The London Welshman

A CROSS COUNTRY TRIP. 11 LONDON FOLKS FROM HOME.—BY "ONE OF THEM." WE were down for a quiet holiday. Tom and I had convinced one another that a complete rest was absolutely necessary in order to re-invigorate our overworked constitution for the coming winter's stern labour. So, consulting our friend Hugh, who had just returned from a very quiet fortnight at Aberystwyth, we hied to that pleasant resort, and prepared for a lounging fourteen days on its new and over-praised promenade. Our baggage was slight, and friends plentiful, so the trouble about ac- commodation was readily banished. But we had hardly awakened from our first night's rest ere our domicile was rudely infested with a pack of London ramblers that made our kind hostess regret having ever sheltered such two innocent babes. Their mission, however, was an act of pretended kindness. A "grand" concert, so it was asserted in the local press, was to be given that night at some outlandish village in the heart of the Cardiganshire hills by the "famous London Welsh Choir, that it would be the treat of the holiday season to attend it. The choir was short in numbers, and Tom and I soon learned that the real cause of the anxiety for our companionship was in order to swell the ranks of these famous vocalists. It Was arranged that I should sing the top soprano that night, instead of my Usual second bass, and Tom, who knew not a note, was booked as a companion alto to a very Winsome songstress, who promised that he could not get out of tune. Welsh mist hung over the Cardigan hills, and the heavy clouds augured an unpleasant journey as we started out in a well-horsed conveyance, some score of us, all bent on creating a lifelong lrnpression on the uncultured audience of that °ut of the way village of Llangeithio, whose very name to most of us, North Wales °Jks, was only recognisable save as a small Preaching hamlet in the last century, where some Daniel Rowlands made it unpleasant for an ordinary sinner to find an abode in. How- ever, we were down for a quiet holiday, and the journey would benefit our indifferent health. But, lo, what a journey Eighteen miles on a rough road, up hill and down dale, in wet and miserable weather, did not tend to improve Tom as a singer. After listening to his blessings ere he reached the neighbourhood of "Y Bont," his fair companion was convinced that she would have to sing alto by herself that night. The mist increased as we neared Tregaron, and the rain looked as if the whole of the waters of THE RIVER TEIFY AT LLANDYSSUL. Maesllyn Lake had risen in a rebellious protest against our pretending to be sons and daughters of the fair muse. In this locality, our chartered driver lost his bearings. Geography was an unknown item to his learning, but his vocabulary increased as his general knowledge grew less, and had we not accosted a hardened native, our journey that night would have ended in the neighbourhood of Twm Shon Catti's Cave, and not among the fair hills of Llangeithio. Accord- ing to the many bills we read on the village hoardings, we were announced to appear at seven o'clock, and had we not fallen into the hands of such good Samaritans as the fair family of Cwrtmawr, our spirits would not have been risen to singing pitch on that evening. Concert came and crowd went. The local press pro- nounced it "grand," and singing "excellent," and the fame of the London Welsh Choir was kept unsullied on that occasion, thanks to my good soprano and Tom's alto. Dr. Walter Davies, of Jewin, who presided, actually admitted that it was the best medicinal treat that the local habitue ever had. The rain still poured and a special dark night had been manufactured for the return journey. Not being insured, we two arranged to forego the pleasures of such a treat, and secured a night's rest on the flooded banks of Aeron, thanks to an acquaintance. The London Welsh Choir safely returned to Aberys- twyth in a singing condition at 2 a.m., and wisely refrained from giving another concert on the following evening The modern patent drying machines have not yet reached the vale of Aeron, hence we were booked for the coming day to an ordeal of being kept withm the chimney, and through kind attention and generous hospitality we were able to strut forth ere night- fall. It had been announced the previous night that a grand eisteddfod would be held at Lampeter on the second evening after the famous" concert, and as Mr. Madoc Davies would be the adjudicator, we journeyed thither, through the rich and varied Aeron Vale, past many a pleasing hamlet. On the wayside we met old Ivan Typatch-a venerable old worker of 91 years, who fondly enquired after his son Will, in London, whom he had not seen for 34 years, and being told he was hale and hearty, the old inhabitant seemed overjoyed, and bounded indoors to tell the good news to his wife. Lampeter is a fashionable little town. Boasts of a mayor and town clerk, and has more English-worship- ping families than any town in the whole of Cardiganshire. It is only the ill-mannered that will address you in Welsh, and it is not to be wondered that they engage English people at the local college to teach young fellows how to preach in Welsh. Yes, it is a very respectable town. It was here the Eisteddfod was held. Singers had gathered from far and near, and a good sprinkling of London Welshmen were