I mentioned in my last post that it was a slate quarrying area I didn’t mention that the other side of the valley is scarred by the slate heaps. But as someone in the village told me, even that has a beauty of its own and she’s right too. The slate is a beautiful colour.
Both the houses I lived in as a child were right at the bottom of this slate waste and this was my playground. We climbed up those slates like little goats, knowing exactly where to place our feet so we didn’t create a fall. We played houses, building our own walls to a certain height and can you imagine what good slate furniture we could make? We had tables, chairs and fireplaces. Which reminds me of the evening before we had to take the scholarship examinations to go to the grammar school. I had found a tin of black paint somewhere and had been painting my fireplace black. I was told off and we were unable to get my hands completely clean for the big day.
Here is the little slate bridge I used to cross a stream to play houses with my friends. Sometimes we would share a house with each other and sometimes we all had our own and we’d go and visit each other for tea. I don’t think it cost our parents a penny to keep us happy all through the school holiday.