Creation of the house was the brain-child of Sir Thomas Stepney, Member of Parliament for Carmarthenshire and head of the most significant landed gentry family in Llanelli, possibly the whole of the county.

The Stepney’s were originally a London family who had come to Wales, via St Albans, as far back as 1559 when Alban Stepney took up residence in Pembrokeshire. In 1714 one of his descendants, Thomas, decided to build himself a house in the town of Llanelli. The town was beginning to grow to the extent that it would soon become the largest urban conurbation in Carmarthenshire.

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The place was already becoming a renowned centre for copper and lead smelting although it was tin plate that really made the town’s name. That was not all the town became famous for – a pottery was also operated in Llanelli and, later in the 19th and 20th centuries, the famous town rugby club became a sporting force to be reckoned with.

The production of tin plate, however, was the most significant product of the town and the Stepneys, like most other wealthy families, benefitted greatly. At one time there were no fewer than thirty tin plate mills in the town, an industry that made many people very wealthy. It was natural that Sir Thomas Stepney would choose to display his wealth and social position.

The house was originally thought to stand on “virgin ground” but archaeological excavations during the recent renovations have shown that there was a dwelling on the site that dated back to the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods. The new house was spectacular, attracting visitors like John Wesley when he came to preach in the nearby parish church, and the Stepney family lived there for many years. The baronetcy that was awarded to the family finally became extinct around 1825.

Llanelly House passed through the hands of several successive owners, most of them related to the Stepneys in some way. It was eventually purchased by the town council and much of the frontage was soon in use for shops and other businesses. The building fell into a sad state of repair.

Enter the ������̳ Restoration television series. Championed by designer Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen, the house was a finalist in the competition when it became clear to everyone that they were sitting on a cultural and architectural gem.

In November 2009 the Carmarthen Heritage Restoration Trust obtained a £6 million grant to begin work on restoring the property to something like its original glory. The plan was always to create a revolutionary visitor experience so that anyone entering Llanelli House would gain a clear insight into what life in 18th and 19th century Llanelli was really like.

In 2011 architects Austin-Smith were employed to begin the restoration work. This was a costly and complicated business that involved taking out the 18th century shop fronts, re-vamping the stair and hallway – always the core of the old building – and giving the rooms, such as Sir Thomas’s study, a new lease of life.

Restoration is now complete and Llanelly House is open to the public. As well as the house itself – now a Genealogy Heritage Centre - there is a wide range of period artefacts to see. Guided tours are informative and regular.

Llanelli House, like all old buildings, has an interesting past. It was recently voted in the top three most haunted buildings in Carmarthenshire, the others being the and .

The ghost of Mia Turner, who was present in the house on the night of the 1851 census but disappeared soon afterwards, provides guides with a ready-made ghost story that will have all imaginative visitors quaking in their shoes.

Llanelly House, although dating back to the beginning of the Georgian period, is one of the newest tourist attractions in Wales. It provides valuable insights and a superb atmosphere for anyone who has a feeling for the history of Wales.

Frank Brangwyn was born at Bruges on 12 May 1867. He was the son of Anglo-Welsh parents; his father, William Curtis Brangwyn, was a specialist in ecclesiastical architecture and textile designs. William won a commission to adapt and design a church in the Belgian city and duly moved there with his family.

When Frank was born he was registered as Guillaume François, as you might expect in a French speaking part of the world. However, to the family and the world he was always Frank.

The Brangwyn family returned to Britain in 1874, taking up residence in London. Frank received no formal training as an artist, being almost entirely self taught. His father undoubtedly advised him and he did work - or study - for a while with Arthur Mackmurdo in the workshops of the famous William Morris. But there was no formal college training.

His breakthrough came at an early age. When he was just 17, Brangwyn had a painting accepted by the Royal Academy for their summer exhibition and overnight his career was launched. He loved light, bright colours and his travels in southern Europe and to the near east only confirmed his enjoyment of light and shade.

Being notoriously short of money, Brangwyn worked as a deck hand at sea in order to fund one particular trip, in 1888, to Turkey. It was a journey full of enjoyment and sensual delight and he went on to paint, among other countries, places as varied as Egypt, Morocco and Spain. He particularly enjoyed painting the sea, where the light seemed especially vivid.

