Children's Dens

Every child builds a 'den' at some point, its as inevitable as bad weather in Britain. There must be thousands of little hideaways scattered around the countryside, either built in a slapdash kind of way or lovingly created by would be Lofty Wismans. And Burry has more than its fair share, due partly to the author of this page. With the help of my brother and friends I must have built at least twenty of the things, usually up on the hills but sometimes near the park or tramline. I remember even having one in a hedge near the pavement of a busy street (Stepney Street.)
The best ones were always way up on the hillsides, one being a splendid effort for a bunch of young teenagers. It had a solid frame using carefully chosen tree branches, lashed together with rope and covered over with tarpaulin (stolen from another gangs den) and topped off with the obligatory leafy shoots and branches. It was marvelous and would have passed muster in any army training camp. Heck we even furnished the inside with the cushions and foam from an old sofa and it would hold five or six of us as we camped out often.
We would camp out for days, getting to know every hidden path along the hillside and sometimes laying snares in the hope to bag a rabbit or two. The critters were in plentiful supply but none were to get lured into our rickety traps, and we wouldn't have known how to skin one anyway!
A den wasn't just a place to play soldiers, they were our attempts to have our own space, a place where we could smoke, curse and drink freely without parents haunting our necks. And some of the more boozier sessions would definately have had them in fits of anger. Every child (especially boys) ought to have had a den; a a prickly cove to get away from school and homework.
Real Huck Finns but swigging Felinfoel Ale rather than sucking on clay pipes.

The Memorial Hall

The Memorial Hall in the town is a war memorial institute, and was first opened in 1934. Inside is a Roll of Honour listing the names of brave local men who fought in the Great War. It was reopened in 1949 after the second world war. The hall is where every musical or opera takes place these days, and I have performed on its stage myself in numerous school productions.(At auditions I would sing flat on purpose to avoid getting picked for bigger roles as I was terribly shy.)
Its also been the place for coffee mornings and dog shows, and in the front building there is a snooker hall and infant school that I attended, the Cylch Chwarae (Play Circle) or at least there used to be. I remember the wooden floor of both buildings being shiny and super slippery and loved the smell of the mothy stage curtains.
The truth be told, as a young boy I found the front building, with its famous clock on the outside, quite an exciting place. As if something magical were held within its walls. It always smelled so clean, from varnish and disinfectant, and the glass in the green doors were higher than myself, hiding me from whatever was going on behind them and of course this would add to the mystery and fascination of the old hall.
My junior school, Ysgol Parc Y Tywyn held quite a few school musicals in the Memorial Hall. On rehearsal days when it was empty, it was like entering the belly of a giant, wooden whale as we filed through the double sky blue doors which were its entrance. Just inside, inbetween those doors and the doors to the main hall itself, was a little glass stand where you would pay for tickets. And it echoed the days of theatres during World War II, not only because that was the era it was built in but because it still had that community togetherness spirit with it still.
The main hall had rows of cushioned seats on the left and right with a shiny wooden path running through the middle, with the stage looming from the front. Off through doors on the sides were canteens which led backstage, a dusty sometimes mysterious place where old men would occasionaly be busy sawing and painting backdrops of every kind of theme for the stage.
My school performed 'Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat' there, along with a Welsh language musical version of Peter Pan. (Photo below.)


Author is back row, fourth from left wearing the red headscarf

Furnace Fields

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The little town of Burry Port in West Wales used to have an oasis. A tranquil patch of green and wood next to the streets and clusters of houses. During my childhood it was almost magical, and even retained some of that charm as I grew up. It was a place one could go for the kind of peace which only the countryside can provide, where songbirds and splashes from frogs in the pond was the constant background noises.
There were four fair sized meadows, overgrown in places like a wild beard, and here and there oak trees and beeches stood, lush fodder for the ever present green woodpeckers. And of course there was the pond, filled to the brim with newts, frogs and pond skaters, that zipped across the waters surface. Reeds skirted the edge like watch towers and every Spring would bring masses of frog's spawn, eagerly collected by myself and others.
I adored the place, it instilled in my younger self a passion for nature which I have never lost, and I am forever indebted to this tiny haven for wildlife. In one field patches of ferns grew, deep and rich, perfect for catching crazy children intent on throwing themselves from trees. It also had 'tunnels' of brambles which would take us to different areas of the town if you followed them, one ended up coming out on the top road.
I often howled in delight at the looks of older people being totally suprised at the sight of a group of children, suddenly appearing out of the hedgerows, shrieking like red indians. Those portals were invaluable in games of hide n' seek also, or playing truant from school. Parents had little hope of finding their wayward offspring in the wooded jungles.
In the farthest field, if you ventured down a steep bank, you would find a well, where fresh water would always be running. In summer months it was bliss! After a day of tree climbing and dive bombing ferns, there was nothing better than feeling that silver water on your skin and down the parched throat. The doubters insist that fairytale gardens only exist on pages of books, but I know different.
But alas, nothing is sacred, and it is with a sad and bitter heart that I must report that the Furnace Fields are no more. Man, and his vulgar quest to erase nature for the sake of building even more shabby estates, has seen to it. The ferns, pond, trees and birdsong are all encased in cement, and where glorious stills of wildlife stood now are tombs of families and car pools of oil.
Man, the utter vandal.


