Rain again in the night and grey skies with clouds on the move. It started to rain after breakfast and Roger called to ask if I could collect him from home nearby for our trip to Llangyfelach for Marlene's funeral. As we headed west making our way to the A4232 and then the M4 westwards, the rain increased in intensity, and the clouds blowing in from the west grew bigger and darker. By the time we passed the Llantrisant junction, visibility was down to 100 meters and remained like that for the next half hour or so.
Keeping the windscreens from misting up was difficult. Although at 16C it wasn't all that cold, it was necessary to set the air conditioning system to an uncomfortable humid 20+C to ensure visibility. Going any faster than 50mph was unnecessary. Large lorries with better visibility swept past us and there was no need for us to overtake other cars. The rain eased by the time we reached Port Talbot. We could see layers of cloud of different colours above us in the distance, but a bright blue band along the horizon to the west of Swansea. I was grateful to have coped well with such difficult driving conditions. If I'd known it would be like that, I would have been very nervous and reluctant to set out.
We arrived at Llangyfelach Parish Church without consulting google maps, at midday, relying on Paul's briefing about junction 46 and the location of the church up the hill to the west of the roundabout. The site is very ancient. St David is credited with starting a monastery in the sixth century on the hill side above the river Tawe, which gives the city of Swansea its Welsh name 'Abertawe'. The only trace of its ancient origin is an originally circular church boundary - a Llan in Welsh - not a defensive structure, however, but a hospitable place. The wall was built low, so that visitors could see and approach the settlement within it, or maybe just take a drink at one of the three wells around the periphery. Nothing is known about St Cyfelach for certain. His or her story is lost in the mists of time.
The 13th century tower is one of three in Wales standing on the hill above, separate from the present church building, which was originally a 14th century tithe barn. It was converted for use as a place of worship in 1850 as the ancient building perched on the side of the hill had been destroyed in the 18th century, though the tower survived. On what was once the village green, is the pub and church hall cum Sunday School building. The green is more of a car park for visitors and residents these days. A group of women were busy setting up tables for the reception after the service when we arrived to use the loo. We overheard them remembering Marlene telling stories and laughing with affection about the activities she shared with them in the church and local community for decades.
Father Anthony their Parish Priest was there checking with them that they had everything they needed. He welcomed me, and invited me to lead the intercessions he had prepared for Marlene's service. I spent some time in church, chatting with one of the wardens, and had a brief look around, greeting mourners starting to arrive, then I walked back up the hill to keep an eye out for Clive and Hilary, who were also making the journey from Cardiff for Marlene's farewell in her home church. I spotted a buzzard circulating above and then beneath the parapet of the church town. A brief burst of sunshine illuminated the colours in its wings, so beautiful and irridescent. I failed to get a photo. The TZ95 simply isn't as responsive as it needs to be in zoom mode, but never mind. It was an awesome moment, just like that afternoon a few years back when I saw a kingfisher perching on a branch a few metres away. A wonderful gift, so elusive.
There must have been 70-80 mourners for the service. The eulogy was longer than the liturgical content, not unusual these days, but Marlene's life story was a rich testimony to her character and a pastoral zeal as a very active church member devoted to hospitality and genuine interest in everyone she encountered in life. It fitted with what we knew of her in her latter years as a frail nonogenarian interested in everybody she met when she came to church, remembering details about them, asking questions. We from the church in Pontcanna shared the same experience of knowing her for a few years as those who had known her for decades.
The entire congregation gathered in the church hall after saying farewell for a traditional feast of home made cake and sandwiches. Roger and I took our leave at three and were home by four, twenty minutes earlier than the outbound trip, as the rain had moved on to slow down travellers beyond South Wales. I went to Tesco's and bought a bottle of wine to enjoy when I write this. And then set about making sopa de ajo, extracting the soft flesh from the garlic cloves I roasted yesterday, and adding them to some chicken stock and soya cream, which I then added to a fried onion with some ground almonds and fresh crushed garlic to cook and blend together, ready to serve. I didn't follow a detailed recipe as some ingredients I didn't have. It was an experiment with the main components I had to hand. It was mild and creamy to taste with a subtle aftertaste, a bit bland. It could have done with a more flavoursome stock. The only thing I didn't do was to chill a portion of it, to find out how it tasted. In Andalusia it's served cold, like gaspacho.
By the time I'd eaten and cleared up it was time for some fresh air before bed. A twilight walk in Llandaff Fields, with half the waxing moon veiled in haze in the heavens above. On the suite of games pitches nearest to Llandaff Road, thousands of gulls were perched on the grass, all in the one area, groups of them rising up and circulating, then settling again, heaven knows why. I clapped my hands and they all rose into the air and wheeled around before settling again, so many of them filling the sky, it reminded of a host of bats leaving their roost at twilight, so many that they resemble a cloud of locusts or a sandstorm filling the sky. A wondrous way to end a memorable day.
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