One of his early successes, winning the 1891 Paris Salon, was Funeral At Sea, although the finished work was rather drab and grey - certainly not full of the brightness and vitality with which he is usually associated. As a work of art, however, it is stunningly realistic and certainly captures the solemnity of the occasion.

During World War One Brangwyn produced over 80 poster designs, aimed at recruitment and helping the war effort. The most famous of these was the depiction of a British soldier bayoneting a German during a trench raid.

So realistic and horrifying was this picture that it caused a great deal of offence, both in Germany and Britain. It was even rumoured that the Kaiser had put a price on Brangwyn's head - something that was eminently possible as he had already done this with the Dutch artist Louis Raemaekers for his depictions of German barbarity in Belgium earlier in the war.

Brangwyn's war work - he spent some time as an official War Artist - was brutally realistic. He produced, amongst other pieces, a poster to help in a fund raising event for Welsh troops and, one of his finest creations, Tank In Action.

Between 1925 and 1932 Brangwyn was commissioned to produce a series of panels for the Royal Gallery in the House of Lords. However, the end product - covering over 3,000 square feet of wall space - was considered to be too colourful for such a sombre setting and the paintings were rejected. They were donated instead to Swansea Guildhall and now hang in Brangwyn Hall in the south Wales city.

In his career Frank Brangwyn produced an enormous amount of work. It ranged from paintings, ceramics to drawings and etchings. He made stained glass windows and illustrated books. He also drew for illustrated magazines such as The Graphic.

In the years before the outbreak of World War Two he designed the interiors for the luxury liner Empress of Britain. His work on this magnificent vessel now lies at the bottom of the ocean as the ship was torpedoed and sunk during the war.

In 1936 this prolific and exceptional artist presented over 400 pieces of his work to Bruges, the city of his birth. It was a generous gesture but, of course, there was limited viewing of the work due to the outbreak of war in 1939.

In a career that spanned 70 years, Brangwyn was hugely successful but never really part of the establishment. Critics simply did not know how to label him, did not know quite where he could be pigeon holed. At a time when artists like Burne-Jones, Sargent and Whistler were still popular, Brangwyn simply did not fit in.

He died at his home in Ditchling, Sussex, in 1956. His wife, Lucy Ray, had died in 1924. They had no children.

For a man who had achieved success at an early age, official recognition came rather late in life. It was not until 1941 that Brangwyn received a knighthood and for a true renaissance artist - he was, amongst other things, a painter, engraver and designer - it was a tribute that was well deserved. Take a trip to Swansea's Brangwyn Hall and see for yourself.

The original idea was to make a documentary centred on the St Matthews Church Drop-in Centre run by the Cyrenians. I soon realised that some homeless people never came in. We decided we should try four weeks just trudging the streets to widen the search.

We hardly filmed a thing but the gamble paid off - by the end of the month we knew a dozen or so people who were beginning to see us as friends.

Just before Christmas we found ourselves filming homeless people being moved on by the police for drinking in the city centre. It made the people feel victimised. From then on, many of the street people saw us very much as their film crew, seeing it from their point of view. This was another step toward strengthening our relationship with them.

By the end of our first three months filming, homelessness had got under my skin. Tracy and I had developed such amazing access to people who never normally had a voice. We had to try and get more viewers to see things as we did, so we set off for another three month journey on the streets.

Most of what we saw on the streets was deeply depressing. In the first series we filmed Stevie, who was struggling with addiction and we were shocked when he told us he was thinking about committing a crime just to get a bed in jail.

On our return, a year later, we discovered his life had been transformed. It was such a relief. It was good to know there is a way out of homelessness even for those with addictions. For Stevie, this was through going to a faith-based rehab centre for eight months and becoming a Christian. For me this was far better than the reality which could have meant him dying on the streets.

Emotionally it was challenging and it was the plight of one of those having to sleep rough in the snow that is most deeply etched on my memory.

I was astonished to meet Andy and his 72-year-old dad, Cookie, both living on Swansea's streets. I saw them being moved on by the police, an almost daily occurrence. Their back story has continued to haunt me, how would I have turned out if I had met my father for the very first time in my teens and then discovered he was a homeless alcoholic?

Walking away was even harder to bear. The experience of getting close to those in such desperate circumstances, who have nothing and who every day are struggling to survive, made me think more about my own life and how my priorities have changed. Now I am much more in touch with my emotions.

