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“Jesus wants me for a sunbeam to shine for him each day.”

I had been going to chapel for as long as I could remember.

Pictures of Jesus, a loving man with a kind face and a beard,

Dressed in white and surrounded by children from all nations.

“Come to me and I will give you peace!”

My first role model and I did my best to emulate him.

I was determined to be that “sunbeam”

So as a little girl,

I decided it would be my mission to make people smile.

Every day.

Whatever their circumstances.

So I would accost perfect strangers

Stood waiting at bus stops or going about their business.

They would get an eye-engaging angelic smile and a sweet “Hello!”.

This would be repeated until they submitted and smiled back.

It`s amazing I didn`t get abducted!

People went to chapel every Sunday

And everyone knew Teify Jenkins, the Methodist Minister.

Teify was a force to be reckoned with, but in a gentle way.

He knew his parishioners well, including what went on behind closed doors

And he and Jesus helped them accordingly.

His style was not the fire and brimstone of previous generations

When the boss had been a “jealous God”

Reigning terror on his parishioners if they stepped out of line.

My mam told me that when she was young,

A girl had been cast out of the chapel and the community

Due to the shame of being unmarried and “with child”!

In a turmoil of rejection and remorse she had climbed to the top of the mountain

And thrown herself off.

I thought how cruel they had been then,

Though now I wonder if it was an effective form of birth control

Recounting this tale to me?!  

The village community was a close one.

Everyone knew everyone else.

A mixed blessing.

Problems would be shared and support given

To be later gossiped about to anyone who would listen.

You couldn`t get away with anything either,

Fish in a small pond – see “All”!

But as a child it was familiar, safe and loving.

Welsh people idolise children and are not afraid to show it,

So most grew up to be confident and knowing their worth.

People around me worked hard but played hard too.

They were content

And “yes” – everyone sang,

It was as natural as breathing.

Singing to the babies,

Singing down the pit,

Singing in the house and singing in the street.

Singing when they were happy

And singing when they were sad.

My grandad taught me to sing.

Three years old, sat on his knee with my Nana for audience

I discovered the intricacies of correct breathing.

My grandad had a beautiful voice.

He was “Dai Top-note” in the Operatic society

And everyone knew him.

He taught me well and my love of song has never left me.

It`s strange when they are gone.

The things you took for granted.

The safeness of it all,

The familiarity of contentment.

The Welsh choirs,

The beauty of the hills covered in bracken and heather.

The first baby lambs of springtime

Like small fluffy clouds

With their little tails wagging so hard they would surely fly off!

The Italian café`s with their home made ice-cream and shiny coffee machines 

Spouting steam and rich coffee-roasting aromas.

The luxury and indulgence of tea there with my nana,

Slabs of coffee gateau or a Knickerbocker Glory in sparkling crystal glasses a foot high,

Piled with fruit and ice-cream and smothered with raspberry juice

That meandered down the side of the glass,

Making you dribble in anticipation.

The friendliness of the people.

The peace and beauty of the landscape.

Life was at a steady pace and musing was encouraged.

No-one rushed or dashed about.

Stress was a word unknown!

Always there was time to talk

It was people that mattered, not money.  

It was a wonderful place to grow up,

Loving and safe.

Wales.       

Aberdare, “Valley of Song”.     

My homeland.    

Jan Wharton