Rob Pickford
In this piece Rob takes us back to an imagined meeting between his great-grandfather and himself.
I’m leaning on the wall of Red House Farm in Llandevenny. There’s a faint rustle and turning round, just behind me, is a guy, frail but upright with strong deep brown eyes and a face that has seen a bit of weather. He’s looking fondly out across the moor that stretches out below the hamlet.
‘My name? Morgan. Morgan Williams. Yes, I was born here. When? 1851. This was father’s farm. 34 acres. His name? James, like his father. We were a big family. 11 of us, not counting the ones who died when they were little. My mother, Margaret was his second wife of course. Born in Rogiet a couple of miles up towards Chepstow. 25 years younger than him. All our lot were from Llandevenny, well most of us. Not my Dad. He was from Cwmcarvan, up near Abergavenny. Why did he come here? No idea. Mary, she was his first wife, from Wilcrick, you know up by that big hill behind us. Died having the twins she did.
I often think about how Mam coped. Must have been hard taking on six children and then having all of us. Dad was busy on the farm and that was hard enough, but us lot must have been a handful. We had cows. I used to take them down onto the moor. And we had apple orchards. I used to take them apples for pressing down at Redwick. Good cider it was.
It was all change when I was growing up. I expect it’s all calmed down by now. Mam used to talk about the railway coming here. Built the year before I was born. Cut right across the back of the farm. These are the self same pigsties and that’s our cattle shed. This old wall and those old red tiles were here when I was a boy. We used to whitewash it. Doesn’t look like it’s been touched for a long time now. Dad always said that things weren’t looked after like they used to be.
The railway? Mam used to talk of the noise. The digging and the explosions when they made that cutting. Then when it came, all the smoke, steam and clatter. They were worried as well what the animals would think and how we were going to get to Tenants Field, but they built a bridge and it was OK. We used to share the land, had our own patches but it all got joined up. Then of course they drained the moor down there and dug all those reens.
After Dad died it was just me and her. She was in charge, it was her farm, she owned it. I was just her assistant. When I left she hired this man from Norfolk.
You say they’re going to build some new road down in front of the village. They said when they built the railway that it would be all that was needed. It’ll spoil the view. I used to lean on this wall looking across to the hills in Somerset, blue in the evening light. Full of ships the channel was then. White with sails. See that island there out in the middle, up near Bristol. Denny Island its called. When I worked in Llanviangel Rogiet, me and Ursula used to take the cows across there. You had to know what you were doing mind. Dangerous sands you see, always shifting. God made that island you know. A lump of mud it was he threw from Gray Hill. It was a bet with the Devil. The Devil threw a stone. Didn’t even reach the sea. You can still see it stuck in the ground behind Llanvihangel Church.
Where was I? Ah yes, you asked about Ursula. I was 31, my Ursula was 22. Bit of a fuss there was. Her lot never liked me. Not good enough for their Ursula, I wasn’t. They ran the Red Lion in Magor and the butchers next door. She was well bought up. She could play the piano and went to school each week in pony and trap. They said to Ursula that if she married me that they’d cut her off without a penny. Her mother wouldn’t agree so we eloped, ran off and got married in Newport. Never forgave us. You say that you’ve heard about it? What after all that time? Told you there was a fuss. Mind you after Robert died it was Mrs Baker, her mum who owned to the Lion. She was made of strong stuff. Our Ursula got some of that from her.
So we were on our own. We had a cottage on Common Road. You know on Barecroft, by Magor, looking at the railway. Yes, things was tight. I did what I knew how to do. Bit of labouring, a hay fuller for a time. You know what it’s like, depends on what’s about. Ursula and I stuck together mind, eight children we had, so it can’t have all been bad. The cottage didn’t work out. I got a job in Llanvihangel labouring on the farm and a cottage came with it, so that helped. The Villas they called them, by the village pump. Built for those of us who worked hard.
You say that your mam remembered me. She couldn’t have been more than three, but she was a full of chat. Me, all white haired and big white beard, sitting in my settle she told you. Sounds about right. And she remembers Joey the pig, stroking his back with coal. Mind you we had a new Joey every year. Remember Ursula’s Dad was a butcher and she knew the business.
Her mum, Lillian, was our sixth. I was a witness at her wedding. Bit embarrassing, never did much studying so I just made my mark. You say she had six children. It was only your mum and her sister Olive I knew. Lillian met her husband working on the railway. Bit of a firebrand, sharp and proud mind, big in the union. A thousand people worked at those marshalling yards at Severn Tunnel. I remember them building that tunnel. Longest in the world, changed it all round here. It wasn’t just farming anymore.
Your mam says that I gave her a cowslip ball. I did like cowslips, bright, soft yellow and green. Each spring the fields are full of them. Not anymore you say. I wonder why.
So your Mam worked on the railway, but not for long you say. She was a teacher in Birmingham? That’s a long way away, guess none of us stay still for long. Not like it used to be when people stayed put. Well, I think they did, apart from our lot.’
Time dissolves as I look out across the moor. I turn round to ask him more questions, but he has gone.