The Furnace Fields

Amelia Earhart Visits Burry!

Burry Port hit the international news in 1928 when American aviator Amelia Earhart flew from Newfoundland with co-pilots Wilmer "Bill" Stultz and Louis "Slim" Gordon in a Fokker F7 and landed in Burry Port harbour (lucky the marina wasn't there then) becoming the first woman to fly across the Atlantic.
It was quite an event it would seem, and lots of locals rushed down to the harbour to greet Amelia. My grandmother and her sisters were among them but they always told me that the famed pilot was quite hot tempered and not as friendly to her greeters as has been reported elsewhere. Of course the woman had just crossed the Atlantic in a tiny sea plane so its not suprising she was a little tetchy. We Welsh always expect others to be as hospitable as we are, even if they've completed a massive challenge.

Seaplane 'Friendship lands

Three Harbours And That Red Topped Lighthouse

Burry Port has not one but THREE harbours (all linked) which must be something of a rarity for a town so small. Growing up in the 70s and 80s I thought of them as my personal swimming pools during summer months and gigantic bowls of grey broth in the winter. Early morning walks 'down the harbour' are best because the mist rising from the waters surface give it a otherworldy look and the smell of cockles in their gooey beds really is something not to be sniffed at. (Terrible pun there, I apologise.)
The harbours are like a triangle, two are side by side while another 'sits' at the front spilling into the open sea. Or it used to until the marina and harbour gate arrived. Just beyond the front main dock stands Burry Port's most famous sight, the lighthouse. Around 40ft high, its walls are sheer white with a bright red top that houses the powerful bulb and it stands right on the end like a stone guardian keeping the sailors and indeed the village safe.
There is real character to it all and it was my playground in younger days. The black crane (used to haul cargo before I was born) and bridge were used a diving platforms and teenagers crowded them on a summers day, eager to 'bomb' into the cooling water. Of course that was in 1986, now the nanny brigade have erected spiteful 'No Swimming' signs but I have covered my thoughts on that in another article.
The harbour is really the heart of Burry along with the main street lined with shops. The two are forever connected by the image of sand on the streets pavement carried over from beach goers, that has remained seared inside my memory bank since forever. Almost everyone used to go to Perego's cafe (with its orange wall and ice cream cone picture) to get a Tovali soda drink or a banana split before strolling down to the harbour walls and take in the spectacular views of the Gower.

Me near the iconic lighthouse

It can easily rival Tenby in the summer, and is more peaceful too because everyone is in Tenby! I used to LOVE waking up at 7am in the summer holidays and rushing to jump off the old black bridge which spanned the water. Fish (mullet usually) would be feeding near the seaweed on the edge and before taking the plunge I would sit and try to devise ways of catching them. In my youth, like any animal loving child, I wanted everything for a pet.
It appeared to me then that time stood still as I changed into 'Bermuda' shorts in readiness for the early dip. The morning mist seemed to freeze everything and back then I could have betted my soul I would remain in that carefree moment forever. Sadly is has all changed now and like I say local authorities forbid any swimming in those harbours. (And they wonder why children today stay indoors!)

Sign of the times

It really had to be experinced and children today in Burry Port really are missing out on something special. There were different places (all within easy reach as you waddled in wet shorts) and each one offered its own thing. The harbours themselves were mainly used for diving (with some occasional bathers choosing to swim from one end to the other) while the beach was for the sunbathers and paddlers. Over by the lifeboat shed was what was known locally as the slags and this was the place to try to surf and fish. There was plenty on offer for everyone.
Whenever im feeling down I close my eyes and take myself back to Burry Port harbour (or the Furnace fields) to how it used to be back then and instantly I am relieved of any burden that is weighing heavy on my shoulders. It never fails.
I am in two minds regarding all of the work that has been done there in these last few years, what with the new marina and coastal path. I must admit that certain things needed doing and the new cycle path has brought lots of new visitors but I dont like the marina. To me (and I realise others will disagree) its an ugly wooden spiderweb and the harbour was much better looking without it. But as I say, thats my opinion.


West harbour

An Introduction To Burry

Burry Port, or Burry as its know to locals, is my hometown where I lived for thirty years among the graveyards and chapels, the pubs and the harbours. The Welsh name is Porth Tywyn and should this site spur you to visit (you won't regret it I promise) you will find it sandwiched between Llanelli (Pwll to be more accurate) and Pembrey and on days when the sun decides to shine, there is no finer place to be. In places to visit in Wales it used to be one of those towns which was overlooked in favour of the better known Swansea, Carmarthen and Tenby but happily this is no longer the case. Largely due to the recent developments on the Millenium Coastal Path and the new Marina at the harbour.
It was a real joy growing up there because it has such a lot, and not just the beach and hillsides but delightful walks and wonderful little nooks and crannies that only children can ever seem to find. Wander off the beaten track and you will be rewarded greatly, however I must sadly report that a few gems have been lost to new houses popping up like sorry pimples. But don't let that put you off! Its still a fabulous place to go and one of the nice things about Burry Port is that its small enough to see it all in a day but its also big enough (in charms) to trap you there for a month.