A sense of loss and sorrow that is only Welsh

Wales Business — By Stephen Fisk on March 22, 2010 7:00 am

Before the flood: this famous piece of graffiti, found on the A487 near Llanrhystud and often restored by unknown hands, still hums with anger over the destruction of Capel Celyn

FOR those of us limited to the English language, the concept of hiraeth is appealing but mysterious. There is no direct translation word for it. But it is possible that we can get a clearer grasp of the concept by studying the experience of people who have lived in communities that have been deserted for one reason or another.

In Wales there are many examples of towns, villages and other human communities that have been abandoned.  During the last century or so several villages and farming communities have been submerged under reservoirs. Capel Celyn is, of course, the most famous of the villages lost for this reason. Other communities have disappeared when mining or industrial enterprises came to an end. In this way, Dylife, near Llanidloes, was virtually deserted after lead mining there became no longer profitable. People had to move from the communities of Machynys and Bwlch-y-gwynt when tinplate production at Llanelli was concentrated at the Trostre works. And the village in Nant Gwrtheyrn on the Llyn peninsula was abandoned as a result of the closure of the Porth-y-nant granite quarry.

Two other examples of communities abandoned within living memory are Mynydd Epynt, near Brecon, and Temperance Town in Cardiff. When the Sennybridge Training Area was created during the Second World War, 54 families had to leave the farming community on Epynt. Just before the war, around 1,000 people had to move out of Temperance Town because Cardiff council wanted to improve the view from the railway station and build a bus station.

Nearly all the people who left these communities were forced to go. In many cases, they offered as much resistance as they could (and in other situations such resistance was successful). But in the end, they were left with no choice.   Leaving their homes was often highly traumatic, and it caused an intense sense of loss similar to one of personal bereavement.  Their subsequent adjustment would have depended on many factors, both internal (such as an individual’s personal resilience) and external (for example, how easy it might be to find a new home and a new source of income). But elements of their distress and sense of loss may have persisted for many years.

The sense of loss is a central part of the concept of hiraeth. Most of us have a strong attachment to our home. It is the place where we have a special feeling of ownership and control, where we can enjoy our privacy and feel safe. In each of those communities mentioned above, the home was also a place set in an environment of strong social bonds. People provided informal social support to each other, they may have worked together, they shared leisure activities, and they attended schools and places of worship together. These social benefits tend to increase the longer you remain in a particular place.  And they were all lost when the community came to an end.

Hiraeth may inform a desire to re-visit the lost community. Thomas Morgan, from Glandwr on the Epynt, used to slip back to his farm and light the fire to keep the house aired. One day he arrived to find his home in ruins. An army captain told him it had been blown up and he was not expected to come back again.

Rhys Price, also from Epynt, was more fortunate. He would go back to tend the cemetery at Babell chapel, lay flowers on the graves, and trim the hedges. Travelling by bicycle he would carry a scythe and enough food to last the day. At a later date the army provided transport for him, and he continued to perform his duties until 1985, when he was 82-years-old.

Even today one or two people who were children when their families were evicted from Epynt look for opportunities to return. Members of Cymdeithas y Cymod go there once a year to protest at the use of the land for military purposes.  They are often joined by a former resident who appreciates the chance to re-visit places such as the site of his school, and share his memories with other people in the group.

The reminiscences of those who have left abandoned communities often include warm memories of the freedom they used to enjoy, sometimes coupled with mildly mocking references to authority figures. Those recalling their childhood will mention acts of mischief at school. Even when they have been caught they will stress methods used to evade or minimise punishment, for example techniques to reduce the pain suffered after a caning. Those who were adults before they left may also recall minor misdemeanors. In Machynys and Bwlch-y-gwynt, for example, it was by no means unknown for coal to disappear from the railway trucks parked near the tinplate works.

Related memories often refer to the trust that prevailed within a community. If a resident of Bwlch-y-gwynt had to go out when the insurance man was due to call they would leave the front door unlocked and the payment on a table.

Former inhabitants of abandoned communities often report a lasting sense of anger about the fate of their community. Their anger may be directed at the authorities responsible for the decision to evict them, but sometimes it is aimed at agencies regarded as failing to support their opposition, a local council perhaps or a local newspaper. Whether anger may be regarded as a component of hiraeth, that’s for others to decide.

Feelings about the lost community may be affected by the way the area is subsequently used.  When people from Nant Gwrtheyrn discovered that their former homes were to be restored and converted into a centre for the promotion of the Welsh language they generally welcomed their use in this new way.

Another question about hiraeth is whether it can be passed from one generation to another.  Marilyn Tipples has told me that her mother-in-law used to talk about the process of leaving Temperance Town and the difficulties in starting a new life in another part of Cardiff. It seemed to me that some of her mother-in-law’s sadness can still be seen in Marilyn.

But if you are looking for tangible hiraeth, something you can hear and see, then it is worth being there when a group of people from a lost community get together. Former residents of  Machynys and Bwlch-y-gwynt began to meet for re-unions in the 1980s, together with their relatives. The re-unions still continue.  On those days, memories from some four or five decades ago are recalled and an old community spirit is revived, if only for a few hours.

- For more information, visit the Abandoned Communities site

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6 Comments

  1. John Tyler says:

    Fortunately “hiraeth” cannot be bottled …

    … if it could, our politicians would … I’ll leave it to your imagination.

  2. CapM says:

    Hiraeth
    As much about the place you leave missing you as you missing it.

  3. Excellent piece. Thanks very much for writing it, Stephen.

    Although he would probably be too modest to say so, Stephen’s work on his Abandoned Communities website (address above) leaves him in an incredibly informed position to comment on the nature of hiraeth, what it means and how it affects us all.

    The first time it was described to me, it was defined as “a longing for the land”. While I stick to that generally, I’m with Stephen that it is a far more complex word and, in general, pretty close to defying definition.

    And while I can’t really say what I think hiraeth means, I know I feel it, and often for places I grew up in in England. I also feel it for places I’ve never lived, like my father’s home in Mid Wales. Go figure, Freud.

  4. Al says:

    I don’t think it’s necessarily a Welsh thing, although it is felt more keenly here.

    But t gets worse. There is hiraeth for the place you live in too! You long for the sleepy mining town you grew up in – look out of your window and you see a huge bypass over the field you played as a child, huge supermarkets covering the woods where you made swings, strangers living in the house of your best friend. This is a well known phenomena, and it even has a name: Solastagia.

    http://healthearth.blogspot.com/2008/08/global-solastalgia.html

    As that blog suggests, it is affecting everyone, all over the world.

    I think it’s ironic that the people driving that change, making money off it, then drive off to their house in the country and complain that someone wants to put a windfarm on a nearby mountain. If affects us all, rich and poor.

  5. Adam Higgitt says:

    This is a lovely essay, and I’m glad our figures show it was well read today. I’m also pleased to see Dylife mentioned, a village that plays a role in mine and Duncan’s family history. It was a place part of the family on our Mother’s side settled in during their very typical 19th and 20th century journey from land workers in north Wales to industrial workers in the Valleys. Our Great Great Aunt, Katherine Owens, ran The Star Inn in Dylife for many years – a pub that is still there despite the disappearance of most of the rest of the village.

    Thanks for contributing.

  6. Stephen Scale says:

    Is this Hiraeth or just bearing a grudge over progress? And now tax payers money is going to support a symbol of Nationalism that is a minority political position, shamefull

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