Monday, July 25, 2011

We said goodbye to the Big Sleep, loaded our luggage into Rob’s van, and set off in search of Cwm-y-Glo, ancestral home of the Samuel family. On the way we stopped at a rest stop, where I looked at a road atlas that clearly showed Cwm-y-Glo on it near Cefneithin and Cross Hands. As we got closer, Rob began asking for directions at the post office and from passersby. He was told authoritatively that a row of older homes was Cwm-y-Glo. We stood in someone’s driveway and had our pictures taken, then moved down the road and had Rob take our pictures in front of a wall to make sure we had found the right spot. We then moved on to a nice park with hiking paths and a valley with a creek flowing through it lined with a coal outcropping. Now this truly must be Cwm-y-Glo!

We had a pub lunch at the Cross Hands pub. Its sign showed a pair of hands in handcuffs. Abby had tuna and pita bread; I had delicious cockles, bacon and leeks. Four Welshmen were having a beer in the bar; one of them asked me to sit down and visit with them for a bit, which I did, followed by Bill and Dick. We explained our Welsh heritage and our search for Cwm-y-Glo. They had not heard of Cwm-y-Glo.

The man who had asked me to join them asked for our family name. "Rhys Samuel was my great-great grandfather," I replied. "Ah, Samuel, now that's a good name," he said. "It's the Joneses you have to watch out for - the Joneses and the Evanses." With that word of warning, we thanked him and bade farewell to Cwm-y-Glo and the Cross Hands pub.

We headed for the Cawdor Hotel in the main center of Llandeilo. A sprinkle of rain fell as we disembarked in the Llandeilo car park, so we took our umbrellas and rain jackets. Abby had noticed a small art gallery across the street from the hotel, so she went in to have a look. I went with Mom and Dad to check in at the hotel for our afternoon tea, then I went back to the gallery in search of Abby. She had found a couple of acrylic paintings of Welsh scenes, one of a chapel with headstones in the foreground, and another cryptically entitled “Sir Gar.” We liked the colors and the subject of Sir Gar, so we asked the saleswoman what it meant in English. She ran to the shop next door, where a Welsh speaker informed her that Sir Gar is Welsh for Carmenthenshire, the home county of the Samuel family. That settled it; we purchased the painting. We then headed across the street with Susan, who had joined us in the gallery, to meet the Griffiths family.

The hotel had set aside one end of the restaurant for the 22 of us. I introduced myself to Johnny Griffiths, his wife Anne and children Gareth and David. Gareth, 13, was the more talkative of the two and was about to enter ninth grade. David had just graduated high school and will go to college in the fall to study furniture making. Johnny’s mother, Gladys, and four sisters, Rosemary (and her husband, John James), Janet (Brian James), Sheila Carroll and Joyce Thomas, were also at the table with the 11 of us. The hotel set out a cream tea: Welsh cakes, scones, whipped cream and strawberry jam. There was also plate of other cakes – chocolate, carrot cake, and the like. Our guests, however, had not had lunch, so Dad ordered a plate of sandwiches. Gareth, next to me, ate with great gusto. He told Dad that they were all excited to be there, in part because the Cawdor Hotel is posh, but also because they wanted to meet their American relatives.

Mom stood to present the two documents she had prepared containing a genealogy of the Samuel family and a list of how those present were related, as well as some family history. We discovered that the Griffiths’ native language is Welsh, rather than English, when they asked for some time to compose their remarks. They sang for us in Welsh, and then we sang the Doxology for them in English, our preferred language. Sheila read some comments that had been dictated by Gladys and translated into English by her daughters, welcoming us to Wales and thanking us for taking the time out of our itinerary to meet with them. We ended with hugs and handshakes, and they walked us out to our van, waving good-bye.

Rob drove us to the Mill at Glynhir near Llandybie. We had a delicious meal, which Irene had helped us order over the internet. Abby and I both had lamb chops, mine preceded by potato-leek soup and followed by an apple tart. Afterwards I led Bill and the Shields family down the hill to the stream, across and footbridge and over a stile. (I had scouted the trail before supper.) Once over the stile, the trail quickly became too muddy, and we had to turn back. We fell into bed, exhausted after a long day.