At the beginning of May I was invited to speak to the Mothers’ Union Branches in, and close to Rhayader. It was an evening meeting and I did not relish the 32-mile journey home, alone, in the dark., but one has to be brave!

I decided to give my latest talk “60 years in a Vicarage”, which is of local interest in Radnorshire as I was born in Llanyre Vicarage near Llandrindod Wells, and I enjoyed a blissful childhood there.

I was 3 years old when the second World War broke out, and I thought evacuees staying in the house, and carrying a gas mask to school, were what life was all about. My parents often recalled that the two most frightening experiences they had were looking out of the window in a southerly direction and seeing a glow in the sky. They knew that Swansea was burning, and as my grandparents, who lived with us, owned a house there, it was very worrying for them. One night German planes flew overhead, looking for the Elan Valley. Fortunately they failed to find the dams.

I had just recounted all this to the 50-odd M.U. members in front of me when the door at the opposite end of the room at the Leisure Centre opened and the Vicar of Rhyader entered. He held up his hand and said “Sorry to interrupt you but there is a bomb scare in the centre of town and the police have closed the road to Builth”. Of course this was my route back to Hay! Undaunted and with a stiff upper lip I carried on with my talk. After delicious refreshments and a raffle I began to panic. How was I going to get out of Rhayader? A sympathetic lady told me to follow her car as she was travelling home via the Crossgates Roundabout, so that was a great help as I was not familiar with the back roads out of Rhayader. Once I had reached Crossgates I was on familiar territory. My journey home was longer than anticipated and I arrived back in Hay at 11 pm!

Apparently the bomb disposal was called and declared that the suspicious object was ‘live’. It was duly detonated and all was well.

Was it a flare that was dropped by the Germans looking for the Elan Valley dams? Perhaps so!

What a coincidence that this happened on the very evening that I was speaking about the war years in Radnorshire! A time bomb indeed!
Diana Jones

This article, by Eric Pugh, appeared on the BBC “War Memories” section on their website.

I was born in 1936 in Hay where my mother and father kept a tobacco and confectionery shop. Some of my early memories at the shop are of the Second World War. In the early days of the war the shop always seemed to be filled with British soldiers as they were billeted, before going to their units, at the closed Crown Hotel and in High Town where the post office is now. Some of them became great friends of the family and we kept in touch with many of them throughout the years. One in particular stands out in my memory. His name was Percy Trembeth from somewhere in South Wales. He and Dad became great friends until of course he received his posting overseas. I still have a children’s book he gave me on my birthday in 1940. During the war Mum and Dad became concerned when his letters stopped and only having his service address, were unable to find out anything about him.

Eventually, after the war, in about 1946, Percy appeared in the shop. Many tears and hugs ensued, especially from Mum. Percy was hardly recognisable; the whole of the right hand side of his face had disappeared. He had been left for dead on a battlefield in Italy when American medics were checking through the dead. One of them came across Percy lying face down, turned him over and realised he was still alive. He was rushed to an American first aid post and after many months in hospital was allowed home. He had lost all his left cheek bones and his eye and ear from that side of his face which had received the force of the blast. He was still a sick man. Mum and Dad kept in touch for a few years but of course the letters eventually stopped. I still wonder what happened to Percy.

Early in the war Dad volunteered for the National Fire Service. He had stopped being a fireman when he and Mum married in 1934. By this time Hay Fire Station was located in Castle Street, opposite The Blue Boar. This became a little too convenient for the men on duty at the station overnight, which had become a required wartime regulation. When the Chief wasn’t on duty the men used to draw straws to see who would sit by the telephone at the station in case there was a ‘callout’ whilst all the others went to The Blue Boar. Soon Chief Evans forbade any visits ‘across the road’. Several times Hay brigade were despatched to the outskirts of Swansea during the ‘blitz’ to be on standby and I remember Dad saying they could see the conflagrations in the centre of Swansea from their positions. He related how on one visit to Swansea they were assembled in a street ‘standing by’ and there were laid out the bodies of firemen who had been killed in the city. Hay, luckily, was not called upon to go into the city centre.
One of these nights during the ‘blitz’ Dad was on duty at Hay Fire Station and a lone German bomber decided to either shed the remainder of his load or, as more popularly believed locally, there was a light showing at “Moonlight’s” cottage up on the Black

Mountain. Mother and I slept in the same room when Dad was on duty and this night, when the ‘crumps’ started, she flung herself and me under the bed. Dad arrived home very early the next morning and told mother about the ‘raid’ on the mountain. He said he and his brother Tom were going to walk up there to see what had happened. It is all a bit hazy but I do remember what seemed most of the town of Hay trudging up Forest Road to see the spectacle. Uncle Tom found four fins which were the remainder of the incendiary bombs which had been dropped. It had only been incendiaries, nothing bigger was ever found. I still have these fins somewhere. If only I could find them.

