It begins before arriving. Research into the area, the place, its people and music. We gather songs and books and maps and bring them to Penrhiw. We unpack these ideas as a start but remain open. We have been here before but this is different. Here is their old front door, wild strawberries at breakfast, plates made upstream, Jem’s pots, Pet’s butterdish, Ben’s photographs, a bridge of dancing bats at dusk. The life force of 2 Penrhiw infuses our music. Our other host family of Penrhiw are our creative guides, so welcoming and full of care and warmth, with tunes and stories and supper. We are invited to Clynfyw, sharing music and dancing with everyone outside in the bone house. Other meetings with people and places and wildlife around the river and village are unplanned, magically unexpected.
Connecting these takes us in different directions. We notice human activity shaping how we live in a place, how we are bound together. New words and songs are given to us. We walk with them, allowing new and old memories to fuse. Words become embodied in what we see, river words become tied to this bend of the river, that tree, this riverbank. Past is alive with present, connections growing. We follow where the river music leads us, ‘Fel deilen ar yr afon yn dilyn cwrs y lli’.
Along the river we find what to play for, what to remember: Afon Cych, Bryn Sion, Clynfyw, Eglwys Manordeifi, Penrhiw Inn, crossing the ford, 2 Penrhiw’s little window rose, the herb garden, bees, heron, fox, kingfisher, the footpaths of Eluned Phillips, the singing tailor father, the mother, the scientist son, Kathleen Carpenter; how to remember, how to listen, to learn a place by heart. We celebrate this in sound. It’s hard to leave. We are so grateful for the experience.