General Chat

Several months had passed and despite exploring all avenues, I could not find out the last resting place of Mary May. We had made a home video during our research, filming her home, the little church she had attended and the barn/dairy where she had first experimented and flourished in the art of butter making. I had sent copies of our progress to Aidan’s family in Ireland and they were now coming for a visit. They too wanted to see the home of their G.Grandparents, Mary May’s. parents. We decided to take them to Haverford West to show them what was in the archives on Mary May The lady there brought out what was left. A list of items deposited after Mary’s death by her nieces was substantial but the list now had the word “Withdrawn” next to many of the items, very little was left. Imagine, my amazement, on looking at these again, I came across a cutting from a newspaper reporting the death of Mary and giving details of her illness and eventual death. How could I have missed it first time around? Whispering a silent prayer, I looked upwards and mouthed the words, “Thank You Mary May” I would never have had occasion to come here again had it not been for our Irish visitors. We learned Mary May had remained in Cannock for another five years after her husband’s death. She had spent thirty happy years there but now, in poor health, decided to return home to Wales. The family home in Penally was now gone so Mary went to live in Saundersfoot where she had two nieces. She lived, with a housekeeper in a beautiful bungalow overlooking the sea. She was bedridden during her last years and died there in 1941aged 69. Cremation took place in Pontypridd and her ashes were interred in the family grave at Penally. I had at last found the resting place of Mary May. As a family, we returned to Penally and went to the tiny churchyard where the ancestors of my husband lie. If I am truthful, I wanted this to be a private moment, one in which I could say my goodbyes alone. Common sense prevailed and I told myself this lovely family had more right to be here than I had. I could now see how, despite many visits to this place I had missed the inscription for It was on the back of her parents tombstone and would only be found if one was looking for it. The front of the stone bore the many names of Mary’s sisters and brothers so I assume there was no room left for Mary’s on the front. We have recently had a communication from a former parishioner of this church telling us it is to be converted into a house. Apparently, one of the conditions for this was that the headstones would be removed to the back garden and people would still be allowed access to visit. Aidan and I were staying in a B+B in the village while the rest of the party were some miles down the road. Penally is a beautiful village and Mary’s old home Penally Court Farm stands right in the centre of it. Directly opposite it is a small grassy bank on which stands a church, and just above that a row of cottages, it was in one of those we stayed. We were staying so close to the old home we could almost reach out and touch it. One night, restless and unable to sleep, I left the bed and went and sat on the very wide windowsill overlooking the house. It was a very bright moonlit night which showed up the house, the yard and the barn where Mary’s father had taught Sunday school before his beloved church was built. I really felt so close to her. I smiled as I recalled reading of the time the children painted the donkey in the English colours of red, white and blue, and how, as a punishment, they were forced to attend Sunday school three times every Sunday until the paint wore off!!! I sat there almost willing Mary to appear in her long gowns of the period but sadly she never did. Might it be she disapproved of my smoking in the middle of the night? Who knows? Now, what happened next was truly amazing and can be verified. The following day Aidan and I decided to drive up the hill, which overlooks Penally and the sea beyond. On reaching the top, we decided to leave the car and get out to look at the marvellous view. We were only moments there when a cyclist came along having got off to “walk” his cycle the last few yards of the steep hill. A nice charming and friendly man, he asked if we were holidaymakers. I explained our reason for being there and how Aidan’s great grandparents had once lived in Penally Court Farm. To our amazement, he informed us that his brother now lived in the house! His name was Vernon and there and then he invited us to his home (a farm, not many miles away) to meet his wife Jean. What a friendly and charming couple, he opened a bottle of wine and we had a great old natter. He had heard of Aidan’s people but it was of course too far back for him to remember them. We since exchange Christmas with them. Thanks Vernon and Jean for your wonderful hospitality. Now the icing on the cake was still to come. The following day, after again meeting up with our Irish family, we again went looking at the old family home. The present owner a Mr Lloyd Evans (Vernon’s brother) came outside and we got talking to him. Like his brother, a very friendly man who as it happened was celebrating his 60th birthday the following day. He invited all eight of us to his party! I could not sleep with excitement! Imagine, I was going to stand in Mary May’s old home, walk through that front door as she had done, I would never get any closer to her than this. The next day we presented ourselves and were made most welcome. The sun was shining and we walked in the garden where part of the court leet still stands (forming part of the garden wall) and is listed. Oh how I ached to see the whole house, did Lloyd read my mind?” Would you all like to have a look around the house” he asked? We needed no second bidding, the great and great, great grandchildren of the past owner took the stairs two at a time, well, those of us who were able to do so! I deliberately took my time, this could not be hurried, I wanted to savour each and every moment at my leisure. I explored the bottom half first, letting my imagination run riot. A wide flag stoned hall with rooms off to the left and right of it. I wandered into the room on the left, the kitchen. My, my, the times Aidan’s Great Gran must have stood here cooking for her large family, of course, things had changed but, these were still the same walls I thought as I trailed my hands lovingly over them. The room on the other side of the hall would have been the parlour in those far off days. I had learned, this was where Mary’s father had housed his many trophies and medals won for his prised stock. The party was been held in this room and I wondered if the G.Grandfather would be frowning down on us now, ladies drinking and smoking, ye Gods! The stairs that were directly opposite the front door led up to a landing, which had a very large dome, shaped fanlight from which the sunlight came streaming through casting a mellow warm glow all around. Up some more stairs and again, a long landing with several bedrooms leading off it. I wandered into each one and longed to know which was Mary’s? She would have shared with her sisters, but which one? I looked into every nook and cranny imagining what life had been like in this lovely old house. As the barn/ dairy had played a big part in the Griffiths life I asked Lloyd if we could see inside there. He took us over and as he was already familiar with the story of “The Royal Butter Maker” he said he had something to show us. He cleared away some items and then proudly showed us some items hidden behind. “What are they I asked” looking at the large slate slabs. “ These would have been the slabs M.M prepared and rolled her butter on” he said. They had come from the house. I stared