Father then had his call-up papers and he was to report to Cardiff for a medical. This caused great consternation at home as I was only small and my sister Ann had been born the year before. Mother had the prospect of looking after the shop, me and baby Ann. Father was by this time 42 years of age. On the train to Cardiff he met and had a long chat and pleasurable journey both to and from the medical with Tudor Watkins, who was later to become our local Member of Parliament. Fortunately Dad failed his medical because he had suffered with severe psoriasis all his life. Whether Tudor Watkins passed or failed I cannot remember. So relief at home at this news and the shop was running smoothly again in spite of the ‘blackout’.

In 1940 Dad made an inner light proof cubicle just inside the door to the shop so that customers would not show any light when they entered. This of course also meant that the shop could stay open very late. I remember sitting at the bottom of the stairs which were just at the rear of the shop and listening to all the conversations that went on. It was, I’m sure as much a gossip shop, as a tobacconists and Mum and Dad often stayed open until 10 or eleven o’clock at night. Frequent visitors were people like ‘Sid New Buildings’ who seemed to be permanently chomping on chewing tobacco, mostly Franklyn’s Best. Another visitor was ‘Price the Lane’ who had fought in the Boar war and told some amazing stories of the conditions the men had to endure, especially on board the ships which conveyed them to and home from South Africa.

Matches were very scarce so Dad had Bert Breeze, the local gas manager and frequent customer, to install a small gas burner on one of the wall uprights, just inside the shop door. This obviously encouraged the customers to buy their Woodbines and tobacco to ‘light up’ in the shop, thus saving their precious match supplies.

Then, the ‘Yanks’ arrived. They were stationed at The Moor, a large house and estate just outside town, but spent much of their free time in Hay. I do remember “Got any gum chum” and how generous they were to us kids. Most of them were black and the majority were very polite especially to Mum and Dad in the shop. I went for fish and chips one night with father down to Martin Jones’s chip shop in Broad Street and one American asked for two ‘bobs’ worth of chips. I couldn’t believe the size of the bag and that one man was going to eat all those chips.

During the war Dad also managed to buy the empty shop next door, the downstairs of which was being used as the local labour exchange. This meant that he would be getting a steady income from the building and would have the upstairs for storage

and a workshop. He had always been clever with his hands and during the war became quite adept at using every spare piece of wood available and making something useful out of it. I had an uncle, one of Mum’s brothers, who had a public house in Bute Town in Cardiff and had come home for Grandfather Williams’s funeral, so it must have been 1942. He was very involved in a charity for the aid of the widows of merchant seamen who had been lost during convoy duties. He asked Dad if he would make him some toys and models to raffle in aid of this charity. Father scrounged wood from everywhere. Uncle Tom was one marvellous source as he still had pre-war orange boxes in his warehouse. Dad turned out some beautiful models. One of a British submarine attained, what seemed to be in those days, an enormous sum of money for the charity in Cardiff. He had a letter of thanks from the committee. I wish he had kept it.

The only time I remember Dad being the ‘worse for wear’ was on VE night. The local young lads had pulled a flaming brazier on a truck through town and had parked it in front of the clock where there was an enormous gathering of celebrating inebriated townsfolk. I was eventually made to go to bed and I remember the shop was still open but Dad wasn’t there. Mother was not very happy having to look after the shop on her own with so many people about. I believe he told her he would ‘only be a few minutes’.

I remember creeping down to the bottom of the stairs, anxious not to miss anything when Mum caught me there. She said “Come and look at your father, it’s really not good enough”. I was allowed to go out in front of the shop where she pointed out to me, Dad, one of my uncles and Doctor Wilson, who was our local GP and then lived and had his surgery in Broad Street, swaying with their arms across each other’s shoulders and singing at the top of their voices along with the rest of the populace of Hay. It turned out that Dr. Wilson had a ‘saved for the occasion’ bottle of whiskey and he, Dad and uncle had marked the occasion rather too well. I was soon despatched back to bed and heard no more about the ‘celebration’

Frances Kilvert & the National School, Brecon Road, Hay
An after lunch talk given by Karl Showler at the Hay Luncheon Club 21.5.08 in the former school building .