Swansea: Back On The Streets is on Wednesday 8 May at 10.35pm on ������̳ One Wales. It is��a Mentorn Cymru production for ������̳ Cymru Wales.

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Some of the women really opened up to me. Their stories were shocking. I remember one bright young girl in particular. She'd become a prostitute and told me she charged £20 a time, all just to fund her drug habit. She was homeless but streetwise and one day she just cracked and poured her heart out to me. It was awful. It made me really angry and upset. I couldn't stop thinking about how her life could have been so very different.

Although it was emotional and their stories were hard hitting and powerful, it never ceased to amaze us how there was always humour on the street. People who were in dire situations remained so positive and were able to laugh and joke.

We learnt a lot from the first series and it was hard to let go. We have dug a lot deeper in the second. Both times it took over our lives and I think that's important as we had a duty to all the people who willingly and openly let us in, to tell their stories with honesty and integrity.

The last day of filming was hard. We had spent so much time with homeless people and walking away from their lives was heart-breaking. On the last day, Susan, one of the girls we'd been filming, offered us a cup of tea and gave Chris and me a coat each!

This six month experience on the streets has taught us a lot and some of the people we met are now more like friends. Next time we're in Swansea we'll definitely be meeting them again for a cuppa.

Swansea: Back On The Streets is on Wednesday 8 May at 10.35pm on ������̳ One Wales.��It is��a Mentorn Cymru production for ������̳ Cymru Wales.

It was a hard and spartan life. To begin with Lockley reared and sold rabbits. He attempted to breed the rare chinchilla variety but soon discovered that it was unrewarding work. Writing books and articles on wildlife, he quickly found, was far more remunerative.

Skokholm was the ideal location to observe wildlife and Lockley, now in seventh heaven, studied the migratory habits of the birds he encountered on the island.

In particular he made an extensive study of the Manx Shearwaters who came to the island in their thousands. He wrote a magnificent monograph on these amazing birds and detailed the breeding habits and life style of all the island birds in Island Days (1934) and I Know An Island (1938).

By now the wider world was taking an interest in Lockley. He became friendly with other scientists and naturalists, people such as Peter Scott and Julian Huxley. He founded not only the first British bird observatory on the island but also the Pembrokeshire Bird Protection Society. This later became the West Wales Field Society and then the Wildlife Trust West Wales.

Lockley even managed to persuade the great film maker Alexander Korda to come to Pembrokeshire and shoot one of the early naturalist films on the life of the gannet. This was done on the remote Atlantic island – even more remote than Skokholm – of Grassholm.

Despite having to leave Skokholm during World War Two when the island was taken over by the army, Lockley continued to write and campaign for nature conservation. In 1952 he took a leading role in setting up the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park and was instrumental in the mapping out of the coastal footpath around the county.

His campaigns were not always successful. Living now in the old manor house of Orielton outside Pembroke, he was one of the chief opponents to the use of Milford Haven as a base for the oil refineries that even now dominate the shores of the estuary. Fulminate and campaign as much as he liked, the power of industry won in the end and the refineries duly arrived.

While at Orielton he made a long and extensive study of rabbit behaviour and, in his book on the house and the estate, wrote movingly about the bats who lived in the area. However, Lockley never forgot his island days and one of his most charming books remains Letters From Skokholm.

The book is a collection of 50 letters to his brother in law John Buxon – many of them written and sent to the POW camp while Buxon was a prisoner of war in Germany – describing and detailing the flora, fauna and history of the island. The letters were written during Lockley's enforced absence from Skokholm and are as much about keeping the place alive and breathing in his own mind as they are about entertaining the captive Buxon.

In 1970, convinced that the government and those in positions of power were not taking seriously the threat from industry to the landscape and natural life of Britain, Lockley emigrated to New Zealand. He spent the rest of his life travelling in Polynesia and in the remote areas of the Antarctic. He died on 12 April 2000, aged 96.

Lockley wrote over 50 books in his long and productive life. His most famous work is probably The Private Life Of A Rabbit, which came out in 1964. It was instrumental in helping Richard Adams develop his novel Watership Down - a debt Adams later repaid by making Lockley one of the characters in the final chapters of his book The Plague Dogs.

RM Lockley remains one of the most influential writers of his time. His books are learned and yet entertaining, informative and charming at the same time. He remains a truly inspirational figure.

