Sebastopol National School, South Wales

This school, erected in 1861, was the idea of Rev Dr David James who was located at St Mary's Church, Panteg. Funds were raised by a Bazaar held in the grounds of the house of the Hanbury family (later to become Pontypool Park).  The building was demolished during the 1960s and has been replaced by St Oswalds Close.  Children of all ages attended and were required to complete at least 100 hours of schooling.

It had been planned that the building, now St Oswalds Church, was to become part of the school located nextdoor, but this didn't happen.

The design is similar to a school to which the Reverend gave priority - Pontymoile - because of the high population of tinworkers there.   The Pontymoile school building was partly demolished a few years ago to make way for a pedestrian bridge near the Maesderwen roundabout.

Part of Pontymoile school, now a home.

In 1910 the Wern School Building was erected opposite the original Sebastopol National school and the older children were moved in. In 1949 this was to  become the Wern Secondary Modern School, with students from not only the village, but around the local area.  This was later closed and destroyed by fire.

St Oswalds Church, Sebastopol



Note how all the buildings have a similar layout.  Wern School, externally was also similar in plan to Sebastopol National School.

www.gwentarchives.gov.uk

Sebastopol, A Local History, by W.G. Lloyd, ISBN 0 9520543 0 2

Gwent Archives at Ebbw Vale has a collection of School Log Books, including Sebastopol National School.






 

SS Doric, 1935, South Wales

On 19 November 1935, 158 children left Sebastopol, Monmouthsire to visit this ship in Newport Docks.  The Headmaster at the time entered the following quote:

"Thousands of children and hundreds of teachers made a survey of the ship impossible."

A member of the White Funnel Fleet, her maiden voyage was on 8 June 1923 from Liverpool to Montreal in Canada.  Holding over 2,000 passengers this was an impressive vessel for the time.

600 in cabin class
1,700 3rd. class,
350 crew

From 1933 until her demise she was transferred from transatlantic work to cruises.

Unfortunately the vessel made contact with a French ship, Formigny.  She underwent emergency repairs in Spain and was then taken to Newport to be dismantled.


www.gwentarchives.gov.uk/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Doric_(1923)

 

The Open Hearth, Sebastopol, South Wales

After all the cold weather, snow and rain, with more forecast, I thought a little sunshine from last summer might improve your mood.


What's better after a stroll in the sunshine, or a quick walk to the shops, than a glass of something cool (or hot), and a seat with a view.  At certain times of day, the Open Hearth also offers food. 




Situated on the canal towpath, it was extensively extended in the twentieth century.  Originally one of the stop-off points for workers from the nearby Panteg Steelworks to quench their thirst after hot, dirty work. 

It is now the stop-off point for cyclists, walkers and families looking for space for their children to play safely away from traffic.


















 

Brecon & Monmouthshire Canal South Wales in Winter

Ice just forming amid the reflections

No fishermen today, but the temperature is freezing or below.   No scraps of bread littering the footpath or floating on the water.  Too cold for the casual walkers who regularly come to feed the wildlife, so the ducks look expectantly as we walk past.   Guilt always grips me on these icy days, that I have nothing for them.

A few years ago I returned from the shop with a loaf of bread bought especially.

I love the bare trees and the reflections they make in the water.  You can almost turn the image upside down and have the same result.







But last year was more picturesque !

Snow in winter 2011

When I was a child the canal iced over so thickly that we could walk on it.  Most years it is only strong enough to hold the balls thrown by dogwalkers with a poor aim, and bottles and cans from the usual litter louts.

 

After years of fighting by local people to preserve this area, progress seemed to be made a few months ago when Torfaen Council removed it from their Development Plan.   Unfortunately a few weeks later Torfaen Council over-turned their decision and this beautiful green belt separating Cwmbran from Sebastopol, is once again at risk.   To think in a few years we could possibly lose all this beauty under housing and tarmac roads, is upsetting.  

 

 



 

Tunnel of the Mon & Brecon Canal, South Wales

Mon & Brecon Canal constructed 1797 to 1812
(Pics of tunnel coming soon.)

