Correct me if I'm wrong.)

I moved to near Swansea about four years ago and since then a few new members have joined who happen to live in various parts of South Wales.

So at the moment it's mostly South Walians (Hwntws – as opposed to the Gogs of North Wales). Who knows, maybe another branch will form in North Wales?

[Using the word 'branch' brings to mind the four branches of the Mabinogion, that collection of ancient Celtic stories from the oral tradition of Wales. Kind of appropriate, no?]

As a group we've only met three times so far, and I don't pretend to speak for the group here. The Facebook group has 12 members and at the last meeting we celebrated the fact that Claire Fayers had received an advance copy of her new swashbuckling magical pirate story that unfortunately will not be published until next summer – in separate editions in America and the UK. That's a shame because we all wanted to get hold of a copy straightaway it looked so exciting.

Claire was in the SCBWI Undiscovered Voices 2014 anthology and was snapped up by Gemma Cooper of The Bent Agency. Well done, Claire. It just goes to show how effective the network is.

We, the south Welsh branch, are making links with the English SouthWest group and hope to meet up with Candy Gorlay in Swansea soon.

If there are other writers and illustrators in Wales reading this, I encourage you to join SCBWI and get in touch with the network organiser Marie Basting.

David Thorpe on the Trail of the Mari Lwyd

Imagine it's a dark midwinter night. You're out on a windy street in Wales. Suddenly an apparition appears before you: a white garbed ghostly figure over six feet tall.

From its ragged cowl protrudes a skull - but no human skull - it has a long snout, huge eyes and many teeth set in a long jaw that snaps together repeatedly as it comes towards you.

Now you notice a band of musicians who strike up a tune, a troupe of strangely-garbed figures.

'Our' Mari Lwyd.

Don't be afraid. It's only me and my associates. We're reviving an old midwinter tradition.

The tradition is called the Mari Lwyd (it means Grey Mary in Welsh). It has links with Punch and Judy, the need to bring cheer during the dark midwinter nights, and I've even discovered a connection that Susan Cooper made in her The Dark is Rising series between the Mari Lwyd and Merlin.

I encountered this tradition for the first time in the midwinter of 2011-12 when my wife Helen, a fiddle player, was asked to accompany two artists who live in Carmarthen and who are obsessed with the Mari (as it's known for short).

Phil Larcher peeps out at Helen!

The artists, Phil Larcher and Viv Morgan, are obsessed to the extent that their entire apartment is decorated with pictures and objects they have made of Maris.

Phyllis Kinney's excellent book Welsh Traditional Music describes the tradition as follows:

"The Mari Lwyd was a horses skull draped in yards of white canvas and looking like a ghostly spirit except for the adornment of coloured ribbons [we use red and green from the Welsh flag], black bottle-glass eyes [ours has flashing lights] and black cloth or leather ears. Hidden underneath the canvas, a man with a 5 foot pole operated the Mari's jaw, which was on a spring, enabling it to snap."

Viv Morgan leading the Mari Lwyd
(Phil Larcher) into a pub.

A host of traditional characters used to accompany the spectral mare: the Ostler or Leader, plus a Corporal, Sargeant, Punch, Judy and Merryman. There are many local variations, and records of the tradition are sporadic and rare throughout Wales. Moreover some areas have completely forgotten about the tradition, despite the recent revival in interest, whereas in others some individuals, upon seeing the Mari coming down the street, give a shout of recognition.

They remember it from their childhoods.

Essentially what used to happen was that the party would knock on a door of a house and a ritualised exchange of banter would occur, each with an occasion for a specific piece of music.

1. The arrival phase has verses greeting the householders and challenging them to a contest; 
2. there is then a spontaneous improvised debate in verse (called the pwnco), largely an exchange of good-natured insults; 
3. if the party is then invited indoors (it may not be) havoc could be caused. For instance Punch might use his poker to put out the fire, unless he'd been made to promise not to before entry, or Judy might scatter the ashes over the room. There is even a suggestion that the Mari might be looking for a baby in the house; 
4. the hosts give the guests drink (!) and a wassailling song is sung as the visitors wish good luck to their hosts; 
5. a further song is sung as the party leaves.

Here are the words of the Mari Lwyd Farewell song:

Dymunwn ich' lawenydd
I gynnal blwyddyn newydd
Trapari'r gwr dincian cloch
Well, well y bo chwi beunydd.

In our part of Wales, Carmarthenshire, as the tradition is being revived we do not visit people's houses but pubs instead. This is the second year I've been involved and the group has got larger partly because my wife has been running a Welsh tunes workshop in which we have been rehearsing the music.


Phil Larcher and Viv Morgan with their Mari Lwyd in the White Horse, Llandeilo, Carmarthenshire, in January 2012 with fiddler Helen Adam.

The Mari Lwyd in The Parrot pub, Carmarthen on
December 15. You might spot yours truly playing the guitar.
Viv Morgan is to my right, Helen on the left.

We made two visits last year towards the end of December. In Carmarthen we stayed in one pub, The Parrot, all evening and were given a cake baked specially for the occasion!

In Llandovery our large party (two fiddlers, guitar, five percussionists including a monk, a flautist and an accordionist - my son Nemos - plus assorted singers) were turned away from the first pub. The second permitted us to terrorise the diners - who didn't know what had hit them!

We visited two more pubs and, halfway through the evening, a twmpath, or ceilidh in the community hall which we proceeded to disrupt - much to the dancers' enjoyment.

When we went to the final pub we found someone who obviously knew we were coming who was wearing a massive papier maché head with a top hat, whom I took to be the Merryman and who danced to our music.

