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I was not quite six when we moved from Pant-teg (Ystalyfera) to Brecon in 1934. I remember vaguely a huge furniture pantechnicon arriving early in the morning and the feverish activity of packing, transporting and then unpacking that took up the whole day. I have no recollection of how I was got to Brecon but I do remember that my father at that time did not own a car. He had owned a bull nosed Morris Cowley but that was before I was born.
There was no Manse attached to the Plough Congregational Chapel in Brecon so my parents rented part of a large house, BRYN SIRIOL, owned by Mr Roger Prosser, in Camden Road opposite the railway station. It had four stories with an attic and a cellar and in the front garden was a large "Monkey Tree".
A great feature of Brecon was the May and November Fair. Each Fair lasted about a week and started with the arrival of vast steam traction engines pulling trailer loads of equipment. These were unpacked in the centre of the town covering the Bulwark and High Street extending from the Ships and Sealing Wax in the east almost to WHSmith in the west. All traffic from the east was diverted along Glamorgan Street and from the west along Lyon Street.
Roundabouts, Chairoplanes, Dodgems ,boxing booths ,Wall of Death and all manner of side shows were set up. The stationary traction engines then became the power generators for the myriad lights, loud speakers and moving equipment. Spruikers flourished and we were encouraged to "Come along in" to see the world's fattest or smallest or bearded lady or the two headed chicken or to go two rounds in the boxing ring. The Gypsies too invaded the town at these times and we were all made aware of thieves and pickpockets. The whole town shimmered and vibrated with the flashing lights and barrel organ music that assailed our eyes and ears from afternoon until late night.
To the casual observer this was what the Fair was all about. But the real Fair was going on mostly unobserved as it had for 200 years or more. This was the Human Fair, a sort of cattle market of men and women presenting themselves for sale or at least for hire. These were the maids and servants, the labourers and thatchers and hedgers and ploughmen who were parading before farmers and landowners. They in turn selected their employees for the next six months. They argued over wages and duties and time off; strength was tested, muscles were palpated, evidencc of experience demanded. When a deal was done it was settled with a pint or three in one of the many pubs that lined the streets. It was said that at its prime Brecon had 49 pubs as well as other drinking houses. The results were joy and sadness, for some won and some lost, but it was an ancient system that for all its crudity worked remarkably well.
In 1935, we moved further along Camden Road to our newly built house "Pant-teg", first of a row of houses built by Jenkins Builder. When these houses were being built in Camden Road in 1935-36, we children (7 to 13 year olds) used to play a marvellous game of hide and seek, climbing up the scaffolding, hiding and chasing each other through the partly constructed houses until one terrible Saturday afternoon Dickie Lewis slipped from the top floor and fell down to the foundations of one of the houses and sustained terrible injuries to his head and face. His life was in danger and he was kept in hospital for many weeks and in bed at home for many more. That put an end to those pranks.
I remember the fun of Guy Fawkes nights with bonfires and fireworks in various back gardens, Christmas Carol singing door to door and wonderful times picking blackberries in season, tadpoling and sailing boats on the little pond at the base of Slwch Tump.
With friends, I played freely and widely without even the thought of fear in those safe and peaceful years before and even during the war. Our activities on Saturdays and holidays would take us along miles of the banks of the Usk in both directions from the town involving boating and swimming. Walks through the Groves and beyond, along the banks of the Honddu, model boat sailing on the canal, Slwch Tump, Y Crug, cycling to Talgarth and Llangorse Lake for boating and fishing, to Sennybridge, walking and climbing Y Corn Ddu and Pen y Fan, roller-skating in the railway station yard and even better on the perfectly smooth cement floor of the produce market; all these were ours to explore and enjoy. I can remember only pleasure and joy and no disturbing experiences.
A memorable day that Dickie Lewis and I enjoyed came about when his father, Manager of the National Provincial Bank, early one Saturday morning drove us up to one of the reservoirs along the Brecon-Merthyr road, he for a day of trout fishing, Dickie and I for a day of exploration. We wandered for 6 or 7 hours and many miles around two of the reservoirs and way beyond up on the hills with a cut lunch and bottle of "pop" each. What wonderful innocent fun we had letting our imagination run to
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