Autumn leaves

South of the village of Sebastopol, the canal runs through open fields, except for a section cut through the hillside.   Here the towpath rises over the hill through a copse, whilst the canal disappears into it.    Barges these days have engines so, if this section ever became navigable again, it would be easy to pass through the 87 yards of darkness.   But when barges were horse drawn, the only way through was by "walking."   No, not on water, as this may sound, but on the roof.  

The bargee and hopefully a helper (perhaps his wife), would lie on their backs on the top of the barge, facing the rear.  Then, with their legs in the air, they would stride along the roof of the tunnel, forcing the barge along beneath them.

Spring sunshine

Think of all the spiders and creepy crawlies disloged and falling into their faces as they worked their way along to the horse, waiting patiently at the other end.

Summer lushness

This must have been a particularly enjoyable stretch for the tow horses as they worked their way towards Cwmbran.   As well as waiting at the tunnel, they would have had very little work to do while the barges waited for the series of locks to fill or empty, and take their turn in the queue of traffic hauling limestone, coal or iron down to the sea, or returning with imported supplies from Newport Docks.  

Mr & Mrs Day, Sebastopol, South Wales

Mr & Mrs Day lived in a very old cottage along a cobbled street under the Mountain.   Most of the houses in the row were made from large stones which were kept freshly whitewashed.   There were steps up from the street with old fashioned flowers showing their colours against the dazzling white.

            Mrs Day was tiny even to my child's eyes and Mr Day was not much taller.   Mrs Day wore a small lace cap and a long woollen skirt, tall buttoned boots and a black cardigan or sometimes a small black shawl.   I can never remember her wearing any colours other than black, grey or white.

            Mum was employed to help Mrs Day with the weekly wash.   No washing machines then, this was a long hard process.   First the water had to be collected from the well at the other end of that cobbled street.   The well ws a small stone archway at the side of the road.   Sometimes there would be a frog and mum would move it to the side.   Buckets would have to be plunged down into the water which was engineered to stay level with the pavement.  

These buckets we would carry back to the cottage and up the stone steps around to the wash house.   These steps were very large and some had pieces missing from age making them very difficult for a small child to manoeuvre and nearly impossible with my small water bucket.   This procedure continued until the stone wash boiler was full.   Rarely was I allowed further than the door of the washhouse because of the boiling water, but I remember the whitewashed stone built boiler in the corner.   Mum would light a stick and coal fire underneath through a small opening underneath.  The washing was placed in the boiler by removing a circular wooden lid.   Various baths and bowls were used to decant the scalding washing and apply starch for stiffness and the bluebag to improve whiteness.

            The bluebag was similar to the blue chalk used by snooker players and was wrapped in a white muslin bag.   It would turn the water, and your hands, deep blue, but the sheets would adopt a blue-white making them look sparkling.   Often if we passed a cottage whose walls were painted blue, or someone had decorated their kitchen a deep blue, my mother would comment "Someone's been at the bluebag."   Apparently it was a cheap and easy way of colouring whitewash.   A little less gruesome than the pink achieved by using pig’s blood.

cultureshock.org.uk

            A large mangle with wooden rollers and a dolly and wooden dolly tub were near the door and I was allowed to help mum fold and mangle the sheets.   The pressure on the rollers was adjusted by a wheel at the top, the more pressure, the flatter the sheets would be, requiring less ironing later.

            When I got bored with watching all this endeavour, I would go off to find Mr Day.   His garden extended around three sides of the house, and was organised with fruit and vegetables at the back of the house and flowers at the front and side. While my mum helped Mrs Day, I could wander around to my heart's content. Admiring the crocosmia, and sniffing the roses.   

             The outside toilet was along a brick path made dark by overhanging laurel and fruit trees on either side, and huge spiders webs.   I never went inside, afraid of finding the owners.  

less scary and less cobwebs than in the 1950s

            Each plot in the garden at the rear contained a great variety of vegetables and was surrounded by very neatly trimmed box hedging.   I was always given a bunch of flowers from the side garden to take home.   I remember always choosing the bright orange crocosmia and silver old-man's-beard.   I was only allowed to choose if Mr Day asked if I wanted flowers.   I would have received a hard slap across the legs if ever I had deemed to ask for flowers without Mr Day initiating the conversation.

