Some life memories are so vivid that they are never forgotten. My Mother once recalled that when I was very young she accepted an invitation from her Aunt Florence to accompany her to visit her in-laws at Llangrannog. My grandmother also unwisely agreed to join them taking me with them as a tiny baby.

To fully appreciate the memory, however, it is necessary to provide brief descriptions of the characters involved. My Aunt Florence was a district nurse and unusually for over 70 years ago owned a car and as part of her job was used to driving to all parts of Wales. She was a strong rather dominating character with an acerbic wit and much later in my life I learnt that she was gay. I recall that she was particularly fond of a fat Labrador dog whose name escapes me but was treated rather more like a child than a pet.

My grandmother, Lizzie, Florence’s sister, was a very contrasting personality. Highly achieving academically at a time when women were not respected and even feared for being too clever she was one of the first women to graduate as a teacher from Bangor University.

Her marriage had stifled any further ambitions she might have had in a career direction but I never recall hearing her complain about any of this. My mother, Brenda, was her only surviving child having lost her son, Tom, in a bombing sortie over Rumania during the last few days of the Second World War. Lizzie, my Grandmother, short and well rounded, with her infectious giggle had a certain something that you instinctively warmed to.

*Efforts at home to bake the famous Welsh Cakes*

The other occupant of Florence's car was of course my mother, Brenda, very young at the time and having to cope with her baby son, me, doubly excited at the prospect of his first long trip in Florence’s Morris 8. Confident that her Aunt and Mother would be adequate support to meet my Father’s rather daunting parents, Oswald and Claudia together with their daughter Megan, she mistakenly thought that the visit might even be quite good fun.

My grandparents, Oswald and Claudia George had moved to Llangrannog, a remote very Welsh seaside village, from the bustling suburb of Dowlais part of the old mining town of Merthyr Tydfil. My Auntie Megan had persuaded them into this foolishness and was of course also going to be there when we arrived.

My grandfather, Oswald, was a retired head teacher who clearly subscribed to the view that the male head of the family had the divine right to do very little but ensure that his every comfort was catered for. By all accounts he had had numerous affairs in Merthyr and his standing in the community must have suffered as a result. He undoubtedly encouraged some very unhealthy rivalry between his sons during their upbringing and with hindsight I think his whole family had somehow been affected by his dominant personality.

His long-suffering wife, Claudia, clearly had much to put up with and as so often happened over 70 years ago accepted her lot and just got on with it. What else could she do? My Auntie Megan, their only daughter partly living with them at this time was also a very determined woman. It was she who had thought that a move to the seaside would be in her parent’s best interests but in fact it had turned out to be a disaster.

Megan, a rather forbidding austere figure with a shock of wiry uncontrollable hair was also a teacher who eventually followed her Father’s footsteps to become a Head Teacher. At this time, however, she was considering giving up her job to look after her aging parents. She too turned out to be gay at a time when such things could not even be whispered.

The ‘tea’ ritual also needs to be explained in some detail. Being invited for tea was regarded as the social event of the time. Etiquette, however, was always strictly observed. Yes, tea was provided but it invariably took the hosts far longer to prepare than can possibly be imagined. During this preparation and while the host was in the kitchen a stilted form of chit chat was maintained among the guests on such safe subjects that after five minutes any sane person would want to scream.

When it arrived tea was served in such minute china cups and saucers that there was little chance of assuaging any real thirst or satisfying any real appetite. The tea was always accompanied in Wales by Welsh cakes. These were quite a delicacy but were never provided in sufficient quantity to be really enjoyed. In short, food and drink was offered with great formality but with little chance of real satisfaction. The most irritating aspect of the whole ritual was the insincere entreaties from the hosts to have more tea and cake. Please try some more? You must have another cup? Acceptance, however, was not what one did.

The art was to refuse with gushing politeness, very falsely claiming that you just couldn’t eat or drink another morsel. So confident were hosts that you would observe this unspoken rule that they would often offer what they could not possibly supply in the fairly confident knowledge that you would never take them up on it!

Florence’s Morris 8 duly arrived in Llangrannog and as was customary polite tea was served for the guests with all the pomp and ceremony described above. The atmosphere, however, was not good. Oswald, spluttering on his pipe in a chair in the corner, was clearly unhappy with this unwelcome family intrusion. I don’t think he had been told that a small child would be one of the visitors. Enormous tension very quickly developed between Megan and Florence who took an instant and lasting dislike to each other. Each had hoped to be the centre of attention.

Megan as her parent’s daughter and host and Florence as the organiser and initiator of the expedition. Florence seemed to emerge as the better placed to take centre stage. She was, after all the guest, had driven her party over in her car and sat herself down to expect the traditional welsh cakes and tea full of her important role on the day. Megan with very bad grace had for once to play second fiddle. The situation was not helped by the difficulty of providing hospitality in such a poorly equipped Welsh single storey house. The kitchen across the other side of a courtyard was entirely inadequate and as the brunt of the catering fell to Megan her mood got worse and worse.

Things came to a head when it was time to say goodbye. With Megan still crashing about with the pots and pans in the kitchen Claudia pressed my Grandmother to just one more cup of tea. She was merely following convention by refusing to accept the very polite ‘no thank yous’ and in that very Welsh way persisted with her offer of yet more hospitality.

In order not to cause any further offence my Grandmother caved in and with a sideways look of helplessness to her daughter felt obliged to agree to, ‘yes just one more.’ Well as you know this was just not the done thing to do at all! My Grandmother, by now already upset by the unpleasant atmosphere between Megan and Florence was, however, merely trying everything to build bridges and at least leave on a happier note.

Claudia was obliged to inform Megan that more tea was indeed now required. My mother, hoping to belatedly explain that this request had been made out of misguided politeness by her mother had followed Claudia into Megan’s domain. She fortunately remained silent, however, when Megan totally lost it! “What does this woman want? First she refuses tea, now she wants more tea…” and so on.

Claudia was, under the circumstances, not prepared to admit to her own persuasive role. Brenda, opened and closed her mouth, but wisely said nothing and quickly retired from the scene.

My mother could not recall whether the teapot came out again or not.

Polite tea in Llangrannog

The Tree

Distant love