That Would Be Telyn

By Delyth Jenkins

In the summer of 2012 Delyth Jenkins walked the 186 miles of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. She carried a small harp with her, giving a series of impromptu path-side concerts. Structured around the 17 days of the walk, this book is an account of her adventures and the people she met and played for along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Y Lolfa
• Release date: Sep 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781784617370

Book preview

cover.jpg

I Angharad a Branwen

That Would Be

Telyn

Walking the Pembrokeshire Coast with my harp

Delyth Jenkins

First impression: 2019

© Copyright Delyth Jenkins and Y Lolfa Cyf., 2019

The contents of this book are subject to copyright, and may not be reproduced by any means, mechanical or electronic, without the prior, written consent of the publishers.

Cover image: Valériane Leblond

ISBN: 978-1-78461-737-0

Published and printed in Wales on paper from well-maintained forests by

Y Lolfa Cyf., Talybont, Ceredigion SY24 5HE

website www.ylolfa.com

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fax 832 782

Praise for That Would Be Telyn

This is a truant’s travelogue, with more than a hint of vagabondage. In it the contours of the Pembrokeshire coastline meld with the contours of the heart. And both are magically transposed into a songlines map of Wales.

M. Wynn Thomas

This charming, lively and quirky book carries a quiet, clear melody, just as its author carried her little harp with her along the Pembrokeshire coastal path. In sprightly prose it tells us about the kindness of strangers, the bonds formed by music-making and how walking can itself be a creative act. If there’s one book about itinerant harpists to take on holiday, then make it this one.

Jon Gower

Delyth Jenkins’ captivating testament of a harpist’s tour of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path coast beguiles the reader into an extraordinary sense of sharing her journey. Beautifully written, the narrative carries the charm and candour of spontaneous experience, engaging with the fugitive, living moment in a beloved landscape. That Would Be Telyn is a musician’s miniature odyssey, full of epiphanies, gentle meetings and haunting personal reflections.

Stevie Davies

Delyth Jenkins’s delightful book of ‘extreme harping’ on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path is an unusual addition to the library of walking. It records a journey, through rain, heat and exhaustion, that is enriched by old poets, family memories, and the kindness of friends and strangers. Walking-with-music stills and frees Delyth’s mind, opening it to new ways of being creative.

Delyth writes just as she lives and plays music: with honesty, humour and a warm curiosity in other people and in the ancient land she travels through.

Some traditional Welsh tunes Delyth plays on the Path for two women from Seville magically dispel the sea mist and bring out the sun. Her writing will have a similar effect on the reader.

Andrew Green

Part travelogue, part memoir, part musical adventure, I found a special alchemy in this book which delights in the magic spirit of Pembrokeshire, the company of friends (and strangers), the author’s own late-life daring, and the joy she found playing her beloved Celtic harp in the most unlikely of settings. There’s a generosity too in the way Delyth looks back at her life with gratitude and laughter, despite having experienced some difficult times. The kind of book that makes you want to open your own self up to the world and its (still) beautiful possibilities.

Corinne Westacott

In the tradition of a quest, Delyth Jenkins’ journey with a harp is as much one of self discovery as it is an exploration of the wild and beautiful Pembrokeshire coastal path. During her walk, with its impromptu concerts by the wayside, Delyth reflects upon the nature of her identity as a musician, mother and Welsh speaker. Her descriptions lead the reader to wish they’d been there – had chanced upon this wandering minstrel and heard her play the Telyn while the waves crashed far below and the seagulls swooped overhead.

Jo Mazelis

Touring with Aberjaber during the 1980s, I often travelled in the back of Delyth’s car with her harp resting on my chest. Now, Delyth describes another journey in which she is travelling with the harp on her back: her telling of this musical odyssey around the coast of west Wales is a meditation and a reflection on life which is not only informative and enriching, but also deeply moving.

Pete Stacey

In the summer of 2012, Delyth Jenkins walked

the 186 miles of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path.

She took with her a small harp (telyn¹),

with the intention of giving a series

of impromptu path-side concerts.

