Me – My Family (Nan & Grandad C)

Although my dad was born in Andover, Hampshire. His heritage was proudly Welsh.

My Grandad was born in Pontycymer in Monmouthshire Wales. My Nan was born in Talywain, also in Monmouthshire. If you know Wales or have ever visited you will know that South Wales is famous for its rolling hills and deep valleys. Although this love linked couple were born several valleys apart, they ended up “mostly happily” together for over 50 years.

Dad was the youngest of three children born to H&J (my Grandparents). He was born in Andover, Hampshire during the war and was conceived whilst Grandad was on leave from active service in Burma.

Grandad was very young when his father passed away, about 8 years old. He wasn’t yet a teenager when his mum also passed away. He was then brought up by a blind shoemaker and eventually went into the care of The Salvation Army until adulthood. His family make up is hard to totally pin down and for years we weren’t sure how many brothers or sisters he had. It was only after Grandad had passed away that we were contacted by a family in Wales through Ancestry.com that turned out to be related to us through Grandad’s brother – my Dad’s Uncle. We have since visited them a number of times and now have an amazing extension to our family that we had no idea existed. One of the saddest moments of my life was on a visit to this beautiful family when my Grandad’s niece (as it turns out) brought out what I thought was her birth certificate, but was in fact a Bastardry Certificate (she wasn’t entitled to a proper birth certificate) – what sort of crap did some people have to live with?

Grandad like many other men in South Wales went down the mines fairly early in his adult life. Working in the Ffladau Coliery. Coal mining in South Wales was a huge industry during the 18th, 19th and 20th century and employed thousands of workers during this time. Barry became the worlds largest coal exporting port in 1913, with Cardiff as the second. The coal industry in South Wales played a major role in the Industrial Revolution producing coal that provided the fuel for the blast furnaces of the copper and iron industries that were expanding in South Wales. The coal industry continued to grow in importance with the advent of steam engines used in trains and boats. The production of coal peaked in 1913 and was the largest coalfield in the world and remained the largest coalfield in the UK until 1925. The supply of coal eventually dwindled and pits closed during the 1980’s – despite major industrial action against closures.

The South Wales Coal Fields were the sight of some of the earliest organised industrial action by workers’ collectives (now more commonly known as unions). A famous protest took place in 1831 known as the Merthyr Rising and was the violent climax to years of simmering unrest amongst the working class population in and around Merthyr Tydfil. It is thought to be the first time a Red Flag of Revolution was flown as a symbol of workers’ revolt. A white reform flag had been dipped into calf’s blood to achieve the banner that flew proudly during the uprising and is still used by unions today as a talisman of industrial unity.

My Great Uncle Ben took part in the 1927 Hunger March. This involved over about 270 unemployed miners marching from South Wales to London. The march took over two weeks to complete and gained huge support from trade unions in towns through which they passed. Although heavily criticised by the TUC, the press and government it did improve the plight of the unemployed in the South Wales Coal Fields , until 1931 when depression hit once more and a second hunger march took place.

My Grandad was a natural sportsman and leader. His talents as 5/8th on the rugby fields around Pontycymer caught the eye of the Newport Rugby Football Club who signed him up. Just before the outbreak of the Second World War he was selected to play in a Possibles v Probables match that would eventually result in the selection of the Welsh National Rugby Team. World War 2 put an end to Grandad’s (and many other men’s) rugby aspirations. Grandad’s move to Andover in Hampshire saw him take to the football field for Andover FC, with him being captain/coach of the team for a number of years and continuing to play at a highly competitive level into his 50’s. Golf then became his sport of choice when he could get on the course and got down to single digit handicap over the years.

He was an avid gardener and his backyard in Suffolk Road was always a mixture of vegetables and flowers – he kept it immaculately tended. Out the front he had a box hedge which would have survived the most accurate scrutiny from any spirit level.

One thing he wasn’t though was a mechanic. His cars always had an issue with their batteries for some reason and he would often be seen pushing his car the short distance from his house to a steep hill almost directly opposite where he lived, after several stuttering steps he would then jump into the car and hopefully get it started – bunny hopping his way down to the bottom of the hill. He did this well into his 70’s, never losing the co-ordination of pushing, running, jumping his way to starting the car. It used to scare the crap out of anyone watching – but Grandad’s perseverance and skill were never to be questioned.

Grandad served in the army during WW2 and was stationed in Burma. He never talked to me much about his service years – he showed me his service medals once, but not with any great enthusiasm or pride – to him he was doing his duty along with thousands of other soldiers during the war. I remember when I was about 19 on a visit to the UK – we did talk a little about it and I remember asking him if he had ever had to kill anyone …..