bridget what can i say, except a lovely ending, for a lovely lady,thankyou for allowing us to walk the path with you, and mary may rest in peace, knowing that your story has been told. bridget you are a remarkable lady, with a great talent for writing take care sandra

Thank you for that Bridget, that was wonderful! I must admit to reading it with a tear in my eye and a prickle at the back of my neck! Glad that you have finally got to say Goodbye to Mary May. Maggy

bridgit..what a lovely story with a happy ending!! so glad you learnt what you did(jammy sod)i hope i can discover something about my own family.its nice to hear its happened for someone,i feel as if i know m.m myself..she sounded a truly interesting lady.take care keep hunting.xx

Oh Bridget I have tears in my eyes, and all my hairs are standing up and I am now freezing. I have followed Mary May as though she was one of my own. And I am so pleased you have found it all out now. Thank you so much for sharing it all with us. Debbie

I found your description so exciting! It's hard to describe to others how it feels to touch and feel the same things as our ancestors. I spent this afternoon sitting outside the little church (now closed) where my 3x great grandfather was baptised and wed, where his children and siblings were 'hatched matched and dispatched'. I said a prayer for them all. Oh, you were in the right place to be invited to that party, It was Mary May's present to you all .... xxx A

Hello Bridget How could you get it so wrong? (You will be pleased to hear.) It has been a wonderful story about Mary May and thank you for all of it. It has been a joy to read. Thank you so much Norah xx

Bridget, I am so overwelmed, the tears have been rolling down my cheeks. You have such a talent, at writing. You have transported all of us who have read your stories of Mary May, back to the past, and have allowed us an insight into your family's history. I'm sad that now you have reached the conclusion to that part of your story, but I'm glad that you have given us a chance to share it with you. Take Care and many many thanks. Helen

Not making any apologies for nudging this one! Just making sure that more people will get to read it. Maggy

Absolutley brilliant. Liz

Wonderful.