Pembrokeshire – my itinerary

1

Tuesday 7 August

St Dogmaels (Llandudoch)¹ to Ceibwr Bay/Moylgrove (Bae Ceibwr/ Trewyddel): 7 miles

With the incredulity of first awakening, I take in the unfamiliar stripped wooden floor, the sofa in the bay window, the tray with cups and tea bags. From downstairs wafts up that enticing aroma that has broken the will of many a zealous veggie. I make tea, open the curtains and look out over the estuary. This all feels uncannily like a holiday, although the butterflies in my stomach tell me otherwise. I am about to embark on the strangest, longest and most exciting gig of my life. Butterflies before a gig are normal. Essential, if your playing is to have any edge to it. But this is different. This is not a normal gig. I have only a vague idea of where I will be playing. I don’t know if I will have an audience. But, most nerve-wrackingly, I have absolutely no idea how the audiences will react. Over the years you develop a sense of what works. If you’re doing your job properly, the audience moves with you. Celebrates your joy. Weeps with your sadness. I suppose I’ve learnt my craft. But here there is no safety net of knowledge and experience.

What if people think I’m some sort of nutter? Yesterday evening I took a gentle stroll along the bank of the river towards Cardigan, the opposite direction to where I’m going today. I didn’t want to pre-empt today’s walk. Nestling close to the water I came across Carreg Ateb (Answering Stone), also known as Carreg Bendith (Blessing Stone). Tradition has it that this was where the abbot of St Dogmaels Abbey used to bless the fishermen before they set out on their fishing season. With the light quickly fading, the main attraction of this stone for me was its ability to send an echo back from the other side of the estuary. A courting couple experimented with the sounds, sending each other messages of love that did not disappear over the dark waters of the estuary but came back to them in that cosy green dell. I lingered in the shadows, waiting my turn. There I was, a grey-haired woman with no companion, sending my own messages across the water, hoping the spirit of the abbot would bless me on my journey. I am about to embark on a walk of 186 miles with my small harp on my back, playing to walkers along the way, so there’s absolutely no point in feeling self-conscious.

I had been uncertain of how I would start my journey. Should I organise the press to come and make a big event of it? Or should I just shuffle off, unnoticed? Gill and Tosh of the Argo Villa B&B (who endearingly sign their e-mails G&T) have organised the perfect send-off. They have rallied a group of locals to come down to the quayside to send me on my way. They have brought flasks of tea, and I get my harp out and play. People in the flats opposite come out onto their balconies, bemused at the early morning concert from their very own best seat in the house. The dustbin lorry trundles noisily past, and the men in the cab wave and cheer. I feel heartened. Maybe this is not such a madcap idea after all.

I then overhear two women talking in front of me. ‘Why do you think she’s doing it?’ says one. The other mysteriously but knowingly replies, ‘Oh you know, these creative people…’

The morning is grey and overcast, presaging worse to come. As I pack my harp up and hoist it onto my back, the gentle Welsh drizzle starts. The group of well-wishers wave me on my way, and I stride away from them.

Within seconds, a text pings in from my friend Claire of Fluellen Theatre Company in Swansea: ‘Good luck Harpie! Absolutely pouring here, hope it isn’t in St Dogs! xx’. It puts a smile on my face.

The first mile or so of the path follows the road towards Poppit Sands, and as I am walking I wonder whether the rain is sufficiently heavy for me to get out my wet gear. I had pondered long and hard how to keep myself and the harp dry, and then came up with the solution of a cape to put over everything. The man in the mobility scooter shop looked puzzled when I explained that I wanted a cape that would be big enough to cover me, my bag on my front and my harp on my back. I went for the XXL size. Bright red.

As I walk along this stretch of road, which is probably the last place to receive a mobile signal in north Pembrokeshire, my phone rings. I immediately think it must be someone wishing me all the best for the journey ahead, and rummage in my bag at the side of the road to retrieve my phone. I answer, and a strange dismembered voice with a south-east English accent asks me, ‘Do you have a pension?’ I laugh out loud. She must think she has some crazy woman on the other end of the phone. The same could be said for the passing motorists. What a question to ask me! And at this time! No, I don’t have a pension. I’m a musician. I was stupid enough not to plan ahead. As Louis Armstrong said, ‘Musicians don’t retire; they stop when there’s no more music in them.’ And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a long walk ahead of me.

My sense of direction is abysmal, but I am not too worried about getting lost. I have my Pembrokeshire Coast Path