….. after a long pause he conceded “it was either me or him” and with that the conversation quickly ended.

One thing that anyone who knew him was left in no doubt about was how much he loved my Nan. I loved my Nan, too, but she was a very strong willed, opinionated, often “difficult woman” – who said things how she saw them and wasn’t too fussed with whether people agreed with her or felt aggrieved by what she had to say. Grandad could put up with a lot on Nan’s carry on – but when enough was enough all he had to do was quietly say “Helen!!” and she would quickly realise she had overstepped their unspoken line and would quickly tone things down. This didn’t happen often – but boy when it did it was with spectacular effect.

Nan’s Mum Milly was a single mum when Nan was born. In the draconian days of the early 20th Century unwed mothers could be placed into mental institutions (“for their own good”) – as happened with young Milly. Nan was consequently brought up by her Aunty and Uncle. Not much is known of Nan’s early life – it was one of those things never spoken about by the family. Hinted at often, but never spoken about.

I remember Nan working at the canteen at the the Hants and Dorset Bus Station in Andover, Hampshire. She had a larger than life personality with an interesting combination of a huge loving heart and a sharp tongue. I remember my Poor Uncle N (married to Dad’s sister M) was often on the receiving end of Nan’s tongue. I also remember being on the receiving end of her huge loving heart.

I remember my familiy going to Butlin’s Holiday Camp in Barry, Wales a couple of times with Nan and Grandad and my aunts, uncles and cousins. These hoidays were simply amazing although I was quite young when we went I still remember having the best time. I particularly remember one holiday when Dad had a 8mm camera he had bought and took heaps of footage of us all on holiday – he painstakingly spliced the film together and we would watch the film over and over again. Of particular note was when Dad spliced my Uncle N somersaulting into the pool and managed to play it forwards and backwards on a sort of loop (early Steven Spielberg stuff right there)

Dad tells this story (with plenty of mayonaise I’m sure) of when he returned home from school one day only for his Mum, Dad, Bother and Sister to have moved houses. A neighbour apparently told him of their new address – as he swears he didn’t know it. I’m sure this is only partially in the realms of reality – but my Nan would often comment on how she would dismay at Dad’s lack of presence (physical or mental) when he was growing up, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had in fact been told of the impending move and had just forgotten that it was going to happen or been too indulged in his own self to take any notice (until the move became a reality). Anyway – he eventually turned up at his new family home, which would remain Nan and Grandad’s residence for decades to come.

If I was to choose one thing I remember most about Nan was her love of food – and by today’s dietary standards all the wrong ones. If she knew we were coming for a visit she would stock the larder with “Cup of Soups” as I think I told her I really liked them once. We always had “Full English Breakfasts” at Nan’s and the Sunday Roast was a compulsory meal after she had been to chapel at the Andover Baptist Church. She was not only a big eater but a quick one – I recall how she would often grimace in pain when an acute bout of indigestion hit her. Unfortunately later on on in life she would fall victim to bowl cancer and would end up having to have a full colostomy and ended up with a colostomy bag. I remember one of my most notorious moments occurred when I visited her in hospital not long after she had had the operation – reckon I was about 20. I’m not good with hospitals at the best of times, but seeing Nan with all of these tubes and wires connected to her made me feel particularly funky. I went out into the corridor with the intention of going outside to clear my head when I feinted – I distinctly remember the sensation of the sliding down this wall on my way to the floor. I regained consciousness pretty quickly and had two nurses fussing over me – I was desperate to get up (clearly the awkwardness of a 192 cm bloke in a busy hospital corridor was lost on these two caring nurses) but they wouldn’t let me. Tragically my sister and Dad happened to come around the corner at that precise moment – now my family love each other unconditionally and are fiercely loyal and protective of each other, but we also love nothing better than to have even the smallest fragment of something to mock each other senselessly with (and this was one huge opportunity – one that even to this day is brought up, by my sister and Dad, with a glee that is palpable).

My Nan’s front room was packed with ornaments that she had gathered over the years – most memorable was her collection of Toby Jugs and Beer Steins. She had heaps of them (which apparently are still in My Aunty M’s loft). There were several display cases showcasing the many collectables that she had accumulated over the years – Nan could tell you exactly who had purchased the whimsey, when and what’s its significance meant to her. I once bought her this rose in a bowl of liquid (about the size of a small goldfish bowl) when I was quite young – even when visiting her as an adult years later she would speak fondly of its significance to her and how often she would look at it after we had moved to Australia and think of us.

I used to love our weekend visits, family holidays and crazy Christmas’s with my Hampshire Grandparents (and other family members). Nan and Grandad also visited Australia a couple of times in their later years.

Til next time …..