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Mission Visits the UK - England & Wales, May 2013
Chapter 10th - Gareth 2
Chapter 10th: Of Wednesday afternoon and evening - Arriving at Gareth's 16th century house; Some details about the house and things your author found in it; How Gareth and Elizabeth came to be regulars at the Key West Pirate Events; Being Introduced
The Entry into Pen Y Parc
to Merlin; Heading out to Kington to pick up dinner; A side trip to the Olde Tavern detailing what happened there and Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.
We finally reached Pen-Y-Parc which had a sign on the front gate informing us of this fact. It was set back from the road, fronted by several fields, a couple of which contained sheep. (Badger-faced sheep, in fact.) The house was centuries old and Gareth had taken some pains to keep it as original as possible while still providing some modern comforts such as carpeting on the stone floors and modern plumbing. (For which I was grateful.) He showed me a map of the land drawn in 1841, pointing out his fields on the map. He assured me they were pretty much the same field boundaries now as they were when the map was drawn.
I had been told the house was built in the 17th century by someone in Key West (this is why it says that in the 2012 Key West Fort Taylor Pyrate Invasion Journal), but this turned out to be wrong. I asked Elizabeth to set me straight on this point. Her response, in full:
"According to Gareth's dad who did a lot of research on the family and on Pen y Parc, the current house was built in the 1590's, so towards the end of the first Elizabeth's reign. According to a couple of rural historians / archeologists who came and had a look when we first moved in, the field enclosures probably date from further back, around the 1200's. There was most likely a wood-framed wattle and daub house (hovel, frankly) for a long time which the humans and livestock shared in winter, and then eventually someone had enough money to put up an oak and stone-faced house that wouldn't burn down or fall over quite so easily, complete with matching barn." So now we all know the truth of the thing, thanks to Gareth's dad and Elizabeth.
" Dana, are these the eggs?"
Sitting by the sink in the kitchen was a plastic egg gathering crate containing a bunch of various-sized brown eggs. (Now I know I am showing my hopeless modern urbanization here, but the notable thing to me about this was that the eggs were all different sizes as you see in
The Gate to Pen Y Parc
the photo at right.) Gareth raised hens, the hens raised eggs and the eggs raised breakfast to a new level (as we'll learn later.) In fact, I learned that one of the reasons everyone in town knew where he lived is that he sells eggs from the farm in containers with a Pen-Y-Parc sticker on them. Elizabeth designed the sticker which features the slogan, "Laid by happy hens near Hay on Wye." (Gareth thinks the part about 'happy hens' is funny.)
My room was the spare bedroom upstairs across from the main bedroom. I took my suitcase up (in the process of which I learned that it is too big to effectively navigate the stairs of a house built in the 16th century) to my room. The room had a large wooden plank door with a neat latch Gareth told me that the door to my room was original.
On the dresser, I found an envelope, clearly placed there by Elizabeth. (Elizabeth was working this week in London and planned to come down on Friday morning to see me off.) Inside was the card you see at right. It read, "Welcome to Pen Y Parc. I hope you enjoy your stay. Just say if you need anything." Then it gave me the info on their WiFi (which I later discovered didn't work for me for some reason) and included an photo inside of some tulips on the dining room table in front of some colored hen's fruit. Very nice.
 The Stairs. |
 The Cool Old Plank Bedroom Door |
 As Good a Shot as I Could Get of the Bedroom |
The Sled Banner & Gareth With His Dog Team
Having done all I could upstairs, I wandered back down stairs. There I spent some time looking through the mementos that Gareth had hung on the walls. Gareth had a lot of them including a standard he designed for one of his army groups, the drawing of the land boundaries I mentioned, various ribbons for prize-winning sheep (it wasn't just one prize-winning sheep as I thought, but several) and a picture of him with a dog sled team from 1983.
It turns out that Gareth was the first Briton to race in the Open North American Championship which is the last event on the season for the Alaska Dog Mushers Association. He was sponsored by Smirnoff (which seems somewhat piratey to me) and he was proud to say he came in 13th, beating the Canadian champion. (He appeared to be particularly proud of the part about beating the Canadians. I suppose we can all respect that.)
 An Assortment of Prize-Winning Sheep Ribbons |
 Plaques from Gareth's Army Units (He designed the last one.) |
Photo: Vid Capped and Borrowed
Steed and Peel & Top Hush Secretary to the Minister, Elizabeth Wentworth-Howe
Unrecognizability Rating of Steed and Peel - 41%; Of E. W-H: 96%
He told me all sorts of stories - Gareth loves to tell stories. One of the most fascinating to my fellow pirate reenactors was the one about how he came to be a part of the Key West pirate festivals. It all started at the Pentagon in 2001. (Where else would you expect it to begin?) He and some fellow soldiers of the British Army were at the 5-sided building to... well, I honestly don't know why. It
was something that could only be shared for those with Top Hush clearance.
