Fron in the War

Fron in the War

I was born on the day – October 5^th 1930 – that the giant airship R101 crashed in France and so I was 8 when the war began on September 3^rd 1939. I can clearly remember my father telling me that war had been declared as we walked towards the kiln’s office. Being so young, with no close relative on active service and in the days before TV I can’t say that I experienced first-hand the full horrors of war.

However, as the war progressed I got some idea of it “by proxy”. I used to help in the Co-op at the time that Miss Parry worked there and I remember how she would come in each morning full of despair because she had not received a letter from her friend who was a sailor. I can still feel her anguish. I link that feeling with those we had at home between June 1^st and 3^rd 1939 when the brand new submarine the Thetis sank in Liverpool Bay because a torpedo tube had been left open. There were 103 on board – a crew of 53 and 50 visitors etc – but only 4 survived. The periodic bulletins on the radio told us about the rescue attempts until all hope was abandoned on the Saturday afternoon. It was a very sad time. Ironically it was finally grounded in Anglesey on the day war was declared.

Before she was evacuated to Herefordshire Marie, my wife, experienced the blitz in Liverpool and I have other friends who lived in London or Portsmouth at that time. They are able to talk about real air raids. When they do I let them know that we in Fron also had our dark hour. It occurred on September 8^th 1940 when Herr Goering sent his Dornier bombers to North Wales and set Minera Mountain alight. We should not forget the woman who was killed in the raid. Those who were in Fron at the time will remember the cloud of smoke that enveloped the village for a whole day. I remember the occasion well and was pleased to find the date in “Land of my Father”, a paperback by Ronnie Knox Mawer.

Whenever I smell musty newsprint I always think of the hut that was positioned between the Brit and Sammie the barber’s. During the war it was filled with newspapers from all over the village. I’d be interested if anyone knows how often it was emptied. I can only remember being involved once and even that may have been after the war.

Other memories of that time were the plane that crashed and just stopped short of the railway line at Pentre and the time that the canal burst its bank (probably towards the end of the War) and washed the Llangollen to Trefor railway line away. It was obviously a goods train because shortly afterwards many of us owned a swiss knife – sadly the bone on the handles had been burnt off.

I like the story that we used to hear that Abe Hastings was reputed to have introduced the main guest at one of the village concerts that were held during the war as “Mr Colonel Middleton”. What fond memories of Noel it brings back.

The final memory I would like to pass on is of the times when Mr Hannaby, a teacher to whom I owe an awful lot, would tell us to run home and back to school as quickly as possible in practise for an air raid warning. We always managed to grab a sugar butty. Never had one since!!

PS. Today we hear a lot about aggressive parents and unruly children. We did have them in our day but they were real exceptions. I remember a parent who lived near the school clambering over the wall to confront one of the masters and there was a pupil who openly challenged one of the teachers. Then there was the circus van that was set on fire in the Aqueduct car park – was it on VE or VJ night.

The Village of Vron

When thinking of the 1930’s and 1940’s it is probably right to refer to the village as “Vron” because that was how it was known in those days. Those of us who were lucky enough to live there at that time consider it to have been the ideal place in which to grow up. The usual entry route is from the East along the A5 road that cuts through the village; a village that rests on the side of a mountain. More than three quarters of the village lies above the A5. Parallel to the road and some 250 or so yards down the hill is the Shropshire Union Canal or the “Cut” as we knew it. A further 400 yards down is the River Dee wending its way along the foot of the valley from the Welsh mountains to Chester.

Part of Vron’s attraction is that it has a distinct identity. Unlike Chirk that merges with Chirk Green & Rhosywaen and Cefn that adjoins Rhosymedre on the one side and Acrefair & Trefor on the other, Vron is Vron. It does not share its space with any other village or hamlet. From Chirk in the East and from Llangollen in the West the village is protected by large stretches of farmland and above the village there is only the mountain and below only the canal and river with no “foreign” habitations.

If the village has a drawback it is that it sits on the north-facing side of the mountain with the result that the sun disappears in October and only re-appears in April. Perhaps that’s why it is not a wine-making region!!

