Froncysyllte
First Memories.
I was born on the 25th July 1932, and although I have always regarded myself as a Froner, it is with shame that I confess to have been born at Garth View, Cefn Mawr.
My family have never lived in Cefn but my mother must have gone to stay with one of her sisters at the time of my birth. I have never asked why, because I would never admit to myself that I was not a true blood Froncysyllte-ite. We Froners regarded our neighbours across the river as slightly inferior. They played football on Sunday. Also, Cefn smelled due to its proximity to a chemical works.
My first memories are of Swan Terrace. Perhaps the very first is falling off a tricycle which I had got for Christmas. My ride was from The Swan down the hill to by the little sweet shop owned by a Miss Davies . A little red tin shed which now fades with the mists of time. A little bit farther down the road was a far grander shop, sweets, grocery’s and fresh vegetables, owned by Mr and Mrs Butterton with their daughters Joan & Jean. I can never remember which was which. This must have been about 1935. Other vague memories are also of Christmas, a magic lantern, watching Tom Mix silently mount his steed and ride a few yards and dismount. Truly about 90 seconds of magic. This was a second hand present bought by my father from a chap called Alf Pond who lived up the road from us in the Woodlands. We did not have a screen but this marvel of the wild west could be viewed while lying in bed on the whitewashed ceiling
Swan Terrace is quite high up the village, approached either up the steep Methodist Hill, or by a less steep circuitous route around Alma road. As most of the shops were situated near the main road, I was quite jealous of my friends who lived at what was known as the bottom of Fron. Very often I would have to climb the Methodist hill a second time after forgetting something on the shopping list.
The Swan consisted of a row of five cottages. All with outside lavatories and wash houses. Things I recall about the house are just one electric light in the living room, the rest lit by candles. A black leaded grate, black beetles and a brown rexine three piece suite with a tear on the arm which I was constantly reminded was made by me. We had a living room, a very small back kitchen, one bedroom occupied by my parents and myself, with a landing serving as a bedroom occupied by my Taid (Grandfather).
We knew all our neighbours and every one in the village. Our neighbours in Swan Terrace seemed normal. Although on reflection, our next door neighbour but one was Miss Parry, a very sedate spinster. Living with her was a man named Jonah whose claim to fame was that he wore a vest and pullover (no shirt) and played the Auto-Harp a strange stringed instrument with strings and buttons. I must remember to ask my mother what relation Jonah was to Miss Parry.
I don’t remember starting school, but I do recall perhaps my second year, when the new intakes arrived. What vividly sticks in my mind was two screaming girls in blue gingham dresses were cajoled into staying for the day. Their names were Menna and Eirwen Davies. They lived high up the village in a place called Fron Issa. Their father’s name was Christmas, a name which I thought unusual. He was called Chris which was quite normal.
The names of the school staff which I can recall were:- Herbert Hannaby, (Headmaster), Steve Jones, Emrys Williams, Miss Davies alias (Lizzie Cabbage), Dilys Jones, Miss Williams and Mr Jarvis. I have never thought until now to ask how Miss Davies got her alias.
The headmaster ruled with a “rod of iron”, he terrorized both pupils , staff and parents. He was more feared than the local; policeman “Paul Roberts”. If he saw you out of school hours with your hands in your pockets, “Woe betide you” when you got back to school. The girls were lucky not to have pockets.
To be continued