Rooted in the Faith of My Ancestors
In Their Good Times and Their Crises
In the mid 1990’s, I traveled to Wales quite a few times. After all, it is the country of my ancestors that I feel closest to. All I have to do is cross the border from England into Wales on board a coach, to know in my bones that I’m home. I and my siblings know that we have descended from centuries of Welsh bards. In our day, we are still musicians and poets and creative writers.
On one of my trips there, I drove through the Rhondda Valley, which is where many of the Welsh coal mines were in the early 20th century. While there, I felt the Lord’s hand on me so strongly and directing me so completely, that I knew I was in safe hands. The Rhondda Valley today is lush and green. But when the coal mines were thriving, the hills of slag took over.
I also knew that in the days of the mines, the miners and their families were deeply religious. They sang hymns on the way to the mines before dawn, and sang them again on the way home each evening. Most of them were not members of the Church in Wales (Church of England.) They were of the so-called “dissenting faith,” and their churches were called chapels. And I knew that in our day, much of the small chapels (along with the mines) have closed, and that therefore they no longer sing hymns together.
My favorite Welsh hymn is “Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah, pilgrim through this barren land.” The words were written by William Williams Pantycelyn, a Welshman who lived in the Rhondda Valley. His hymn is one of the ones that the miners would sing to and from work. The tune that was written that we sing his words to, is called “Cwm Rhondda,” which means “the Rhondda Valley.”
While in the Rhondda Valley, I found the home he lived in (which is named “Pantycelyn”). I got of my car, walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A friendly woman answered the door. I told her who I was and why I had come. She invited me in and served me tea and scones, while telling me that she is an ancestor of William Williams, and that the house has been in their family for generations. She told me where he is buried. I was thrilled beyond words. I drove to his tomb and sang his hymn.
Needless to say, I felt a poem coming on. I named it “Cwm Rhondda.” Enjoy.
Cwm Rhondda No voice in the street sings sweet songs now Nor hymns swell up from womb of earth. Next door but one, barren chapel stands Taunting bitter echo from hollow colliery below: “Hear me! Hear me, Great Jehovah!” Coal black hills chill bleak eyes To see earth’s rape, all naked. The Rhondda Valley weeps with pain, Scars despair from under ground: “Heal me! Heal me, Great Jehovah!” Vast void within shields shock of miners’ ruin. Rape of soul, so deep the grief: United purpose stands no more. William Williams, Pantycelyn, pleads from heaven above: “Come, Rhondda People – Sing! Sing my hymn till day is done -- “Guide me! Guide me, Great Jehovah!” Our Lady of Penrhys keeps quiet watch, Prays with patience o’er wasted land: “To eyes of faith, God’s beauty rises yet, How green this Paradise, my valley. Vigil! Vigil!” summons Mary. “Comfort, comfort these my people,” God calls me to His Beloved night and day. My whole life proclaims, “Here am I. Send me. Your love heals my wound for their sake. Send me! Send me, Great Jehovah!” © Dorothy Gremillion 1997