I didn’t get much sleep in Lampeter, so it was with heavy eyes and a car that I drove to Brynmawr. When I arrived, I noticed that I was in a market town once again. I don’t mind market towns that much, it’s just that I wanted to experience the real Wales – a glorious metropolis filled with Starbucks’ and McDonalds’ – not a toothless old man selling fish by a lake.
When I was piecing together the road map for my trip, I was particularly looking forward to visiting Brynmawr as I was under the impression its name comes from the Welsh for ‘Brian Moore’ – the very famous rugby player. However, I’ve seen realised that it translates as ‘big hill’ which is nonsense really. Brynmawr is definitely not a big hill, it’s a town.
I almost cancelled my stop in Brynmawr because of that, but I decided to head there regardless to see if there was a Starbucks I could sit in and enjoy the view, eat a sandwich and perhaps watch Cheaper By The Dozen on my portable player again (great film – four stars).
Apparently, the growth of Brynmawr came thanks to the ironing industry, and it’s certainly worth remembering the effort those poor loves 100 years ago put in each and every day, making sure the men of Brynmawr were nicely presented.
I was thinking about those strong ironing women for a good hour or so, drinking a latte with milk and eating an iced barmcake. I thought about my own mother, and the sacrifices she made in her life by just having me. She has literally lost all of her friends.