Y Filltir Sgwâr/The Square Mile: A winter’s tale at the tail end of autumn

In a year long series Tom Maloney, from Abersychan, shows how you can love a place so well it becomes a part of you.

As with most of my articles last week’s little feature about Cwmsychan took several walks. The whole time I was out and about I kept thinking that to really show just how much this landscape is at the mercy of the weather a heavy fall of snow would be needed.

I suppose you could say be careful what you wish for … or perhaps it was just a simple case of serendipity, but the snow did indeed come to the valley this week and I thought it was the perfect opportunity to do a follow up.

The photos that you will see were taken over the Tuesday afternoon whilst the snow was still falling and on the Wednesday morning when the Sun had most definitely got its hat on, well for a lot of the time anyway. I am sure you will know the day for each image as the light was very different on both walks. It felt like being in an old black and white movie with shades of sepia tones on the Tuesday!

The distance between Cwmsychan and the village of Abersychan is hardly anything to speak of really, perhaps a half a mile or so if that, but when the snow falls the two are worlds apart. If there is one or two inches in the village, you can at least double that when you walk higher up at Cwmsychan.

Following the path that cuts across the sloping sides of the valley from Cwm Byrgwm it was immediately noticeable how much visibility is affected as the snow falls, not a ‘white out’ on the Tuesday, but enough to give a caution. There is no shame in turning back and giving up on a walk if the conditions are dangerous.

I was struck by how much the sound was affected by this weather. Normally, I would be able to hear the babbling of the Cwmsychan Brook from a distance, but its voice had been muffled by drooping branches laden with snowing forming a canopy rather like a giant sugar cage that was so beautiful and so atmospheric at the same time.

I was glad too of the shelter afforded by the tall Beech trees at the ruins of Ty-cwmsychan Farm, just above the brook. I have always admired their elegance in the landscape, but in a small eureka moment I realised that this was probably their true purpose all along.

Whether they were they planted by design or if the location for the house was chosen because of their presence I am not certain. They would seem to be just far enough away for their root systems not to pose structural problems for the house foundations and they do make the grandest of wind breaks. Though I would suspect that they would have been managed when the farm was inhabited.

Dramatic

The next morning it was if someone had put the light on, the change in light was so dramatic, but the snow was crisp and thick underfoot and there was still a bite in the air.

I was drawn again by the ruins at Ty-Cwmsychan. Sometimes it is like that, a place gets a hold on you, almost as if it is talking to you really.

It must have been seeing so clearly the line of load bearing holes which would have supported floor joists that set me to thinking about the downstairs rooms. I thought about the farmhouse kitchen, which surely must have been the hub of the home. Would there have been a big oak table where everyone gathered for breakfast and a hot evening meal? I imagined the conversations as they huddled in the warmth, the talk of the work on the farm or perhaps the latest gossip that had been heard on market day.

Sometimes conversations are not easy, especially in times of change. It may even have been that morning that I heard several farmers on the radio talking about the very tough decisions they are facing today and the serous challenges that this presents to their wellbeing and mental health.

I wondered about the last day that people were here and of their feelings as they closed the door behind them as they left.

I spent some time looking back at the farm before setting off, it looked so beautiful wrapped by nature in its blanket of crisp, white snow under a winter blue sky. There must be so many memories locked within its ruined walls, happy as well as sad.

You find yourself almost picking your way along tracks that you would otherwise almost skip along in these conditions and taking that little bit of extra time enables you to look more closely at the landscape. It is amazing how things are revealed that may not have been apparent before.

The accumulations of colliery spoil that line this little valley are a vivid reminder that mining and farming have co-existed here in the not-too-distant past, but it is not always easy to see where the locations of the collieries once were.

I was aware from studying old maps of the existence of drift mines near to Ty-cwmsychan and I must have walked by the entrance to one old mine cut into the valley side many, many times previously without seeing it, but this week’s wintry weather defined its position clearly.

In fact, I wondered how on earth I had not seen it before, the tell-tale line of a track bed, probably an old horse drawn tramroad, curving into the valley side was obvious, even to my untrained archaeological eye.

I made my way very gingerly up to the ruins of New Foundout farm. It seemed far higher up on the hillside to me this week, but that was probably the extra energy that it took on a slope so heavily blanketed in snow.

Being properly equipped for these sorts of walks is a must. In addition to wearing warm clothing and having stout footwear I would say the use of a stick is absolutely necessary in these conditions. On this stretch, it was invaluable the whole time.

Eureka

Over the past week I have searched deep into my memory about the name ’New Foundout’, as it seems a familiar name from the past. Then in a second eureka moment I recalled that there was a pub of some fame, or perhaps even notoriety in Newport going back some forty years ago or maybe more.

I have a sketchy memory of a place which served ‘scrumpy cider’ with sawdust liberally sprinkled on the floor and with spittoons of all things. I was an art student studying on a Foundation Course at the time, which hopefully might explain things!

But then I had to test my recollections, was this a true memory after all these years? It is funny how your mind can mix things up over time, but a brief delve into the internet has indeed confirmed my recollection, though I could not find out when it closed.

Whether there is another side to the New Foundout Farm at Cwmsychan who knows, but with such an unusual name it may well have an unusual history as well.

There is no doubt in my mind that living and working in this remote location was not for the faint hearted, but one of the benefits was most certainly the view … it is glorious.

And a timely reminder that this is still a place of work was the sight of sheep hungrily helping themselves at a feeding station.

From the look of the ground surrounding the station it looks as if it’s a constant battle to keep it topped up just now as the sheep certainly know where to find their food. As one mouth moves away from the grill another takes its place!

There are probably never enough hours in the day for a hill farmer at this time of the year!