Cynefin

Nicky Wire of Manic Street Preachers interviewed in the Arts Guardian recently reflects on Cynefin in respect of the influences on their development. I was also triggered into reflection this morning flying back from Belfast to Cardiff. The clouds cleared as we came over the Irish Sea. Ynys Môn emerged and I could clearly see Moelfre where my parents retired after a life of public service. Shortly after that the hospital where they both died four years ago could be seen atop a low hill outside Bangor. It will be four years tomorrow since my father died, my mother’s aniversary will follow shortly after on St David’s Day. I could see the beaches on which they had played with their grand children, the pub near red wharf bay where we would go to eat and the cliff walks that are my fondest memories. We then crossed the estuary at Deganwy where we moored the boat for years and thence to Llandudno where we learnt to sale. Crossing the Clywdian Hills I could see the paths and hill tops where I walked as a child, lowly in comparison to the massif of Snowdonia which we had just left but no less pleasurable in my memory. Mold, or Yr Wyddgrug where I went to school from 5 to 18 passed underneath and the plane then turned to the right over Wrexham and followed the Welsh Marches (memories of fossil hunting trips, castles and long distance cycle rides) before following the line of the Brecon Beacons (memories of walks in happier days) and thence over Merthyr following the line of the Cardiff road before looping into the the airport. A short journey of 30 minutes, but with memories of the best part of fifty years.