The school was founded in 1825 and supported by the ‘National Society for the Education of the Poor in the Principles of the Established Church’ who contributed £150 towards its construction, £213 came by local subscriptions, the Rev Humphrey Allen contributed £164. The building was planned to accommodate 123 boys and 130 girls, the space allowed per child was 6 cu ft which was the standard space at that time. Rev Allen was Perpetual Curate (vicar) of Hay from 1831 to 1845 he was followed by Rev William Latham Bevan between 1845-1902

Initially the Master was paid £70 pa the Mistress £30 pa, subsequently the Rev Bevan raised the Master’s salary to £85pa which was very good for that time. The larger primary schools like Hay and Clyro were under inspection by Government Inspectors who had been introduced in 1839 and these schools employed “Certified Teachers”- Josiah Evans the Clyro School master is mentioned by Francis Kilvert at least 22 time. The Clyro School was not, I believe, in the National Society system but supported by local funding.

According to Geoffrey Fairs’ History of The Hay, in 1878 20 children came from the workhouse through a private door in the workhouse wall. In 1879 school was closed for 6 weeks due to scarlet fever, and in 1895 for 16 weeks and in 1896 for 25 weeks due to both scarlet fever and measles being in the town.

Monday 21st March 1870. “Evans the (Clyro) schoolmaster very much interested and rather anxious about the Education Bill.”
Thursday 30th June 1870 Kilvert was at the school busy preparing the children for the Government Inspector’s examination. He was examining the elder children in geography for the special subject and grant. Teaching the younger classes the subjects of the Nativity and Crucifixion”
Friday 1st July 1870 “Today the Government Inspector came to examine our school. Yesterday I sent one of the papers to ( Mr Walter ) Baskerville for his signature but he did not return it so a messenger had to be sent to get it in time for the inspection.
Monday 4th July “Since the inspection the classes and standards at the school have been rearranged.
Wednesday 12th July. “Hay School was inspected by (Rev John W D) Hernaman (of Malvern Link). On Hay bridge we met Barrett the school master and his wife walking over to Clyro, probably to announce his success to Evans our schoolmaster”. The Rev. Hernaman rose to become the chief government inspector gong to live near London. A year later Clyro school is again to be inspected
Monday 3rd July 1871 “The Government Inspector for Breconshire, Shadrach Price, is coming to examine our school on Wednesday week July 12th so till the inspection we are working double tides to push the children on and I am going to the school 3 times every day”
The inspector arrives “The Government inspector, Mr Shadrach Pryce , came to inspect our school today. He brought his wife with him and they came to my rooms for a glass of wine and a biscuit after the inspection, refusing anything more substantial. He seemed to me a pleasant kindly fair examiner and the children passed a good examination. We presented 35 for the examination out of an average attendance of 51, while Hay school, which was examined yesterday, presented only 42 out of an average attendance of 105. Karl Showler

The Council Housing Department Ought To Do Something About It.

This is to let you know that our toilet seat is broke and we can't get BBC2.

I have had council workmen down on the floor five times and I'm still not happy.

50% of the walls in this flat are damp, 50% have rotten plaster and 50% are plain filthy.

It's the dogs mess on this estate that I find hard to swallow.

Our lavatory seat is broken in half and is now in 3 pieces. '

Please send a man to look at my water as its a funny colour and not fit to drink

My toilet is cracked and needs mending. Where do I stand?

I am writing on behalf of my sink which is moving away from the wall.

The kitchen floor is damp. We have two children and would like another so would you send a man to do something about it?

I am a single woman living in the downstairs flat and would you please do something about the noise made by the man on top of me every night.

The toilet is blocked and we can't bath the children until it is cleared.

Submitted by Clare Cross

A Son’s Letter
A father passing by his son's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made, and everything was picked up. Then, he saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow. It was addressed, "Dad." With the worst premonition, he opened it and read the letter, with trembling hands.

Dear Dad,
It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing to you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend, cos I wanted to avoid a scene with Mum and you. I've been finding real passion with Stacy, and she is so nice, but I know you would not approve of her, because of all her piercings, tattoos, her tight motorcycle clothes, and because she is so much older than I am. But it's not only the passion, Dad. She's pregnant. Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We also share a dream of having many more children. Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves, and trading it with the other people in the commune, for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want. In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS, so Stacy can get better. She sure deserves it!! Don't worry Dad, I'm 15, and I know how to take care of myself. One day, I'm sure we will come back to visit then you will be able to get to know your many grandchildren.
Love, your son, Joshua.

P.S. Dad, none of the above is true. I'm over at Jason's house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that's on my desk.

I love you! Call when it is safe for me to come home.
Submitted by Peter Like

That’s Love
A devoted wife was taking care of her husband, who had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months

In a moment of clarity, he motioned for her to come near. “You have been with me through all the bad times,” he said. “When I got fired you were there. When my business failed, you were there. When I got shot, you stayed by my side. When we lost the house, you gave me support. When my health started failing, you were still by my side. Do you know what?”

“What dear?” she asked lovingly.

“I think you bring me bad luck.” Submitted by John Mack