            Mrs Day made fruitcake, although I never saw her do it, because whenever I went with my mum it was washday, not baking day.   After all the washing was done and the whitest of blue-white sheets were billowing in the wind to day, well supported by a sturdy wooden prop, of course, we would be invited into the dark little cottage for coffee and fruitcake.

thecakedcrusader.blogspot.com

            The coffee was made with boiled milk and even though I was told to blow it, I walways burnt my tongue.    But it was such a treat sitting there like a grown-up with the others, sipping my coffee and eating that wonderful cake.   I would gaze out of the window of the dark little room, almost like watching television, and see the pink and red roses, knowing I could go and touch their velvet-like petals and smell their glorious perfume.   What a shame that many roses nowadays, although pest resistant, have lost those heavenly scents.

            Although I remember the dear old couple and their cottage, I can only remember one specific incident, probably because it was my first encounter with that horrible feeling,  embarrassment.   I had been playing on the oversized uneven stone steps when I slipped and sat in a puddle, getting my knickers soaking wet.   With no children in the house, there were no clothes for me to change into, but my mother had the solution.   She took off her headsquare and my knickers and tied the scarf around my behind.   How the three of them laughed at my paisley nappy, it was such a joke.   To complete my humiliation I then had to walk home through the village.   I felt the whole world was laughing.

Don't come to the South Wales Valleys

Those Green Remembered Valleys   by Meg Gurney

“Me and Jess walked up Mynydd Maen yesterday, from Henllys.   The field on the way up just glowed with knee-high buttercups, beautiful.   Then we sat up by the old mine workings and watched the view for a while to get our breath back.   The day was so clear, you could see the Severn Bridge and even down past Newport to the Bristol Channel.   We could see the sun shining on the water while the clouds shadows glowered on the fields.   There’s so much green space surrounding Cwmbran New Town.   I never get tired of that view.  

Jess, my collie, was watching two heifers dancing and playing in the lush grass, Welsh Blacks they were.   Their mum was too intent on chewing the mountain grass to take any notice of us.

We walked up the gentle slope with Twmbarlwm in the distance, but then dropped down through the bluebell wood and back.   It was glorious;  no-one else around, only the birds in the trees.   We said we’d do it again in the autumn when the beech trees turn, it always makes the wood magical.”

Pettingale Bluebell wood

“Bluebells, you say, Pettingale Woods is the place for bluebells, we went there last week.   Knock spots off Henllys, that will.   Blue as far as the eye can see.   Then you’ve got the view of Llandegfedd Reservoir through the trees, beautiful;  fantastic!   After all that rain this last couple of weeks, its really full, the water lapping round the willow trees.  

What you scribbling at when I’m talking to you, anyway?”

“Well, I have to do this travel piece on South Wales, so I’m writing about Cardiff Castle and the city.”

Tower at Cardiff Castle with gold leaf

“Everyone knows about those places.   Why don’t you write about where you live, here, in the Valleys?    It’s got it all, man, it’s wonderful.   Tourists would really like it.”

Mon & Brecon Canal, Griffithstown

“What, and have hundreds of them tramping along our canal towpath, feeding the ducks, and sitting in my seat in the Open Hearth of an evening;  crowding the bar when I need to get a drink;  queuing in the fish shop when I want to buy my supper?   Don’t be daft.”

Mon & Brecon Canal

“I see where you’re coming from.   Perhaps you’re right.   It is nice to have all these places to yourself.   Mind you, took our kid to Big Pit yesterday, top of Blaenavon.    Didn’t realise the guides that take you down the pit, are all ex-miners.   Our bloke knew his stuff though, he reckoned it was the largest umbrella in South Wales on a wet day.   They get crowded out by all the groups who’d planned to go kayaking or trekking as well as the families who’d just planned a day in the hills.   Dew, them miners had it hard;  seemed to enjoy a joke though.   We went down in the cage and then he explained it all when we got down in the pit.   Turned the lights out and all, he did.   Then we had a welsh-cake and a cup of tea in the cafe.”

