The Adelphi: Burry's Popular Cinema

Its little known today as Burry Port goes through yet more changes, that this quaint fishing town boasted a cinema, the Adelphi. It was situated in Seaview Terrace, overlooking one of the the harbours and flung open its doors in October 1937, a few years before WWII kicked off and was considered one of the most luxurious cinemas of its time. None other came close in Wales.
The Adlephi had a stage with dressing rooms and when film wasn't on offer, plays and musicals could be performed. (Bingo was also played in the 50's).


Modern for its time: The Adelphi

The owner was Mr Labor Dennis who used to greet people in the foyer whilst puffing on a pipe. A much loved and respected chap in the town at the time. And boy did the people flock for the movies! They came from all over, from Llanelli to Kidwelly, in fact all over the Gwendraeth Valley. Such was the lure of live/recored entertainment before the war.
I would like to write that this happy place enjoyed many years of success but alas it was not to be. The good times only lasted 22 years, and in May 1959 the cinema closed its doors for the final time. The building was knocked down during the years of 1972 and 1973, which is why I don't remember it at all. (I was born in 1971).
The site where it once stood is now a car park used for shoppers and visitors to Burry Port.

The Train Station

Burry Port/Pembrey train station is where I, and many others, spent our teens (from around 16 to 19.) It was an ideal spot because it is in the center of the village, with the shops and chip shops close at hand. And of course there was a shelter. It saved all the hassle of going to call for friends one at a time, everybody could be found here. Well I say 'everybody' but it was more the place for the rebels to kick about in, guys like me who enjoyed beer and drawing on brick walls. It was cool believe it or not.

Old hang out

The photo above is a recent snap I took while visiting my hometown. The shelter didn't look like that when our crew held court there. It used to be solid breezeblock with a tin, corrugated roof. Inside the shelter was a 5" thick stone marble bench that would numb your behind in the winter, and a light with tough perspex casing which allowed us to count our cigarettes and scrawl a few more lines of graffiti on the wall.
Around the back of this legendary shelter was the 'toilet', if the weather was okay. If not we used to relieve ourselves against the inside wall so that the urine would pool under the bench and wash away the cigarette butts and bottle tops. You can get a fair idea of the 'unique' aroma that lingered when the lager was in full flow.
This is where we kept tabs on the gossip and goings on of the town. People gettingvoff the train from Cardiff, Swansea or Llanelli must have thought they were stepping into a kind of modern Wild West, getting welcomed by lager louts. But there was never trouble, we kept our minds on new heavy metal records and where the best magic mushroom spots were that year.
That area unofficially belonged to us and anyone wanting to catch a train to Kidwelly or Carmarthen usually waited under the old footbridge (where I took the above photo from.) We smoked there, drank, talked, went with girls, made our mark on the walls and occasionaly ran across the railtrack in a mad dash to look brave before an oncoming train. Whenever I look at the station either visiting or in pictures, I am always nearly drowned by the wonderful memories.

Barrie's Plaice

The most famous fish & chip shop in Burry Port has to be Barrie's Plaice (or simply 'Barrie's' to locals.) Why I have deemed it important enough to mention to the blogging world? Because the shop is at the heart of the town and its a prime example of how small towns like this work and play. Barrie's isn't just a place to get delicious eats; here you can share gossip and find out what everyones is doing, from new jobs to new babies. Its an extension of the pubs if you will.
I have some nice memories from this special chippy (fish & chip shop for overseas readers.) Barrie's Plaice was where I had my first ever turkey burger in 1987. Remember, food before the eighties was quite regular and dare I say boring if you happened to live in a tiny fishing village in West Wales. Until the neon lit decade, diets consisted of sunday dinners, cheese/beans on toast and chips. Things like Chinese and Indian takeaways were unheard of, as were battered beefburgers and pineapple fritters, so when the humble turkey burger arrived on the culinary scene it felt quite exciting. (Sounds weird to type that in 2010!)


Barrie's Plaice

Three of us schoolfriends went to Barrie's chippy and we bought a turkey burger in a bun each, topped off with tomato ketchup. I remember biting into it and immediately thinking, 'hell this is lovely!' Almost wanting another one there and then. Of course food critics would say it was the dawn of junk food but for three young pals it was a Heavenly sandwich.
Another nice thing about the chip shop is it is on the same street as not one but three pubs; The Hope & Anchor, The Portobello and The George. So after a night of song and ale what better way to end than rissole and chips fresh from Barries? Or even better a beef burger as those are delicious and he never scrimps with the onions.
Little things about the chip shop also stick in my mind, like the wooden seat that is buy the large plate glass window. I say 'seat' as everyone used to sit on it whilst waiting for fish suppers but in fact I think it was a cover of sorts to hide away electic circuits or something. Neverthless, it was a seat to us customers and Barrie didn't mind at all.
Which brings me nicely to the owners themselves; Barrie and Ann. Wonderful people and Barrie always used to have an impromptu song to belt out when you were in there. (he was a drummer in a band in times past.) And good at cracking jokes too. It wasn't simply food you got inside, you had a mini cabaret. This is why I will always choose village eateries over giant restraunt chains because once you enter one of those you become anonymous, just another customer.
So there you go; Barrie's Plaice, one of THE best fish & chips shops in Wales and if you ever find yourself in Burry Port, do yourself a big favour and stop by. All the food is great but my personal favourites will always be the pies and beefburgers. Stunning, thats all there is to it. You might even get a song too.

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