Stack Rock, Pembrokeshire Coast National Park (Photo from ynysforgan_jack)

The coastal park covers approximately 240 square miles and consists of soaring cliffs, long stretches of glorious sandy beach and, slightly inland, rolling hills and deep, mysterious woodlands. It has scenery, history and legend enough to capture the imagination of even the most discerning visitor or local.

The Pembrokeshire Coast Park was originally designated at the end of February 1952, one of three national parks in Wales. The others are the and .

In order to be best appreciated the park should be viewed as a whole, as a complete entity. However, for those wishing to visit the area for a short time, it can be broken down into a number of sections or stretches which can offer an effective way of looking at one of the world's most spectacular stretches of coastline.

Firstly there is the southern coast, running from Amroth on the Pembrokeshire/Carmarthenshire border to the tip of the Angle Peninsula. This section obviously includes tourist destinations like Tenby and Caldey Island.

Next comes the Milford Haven Estuary, running from St Ann's Head up river towards Haverfordwest and including quiet backwaters that have probably not changed very much since the early twentieth century.

St Brides Bay (Photo from janjo 195)

Thirdly there is St Brides Bay, the broad sweep of coast that faces the roaring west winds of winter and includes beaches such as Newgale and Broadhaven (north). Then comes the rugged northern coast, from Strumble Head to Poppit Sands. And finally - but certainly not least - is the inland splendour of the Preseli Hills.

Each of the sections is different, offering different experiences and a range of sights that vary from isolated rock stacks to echoing caves and natural arches. The sea cliffs are magnificent, particularly on the southern coast and on St David's Head to the north. In winter, when the full force of the sea and wind can be felt, the cliffs of Pembrokeshire are particularly atmospheric.

The park includes the islands of Pembrokeshire, some of which can be visited. These include places like Caldey, Ramsey and Skomer. In contrast, the area around Castlemartin on the south coast is often closed as it incorporates military firing ranges but when open it offers even more magnificent scenery and wild life. Sea birds such as razorbills and guillemots abound, even rare red-legged choughs.

Pentre Ifan

However impressive the coast might be, there is very little that can compare to the mysterious sense of ancient history that you find at places such as Cromlech Pentre Ifan in the foothills of the Preseli Mountains.

Stand here at dusk, as the sun sets over the western sea, and only the most insensitive of visitors can fail to feel the hairs rise up on the backs of their necks - a sure way of getting in touch with our ancient ancestors. Remember, the famous Blue Stones of Stonehenge came from nearby Carn Menyn and the whole of the Gwaun Valley, east of Fishguard, was once reputed to be full of witches. In some parts of the valley New Year's Day is still celebrated on 13th January, a tradition dating back to 1752 when the Julian calendar was replaced by the Gregorian one.

History is everywhere in the Pembrokeshire Coast Park. From the old dockyard at Pembroke Dock, a place that once built royal yachts for Queen Victoria, to the site of the last invasion of Britain outside Fishguard, there is something here for everyone, no matter what their interest. Over a dozen ancient castles, palaces for Bishops and beaches where smugglers once reigned supreme - the area is suffused with points of fascinating history.

Lying almost totally within the National Park is the . Now designated as a National Trail, it runs for over 180 miles around the coast from Amroth to St Dogmaels before linking up with the Ceredigion Path to the north. It will be an essential part of the Welsh Coast Path, due to open fully this year. Most of the Pembrokeshire Path runs at cliff top level, the highest point being 574 feet above the sea, the lowest (at Sandy Haven) just a few feet.

The Coast Path was originally conceived back in 1953 when the Pembrokeshire-based writer and naturalist surveyed a route around the coast and reported his findings to the Countryside Commission.

It took some years and many delicate negotiations with land owners before the path could be made fully operational and it was only formally opened, by Wynford Vaughan-Thomas, on 16 May 1970. No visit to the Pembrokeshire area would ever be complete without walking at least a few hundred yards along the Coast Path.

The Pembrokeshire Coast National Park remains a jewel in the crown of Wales, something that every visitor to the country should experience at least once.

Pembroke Dock (Photo: Maciej Martyka)

It was Friday 8 February 1889. For over 30 years John Jones had operated a ferry - no more than a large rowing boat with a sail - between Bentlass on the southern flank of the river and Lower Pennar on the north. The ferry carried men from places like Castlemartin and Angle to work in the Royal Naval Dockyard at Pembroke Dock and then, when their days work was done, took them home again.