“Welsh-cakes, I love welsh-cakes warm from the bakestone.   Our mam made the best welsh-cakes you ever tasted.   
 Let me see now – ‘Cardiff Castle’s impressive Victorian facade...”

Cardiff Castle

“You could tell them about Aberdulais Waterfalls, Fantastic place to go, that is.   Went there last summer, really cool on a hot day.   We had a picnic.   It’s environmentally friendly, you know, using water power and that.   It’s been used since fifteen hundred and something.   That’s far enough away, isn’t it?”

One section of the Aberdullais Waterfalls

“Not if they’re touring round and about.   Think, man.   It’s only a few minutes in a car along the Heads of the Valleys Road.   They could be here in no time.   No, the idea is to keep them in and around the City Centre.   That way, they spend their money in the shops and attractions and stay away from us, keeping the Valleys peaceful, see.   ‘...encloses a Norman Motte and Bailey and open to the public most days.   It is well worth a visit whilst spending time in the city of Cardiff...’”   

“Did you know Brynmawr is the highest point on that road?   Over thirteen hundred feet, the sign says.   I’d not noticed that till the other day on my way to Merthyr.   That’s high that is.”

“Oh, stop blethering, you and your statistics.   Let me concentrate.   I’m trying to write.”

Greenhill Road, Sebastopol circa 1912

“You could say something like – ‘Sebastopol, not an exotic destination in far off Russia, but..’.”

“Sebastopol?   Sebastopol?    Who on earth wants to read about Sebastopol?

“The people who live in Sebastopol in Russia?   After all, they don’t name places after Russian towns these days, do they?    Something to do with the Crimea, I think it was.   You could say it’s within twenty-five minutes drive of Cardiff.   Not far, really.   Then there’s Pontypool.   It’s got the old market hall, and the museum...”

“And Tesco’s, I told you, they’re not coming here if I have anything to do with it.”

“Well, you could take them up to Twmbarlwm from the other valley.   Earth works, glorious views, fresh air – that would be good.   They could drive up through Cwmcarn Forest Drive.   They’re not going to climb down this side if their car is on the other side, are they?   They might even enjoy mountain biking over there, and camping.   Someone said it’s one of the leading tracks in the UK now.   It’s even been in the cycling magazines.”
"Or the Skirrid.   Now there's a place.   Fantastic views."

“Once you encourage them to move out of the City Centre, with our improved road system, then who knows where they’ll end up?   The Brecon Beacons, Caerphilly Castle, Sebastopol?   I just don’t intend to start spreading ideas.    Where was I, ‘...ample parking is available...”

“Well I think you’re being selfish, trying to keep all this to yourself.   These valleys are so beautiful and we have so much heritage on our doorstep;  ironworks, scourings, miners’ institutes, all sorts.      People would be really interested.   Blaenavon is a World Heritage site.    I’m proud of the part we played in the industrial development of the world today.  We mined coal and forged iron to make steam ships to sail the seas.   Those ships carried coal and rails across to India so they could have steam trains.”

“Very poetic, you’ll be standing and singing the Welsh National Anthem next.   Look, what people don’t know about, they don’t worry about.   The beauty of the Valleys is the best kept secret about Wales.   I don’t intend to be the one to spill the beans, okay?   Alexander Cordell had it right.  

“That author chap?   Marvellous, his books have sold all over the world.   Great publicity...”

“Yes, but he knew how to keep this area to himself.   That’s why he wrote about the heavy industry, the pollution, the poverty and suffering of the poor, so people wouldn’t expect it to be beautiful.”

“Well, he helped raise awareness of the place.   Put us on the map, so to speak.   It just seems a shame you want to keep people away.   Everyone around here is so friendly.   They’d enjoy the chance to talk to tourists.   Orators, that’s the word;  Aneurin Bevan, Lloyd George.   Valley’s boys can be great orators.   Do you know, we have more poets per square foot of land than anywhere else in Britain?  That’s something to be proud of.    A fair few of them live around here, you only have to go down the pub to hear them.”     

