Landslips and Lakes: Shadows Over the Valleys

Every community is influenced by their history. After big events, the cultural landscape shifts, and when there is some element of tragedy to that event, it casts a shadow. Wars are reflected in the films we consume. Even ‘escapist TV’ was changed and informed by 9/11. And Covid will define what we produce for years to come. Even the absence of it in anything produced post-2020 will speak volumes.

But tragedy doesn’t have to be ‘large scale’ for shadows to reach out. And today we’re diving into a little bit of history, the sort where you’d struggle to find any Welsh creator living today who isn’t somehow informed and shaped by these events.

Wales is a small country, part of the UK but all too often tied very closely to England when referred to. We are, frequently, not seen as our own country. The myth that we are a principality has been spread for so long, even Welsh schools (at least when I was growing up) claim we are a ‘principality’ and not a country. Because of the bank name, our national stadium changed from Millennium Stadium to Principality Stadium, and more recently there has been pushback on this as the cries for independence grow. I’m explaining this because I’m aware that many of our readers are US-based, and may not be aware of us. Find any Welsh person who has travelled to the states – or even to some places in Europe! – and you’ll hear the varied responses they get when they say they’re from Wales.

“Is that in England?”

“Is that near London?”

“Is that the place with the mines?”

Or, my dad’s favourite (he’s personally heard), “You all ride horses there, right?”

Essentially, Wales is a small, not-really-known country. And our history is obscured, in some ways. Some of it isn’t even taught to us at school, but is passed down from generation to generation, highlighted in articles or books often read independently of school. Even the stuff we are taught, though minimal, is left out of England’s curriculum all together. (Yes, English students absolutely should learn the history of their neighbours – especially the two events discussed in this article.)

I can’t remember how I learnt about Capel Celyn, but I remember vividly when I first heard “Aberfan” spoken in a hushed, sad tone, the kind used when referring to something tragic. St Fagans National Museum of History is a fantastic site to visit, if you’re ever in Wales. There are a variety of buildings throughout the museum, often taken brick by brick from their original site in Wales, moved and rebuilt exactly. There’s a Celtic Village, farm, Victorian-era style shops and schoolhouse, and a row of terraced houses.

These houses show how people lived through the 20th Century. And one day, on a family visit when I was a child, we entered the 1960s house to discover a small group, and a woman standing in the living room, telling a story. The story was from the point of view of a young mother, who like every day, ushers her children out the door to go to school. There were sound effects, playing from a cassette, of children rushing around upstairs, laughing. Then, later, the sounds were deep rumbles. The date was 21st October, 1966, and a small Welsh community would be forever changed.

The disaster was due to a coal tip, situated above the above the village and overlaying a natural spring. The responsibility of the tip lay with the National Coal Board, a UK-wide body. There were three weeks of heavy rain, the tip became slurry, and slid down the hill.

Spoil hit the Pantglas area. A total of 116 children and 28 adults were killed, with the main building hit being the local junior school. 5 teachers and 109 children here were killed. You can read more about the disaster, the causes, impact and inquiry in-depth on the Wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aberfan_disaster). 

Today, the spot where the school stood is a small park and playground, with a community centre nearby. There is nothing lavish here, but the memorial garden is quiet and peaceful, even with kids playing right next to it. You can even walk from the park up to where the tip was, and look out over the valley. But the most striking reminder of what happened is at the local church. The valley-side is covered in graves, but right at the top are multiple rows of beautiful, well-kept white gravestones, many with pictures. Reading the names and dates is painful. The children were around the same age as my parents, and many were siblings. This was a village’s generation, wiped out, mostly between the ages of 7 and 10. Despite efforts from the local community, with police alerted at 9.25 am, no survivors were found after 11 am.

The events of that day, a disaster that could have been avoided, have left a mark on Wales, especially South Wales and the valleys. We’re a small country, who have to fight to be recognised, and an event which hurts so many hurts us all.

We are often overlooked, ignored, like a middle child. We’re all too often seen as an extension of England, by those outside the UK and by England themselves. As England scrambled over themselves to convince Scotland staying with them was the best route, they practically ignored the growing rumbles of independence in Wales. And England have a history of simply pointing at our resources and demanding we hand them over.

Llyn Celyn demonstrates this, and although loss of life wasn’t involved in this, there was a loss of community. Liverpool issued an apology in 2005 for what happened to Tryweryn, but this happened at the end of the 50s, the reservoir opening in 60s, and the mark on Wales is clear – the construction of Llyn Celyn drove home the need for Welsh devolution, and what was taken can never be returned.

A private bill was passed through Parliament in 1957, meaning Liverpool City Council did not need permission from Welsh planning authorities for their plan to supply more water to Liverpool. The village of Capel Celyn was ultimately flooded to create the reservoir, with 35 out of 36 Welsh MPs opposing the legislation to enable this to go ahead. The valley was flooded in 1965, with the village drowned, 48 people losing their homes, and even the cemetery ending up under water. Again, you can find more in-depth information at Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capel_Celyn).

These events are important, and should be remembered. They are a part of history which has had ripple effects that can even be seen in the present day. Yet we were not taught about Aberfan and Capel Celyn at school, and were instead left to be told by parents or relatives, or find the information on our own. Of course, things are different now – images of Cofiwch Dryweryn circulate on social media, and more frequently articles pop up regarding Aberfan around the day of the anniversary. These are important moments, casting shadows, and next time you read the work of a Welsh (or even British) writer, and see references to landslips or drowned villages, you’ll see the ripples of two Welsh tragedies.  

Article by Elle Turpitt

Twitter: @elleturpitt

Website: elleturpitt.com