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Hope you don't mind my getting in touch. My Nain and Taid lived at No. 8 Strand St. - next door to the Institute - and Taid's dad before him. They were Bucklands, many of whom were employed by the Penrhyn Estate. Initially there was Robert Buckland who came from Stoke Poges to be head game-keeper. He lived in Capel Ogwen, a lovely Georgian ''cottage'' near LLandegai. His son Robert was also game-keeper, and lived in the lodge on the way to Porth Penrhyn. Robert Snr. had 15 children. They and their descendents were typical of whole families in the Estate's employ. To my knowledge there was a shipping clerk, an agent and my lovely Taidi Tom - who loaded slate on the quay. There is a photo of him and my dad's dog Monty (in a wheelbarrow!) taken on the quay. The photo is in the beautiful ''Sibols'' book about childhood in Hirael. Taid's mam Katryn is also featured standing near her little house in Club St., grinning mischievously from under her hat, and possibly with a bottle of mother's ruin in her barclod pocket. My dad is Eifion, who as a lad scratched his name and Monty's on a slab of slate atop the wall leading down from the bridge towards the quay. This bridge was were we would be on many of our walks with him as children. He told us we were on ''bont-y-lon a bont-yr-afon.'' How thrilled we were to watch the placid water of the Ogwen transform into the boiling, curdling froth as it passed through the weir to join the sea!
My dad is unable to get about now, so very sad. We took him to see all the old haunts until it became impossible. He really is very ''hiraeth am Hirael.'' He was working in Dickies yard as an apprentice when he was first married, There was no money in that so he joined the Post Office. However, the sea and boats and ships is in him, and his drawings display that love as much as they do his artist's hand. The family were very close to the Cales. I have memories of sitting in Uncle Davey Cale's sail-loft with the sun streaming through the shutters and me turning the handle on the sewing machine as he guided the needle. We all had school pump-bags made by him, and he was so proud of us - Eifion's children - all eight of us. Auntie Cale (Blodwen) and he had only our cousin, Freda, now sadly passed away. They lived beneath and adjacent upstairs to the sail-loft, next door to Tommy Bakehouse's shop, cafe and bakery. The most wonderful smells emanated from there. It was a favourite place for Crosville men to stop for refreshments. Never tasted cream horns like it since. What a shame it's all ''Esso'' now.
How I do go on. Really I just wanted to tell you about staying at Nain's next to the Institute. Nain's tiny back yard (all slate, of course) backed on to theirs. Taid had a tiny raised plot of earth where he would grow his favourite roses. There was a coal shed with a sloping top. Nain would cover us in olive oil so that we could sun-bathe on it. That would be the very opposite to today's advice! Then there was an outside lavatory, no ''mod-cons'' afforded. Finally there was a cold tap and opposite that Nain kept a big old-fashioned mangle, which she still used despite the more modern version attached to her Acme boiler.
There was a middle-aged couple who kept the Institute. They were friends with Nain and Taid, and Auntie Alice next-door the other side, and Auntie Marie next again. Everyone was good neighbours with everyone else. I am sorry to say I can't recall the name of the people in the Institute, though I think this may be because they were conferred with the surname ''Institute'' as befits the best Welsh ways. They had a son who must be well into his seventies now. Lovely people anyway.
My dad got very upset with the idea of Hirael Bay Marina when it was first mooted. Along with other dedicated Hiraelites he campaigned against it. I don't live in Bangor any more, and I can barely take in the news of proposed developments. The stupid student halls at the top of Strand St. filled me with despair. Student habitation is crushing Bangor now, I feel. What is going on with the old Dickie's site? I bet that access will impinge on the playing fields. I remember Caradoc Jones the Mayor at the opening ceremony. We Garth School kids had our Sports Day on those fields, though I couldn't partake. Having just got over T.B. I didn't do physical jerks 'till Grammar School.
I'm glad the Institute plaque is saved, and Porth Penrhyn is an apt resting place. There was a widow called Mrs. Roberts who taught Sunday School to us kids at Seion Chapel on Ambrose St. She lived in a one-storey little cottage in a wild and gorgeous garden behind the main Georgian building on the quay. Her house has now gone. I wonder what happened to ''Gwenda Cei'' her daughter. She was a few years older than me, and had a beautiful voice. We were all expected to sing in Capel Seion. We were quite tuneful, the Bucklands. My darling mother Eleanor, who I consider a saint to have put up with all the poverty, hard work and my dad's eccentricities, provided a ready-made choir. Some of my siblings were little devils, but sang like the proverbial angels nevertheless. The high spot of the year would be the Cymanfa Ganu, when all the local Wesleyan Methodist chapels came together for a big sing-off - with Corona pop and sandwiches, cake and jelly afterwards.
I should leave my reminiscences there now, with my apologies again. I am soon to be sixty, and above are some of my memories from the 1950's through to the mid 1960's. Your photo tugged at my soul, you know.
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