ย 
Oh all right, I confess. My take on the WP photo challenge is a little tangential. Also I have combined it with Ailsa’s travel theme ‘illuminated’ and Frizztext’s ‘B’ challenge (links below). But for me, photographs are windows in their own right, focusing the eye, mind and sensibility. Theย ones in this post seem to reveal a glimpse of something that require my special attention. And while some shots do in fact include actual windows, most are about those tiny ah-ha moments: the event, image, artefact that opened a window in my mind, whether a crack, or a full-blown throw-back-the-shutters moment.
And so it was stormy September, and the holiday-season well and truly over when Nosy Writer and the Team Leader headed to Wales for a few days. G. had a brand new camera to learn. I, as ever, was happy to snap whatever caught my eye.
We stayed in an odd, but well-meantย B & B in Llanbedrog, and set off each day to explore North Walesโ Llลทn Peninsula. The weather was deeply discouraging. Wales has much wet weather, and, with it, an oppositely equal lack of indoor places to visit, especially out of season. The first day it rained so hard there was no choice but to head for the nearest large town in hopes of finding something to do under cover.ย We drove up the coast to Caernarfon,and once there satย in a car park for an hour while the rain teemed down on the windscreen. Finally, it eased off enough to venture out. By then, the ludicrousness of coming on holiday to sit in a Welsh car park watching supermarket deliveries was beginning to grate.
Swathed in raingear we trailed around an impressive but dreary Caernarfon Castle, the remnant expression of Edward I of Englandโs systematic oppression of the Welsh people. In 1283 he extended a small Norman motte and bailey castle into a massive fortress – all the better to assert English rule over the Welsh and their princes. In design it is said to recall the walls of Constantinople, seat of Roman imperial power, thus invoking memories of more ancient times when the Romans also subdued the Welsh. These earlier invaders built the nearby fort of Segontium and, like the castle, it commanded the Menai Straits and the island ofย Ynys Mรดn (Anglesey) beyond.
Segontium was built in AD77 by the Roman governor of Britain, Gnaeus Julius Agricola, in preparation for the capture Anglesey (see Island of Old Ghosts). Over a thousand years later the castle was built as one in a circle of mighty fortresses to control the people of North Wales. In 1284 Edwardโs heir,ย later Edward II, was born there, and thus proclaimed the first English Prince of Wales. Though English born and bred, I find this hard to swallow.
And so I think I would have found Caernarfon Castle depressing even in broad sunshine โ too much death and domination. The best part of the day was definitely lunch in one of the townโs meandering back-streets. At the bistro Blas they welcomed us in from another downpour, and kindly allowed us to drip on their carpet while feeding us delicious food. Not only that, it was so soothingly lavender, both inside and out.
It was the next day, with the rain abating and the sea roiling over the Cricieth breakwater (beneath another Edward I castle) that we spotted the bright field in the first photo. G. thought it was a good opportunity to start getting to grips with his Fujicamera. I snapped the sea.
But seeing that bright field, so astonishingly luminous against the grey sky, reminded me of the poem of the same name, written by the great Welsh poet-priest R.S.Thomas. This craggy, slab of a man was as redoubtable as one of Edward Longshanksโ castles.
In fact he might have been hewnย from the bed-rock of his native Wales. And like all such formations he had his fissures, faults and flaws. Many thought him morose, cantankerous, and rife with ambiguity and contradiction. For one thing, he abhorred the Anglicisation of Wales, yet he wrote in English despite being a Welsh speaker. In 1996 he was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature, butย lost out to Seamus Heaney.ย
As a priest he was kindly and sympathetic to the hardships of his parishioners, although this would not stop him from hectoring them from the pulpit, urging them to foreswear any yearning for consumer durables such as refrigerators and washing machines. He could also be judgemental and, as a fierce Welsh Nationalist and political activist, withering about the failure of the Welsh to resist being swamped by Englishness.
Thomasโs poetry, then, can be both trenchant and transcendent. While I do not subscribe to his religion, I honour the spirit of his words. His poems are among those I love most. Here it is then:
The Bright Field
*
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
*
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but it is the eternity that awaits you.
R.S. Thomas
*
On our final day it was with R.S. Thomas in mind, and with a little sun at last, we drove down the narrow lanes of the Llลทn Peninsulaย to Aberdaron where the poet served as a parish priest between 1967-78.
The ancient church of St. Hywynโs stands right beside the sea. Since the Middle Ages, pilgrims have come there on their way to Bardsey Island, Ynis Enlli, Island of 20,000 Saints. Inside the church are two ancient grave stones belonging to Christian priests of the late 5th/early 6th century. There is also a welcome there: a bookshop full of R.S. Thomasโs poetry books; even a poem to take away. There are also piles of sea pebbles, shells for contemplating your journey, a kneeler that has been stitched with the single word cariad, beloved.
And beside the knave the clear glass window that needs no further embellishment looks out on the sea and islands of Gwylan Fawr and Gwylan Fach. And outside in the sea wind is the graveyard whose stones seem to cluster like a meeting of villagers in their own bright field. And so it is, as we ponder on all these things that our creedless souls, one atheist, one agnostic, know that we too are on a pilgrimage โ to seek out the things that truly matter.
