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Fieldnotes
| "One day in a nuclear age; they may understand our rage...". So sang a clearly much-troubled Sting back in 1985, the erstwhile Police frontman lamenting the terminal decline of the coal mining industry in favour of 'non-fossil fuel' alternatives. Yeah, there are many things one may note about wor Gordon; however, he most certainly is NOT a moron, the catastrophically incompetent reactor meltdown at Chernobyl fulfilling his doom-laden prophesy in very short order, the Communists thus paralyzing progress in yet another critical field of human endeavour. Nevertheless, looking back - with the invaluable benefit of hindsight, granted - from a 2021 blighted by (amongst, er, other things) 'climate change' catalysed by the exploitation of those very fossil fuels Sting (not to mention many a myopic card-carrying comrade) wished to safeguard... the dilemma was nowhere near as straightforward as 'right/wrong', folk way too eager to man those ideological barricades of political dogma instead of talk. On both sides, it has to be said. Ultimately, it was not just those mining communities that suffered from the co-opting of madmen such as Scargill to face off to intransigent politicians seemingly blind to the fact that 'collateral damage' meant actual people's lives (incidentally, did the miners' nemesis ever reimburse the NUM for that Barbican flat?)... but every one of us. No one is dispensable. For me, such scars are still very much evident in the industrial valleys of South Wales. Both the weeping ulceration of the landscape, the physical rape of once green hills - despite valiant attempts to mitigate the destruction with 'landscaping' - and those of a much more personal, yet no less devastating form: resentments manifesting as psychological 'ball and chains' perpetuating 'closed loops' of divisive behaviour, given form through hostility to the outsider, inevitably reciprocated. Yeah, 'a welcome on the hillside' there most definitely is not. Not here in the official 'highest village in Wales'. Given the above, I 'get' why several young men, in quick succession, attempt to force me off the road as I negotiate those 'Priority' junctions driving through Trefil this morning. As Mr Sumner noted, the cancerous impact of the loss of 'community spirit' was never addressed by those 'economic theories'. But nonetheless, does that justify such lunatic locomotion, particularly when the offending drivers' vehicles are more expensive than mine? Yeah, if history teaches us anything, it is (surely?) the realisation that errors are all too easily repeated ad infinitum by seeking refuge in the entrenched position... people too inclined to put their faith in ideological charlatans in lieu of thinking for themselves. I head for the private road serving the limestone quarry - a former Carboniferous coral reef - elements of which are still being 'worked' and park before the barrier. Despite the early morning cloud questioning the veracity of the forecast, I nevertheless kit myself out in an ultimately forlorn attempt to preserve as much of my pale complexion as possible: T. E. Lawrence styled by Rab C. Nesbitt, perhaps? Lack of any sartorial elegance notwithstanding, I cross the Nant Trefil and ascend Trefil Ddu, an expanse of billowing moor crowned by the massive summit cairns of Cefn Yr Ystrad, guided by a none too convincing compass bearing... when factoring in frequent diversions around enormous 'shake holes' and rocky outcrops, the former utterly surreal, the latter having seemingly been ejected by a landscape at the limit of storage capacity. The terrain is brutal, to say the least, the lack of even a sheep track ensuring the 'going' is anything but easy, this despite a recent paucity of rainfall mitigating any expected boggy conditions underfoot. Truly, this is the untrodden corner of The Brecon Beacons. Well, almost. I head for what I suppose to be Twyn Ceiliog, below and to the left (southeast) of Garn Felen and Carn-y-Bugail, the huge stone piles prominent upon the skyline. In retrospect, the rather smaller, but still substantial monument I seek is visible all the time, camouflaged in plain sight by the dearth of aforementioned shattered rock. To be fair, even when standing in close proximity I'm none too sure at first. I decide to fix my position by locating a diminutive lake a little way to the northwest. Sure enough, it is there, an oasis of cotton grass and behemoth dragonflies that might have had Peter O'Toole reminiscing about childhood Connemara, if not the Middle East? Returning to the limestone ridge of Twyn Ceiliog, the first thing to strike the blissed-out traveller is the colossal shake hole immediately to the southwest. Yeah, as with the close proximity of the Saith Maen (SN833154) and Cefn Sychbant ring cairn (SN98321087) to such wondrous natural phenomena, the Citizen Cairn surely has the right to postulate an intended association? Whether this related to notions of 'gateways to the underworld' is, I guess, a moot point. So... what of the cairn itself? OK, once the eye has 'settled in' it is actually pretty obvious to behold, set upon the apex of a sloping outcrop riven with deep fissures. Coflein (RCAHMW, 14 July 2010) cites the dimensions as "10m diameter and 2m high" which I have to say I found hard to judge... perhaps the '2m' is a little excessive? Whatever, there is no doubt this is indeed a fine monument, splendidly sited overlooking its shake hole. Again, the 'panoramic views' might be said to be a tad overstated, with the bulk of Cefn yr Ystrad naturally curtailing any appreciation of distant horizons to the west. Pride of place here must immediately go to the excellent view of The Black Mountains rising above Mynydd Llangynidr (featuring the prominent profile of Garn Fawr) to the northeast, Waun Rydd and the higher tops of The Brecon Beacons peeping into view as the gaze veers to the left. To the east, however, things get a little complicated, a juxtaposition of the ugly and sublime; beauty and the beast, if you will, the shapely cone of Mynydd Pen-y-Fal (aka 'The Sugar Loaf') rising above the dust thrown into the air by the Trefil Quarry workings. Here, however - unlike at ravaged Mynydd Llangyndeyrn a good distance to the west - industry does not (as far as I'm aware) appear to progressively threaten ancient heritage, the two co-existing in an uneasy alliance between the economic reality of local jobs and respect for an earlier epoch of the human story of the locale. I have to admit a pang of regret at not having made the effort to come here sooner and, more to the point, the reason for such an omission: not wishing to acknowledge the damage we as a species are still doing to the landscape. Suffice to say, I'm well aware the luxury of such a choice is a privilege not forthcoming to everyone and that, sooner or later, one must confront unpalatable facts. I lie back upon the summit of this wondrous cairn and take in the sunny vibe, watching the stately majesty of the Cumulus drifting by merely hint at the unfathomable enormity of existence, content in the surety that my dodgy hat will protect me from that great nuclear fusion reactor in the sky. I'm sure the ultimate irony that occurs to me would not be lost on Sting either: that nuclear power is crucial to life upon this crazy, spinning globe; might possibly go a long way to solving - or at least arresting - 'climate change' in responsible hands, yet could ultimately destroy us all. Curious what comes to mind when said mind is given free rein to ponder 'stuff' upon hilltops, isn't it just? Back at the car, the local hostility encountered 'early doors' is unexpectedly countered when I'm approached by a group of young quad bikers, girls riding pinion. Bracing myself for the 'witty' sarcastic jibes at my - admittedly non-conformist - appearance, I'm taken aback when, upon screeching to a halt in a cloud of dust, a tough-looking youth almost reverentially enquires "Are you going up or coming down?" Hmm, the Great Outdoors, the allure of Nature? Perhaps - as with music - the great leveller, a universal constant... language, even? Could the flowers now growing upon Sirhowy Hill, in lieu of the former collieries, finally be adopted as tentative metaphors for social healing? After all, we all work the occasionally black seam of life together, right? |
Posted by GLADMAN8th August 2021ce Edited 8th August 2021ce
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