“Talking about going down the pub...”

“I thought you were writing?”

“Well, perhaps those orators of yours’ll give me inspiration.”

South Sebastopol Plan & other stuff

Penarth beach

Found a fascinating video on YouTube (via Mab Jones blog) which gives a whole new vision of books.    I always suspected they had a life of their own when left alone.   You never find them where you left them last.   They also seem to multiply exponentially when you're not looking. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKVcQnyEIT8&feature=player_embedded
Thanks everyone for taking an interest in the ramblings of this Welsh Dragon.   I may even be brave enough to add some short stories and poetry.

View into Lansdowne from the canal

South Sebastopol Plan

Had an update yesterday on the South Sebastopol Project from a lovely lady from Friends of the Earth.   It seems although the Council rejected the last Planning Application, it could be raising its ugly head again.   Its important we keep our green spaces, including the remainder of the Monmouthshire and Brcon Canal.   With hundreds of houses  in the process of being built on the old Steel Works site, surely there can be no real need to pursue this one.   Also, all the people moving into the Steel Works site will want somewhere to walk their dogs, play with their children, fish, listen to the birds, enjoy the views of the mountain and the channel.   I hope the Torfaen Council aren't swayed by money and keep our green wedge for posterity.
Anyone interested, please lobby Torfaen Council not to build on this precious countryside.

Wales Coast Path

Small sections of our coast have been accessible via pathways, but now the Wales Coastal Path is due to open in Chepstow on 5 May.   It will extend 850 miles from Chepstow, and end in Queensferry in North Wales.    Opening events are planned for Cardiff, Aberystwyth and Flint on 5 May 2012.   Happy walking !




http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/waleshistory/phil_carradice/

Sebastopol, named after Sevastopol

South Street, Crown in centre of image

Sebastopol is a small village in South Wales, UK., but how was the name decided upon?   

Its name is derived from Sevastopol (originally spelt 'Sebastopol) on the Crimean Peninsula in Ukraine.  This has always been a strategic port with a current population of over 300,000.     There were several towns and villages called 'Sebastopol,' across the world, but many have disappeared.  The internet, however, reveals we are not alone, there is another thriving community in California, USA.

The news of the fall of Sebastopol in 1855, with victory achieved by the British and French against the Russian forces, reached Pontypool in the South Wales valleys, on the evening of Monday, 11th September of that year.   Great celebrations ensued in the town itself and surrounding district.

Woodland Terrace facing Greenhill Road

The population of the Parish of Panteg just south of Pontypool, had grown rapidly in size from 550 in 1801 to 2432 in 1851, due to the success of the iron works, the canal, the railways, and the local farm produce being in great demand to feed everyone.

Cottages on Greenhill Road adjoining Woodland Terr.

Two rows of houses, were built close to the Old Crown Public House.   A row of houses south of the Monmouthshire & Brecon Canal, known as Steedman's Terrace and a small row of 11 houses just north of the same canal, known as Woodland Terrace (later Whitewash Row).   These, with a few outlying farms and cottages were the original structure for the village of Sebastopol.

Page's Fish & Chip Shop, South Street, Sebastopol

Alas, little remains of Steedman's Terrace. Woodland Terrace has been demolished and replaced with houses and a block of flats.   However, one original structure still exists and houses Page's Fish & Chip Shop, opened in 1949 and widely renowned throughout the area.

How do you choose a name for a village?
 
It is believed a group of tenants and landowners, including Mr Steedman of Steedman's Terrace, held a meeting, possibly at the Waterloo Public House.  They decided on the boundaries, and the unusual name that was the current news of the day, Sebastopol.

Two Facebook Groups that may be of interest: 
'Old Pontypool,'  
'Pontypool Past & Present'

www.pontypooltoday.co.uk

Sebastopol, A Local History by W G Lloyd, published 1992.