R.S. Thomas 1913-2000 Photo: BBC Cymru Wales Walesart
See this brief biography of the poet, made in 1996 when it was thought he would win the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Related: Warrior Wind-Singer of Llลทn
ยฉ 2014 Tish Farrell
Tish Farrell 
A very enjoyable and informative post Tish. Wales has R S Thomas as Scotland has Norman MacCaig. I am working my way through MacCaig at the moment – R S Thomas seems like a next logical step.
I don’t MacCaig, so thank you for that, Robin, and for your comments.
So very well written, and the photos are stunning! Thank you for sharing!
Thank you for your kind comments.
Thanks Tish for taking me on a very enjoyable tour of Wales where I’ve never been in person! And for the introduction of R.S. Thomas.
Glad to introduce you to both Wales and R S Thomas. So much of his work is about land and landscape, which I think would resonate with your work.
Beautiful post.
Glad you enjoyed it.
Amazing photos, Tish! I like the graveyard one! =)
Thanks. Fats. Yes, the graveyard is rather striking, isn’t it.
That field of green does seem illuminated… what a gorgeous color especially since the rest of the photos were more informed by rainy, wet colors!
The light changes all the time in Wales. Could get quite hooked on watching weather, as long as it isn’t absolutely pouring of course.
This is a beautiful and lyrical post Trish full of interesting information. My word the poor welsh people had every one dominating them. You have captured an amazing light in the bright fields photo
So glad you enjoyed it. And thanks for commenting.
hi Tish,
I adore your wide range of interests –
from quiet Wales to Spanish ballet –
thank you for the link to
Bodas de Sangre by Carlos Saura:
You could call it a case of a butterfly mind, Frizz, but thanks for keep coming back and commenting. Also, it’s great you found Blood Wedding on YouTube. There’s some lovely guitar music. Gades died not too long ago. Not only a magnificent dancer but a brilliant choreographer.
Fascinating post, and I especially enjoyed the first picture. And of course the poem… a pleasure to meet the poet in this way. Thank you, Tish
You are most welcome, Shimon.
This was almost like a travelogue and quite lovely. Now I really want to see these places – in person.
I’m glad if it’s inspiring you to make a visit, and thanks for the comment.
Interesting post, Tish, and at least you managed to get free of the rain for a time. The light on that field was great.
Thanks, Sue. Yes, one always has to travel hopefully and with much rain gear when visiting Wales. Mind you, Shropshire isn’t much better these days. We’re suffering from both rising and falling sogginess.
Rising and falling sogginess sounds like a condition not to be envied…
No indeed. Suspect gills or a snorkel may soon be necessary.
๐ฆ
I didn’t realize I had gotten so far behind – my apologies.
No need to apologise, GP, especially with all your dodgy connections!
Whew! Just got back on line again and my other half is back on the phone with AT&T – furious. Thanks for being so understanding.
It’s a good poem, Tish! And I love both your green field and the swooshing sea.
We were in Criccieth once but my memories of it are sparse. ๐
Thanks, Jo.
Cricieth is worth a re-visit by the way. Nice places to stay. Good places to eat.
What a cracking read, and smashing photos as well.
I’m not sure how I’d feel about moving back to the UK for good, but this piece certainly made me want to come for a visit.
Thank you, Ark. That’s quite something if I’ve spurred you that far. Come for a visit, why don’t you ๐
Maybe one day in the not too distant future.
The trouble with wandering down memory lane is one is all too often liable to get mugged! ๐
For now, I shall experience it vicariously through some of your tales and photos.
Also these days our lanes are filled with very large trucks. Not so pleasant. But am happy to provide truckless scenic glimpses.
I saw this linked on the latest post and thought I had missed it. Hadn’t, but it was nice to look again.
I don’t know if you write ‘G’ for brevity sake or it’s a ”pet name” or for privacy, but you do realise the latter is gone for a burton thanks to the credited photos? Just saying … ๐
Thanks for re-reading. I think I use G. for all those reasons, but sometimes I do mention him by name. His boss is also amused that I call him The Team Leader. I suppose I tend to assume that G doesn’t want to be too bogged down in my blog.
Yes, I forgot ”TL”. Oddly enough,I’m pretty sure Footsy2 uses TL for her ”better half” though I do not know what the initials stand for.
We are all odd ducks, ( as my grandmother used to say) especially the writers, are we not?
We worry about privacy yet need ”eyes on” our material to make it worthwhile. And it’s not as if there truly is any real privacy these days.
Didn’t Joyce haul his work around for ”100 years” , forever rewriting, before it saw the light of day?
Maybe that was Homer?
Time for ”half-past threeses”
I wonder if I can wangle a cupcake with my coffee from somewhere? ๐
That sounds naughty. I try so hard not to have cupcake inclinations. Chewing a few walnuts does not hack it.
Back again. How do you do it? I am beginning to re-read your pieces more than a Terry Pratchett novel.
I think your beautifully evocative quote illustrates one of the more endearing memories of living in South Wales, and also trips up to Rhyl and Mau Famau when I lived in Chester – rain.
Am very touched that you re-read me, Ark. Also glad to conjure good memories even if they do involve rain – which is pretty much inevitable in Wales.