Whatever it was they were there to do, they finished it and then started driving towards Disney World. They stopped along the way in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina and Savannah, Georgia. (There is nothing whatsoever Top Hush about any of that info. They were just sightseeing.)
They arrived in Disney World for some sort of military conference. I'll bet you just thought they were planning to go to Gatorland. They weren't. (Or, at least, if they were, Gareth didn't mention that part.) They
Photo: Wiki User Hextor
- Kids, Don't Try This At Home
were there because Disney World is the simulation headquarters of the world and this was something of interest to military training. (I'll bet you're now thinking of movies where the government has huge secret underground training bases below otherwise normal-seeming towns. Well, stop. That's just silly.)
Gareth was in the middle of a presentation when people started to leave. At first, just a few left - albiet hurriedly. Then a few more. This sort of thing can really punch a hole in your self-confidence when you're on the stage, but Gareth jogged on regardless. Finally someone interrupted him and asked if they could adjourn the meeting. The US Pentagon and New York City had been attacked - it was September 11th.
Now, most of you reading will probably remember that day unless you're 12, in which case you probably shouldn't be reading this Journal. While it is cartoonish and written by someone with the mentality of a 12 year old in many notable ways, it's probably a little more adult than what you should be reading. (There. That should make sure that every 12 year old on the web wants to read my Journals.)
Photo: Stolen
Probably Not the Virgin Air Girls Gareth Dealt With
Gareth remembers quite well what he was doing on September 11th - feeling better about his presentation style. Then he started trying to figure out what he should be doing as a British military officer in the US as it was being attacked by terrorists. He tried calling the Pentagon, but, as you can imagine, they had bigger problems at that point. So he went to the Virgin Airways airline desk to see what they had to say.
He described the Orlando Virgin Airways desk as pure chaos - there were 250 people mobbing the counter with eight women in red and one in black trying to keep them from revolting. These people all wanted to get out of the country on a day when, as you may recall, all flights were grounded. (I distinctly remember this. I was at a friend's house who lives along one of the holding pattern flight paths for Detroit Metro Airport. I had never noticed the airplanes when I had been there before, but their lack was distinctly eerie.)
The Virgin Airlines
people were relieved to see a military uniform at their counter, wrongly assuming he was there to advise everyone on what was happening. The lead girl (the one in black) sequestered Gareth and quizzed him. She was
Photo: Poppa Ratsey
Gareth in Uniform - Not
The One
He Wore on 9-11
(We hope.)
dismayed to learn that he knew little more than she did. In the spirit of the moment, however, Gareth recognized that his uniform carried an official air of order, so he agreed to speak to the many-headed throng.
First he and the Virgin Airlines girl synchronized their facts. Gareth then stood up on the counter, told everyone "Shut up!" and explained what was known at this point. He then made the mistake of allowing questions. People had LOTS of questions, as you can imagine. One guy kept whining about getting home because he was afraid he would lose his job. Gareth, finally tired of hearing about this, said, "This nation and its people are under attack right now! I'm not concerned with your job!" Gareth finally sorted the mob and got the scrum of people to form orderly queues so that the 8 red-uniformed girls weren't quite so overwhelmed.
Gareth then got back down off the counter, feeling his work here was done. Or not. "Can you come back a couple of times tomorrow?" asked the girl in black. "In your uniform?" That wasn't quite his plan, but he agreed to show up at 10am and address the mob the next day.
When he arrived, he was greeted by a sign in front of the Virgin Airways counter reading, "British Army Briefing at 10am". He did this for a week and then got tired of doing it. Things had settled down by that point so that his presence wasn't quite so necessary, so he stopped.
Now, you may recall that this was supposed to be a story about how Gareth wound up at the Key West pirate festivals. (Ha ha! Caught you, didn't I? You were getting into the September 11th story!) Gareth had told his fellow British Army soldiers that they couldn't book flights home until all the desperate UK citizens had figured out their flights home. He sourly explained to me that one of his fellow soldiers had pulled some strings to get on an early flight despite having no real reason to do so. It turned out to be that guy's loss, however, because Gareth and the four remaining British soldiers decided to take quick trip down to Key West while they were waiting for their flights home. (See, I got you there eventually. Always trust your author.)
Of course, this was mid-September and those of you with keen minds
Photo: Pirated
A Recreation of Gareth & Elizabeth's Motorcycle Trip
and long memories will protest that the Key West pirate events took place in late November/early December. Indeed. So let me explain. Gareth had a really good time in Key West, thoroughly enjoying the easy-going paradise of the last accessible islands of the chain that dribble off the Florida peninsula.
