Letter from Harlech

Ant Evans

Very much like a weekday, the first Saturday of every month begins for me when my 6am alarm blasts not only from my phone, but also from my iPad, (I definitely don’t want to oversleep, if it can be avoided).

Both of these are my cue to get up and ready for my journey home. I know what you’re thinking “Ant, where is it you’re sleeping on the first Friday night of every month which means you have to get up at that hour the following Saturday?” Short answer; in my bed.

I might sleep and pay rent here, but I’m not sure I’ve ever felt less welcome anywhere than I do in this house which, for the time being at least, I’m allowed to live in (I’m not even allowed to hang up pictures on the walls for goodness sake, save for the one which I hung up on a stray nail above the fireplace). I feel as though I’m trespassing!

Home for me is, and always will be, Harlech. The fact that I haven’t lived here for almost eleven years will never change that for me. The fact that Harlech is where the majority of my relatives still live, plus where my late mother is buried, means it will always be home and I’ll always have a reason to return on a regular basis.

This crow may live amongst canaries (avian nicknames for the people of Harlech and Caernarfon respectively) but his plumage will never turn yellow!

Countdown

My alarms going off at six mean the countdown has begun for me to get up and ready to catch the seven o’clock bus to Porthmadog. As ever, I jumped out of bed, got dressed, had a very quick breakfast, got washed, brushed my teeth and left the house with ten minutes to spare to catch my bus, which at the time of departure, was (understandably) almost empty.

The journey itself was uneventful. Though I did, as ever, have to keep my wits about me, as the T2 bus goes directly to Aberystwyth. So, my eyesight being what it is, I need to keep my eyes on Google maps to make sure I jump off in Porthmadog, which I do at around 8 o’clock-ish.

My main task in Port is to pick up some flowers for my mum. Off to Tesco it is then. I promise I’m not being cheap, just doing as I’m told. More than once when she was alive mum admonished me on her birthdays or Mother’s Days for spending too much on flowers. “You should get flowers from Tesco, Ant. They’re cheaper and they last longer than expensive flowers.”

On my way into Tesco, the car park is mostly empty, save for a few Jackdaws picking at the remains of a takeaway.

Many times when I’ve gotten flowers for mum, older ladies comment on my choice of flowers, telling me “She’s a very lucky girl.” I never have the heart to tell them these are for my late mother and I often wonder, considering their rocky relationship in life, how lucky my mum would feel sharing a grave with her mother, as well as her father (who, in stark contrast, she thought the world of).

Negative experiences

Anyway, next stop (courtesy of the 9:25 bus) is Penrhyndeudraeth. I know what you’re thinking “Aren’t you meant to be going to Harlech?” Yes, but as Gwynfor, a very good friend of mine, is also going to Harlech and offers me a lift when he can. It’s a great chance for us to catch up properly. Gwynfor also knew my mum professionally.

I can remember mum telling me about this friend she’d met through work, how kind he was and that she was keen for me to meet him, as she thought Gwynfor would be a positive influence on me. I was cynical, seeing as I’d had overwhelmingly negative experiences with people up to that point, I couldn’t see how anyone could be that kind.

I eventually met Gwynfor in Galeri seven years ago, and guess what? Mum was right. I very much enjoy spending time in Gwynfor’s company whenever the opportunity presents itself. As I type this, I can hear my mum’s “I told you so’s” ringing in my ears. Yes, you did.

Homeless

Speaking of mum, my first stop when we reached Harlech was the cemetery. I always feel as though a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders when I’m there.

Probably because I tend to have a (granted, one way) chat with mum about how things are going, and if anything’s bothering me, I bring that up as well. Between her funeral and the day I was made homeless, I spent time there almost every day. My way of dealing with grief which was disrupted, for obvious reasons.

On this occasion, I know exactly what mum’s advice to me would be, so once the flowers are sorted, I bid her goodbye, tell her I love her and leave. As mum would doubtless tell me, even if I do feel better during my cemetery visits “You can’t live your life amongst the dead, Ant.” Fair point.

Upon leaving the cemetery, going to visit relatives who are still in the land of the living is the next thing I want to do. It’s not long before the castle (and more tourists than you’d expect at this time of year) comes into view.

Two things Harlech is well known for are its castle, built in the aftermath of the conquest of Edward I and later occupied by Owain Glyndŵr, and the second tale of the four branches of the Mabinogi, Branwen ferch Llŷr. I remember countless school trips to the castle during my primary school years.

So many in fact that I got rather fed up of the sight of it from my kitchen window as I got older. Yes, I appreciate there are people who’d pay obscene amounts of money for a view like that, but they have more money than common sense, if you ask me.

I also remember a school play (again in primary school) based on Branwen ferch Llŷr, which is when I first became acquainted with the tale in question, aged about eight or nine.

Due to time constraints (and Covid in one instance) the relatives I go and visit are Mike and Steph, my uncle and aunt, where we chat have lunch and a cuppa. I briefly return later, when I also see my cousin Judith. Eventually, when Gwynfor’s finished with what he needs to do locally, I gratefully accept a lift back to Port to catch a bus to Caernarfon.

By the time the bus has reached Caernarfon at about six o’clock, it’s as dark as it was when I left in the morning. A small price to pay to spend time in the company of family and friends. I look forward to doing the same again next month.