The London Welshman

NORTH WALES ONCE MORE. By PHILIP THOMAS. PART III. Aberystwyth was reached in a storm of wind and rain; the railway station was choked with people seeking refuge, and our first meal had to be partaken of, weather-bound, at the station. These auspices were not favourable, but a closer acquaintance with the town effaced all bad impressions. It was a place I had long wished to see, from the time when, as a boy at school, I had admired its position on the map, standing as it does on what might be called a straight curve of coast, sheer on the Atlantic, with no land between it and the continent of America. Everything comes to him who waits, especially if he puts a little resolution into his waiting-working as well as praying-and here I was at last In Famous Aberystwyth. The rain soon cleared; and let me say at once a good word for the town in this respect. The guide-book gave a very flattering figure as to its rainfall; but I had taken this statement with the customary grain of salt, which goes well with such statistics. Yet during a period when rain prevailed all over the kingdom, London being visited-so we were told-by thunderstorms on three consecutive days, and no cricket possible at Lord's or the Oval, we were enjoying healthy walks at Aberystwyth, morning, afternoon, and evening. A first glance from the front was not pre- possessing the headland is not grand in dimensions like the Great Orme, nor bright in colour like Beachy Head; the rock is of a slaty character, which gives a dark greyish tinge to the sands, instead of the golden colour which one loves to see. But the mighty ocean is there, without mistake, and its breakers thundering on the shore, straight from the bosom of the Atlantic. You catch here on this open ocean front all the breezes that blow. I met some jaded Londoners walking on the boarded floor which runs from the quay- side to the harbour light; it is like pacing the deck of a ship; and if the gale on the Great Orme blew the London cobwebs off me, surely this promenade will pour into me all the health and strength of the Atlantic, if only I can receive it. This was the great feature of Aberystwyth, its fresh invigorating air, which made London on my return seem a stuffy hole, which I had never before felt it to be. One seems to feel the process of renovation when standing on the deck previously mentioned, and watching the brief union of the waters of the Rheidol and the Ystwyth, before they immediately join the vast ocean. Aberystwyth abounds with interesting walks, carefully mapped out by a local association, and from such eminences as Constitution Hill, Pendinas, and Allt Wen, immense views can be obtained. Still, the atmosphere is the thing, those breezes off the ocean, and those long rollers of the deep throwing off the ozone brought from the mid-Atlantic, uncontaminated by any touch of land. Almost, I forgive Aberystwyth for securing the National Library, instead of concentrating our national institutions, and making of that city-as it deserves to be called -a fit metropolis, or Mother=City of the Welsh Race. The men of Cardiganshire showed a slimness occasionally observed in them, by persuading the innocent men of North Wales that while claiming the Library for Aberystwyth, they were fighting the battle of the northern portion of the Principality, quietly ignoring the fact that Cardiganshire is one of the six counties of South Wales. They have, perhaps, betrayed me into speaking of Aberystwyth in a series of articles a visit to North Wales. However, that battle is over, and Cardiff, which has at present the finest Welsh library in the world, will never allow it to be surpassed, grant or no grant. Meantime, Aberystwyth ought to get on with its Library, so that when next we visit the place, we shall be able to combine mental culture with bodily recreation. One cannot pass the University College without a word of admiration for the fine building, but not for the squat figures in the colour decoration at the corner. As I write, the sad news is received of the two young ladies hemmed in by the tide between Aberystwyth and Clarach, and having to take to the cliff, from which one of them would appear to have fallen, and been lost in the sea. The guide-book warns people of this danger, but that is only seen by few and I observed no public notice of it on the parade. Nor was there any dial to indicate the time of high water, on which the safety or danger of a walk along the shore so much depends. I would suggest that such a notice and dial should be put up at the north end of the parade, and at other conspicuous places which the local authority may think proper. No one is expected to leave Aberystwyth until he has paid a visit to the Devil's Bridge and Mynach Falls. The trip by the new light railway is certainly pleasant, and from Rhiwfron to the terminus the views are such as one would probably not see elsewhere. The deep tree-clad valleys and ravines, with the Rheidol flowing along the bottom, are