Whilst looking through back issues of the Merthyr Express, local historian Michael Donovan came across a remarkable feature which ran across several editions of the newspaper in 1901. The article concerns reminiscences of Merthyr dating back to the 1830’s. Unfortunately, there is no indication who the person who wrote these memories is. Michael has passed copies of these articles on to me to feature on this blog. I will post extracts periodically, starting with the transcription below.
Merthyr Tydfil, erstwhile the metropolis of the iron manufacture, although that proud distinction no longer applies, is yet progressing and prosperous. Being able to recall it as was so many years ago, it is my intention to describe things that can be remembered, and to say in a gossiping garrulous manner what may instruct and amuse the present generation.
I think it was in 1834 I first saw Merthyr, coming by coach from Cardiff. The impression upon me was strange, for until then all ideas of existence had been gathered in a city, and the transition from such to a long, straggling village was very great. From Cardiff one set of horses ran to the Bridgewater Arms, and another on to Merthyr. The starting place in Cardiff was the Angel Hotel, which stood about the position of the Bute Estate Offices at the present, and the finish was at the Castle Hotel, or the booking office which was adjoining it on the Pontmorlais side. The coach stopped at the Bush Hotel to set down some passengers, and unless memory plays me false, the coachman’s name was Howells.
There was a great dearth of houses. Anything except workmen’s cottages were very few, and, as a rule, occupied by their owners. Just call to mind what Merthyr would be without Thomastown and Twynyrodyn, the site of the present Market-house and its surrounding streets a field, a field where the present station is (Cae Gwyn), a market garden where the lower part of the station yard is, no water except what could be had from a well here and there, no drainage, no police, and I almost think no gas works.
Further afield, Troedyrhiw had few houses, Pontyrhun was not, except a pumping engine and residence for the attendant. His name was Gibbons, and the engine supplied the Glamorganshire Canal from the river. Not above a dozen houses in Abercanaid; and as for Cefn, if you could find a cottage to spare, provided any means were used to come to Merthyr, no less than three turnpike gates would have to be passed through, to two of which a toll would be paid; and if, instead of turning round to enter the ‘village’, anyone went a short distance up the road to Penydarren, another toll would be demanded.
And yet with these conditions and surroundings –
“Content could spread a charm,
Redress the place, and all its faults disarm.”
To be continued at a later date…..