…to Welsh men and women everywhere throughout the world. Gwyl Dewi Sant Hapus!
Also a blessed Ash Wednesday to Welsh Anglicans wherever you are.
I’ve said before that Wales is not for wimps. These photos illustrate how to keep a hospital appointment in the midst of Storm Doris.
Our next-door neighbour/cousin drove down the lane on his quad bike. My one and only sat on an upturned bucket in the trailer usually used to carry dead sheep and I hung on for grim death.
After clambering under the tree we were met by another cousin who drove us to the hospital. (In case you’re interested all was well.) By the time we returned three hours later the tree had been sort of dealt with, although it was another couple of days before the lane was passable.
It is/was an oak tree, probably between 300 and 400 years old but it didn’t belong to us so our first task was to find whose tree it was. The tenant farmer is John Clwyd. Of course, his surname is not Clwyd—and in fact I still don’t know what his real surname is. This is Wales where we have few surnames so he’s called John Clwyd because he once lived in Clwyd Cottage. For years now he’s lived somewhere completely different but so what? Everyone knows who you mean so no problem—until you need to look him up in the phone book.
I think, during Lent, one of my disciplines will be to walk down to that tree and spend time meditating on the chances, changes and challenges that mighty giant must have witnessed.