Once back home, he convinced Elizabeth to take her first trip to the Colonies with him because he thought she'd like the environment as well. They flew into Miami and rented Harleys, wheeling their choppers down the AIA to its terminus. That trip was in late November. While there, they heard about the pirate festival and decided to check it out. So now know why Gareth and Elizabeth started coming to the Key West pirate festivals.
He told me that they've now made 9 trips to Key West, renting motorcycles twice. I asked him how the trip on a motorcycle was, because I've heard that the reality of riding motorcycles for such a long distance is not quite as romantic as it sounds. Your hands get sore, you get stiff, it gets cold faster than you'd think and so forth. He told me that the thing they liked least was the large lorries (tractor trailer trucks to us Yanks) and the draft they kicked up as they passed. That can really buck a motorcycle.
Before you knew
Photo: Poppa Ratsey
The British Troop Force at the Fort Taylor Pyrate Invasion in 2012
That' Gareth in Blue to the left of the Viceroy and Elizabeth to his right
it (well, actually it took 6 or 7 years) , Gareth was in charge of the British artillery at Fort Taylor, as you will see if you read the 2011 and 2012 Fort Taylor Pirate Invasion Journals. (Gareth may have been in charge of them before that, but that's not in my Journals so I'm not sure.) He's proud that since he has taken over the British artillery, they have gone from something people grudgingly agreed to be a part of to a much sought-after role. (Last year someone even complained that Gareth had allowed people into the ranks who 'weren't as experienced as they should be.)
I can bear witness to how it used to be. I remember being one of a handful of people sitting out on the battlefield in front of the fort shooting one of the two puny British cannons at the fort wall in 2007. (They had at least twice and maybe three times as many cannon on the wall.) I volunteered to switch sides because 1) No one else wanted to be out there and they needed another hand and 2) I got to learn to shoot a cannon. (Cannons are kewl.)
Mission Feeding Merlin Carrots
Back in the present, Gareth introduced me to Merlin, his donkey. Actually, you will learn that he has three donkeys, but I don't want to get ahead of myself here. Gareth gave me some carrots to feed Merlin, which I dutifully did.
Merlin had recently had surgery in an uncomfortable place (No, not the back of a Volkswagon.) (Unrecogonizability rating: 54%) to remove a rather large tumor. He had had to be walked into a nearby town for this and what with all that pain in his privities and being kept over at the vet's
Photo: The Bagleys
Lob, Having Other Plans
for some nights, Gareth told me that Merlin was feeling a bit possessive of him. He explained that if Merlin could talk, he would have said, "It's all right you're giving me food, but don't come in the yard." So I gingerly gave Merlin the carrots which he greedily snapped up, eyeing me suspiciously and braying at me as I walked away.
Now if Lob had been here, I would have had to try and get him to ride Merlin. It's tradition, after all. However, given Merlin's testy (heh) condition, it's probably a good thing that Lob wasn't here. Lob's long, gangly legs and arms might have got bitten or possibly even eaten in the process. (Lob would look sort of funny with one amputated arm. Actually that might be an argument for rather than against trying to put Lob on Merlin.) Since Lob wasn't here, however, this whole discussion is irrelevant.
For dinner, we headed into the town of Kington to get take out Indian food from one of Gareth's favorite local restaurants, Blue Indigo. We entered and I discovered that they already knew what Gareth wanted. He goes there at least once a week, often with his brother who also lives locally. As Gareth explained, sometimes he just stops his car in front of the restaurant,
The Olde Tavern at Kington
sticks his hand out the window and holds up two fingers, signifying that he and his brother want their regular meals, to be ready in an hour, give or take.
The reason for the 'give or take' is that they usually go from there to where we went next, which is Gareth's favorite local pub: The Olde Tavern at Kington. Pubs are clearly an important part of society here; whenever Gareth talked about a town in Wales, he would give me the name, the approximate population and the number of pubs the town supported.
The Olde Tavern proved to be oddly constructed - the foyer has a door on either side, each leading to a separate bar on either side! We went in the left side, which is where all the locals seemed to be hanging out. I'm told the Olde Tavern looks remarkably like it did in the 19th century - lots of wood paneling, white walls and well-worn pews for the regular congregation. It was defintely a comfortable place.
Debbie, Sharon and Gareth in the Olde Tavern
Gareth had brought along a bag with several six-pack egg cartons in it for which several of the patrons were waiting. (This is a clever plan. It allows you to tell the missus you were going to the store for eggs, meet Gareth in the pub for a pint and then return home with said eggs without the missus being any the wiser.)
Gareth had warned me that I would be asked a lot of questions because it was unusual to find a stranger, let 
Mission and Debbie
alone and American stranger, in such a small, local pub. However, the questions and the people were very friendly and I immediately felt a part of the group.