Operating out of the Salt House in Bentlass, Jones also carried women on their way to do their weekly shopping in Pembroke Dock. And 8 February, being a Friday, was market day in the Pembrokeshire town. So, despite the weather, 14 women had made the journey and now, as evening began to close in, they had trooped together up the hill from the town, their arms full of purchases and shopping bags. Now they stood waiting patiently for Jones the Boatman on the Ridge at Lower Pennar.

John Jones found it a hard pull across Pembroke River but he was an old hand at the game. He knew the river well, knew it in all its guises, and despite the conditions out in the centre of the stream he was not unduly worried. Besides, as he was getting older, these days he had a young boy to help him on the oars.

The ferry grounded on the Ridge and all 14 women crowded impatiently onto the boat. Quickly Jones pushed off, eager to be back on his own side of the river.

By the time they had reached mid stream the ferry boat was pitching wildly in the waves, spray and spume thundering off her sides. Sometimes breakers smashed into her side, sending water pouring over the gunwales and soaking the heavy dresses of the women passengers. Still John Jones was not unduly worried.

What happened next is more guesswork that hard historical fact. It is thought that one of the women panicked and leapt to her feet to avoid one of the breakers. The ferry boat, unbalanced by the sudden movement, dipped her side into the water and almost immediately another breaker hit her. Gallons of water poured into the vessel and she began to settle swiftly by the stern.

Within seconds the river was a mass of struggling bodies as passengers were pitched into the waves. Jones' young helper jumped desperately over the bow and began to strike out for the shore, now no more than 20 or 30 yards away. Before he had gone a few feet the frantic figure of a terrified woman heaved out of the water and clutched at his shoulders for help.

There was a brief struggle, then both boy and woman disappeared beneath the waves. By now would-be rescuers had appeared on the river bank, summoned from their houses by the screams of the passengers. Some of them waded into the river, desperately trying to reach the terrified passengers drowning before their eyes, but it was no use. The current was too strong.

By nightfall the full extent of the tragedy had become clear. Fourteen female passengers, Jones the Boatman and his young helper had all perished, drowned in the muddy waters of Pembroke River, just a few yards away from safety.

For the men and women who gathered on both sides of the river there was little they could do to help. All hopes of rescue and survival had gone; now all they could do was gather in the bodies.

As night fell, the debris from the disaster began to float ashore on the incoming tide - parcels and packages so recently bought from the market stalls in Pembroke Dock, shopping bags and pieces of the heavy, saturated clothing that had undoubtedly helped to pull the women down.

The disaster of the Bentlass Ferry has, now, been largely forgotten. In the grander scheme of things it was a fairly minor event. But it was a devastating blow for those small communities around the Pembroke River. Men had lost wives, children had lost their mothers, all part of the human tragedy that so often makes up the history of Wales.

Barry Docks (from the Eric Williams collection)

The development of Barry as a port was down to two things - the rapid growth of the south Wales coal trade and the dynamic personality and business acumen of David Davies, the first Welsh millionaire.

The area around Barry has been occupied since earliest times, Mesolithic flints having been found at Friars Point on Barry Island and the remains of an Iron Age fort having been uncovered on the promontory at Porthkerry.

The Romans knew the area well, one of their retired soldiers building a villa at nearby Llandough. The raiding Norsemen named the two islands out in the estuary - Steep Holm and Flat Holm - while the Normans (themselves of Viking origin) came to settle and stay, erecting a castle at Barry itself.

The town - if it can justify such a title - was badly hit by the Black Death in the 14th century and, while the place continued to function as a small port and trading centre, as late as 1871 the population was no greater than 100. Barry Island, just off the coast, was popular with locals and visitors alike who would make their way out to the island by boat or, at low tide, via a series of stepping stones. And that was it - until the coal trade arrived.

By the second half of the 19th century Cardiff, the main coal exporting port in Wales, had become something of a bottleneck. The docks, created by the , were large enough to cater for his own exports but other coal owners found themselves having to wait - as well as pay - not only to use the docks but also to ship their raw product down the valley.

, the main means of shipping coal down to Cardiff, became a single line track after Pontypridd and, because of the shape of the valley, there was no possibility of extending or developing the line. Many mine owners found themselves seriously hampered by what was, in effect, a monopoly in favour of the Bute concerns.

