‘Nearest dad got to church was a pint in Polite Vicar!’
I would like to say how much I enjoyed Mervyn Edwards’ article on the ‘136 years without a break of Welsh Worship in Hanley’ (TWWW, November 27).
As one of the migrants from North Wales who knew nothing about being Welsh, it certainly explained why my parents never resided in Hanley.
My father, being born in Bangor, was the eldest boy, one of 16 (14 who lived). My mother was one of 14 and born in Llangefni, Anglesey.
While I also was born in Bangor, my parents moved to Stoke-on-trent a couple of years later because there was little work after the war in North Wales.
Subsequently my brother Martyn drew the short straw and was born in Stoke-on-trent in 1954 but for some strange reason he felt the reverse was true!
One of his brothers, Griff, went to Birmingham for the cars, his sister Iris to Crewe to work at Rolls Royce but the majority remained in Bangor.
Where the connection with Mervyn’s article disappears is unfortunately on the subject of worship.
I think the nearest my dad would have got to that would have been a few pints in The Polite Vicar in Basford. My mother, Amy, couldn’t speak English until she went into the land army so her Welsh accent never left her. There were many words she could not pronounce in English but it only enhanced her personality.
With both of them being Welsh speaking, any arguments were always conducted in Welsh to spare my brother and I the details.
The Wales connection was always a strong one as every Potters Holiday involved going home to North Wales to reconnect with their families.
Like many marriages my mum and dad’s was a strange connection because whilst my dad did his best to keep the brewery in business, my mum was teetotal.
One of her brothers was a vicar but his passion for his subject was somewhat diluted by having the charisma of a biscuit.
It is well documented that opposites attract so my parents could have been a template for the theory.
I am sure there are many people who have similar songs to sing but I shall buy Stuart Haywood’s book if nothing more than for nostalgia.
Thanks again for a very interesting article.