But what are the origins of this madness?

Samhain decoration on the Mari's costume.

Given the link with Punch and Judy, one line of ancestry may lead back to the 16th-century Italian commedia dell'arte, a touring troupe of actors with stock characters. Punch derives from the Neapolitan stock character of Pulcinella, a manifestation of the Lord of Misrule and Trickster figure found in many old mythologies. His wife was originally called Joan.

The Mari Lwyd ritual has also been described as "a pre-Christian horse ceremony" associated with many similar customs throughout the world. Some aspects of it, including some of the music, suggest considerable age.

The Mari could be associated with the Welsh mythic figure Rhiannon, who first appears in the Mabinogion, the Welsh cycle of old stories, riding a shining white horse.

Our Mari is decorated with pagan symbols. The Leader, Viv, carries a broom whose staff is richly decorated, topped with a small black bird, and whose brush is made with freshly picked herbs.


Susan Cooper's brilliant The Dark Is Rising epic cycle of five children's fantasy books includes a character called Merryman. He is one of the Old Ones, on the side of Light. The second book, The Dark Is Rising, and the final book, Silver on the Tree, are set around Aberdyfi, south Gwynedd, in the area where her parents and grandparents lived, and it is likely Susan would have known of the Mari Lwyd tradition.

One of the manifestations of Merryman in the book cycle is Merlin.

You might ask where a horse's skull might be obtained. If you look, they come to you. Viv and Phil swear that they found theirs hanging in the branches of a tree one day when they went for a walk following a storm.

The ritual is not associated with any particular day of the year, just any time around midwinter and the turning of the year, and so it can be repeated in different places. We have one further date on January 11 in Llandeilo, where we will be visiting three pubs during the course of the evening. Perhaps we'll see you.

Traditionally, the host are supposed to give us a drink in each one, but I don't think the publicans have yet cottoned on to this.

Nevertheless it's the best excuse for a pub crawl and a lot of fun on a dark midwinter night that I've come across in a long time. And the Tricksters and Lords of Misrule demand their time. There are those who would like to tame them - but they will not be tamed. Maris are wild.

They have a life of their own. They have been spotted gathering together when the night is dark in wooded valleys where caves can be found.

If you should hear the snapping of jaws and the sound of hooves one dark night - don't venture near. The Maris don't care to be watched by the uninitiated.

Photos: Phil Larcher.

The Art of Wandering - Andrew Strong

Every Good Friday, when I was a child, friends and I used to walk the ten miles or so to the top of Twm Barlwm, a mountain dominating the reclaimed marshlands of south Wales.  In my imagination, uncorrupted by historical detail, this is where the Celts stood fast, watching over the slow encroachment of Romans stationed in the fort of Caerleon, just below.  It was a mountain of war, and later, in my teens, I witnessed real battles as gangs from nearby towns fought with chains and axes, as determined as the Celts and the Romans not to give an inch.  I watched these events from the safety of the ferns, and sometime later, when the gangs had gone, returned with my dog to wander along the mountain’s spine, to the strange mound at its summit. From there, under the steel grey sky, it felt as if the future was spread out before me.

Arthur Machen’s Hill of Dreams is a book based on his boyhood love of Twm Barlwm, and Machen’s later work, particularly his London Adventure is a hike through the demi-monde of Edwardian London.  He was a flaneur who perfected the art of wandering.  He wanders London as he wandered the Welsh hills.  When, in my early twenties, I followed Machen’s footsteps and moved from south Wales to west London, I worked hard at being a flaneur.  I loved strolling aimlessly through the leafy suburbs, and in the city I adored the river’s muddy allure.  But I didn’t get to be a seriously good at it. I was Welsh boy in Dr Martens, I didn’t have the style.

    

After my own decade and a half of London adventure, I moved back to Wales, this time away from the industrial south and into the central wilderness. Here I crave nothing more than to be rambling in the mountains, getting closer to the clouds, and sometimes above them. 

I tend to walk with a small bunch of serious hikers. These people have all the kit, the Nordic poles, heavy duty water bottles, stainless steel thermos flasks. They study maps. Some of them have beards.  They are not wanderers, they are athletes. Usually these walks take six hours or so, and often cover twenty miles.  We struggle up steep slopes and spill over the top and down again. 

We usually start in a car park and at some point manage to find a pub, often an ancient, hidden place.  I’ve come upon remote hillside churches with eerie murals, like Death wielding a shovel, or St George slaying what I supposed was a dragon but which looked more like a giant, angry sparrow.  I know the twisted spine of Cwmyoy, and the tumbling, secluded magic of Llanthony and Tintern. 

Most of my fellow hikers have travelled this way before, and they know the stories.  Up high in the mountains I’ve seen the wreck of a Wellington bomber that lost its way in the fog; the caves where the Chartists hid their weapons as they planned revolution.  There’s the poet’s chair, and the grave of a famous racehorse. There are standing stones, remnants of Iron Age forts, terraced ramparts, a hermit’s cell.  I’ve looked across the plains of Herefordshire and seen the blue remembered hills of Shropshire.  Look south and there’s the Severn, glinting. 

I like writers who are walkers: Rosseau, Wordsworth, Machen, Bruce Chatwin, WG Sebald. Wandering has a great pedigree. In these walkers' books one phrase reappears time after time: solvitur ambulando – you can solve it by walking.  After hiking all day whatever problems you have disappear, and the simple pleasures of sandwiches, or a flask of tea, with the land spinning about you, miles and miles of it, on and on, never ending, whisk all worldly cares up into the clouds, to be lost forever in the vast ancient wilderness.

www.andrew-strong.com
@yawnthepost