Then and Now

My last day as a resident of Vron was Saturday, January 30^th 1954. Since then I have travelled “home” at least a couple of times each year. What struck me most forcibly in the 60’s and 70’s was the total absence of children at play. In our day we did not have TV or Game Boys. If we were lucky we had a wireless, powered by an acid battery that had to be carried with care to the shop to be recharged. Because of the cost it was only used for the daily news and the odd special programme – in our house these were ITMA, a boxing match or the annual pre-Christmas broadcast of the Messiah by the Huddersfield Choral Society.

As a result we spent very little time indoors and we would assemble on the wall at the top of the Bont road before we set off around the village, down the Bont or to the canal. We spent hours on the wall at different times of the day. Even after a full day spent in each other’s company we would still need to sit on the wall after returning from Cefn pictures to hold our final “service” of the day. Later generations appear not to have enjoyed this camaraderie. The loss is theirs.

In his introduction to this site Bill mentions the A5, the canal, the river and the mountain. Each in turn and in season formed our playground. It must be well-nigh impossible for our grandchildren to realise that the A5 was once an area on which we regularly played ball games. The interruptions were few but were always announced by one of us shouting “Car coming!” The road was so quiet that we played marbles along it, starting on the Llangollen side of the “Aquie” and ending up at the Kiln’s office. It also provided an ideal skipping area.

It is fortunate that the traffic was so sparse. I can remember a tyre being rolled down the hill from the Council houses across the A5. Such was the low volume of traffic that it crossed without hitting a car or lorry. That would not happen today. Similarly I can recall a stone being dislodged and rolling down the mountain by Three Trees. Again, it crossed the A5 harmlessly.

Life would have been dull without the canal. In Summer we swam in it – sometimes by or on Telford’s aqueduct, sometimes by the drawbridge, the kilns or even down Cross Street. In Spring we would “gather” hands full of tadpoles and take some of them home (usually to die the next day) in a two pound jam jar with a string handle. Winters were different then because I have many memories of skating/walking on the ice, especially in the basin near the Institute. Of course it may only have been in harsh winter of 1947 that we did this. Spring seems to have been the time when we would make rafts out of two barrels tied with ropes or some planks. We were expert at shinning up the chains of the draw bridge, going hand over hand to the other side and then shinning down again.

Telford’s aqueduct has just celebrated a major anniversary – what a glorious day meeting old friends! Froners had a special association with the aqueduct because it was essential to their comings and goings. They used it to get to the pictures, to Wrexham, to work etc. People on the other side only used it on the odd occasion they were going for a stroll. To us it was a daily pathway to …… We swam in it, we counted the grids, we counted the bars, we jumped across the canal from one side to the other and the bolder among us also walked “the tightrope” overlooking Monsanto’s pitches. We crossed it in the light, in darkness and in sun, rain, wind, fog and snowstorms.

The river in summer was another focal point for us. We would go down towards Ddol Isa, have a swim and then play cards if we could see them through the smoke of the fire. Down by the Dolydd the river was treacherous and too many lives were lost there. I think it was more the playground of the Cefners than us.

Lastly, the mountain! This provided us with a rich harvest. In September we would return with our pockets bulging with luscious brown hazel nuts. Throughout the day we would crack them open with our teeth. At other times we would take our cans up to the quarry and fill them with blackberries which were made into jelly or apple and blackberry jam. We collected arms full of blue bells and cowslips. Everywhere in the house would then hold a jam jar with the flowers in it.

In our day we were not held back by fears of injury or risks to our health. There were several spots where, without are concern for safety, we would climb down the quarry>. We would freely climb trees without fear of falling or the branch breaking and, perhaps the most worrying of all, we would regularly feel our way through the dark, stagnant tunnels that conveyed water in Winter from the top of the village to the river. I would not be surprised if the owners of these tunnels were not now required to “board them up”.

Perhaps I should end with mention of the school. My memory is of a long slide that went diagonally across the lower playground. We would get to school early and work it up into a sheet of glass and then have to go in for lessons. All of us were praying that it did not thaw before break time. That was then! Would it be allowed now?

EAA

3/11/05