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It was purely coincidence that in the very week of St David’s Day and just when the verges were starting to burst with golden daffodils, my wife Chris, and I went to Wales. We may even have eaten leeks for one of our main meals that week as well. We went on a city break to Cardiff, Wales’s capital city on its south coast. It was a long journey from the north east of England to the land of the Red Dragon. We finally entered our sister country at Chepstow, spotting the big, forbidding castle guarding the border. ( One of many in Wales). Our train quickly sped along the south Wales coast, passing through the city of Newport and then finally reaching the capital.

Considering it’s officially part of Great Britain ( and the United Kingdom), I have ventured into Wales quite rarely in my life. Perhaps, in hunting down more exotic locations, I have been guilty of taking the Principality for granted. Here are some of the rare bits of my life that I have spent amongst the Welsh, prior to this recent excursion.

CHILDHOOD HOLIDAYS and EARLIEST MEMORY.

When I was a little child growing up in Derbyshire, we took the trains to enjoy traditional seaside holidays in North Wales. We vacationed in resorts such as Colwyn Bay, Rhyl and Llandudno. In fact my earliest memory is of falling into a boating lake in a park in Colwyn Bay. I was about 3 or 4. I had been sailing my toy yacht on the little lake, when I tripped and plunged into the water. I still remember being underwater and seeing the shimmering reflection of my dad reaching down to pull me out — gasping and dripping. I still remember my mum’s classic exclamation: ” Oh look — he’s still got his cap on!”

On another Welsh holiday we took a tram up to the top of the Great Orme, the big, round hill overlooking Llandudno. My sister and I were treated to huge, knicker-bocker glory ice-creams in tall, fancy glasses. Apparently the owner of the cafe said that if we could eat them all up we would get another one each for free. We made valiant attempts but ultimately failed.

FREEZING COLD HONEYMOON.

Back in 1970, I actually went to Wales for a honeymoon with my first wife, A. We were poor students and the idea was to hitch- hike from Manchester where we were studying, to Conwy in North Wales. I was attracted by its impressive castle, medieval town walls, the picturesque location on the coast, and an historical bridge built by the famous road builder, Thomas Telford. It was on his road from London to Holyhead where boats could be boarded to Ireland. How can you tell I was a history student? A’s mum kindly gave us £50 which would cover our accommodation for 2 or 3 nights. Money went a lot further, back in those days. We didn’t have enough to cover transport though, so decided to stand by the side of the road and stick our thumbs out. It was early April. All went well at first but then we got stuck for ages on a hill in North Wales. To make matters worse it started to snow. In fact we endured a small blizzard. It wasn’t the romantic getaway that many imagine for their honeymoons. We finally got a lift from a kind lorry driver but arrived in Conwy looking like 2 half-melted snowmen.

We were cold and unfortunately experienced an extremely frosty reception from the land-ladies of Conwy. We hadn’t booked ahead and just looked for the “Vacancies” signs in the guest house windows. ( no internet in those days and we were even shy about using the telephone.) However, as soon as they saw 2 soaking beatniks, with long shaggy hair, duffel coats and rucksacks, the first 3 owners decided they didn’t have any vacancies afterall! We eventually found a place but it had no guest lounge and our bedroom was unheated and unwelcoming. We never felt comfortable or welcome in Conwy and quickly moved on to the more carefree, “kiss me quick” resort of Llandudno, a few miles away.

Llandudno was much more tourist -friendly and we got a warmer reception there. We found a well-heated, welcoming hostelry where we stayed for a couple of days and nights. Unfortunately, it was to be my first encounter with slippery, shiny nylon sheets. ( Can those readers of a certain age remember Brentford Nylons?) They were all the rage in those days. Inevitably I was just dropping off when I slid off the mattress and ended up on the floor! Still we had a pleasant couple of days there and even had enough pennies left to catch the train back all the way to Manchester.

CHOIR FESTIVAL.

Wales is famous for its choirs. Being a chorister has become a big part of my life and that is what led me to another encounter with Wales. In the second decade of the 21st century I was part of a community choir in Whitby, North Yorkshire. Every year we took part in a big street choir festival at various different location across the country. Inevitably , considering its reputation, one year we ended up in Wales. We sang in a big event in Aberystwyth on the west coast, halfway up Cardigan Bay. Chris and I drove through the mountains of mid-Wales enjoying lovely scenery and spotting loads of red kites soaring on the thermals high above us. I think they are the national bird of Wales. After all the singing in the streets and at the University of Wales, we headed north, visiting dramatic castles at Harlech and Caernarfon and going up Mt Snowdon on a quaint little steam train. The clouds magically parted when we got to the summit and we were treated to a magnificent view of Wales’s highest mountain range. I made a triumphant return to Conwy with my second wife. We visited the castle, walked the walls and explored the beautiful Bodnant gardens just south of the town. We took the precaution of staying in Llandudno though where we ascended the Great Orme , walked the pier and generally had a great time.

OUTWOOD BOUND.

A few years after the choir jaunt I was back on one of my occasional visits to Wales, visiting an outwood- bound centre in Pembrokeshire with my school. We had a bunch of 12 and 13 year olds. I remember getting very muddy, having a fab time with the kids but chickening out of abseiling down a frightening looking cliff face. It was a very emotional trip as it was the last one before my school on the west side of Newcastle, closed.

So there you have it — the sum total of my experiences in Wales before my recent city break in Cardiff. In the context of my longish life they are very rare bits indeed, if you’ll excuse the pun. Once in Cardiff one of my priorities was to have cheese on toast, know in posh circles as Welsh rarebit. We also planned to see an exciting modern dance performance at the Millennium Centre down on Cardiff Bay and view a fascinating art exhibition at the National Museum of Wales. Both were memorable experiences. But that’s another story.