an exhilarating spectacle as the train slowly winds its way around and around to its destination. I cannot say that either the Bridge or the Falls impressed me greatly, and there seemed to be nothing to justify the shilling toll which is levied on all visitors for the mere privilege of seeing a piece of natural scenery, and a piece of supernatural bridge work. One would like to know who gets this money, and what is done with it ? Perhaps, one of your readers can tell. In spite of the Atlantic atmosphere, what I liked best at Aberystwyth came from Cardiff, in the form of the Welsh Ladies' Choir. Their singing in the Pavilion was exquisite, with plenty of ringing power, when that was wanted. The soloists were all of them superb, and one scarcely expected such accomplished individual singing in what was advertised merely as a choir. Miss Dora Davies was particularly fine. Their patriotic songs and songs in the Welsh language were especially moving, melting me more than once to tears, as they conjured up visions of the land and its people, their past history, their present needs, their future destiny. This brings me to my last word. During those three weeks of holiday I saw much of Wales and the Welsh, and the closer acquaint- ance increased my respect and love for both. The people have a physique and cranial deve- lopment which tell that they are Capable of Great Things. Our old mother tongue I found in full vigour, and worthy of the highest cultivation. On the question of the proper teaching of the language, a respected Welsh M.P. recently wrote a letter, mildly consenting to facilities for such teaching, and expressed a pious hope that this might possibly tend to preserve the language. Such a view is entirely mistaken the language needs no steps for preservation. It is living, and will live, because it is strong in the heart and mind of the people. Those who are labouring to secure the systematic and thorough teaching of Welsh in the schools and colleges of the Princi- pality are not seeking to keep a flickering flame alive. For my part I would not waste an atom of energy in trying to maintain a weak and dying language. But that is far from being the condition of Welsh it is full of lusty life. The Welsh Language needs no Support, no apology, no defence, no patronage, no en- couragement. Its vitality dispenses with all these. It asks for simple justice. We claim on its behalf that where it is the language of home and social intercourse, of business, and worship, and literature, it ought to be so taught that every Welsh child may speak, read, and write the language with propriety. This is one of the first reforms demanded in Wales, and we trust that all who have personal influence and official position will not rest until those who are to speak Welsh as the tongue of their every day and all day life shall have in their possession a cultured language, Welsh in all its purity and not a corrupted patois. The return to London was made through the fertile fields and sweet atmosphere-traversed for the first time-of Sir Drefaldwyn and as the train whirled by we caught sight of Llanbrynmair, Carno, Caersws, and remembered that in this country also men had been raised up to render service and do honour to Wales. Let all of us who have enjoyed a holiday in Wales make use of our renewed vigour in. doing something for Wales, her language, and her people. One hopes that the coming season of the long evenings, the time of culture and labour will not be wasted in mere emotionalism. Last winter nearly destroyed the National Eisteddfod of this year; and the Eisteddfod with all its faults is the expression of the nation's intellectual activity. Do not let the means of mutual instruction, and of practical work in good causes be neglected in favour of spiritual excitement, as barren as the missions of Dr. Torrey. Above all one longs for the Freedom of the Welsh Mind, that the traditions of the past shall be a heritage and not a prison, and that we may look upon the world and its requirements in the light of the twentieth century: Then by better thought I lead Bards to speak what Nations need. It is only through this freedom that Wales can accomplish great original achievements. As long as she is the slave of the past, her voice will be only an echo. The poet who wrote the lines quoted above knew what modern England owes to the free play of the Welsh element in its genius: Seethed in mists of Penmaenmawr Taught by Plinlimmon's Druid power, England's genius filled all measure Of heart and soul, of strength and pleasure, Gave to the mind its emperor, And life was larger than before Nor sequent centuries could hit Orbit and sum of Shakespeare's art, The men who lived with him became Poets, for the air was fame. In conclusion, I could give no better counsel to the young Welshmen of London this autumn and winter than to study Shakespeare, and his eulogist Emerson, to whom we owe these verses. They will gain knowledge and power, and soar in the pure air of liberty.