There were two women in the pub (versus 6 or 8 men during the time we were there). One of them was the bartender, Sharon. The other was sitting on a stool near where I sat. This was Debbie, the proprietor of the pub. She was very friendly and we got on well. Gareth later told me that she has been the 'licensee' of the pub (meaning she was licensed to run it, but didn't own it) for a couple of years, but she was thinking about possibly doing something else. I believe I know several people who would gladly trade places with her.
There was also a dog in the pub, who was named Archie. UK residents are very fond of their dogs; I saw them all over the place - in pubs, on the streets, in cars and on trains while there. I believe Archie's owner's name was Sprodel, because I rather cryptically wrote that down in my notes next to 'Archie the dog.' However, since I'm writing this account several weeks after it happened, I'm not certain. Sprodel may have also been the name of the beer I had, or a bar implement used to loosen the taps when they needed to be changed. (Or maybe that's a spanner. I digress...)
My memory wasn't helped by the fact that, after having a pint and talking about how much I liked hand-pulled ales, the reigning discussion in small pub turned to beers. (There was nearly always a single discussion going in this pub and everyone contributed to it as the mood hit them.) That led to a discussion about local brews and what made them good,
Proof That Mission Can't Hold His Liquor
(Actually, that's 18th c. Pewter that I'm
Vanna vamping with there.)
bad or indifferent. Participating in this, Gareth decided it was time for me to sample some of the local brews. The proof was in the pudding, after all.
While I enjoy a drink now and again, particularly with pirate friends, I live alone, spending a lot of time writing and working on various projects. As a result, I don't do a whole lot of drinking because it's not that much fun to drink by yourself. So it doesn't take all that much to get me tipsy. In fact, it is only because Gareth later told me what varieties of Cider I had had that I know the names of the last ones.
We
Photo: Andy Roberts
Kingston-Black Apples, Still Growing on the Vine
started with a bottle of Old Rosie Cider, which is a western cider that uses only Herefordshire apples. Gareth explained that these apples have a bittersweet flavor because they "don't have as much sunlight as other apples." This apparently makes the cider drier than other ciders.
The second cider was Perry, which is made (amazingly enough) from Perry pears. (Perry pears is kind of fun to say. Do that now. See?) These were not just any pears, but pears that are grown in this area. The best of these pears are claimed to be the ones that grow within sight of May Hill, which is located on the Gloucestershire/Herefordshire border. Gareth said these were hard, scrubby little pears that ripen in only 3-4 days.
The last cider was Kingston Black Cider, which is made from single varietal cider apples. Gareth called this bitter-sharp and said that it was the best cider they made around here. I recall liking all of them, but then I would have by the time I got through the third one.
Outside the Blue Indigo, Which You Can't See
We took our leave of the Olde Tavern at Kington and headed back to Blue Indigo to pick up the food. Back at Gareth's house, he set the table and we sat down to dinner. It was very good, although my recollection is naturally a bit fuzzy. Gareth put on Johnny Cash as dinner music - he turned out to be a fan. Curiously, I had noticed signs for Johnny Cash nights in some pubs in Devon later that week, so I guess Johnny is still most popular in the UK.
After dinner, Gareth produced a decanter of Madeira wine. He explained to me that when he was in the Army, they would pass around bottles of port and Madeira after regimental dinners. The officers would usually snaffle all the port, so Gareth learned to like Madeira.
We also had some Black Strap Rum - it was in honor of piracy, which is how we wound up sitting around his table listening to the hard-driving sounds of Johnny Cash and discussing Wales 
The Alcohol and the Mugs at Gareth's
and the world.
While admiring the wine decanters he had on the cabinet at the end of the table, I noticed Gareth's collection of pewter mugs. "Those are like the ones you were selling in Key West." I said. "Those are the ones I was selling in Key West . They're real pewter mugs, some from the 18th century. I couldn't get anyone in Key West to believe they were real, though, so I brought them back and put them up there." He had bought them at antique stores before going to Florida. (I can't imagine the cost of getting them from the UK to Florida on a plane. Pewter mugs are heavy.) Liking this story, I offered to buy one. Gareth said I could have one, but only if I actually used it.
Now, if I had recovered from all those ciders in the pub, the digestifs put me a bit back under the alcohol horizon. Gareth announced he was turning in. I said that I wanted to try and recapture the day on my computer before going to bed. I didn't really want to do any such thing, but I was afraid if I didn't jot some of it down, I would lose it all. So I got my laptop out... only to discover that I had left my power cord back at Portmeirion. I was sozzled enough that the full impact of this didn't hit me then. I just took it as permission to head upstairs and go to sleep.