A YEAR IN WALES COMES TO AN END: A Brush with Royalty, From the Memoir of Carolyn T. Arnold, at The Intrepid Tourist

Valle Crucis Abbey near Llangollen, Wales

Perhaps the original intrepid tourist was Carolyn Arnold, my husband’s aunt.  A single school teacher in Des Moines, she began traveling abroad when she was in her forties, beginning with a bicycling trip through Ireland in 1950.  She went on from there to spend a year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher in Wales (1953-54), to more trips to Europe and beyond, and eventually became a tour leader, taking all her nieces and nephews (including my husband Art) on her travels.  When she retired from teaching, she wrote of her experiences in a memoir called Up and Down and Around the World with Carrie.  Today, as I read of her travels, I marvel at her spirit of adventure at a time when women did not have the independence they do today.
In TIT post 10/7/2013 Aunt Carolyn described her arrival in Wales, in the small town of Mold where she would be teaching in the grammar school for a year. The piece below describes her living situation during her year of teaching there.

Carolyn T. Arnold, about 1954

So my year in Wales drew to a close. My home room presented me with a large bouquet of long stemmed roses–not very practical since I was leaving the next day–but Muriel enjoyed them. Pictures were taken, goodbyes were said. I felt I had left a bit of me in Wales, and I know that more than a bit of Wales remains in me.
After I left Wales, all American teachers were asked to report to Dr. Ford of the English Speaking Union in London for a final interview. Dr. Ford had received a good and generous letter from Mr. Joseph Jones, Headmaster. I was glad I had been able to please him.
Previous to leaving Mold, I had received an engraved invitation from the Queen Mother to attend a garden party at Lambeth Palace, London. In a group meeting following our interviews, we were informed of the courtesies and procedures. We were told a British citizen would curtsy with eyes lowered before the Queen Mother and then touch her hand if she extended it. We were not to initiate conversation but could speak with her if she spoke first. We, Americans, could do as we liked about the curtsy, but Dr. Ford showed us how to do it. I decided that since I was a guest in the country, I would follow the custom. I hope the Queen Mother did not smile while I did my best maneuver. Other dignitaries were present, and we did not meet them individually. The Queen Mother’s ladies-in-waiting stood nearby. The Lord Mayor of London was recognizable by his robes and gold chain of office. Many others gathered about the lawn. It was an extraordinary experience.
The following day all exchange teachers were invited to a cocktail party given by the American Ambassador. At the party, we met Lady Astor–American born. She was often an embarrassment to the British for she was outrageously outspoken. I had just an exchange of pleasantries.
On our final day before departure, Lady Churchill invited us to a reception. We all were instructed to line up at the foot of the stairs. Then, when one’s name was called by a steward in a splendid red uniform at the door, to proceed up the stairs. Finally, my turn came. After the door was closed, he announced in a stentorian voice, “Miss Carolyn Arnold.” All that was missing, I thought, was a trumpet. I advanced alone down a long room to meet Lady Churchill sitting in a chair at the far end. That was the longest walk I ever made; I was the center of all eyes.
I often think of my experiences in Wales and my friends there. I have returned several times to renew acquaintances. I will always be grateful for the opportunity that came my way.

All text and photos, copyright Caroline Arnold.  www.theintrepidtourist.blogspot.com 

CYMRU AM BYTH - Welcome to Wales, from the Memoir of Carolyn T. Arnold

Wales, Looking toward Glyn Dror, near Mold

Perhaps the original intrepid tourist was Carolyn Arnold, my husband’s aunt.  A single school teacher in Des Moines, she began traveling abroad when she was in her forties, beginning with a bicycling trip through Ireland in 1950.  She went on from there to spend a year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher in Wales, to more trips to Europe and beyond, and eventually became a tour leader, taking all her nieces and nephews (including my husband Art) on her travels.  When she retired from teaching, she wrote of her experiences in a memoir called Up and Down and Around the World with Carrie.  Today, as I read of her travels, I marvel at her spirit of adventure at a time when women did not have the independence they do today.  The piece below, from her book, describes her arrival in Wales in the summer of 1953.

The fourth of July 1953 was one of the most eventful days of my life.  I received a telegram announcing that I had been offered a Fulbright exchange scholarship to teach in Wales for a year.  I was ecstatic!

I sailed in August on the Queen Mary for London.  Then, after a week of traveling in England and Scotland with other exchange teachers, I set off for Wales.  I took the train from Chester.  We had not gone far when the train stopped with a jerk.  We sat there for 20 minutes.  Then, with more heaving, we slowly began to move again.  Later, I learned about that hill.  The trains seldom made it without stopping to get up more steam.  It is no wonder the English think of Wales as the “hinterlands.”
The country of Wales is slightly larger than the state of New Jersey.  Two-thirds is covered by the grassy slopes and rich valleys of the Cambrian mountains.  Protected by the barrier-like mountains, the Celts remained isolated in Wales, thus retaining their own language and culture.

The Welsh language is the oldest living language in Europe.  The remoteness of the country enabled the Welsh to retain their own language, even though it was officially banned by the English in 1530.  A national awakening since the late 1800's has put new life and demand for the Welsh language.  Today, most grammar schools require the study of Welsh.  In “my” school, one course was offered to non-Welsh speaking students, another for those who speak some Welsh at home, and a third for those who are proficient in the language.

St. Mary's Church, Mold

To an outsider, Welsh is entirely unpronounceable.  During my year’s stay, I was unable to make any progress in learning to speak the language except for names of places.  I learned that a “w” had an “oo” sound as in “moon”. A “y” sounds like a short “i”; a double “dd” is pronounced as “th”, and a single “d” sounds like our “d”; an “f” becomes a “v” sound, and “a” is usually short as in “ah”.  The double “ll”, so frequent in the language, is unpronounceable, correctly at least, by an English speaking person.  I was told to place my tongue behind my front teeth and breathe out.  Try that without blowing a bubble!  Someone said to imagine air leaking from a tire with a lisping sound, and you have it! “Llan” simply means “church”.
In addition, Welsh names are long, but each usually has a meaning.  I lived near Bryn Coch Lane, meaning Red Hill Lane.  The longest name of a town has 53 letters: Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwrndrobwllantysiliogogoch!  The full name is seldom used except to confuse strangers. (The postal name is Llanfair P.G.)  The name means, I am told, “The church of St. Mary in a Wood of white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and near St. Tysillus’s cave close to a red cave.”  Many towns are called St. Mary’s so from time to time, other identifying phrases were added.

Entering Mold

My arrival in Mold, Wales, was inauspicious.  My friends at home laughed at the simple little name, but I was glad it was one I could pronounce.  The Welsh name for Mold is “Yr Wyddgrug”, but the simple one is commonly used.