2019-Reunion

27th ABER FOOTBALL REUNION 2019

Last year I wrote: ”When Easter is early like this we take a chance with the weather, not renowned for its benevolence at the best of times in west Wales”. I went on to explain, in more than a little detail, just how the date of Easter is calculated. Anyway Aloysius Lillius decreed that Easter should be remarkably late this year, but unfortunately it must have been so late as to bring us into the hurricane season. Storm Hannah hit Aberystwyth. The BBC weather report made a point of saying that storm Hannah had been named by “our colleagues in the Irish metereological service”, as if trying to blame the Irish for the weather. Or perhaps for the name. Maybe a more English one such as Storm Hubert or Storm Horatio would have been better? Or something more scary such as Storm Hannibal? Or was “Hannah” too Jewish for the BBC, which we all know to be very left-leaning and therefore probably anti-semitic too.

With Storm Hannah putting a stop to some of our usual activities, not very much happened at the reunion weekend - hence the first paragraph and quite a bit of what follows. Nevertheless, not much happening can actually be very relaxing and enjoyable as was proven by this, the 27^th Annual Football Reunion. There was plenty of time to stroll (albeit heavily wrapped up to keep the wind out), chat, sip cocktails, visit museums - and watch football in the pub.

There was no golf on the hills above the town in Aberystwyth Golf Course this year. There were insufficient numbers, which was just as well since we may not have seen any golfers again had they chanced it. Nor was there the now nearly traditional karaoke in Aber Town FC on Friday night. The numbers were too small for that and anyway Tiggy and family would not be around because of their own family issues. After meeting in the Marine - and meeting up with Anthony Evans - a small but brave and gallant band of 13 of us set out to walk the few hundred yards along the prom to have dinner in the Olive Branch, a Greek restaurant at the end of Pier Street, in a room looking out over the pier. A pleasant dinner was followed, of course, by a few drinks in the Marine. There we became almost nostalgic for Jim Kettle singing karaoke.

It was a wickedly stormy night. Those with rooms at the front of the Marine struggled to sleep with the noise of the wind and the crashing of the waves, though actually it did not disturb me as much as the cold of the room as the wind blew through the window casement. This was as nothing compared to the travails of Mick and Jeanna who were in a camper van at the harbour at south beach. The wind not only kept them awake all night but, worried that the wildly rocking camper would blow over, they had to move it into town in the early hours, where it was hardly much better. Dave and Rose Charles suffered similarly in their more inland camping site: this really was a wind that ” makes the mountains sound like folks was out there dyin'”, to quote Lee Marvin.

There was no Aber Masters the following day. Derrick, especially, wasn’t going to hand over the famous Green(ish) Jacket to anyone easily and was very firm in his belief that it was far too windy to play golf at the skill level to which he is accustomed. There being no written rules on what should happen in the unlikely event of being unable to play golf because of bad weather in coastal mid-Wales in April, Derrick got to hang onto the jacket for another year, fighting off suggestions of crazy golf or even Scrabble for the jacket.

Neither was the John Ansell mystery tour walk held. Instead people did their own thing around the town. Several of us visited the Ceredigion Museum in the old Coliseum Cinema. It is well worth a visit and could probably stand one or two more weather washed-out weekends. The previous owner of this rather beautiful cinema - something which had escaped us as students - was a formidable lady, Olive Gayle. Her motto for the theatre/cinema was “Entertainment without vulgarity”. That was probably why it closed in 1972.

There were visits to shops and, of course, The Libertine for the cocktail quaffing ladies in the late afternoon, whilst a group of the men visited what was once the “White Horse” and re-told stories of working there (a surprisingly high number of us had done so!), drinking there, of Gerald the owner and Trevor the barman and Vince the chef and Ray Shakespeare the manager - all whilst watching Spurs struggle against The Hammers. “Once upon a time there was a Tavern, where we used to raise a glass or two”,or perhaps more.Those were the Days, indeed my friend - and we really did think they would never end..

Saturday night saw 21 sitting down to dinner in the Marine, the numbers having been swelled during the day by the Culleys, the Charles’ , the Ansells and the Evans’. It is a reflection of the fact that it is 50 years since we were at Aber that the list of people who had sent their regrets due to health and family issues was long this year. Ken went through the list and our very best wishes go to Tiggy and Marilyn, Siân and Howard, Spike and Linda, Hywel and Chris and Keith Boothroyd. Apologies were also received from Lev, Bruce and Magdalene, Mick Newman, Mike Purslove and Lindy, Mike Pickard and Shan, Kathy and Pete and Roly.

After dinner Dave Charles set up with his guitar and speaker (though no screen, which was a quite a test for old memories to remember once familiar words) and there was a lovely sing-song. It was a gentle night and though Derrick did toy with the idea of rocking it up with “Blue Suede Shoes” he thought better of it: it was not that sort of night, perhaps, but it was the sort of night for some oldies, some Welsh songs and finishing once again with “Yma o Hyd”. Yes, we are still here, thank goodness. And will be there next year too, please God.

Sunday morning came bright and clear, with a fresh wind rather than a gale. After breakfast (earlier than ever now, with the Marine finishing sharply at 9.30am; no spoiling of guests here), there was the gathering to stroll down to kick the bar. Rob Culley joined us and, as tradition dictates, talked of a football game again next year. He ruled out Walking Football on the basis of it being too easy to pull a muscle. I am not sure what that left. Crawling Football perhaps? As is also traditional there was the press gang of an unsuspecting stranger to take photos of us. Only it was not a complete stranger. The willing lady actually turned out to be a niece of Gerald of White Horse fame, and we chatted with her about Trevor, Vince and Ray - and of course Gerald - all over again. We ambled to PDs, closed over the previous days because of the weather, to sit outside and have our coffees and teas in sunshine and, indeed, almost warmth.

Then off to Ireland for myself and Jeanette, to Scotland for Dick Wrigley, to England and Wales for everyone else. Some, though, live in that netherland called The Marches. On Friday Jeanette and I had gone to the National Library of Wales for a lecture (in Welsh!). I should confess here that despite having lived next to the Library for a couple of my years in Aber I had never actually set foot in it before. The lecture was on Humphry Llwyd, a 16^th century scholar and cartographer from what is now Shropshire. His maps showed the old border of Wales, which included much of the Marches - now part of England. So maybe not so many actually returned to England but remained on the Celtic fringes.

We hope for better times for those who could not make it this year because of their health or family issues and hope that they can do so next year. Same time: the weekend after Easter. Same place, The Marine Hotel. Aloysius Lillius decrees that Easter will be earlier, so better weather is promised!

Des Drumm, May 2019

Thanks to the organisers: Ken and Ann, Jim and Beryl, John and Shirley, Derek and Mildred and to Dave for his great guitar playing.

Attendees :

Jim and Beryl Kettle

Rob and Gaynor Culley

Derek and Mildred Spragg

Ken and Ann Passmore

John and Shirley Ansell

Mick and Jeanna Dobson

Huw and Ellen Evans

Dave and Rose Charles

Des and Jeanette Drumm

Glyn (Louie) Lewis and Rita

Dick Wrigley