DAVID Roberts’ father died last month and was buried in Dolgellau.
Under the title of ‘Signals from a remote past: 1920s Barmouth’, he writes: “David Ceredig (‘Dewi’) Roberts, who died in July aged 99, felt an odd affinity for the damaged old fig tree that used to grow next to Woolworths in Barmouth High Street. It was all that remained of a beautiful garden – now a dismal car park – stretching from the Gors-y-Gedol Hotel towards the sea.
“Late in life, Dewi’s memories of inter-War Barmouth increasingly seemed, even to himself, like signals from an impossibly far-off galaxy. Who else could still remember the tsunami that inundated Marine Parade in the 1920s? Or elephants in the high street when the circus came to town? Or visits to warships moored out in the bay?
“As a small boy, Dewi would press his face to the window of the Gors-y-Gedol to see the smart English ‘pobl dierth’ inside. They liked to goad the children into speaking Welsh. ‘Beth maen nhw’n ddweud, Mam?’ he would beg his mother.
“He first learnt English after he went to school at seven. The teachers had only recently stopped making boys who spoke Welsh wear a dunce’s cap bearing the words ‘Mochyn Cymraeg’.
“1920s Barmouth was an immaculate town full of smart shops and civic pride. His father ran Dicks’ shoe shop with cobblers working in the back. The family lived at Bryn Teg, a grand end-of-terrace Victorian house, employing a live-in skivvy called Maddie who teased Dewi mercilessly. The mountains were full of thriving farms where Dewi, on his bike, enjoyed cups of delicious, fresh buttermilk.
“All around were the mansions of the English, and anglicised, gentry.
“One resident, a crony of Lloyd George who had got rich supplying munitions in the Great War, complained that the new prom spoiled his view, and threatened to blow it up.
“Barmouth had another side. Mam distributed alms among the barefoot families in Harbour Lane and ‘back-of-Barmouth’ where polio and TB were rife.
“The town was dominated by preachers from a dozen feuding chapels and churches. One Sunday Dewi helped a pal of his to pump the bellows at the Wesleyan chapel, provoking a big row at home and a terrifying visit from the Welsh Presbyterian minister. There was hell to pay when his eldest sister eloped – with an Anglican!
“Local puritanism softened decisively after the arrival of radio, the cinema and motor cars. In 1924 his father bought a Tin Lizzie but was too scared to drive it. On car trips to Liverpool chauffeured by the blacksmith’s son, Mam would leave her visiting card at Lewis’s for the shopping bill to be sent on later. Sometimes they would take the steam-train via Dolgellau and Bala, returning comfortably in time for tea.
“Learning to drive, Dewi was once stopped by a constable on the prom. Unwisely, Mam fibbed about being his accompanying experienced driver.
“In court they were fined half-a-crown. Afterwards, the magistrate greeted Dewi’s grandfather with, ‘Doh, is this your boy, William? If only you’d told me I’d have let them off!’
“Dewi went on to drive without mishap for another 82 years.”