In 1883 a group of these mine owners, headed up by the enormously wealthy and dynamic David Davies, owner of the Ocean Collieries, formed themselves into a cabal or group and sought permission to build a dock at Barry, serviced by a new railway.

The Taff Vale promptly opposed the bill and the proposal was dropped but Davies was nothing if not persistent. The following year the group was successful in gaining parliamentary permission for their enterprise.

Work began on the new dock at Barry on 14 November 1884, along with the construction of the new railway link. Everything was completed in double quick time and the dock opened for trade in 1889.

In due course, further docks were added and while exports in the first year were just one million tons, by 1903 they had multiplied to over nine million. By 1913, the year before the outbreak of World War One, Barry had surpassed both Cardiff and Penarth to become the largest coal exporting port in the country.

The docks themselves were surrounded by dozens of business enterprises, everything from repair yards and cold storage facilities to flour mills and shipping agents. Even in the 1920s, as a world-wide depression began to bite into the Welsh coal trade, there were still over 50 independent companies trading out of the docks area.

The town of Barry developed along with the docks. And, after 1884, with Barry Island connected to the mainland by a causeway, Barry became a unique combination of industrial centre and tourist destination. From the 1890s P and A Campbell ran their White Funnel paddlers from a pier in the docks and, realising the value of such an enterprise, the Barry Railway Company soon decided to run their own cruise ships from the area.

From the Eric Williams collection

Of course, it did not last. The inevitable collapse of the Welsh coal trade after the war left Barry and its docks stranded, without purpose or plan. The port struggled on, the arrival of the Geest Company in 1959, importing bananas from the West Indies, gave some degree of job security but when they moved out in the 1980s Barry, as a port, went into terminal decline.

Gavin and Stacey was filmed in Barry

These days the old waterfront has been revamped and redeveloped, like so many other dockland areas. Parts of the old docks have been used in the filming of TV shows like Doctor Who and Torchwood and, of course, the television series Gavin and Stacey was both set and, in no small degree, filmed there. Barry Island struggles on - the old , centre of so much entertainment on the island, closed at the end of the 20th century but the funfair and beach remain.

Barry has a glorious history, of which its people should be proud. It faces severe challenges in the years ahead but, with fortitude and the occasional backward glance, it should be able to pull through. It is no more than the town deserves.

Garden Pit Memorial (image: Roger MacCallum)

Most of those disasters took place in the industrial belt of the south east, in the Rhondda and other valleys. For many modern-day visitors to beautiful, sea-girt Pembrokeshire it comes as something of a surprise, therefore, to realise that this tiny county in the far west of Wales also once had a mining industry. And the Pembrokeshire coalfield was not exempt from disaster.

On 14 February 1844, 58 men, women and boys were working in Garden Pit at Landshipping on the eastern branch of the Cleddau River when disaster struck.

The pit workings extended out under the river, and when water suddenly burst through the walls of the mine 40 miners were overwhelmed and drowned before they had time to escape.

There had been mining in the area since the Middle Ages but, in the main, this was low-key and seasonal, the mines being worked by agricultural labourers in the quieter times of year. Then, in 1800, Sir Hugh Owen installed the first steam engine in the Pembrokeshire coalfield, at his mine in Landshipping, and the industry transformed itself into an altogether different beast.

Soon, over 10,000 tons of coal and culm were being produced each year. By 1844 Colonel Sir John Owen had succeeded to the estate and quickly developed the infrastructure needed for such an enterprise. In particular he built a quay at Landshipping from which most of the coal was shipped to a wide variety of destinations.

Garden Pit, like several of the mines around the Cleddau, suffered badly from waterlogging, but even so the shaft was still some 67 yards deep and most of the workings ran out for as much as a quarter of a mile beneath the river.

The level where the disaster occurred had not been worked for two or three years as miners had reported a significant leak in the roof of the tunnel. However, in February 1844 it was considered safe to again open the workings and, on the afternoon of 14 February, 58 miners were employed in digging for coal and transporting the product back to the pit shaft.

The first inkling that something was wrong came when, just before 4pm, a powerful current of air suddenly shot up the shaft. It was powerful enough to force the hands and arms of men working on the surface high into the air.

Then spectators noticed a series of violent eddies, almost like whirlpools, in the water close to shore. The next thing they knew, several miners appeared at the bottom of the shaft, screaming for assistance.

Four men and 14 boys were quickly hoisted up the shaft in the buckets that normally carried the coal, swirling water pulling at their boot tops as, behind them, the pit filled up at a rate of seven fathoms a minute. Nobody else managed to get out, 40 miners being drowned or crushed in the fall of rock and mud that accompanied the flooding.

One miner later gave an account of his escape and this was paraphrased in the local press:

"He was overtaken by the water, which almost prevented his progress, dashing him several times against the side of the pit; when he got into the light he rushed past another man who was about to get into the bucket, and was hauled to safety, the water following him so closely that the next and last man was only saved by climbing up the side of the pit, until the bucket which descended to the other was raised, reached him."

The water had broken into Garden Pit relatively close to the shore, cutting off 33 miners working at the far end of the pit. The horror of such a death can only be imagined.

The other seven casualties, men and children working nearer the shore, had been overtaken by the deluge before they could get out.

The cause of the disaster was put down to the pressure of the water - that particular heading had not, previously, been worked at high water. But in those days there were no mining inspectors to check on aspects of safety; some reports say the miners had already left the pit once that day because they were concerned about safety, only to be sent back to finish their shifts.

The names, where known, of those who perished in the disaster are listed on the memorial (image: Roger MacCallum)

The real tragedy of the disaster, of course, was the human one. Many of the dead miners were related to each other and one of the most heart rending facts about reading the memorial plaque, erected by local people in 2002, is how often the same names occur - Llewellin, Picton, Davies, Cole, Hart and John. One man, Joseph Picton, died along with three of his sons, leaving behind a widow and five more children.

Several of the names on the memorial plaque say simply "Miner" - these were probably women, employed and killed in the disaster even though legislation preventing their employment below ground had recently been passed in parliament. Other names on the plaque give ages as low as nine or 11. In one case a person is listed simply as "child".

The disaster at Garden Pit, Landshipping, has been largely forgotten by history. But it remains just one more terrible tragedy in an industry that has taken such an horrendous toll of life, right across Wales.

Bill Frost's flying machine flew about 500 yards before being clipped by a tree (image: Gale's Photo)

Bill Frost was born in Saundersfoot on the Pembrokeshire coast on 28 May 1848. The son of John and Rebecca Frost, he became a carpenter on the Heyn Castle Estate in Saundersfoot.

Although a relatively poor man, he became obsessed with the concept of flying. According to legend, in the winter of 1876 he was carrying a long plank of wood while a gale was blowing and the wind - always strong and powerful on that stretch of coast - simply picked him up and carried him several yards through the air. Frost's obsession was born.

Frost was a religious man, and became deacon of his local chapel. He was also an accomplished musician and founded the Saundersfoot Male Voice Choir. But his real interest lay in flight.

Locals, it was said, had seen him running about the fields holding a piece of zinc above his head, perhaps hoping that the wind would once more lift him into the air. The people of the town put this bizarre behaviour down to the grief he was experiencing since his wife and daughter had recently died. It was more likely to be Bill Frost testing out the concept of aerodynamics.

In 1894 Frost applied for a patent for a flying machine; the design was registered on 25 October that year. The machine was something of a cross between a glider and an airship, and was equipped with two reversible fans designed to lift the machine into the air.

When aloft the wings would be spread by means of a lever and the machine would move forward and down. When the lever was pushed the other way the machine would rise once more.

Bill Frost built his aircraft in the workshop of his house on St Bride's Hill in Saundersfoot. It was over 30 feet in length and was apparently made of bamboo, canvas and wire. The gas bags or pouches that helped keep the craft aloft were filled with hydrogen.

Unfortunately there are no photographs or written testimonials but Frost - and many people from Saundersfoot - claimed that he flew in his glider/airship on or around 24 September 1896. He travelled, it was claimed, for about 500 yards, a distance that, if true, was considerably longer than the Wright Brothers managed seven years later in 1903.

The flight was not without incident, however. The undercarriage of the machine caught in a tree and he crashed in a field. Although Frost managed to repair the flying machine, disaster was waiting to happen.

Despite being tethered to a tree the machine was totally destroyed in a storm, with pieces spread over a wide distance. Frost had neither the money nor the time to start again and his patent lapsed after four years.

The story of Bill Frost and his flying machine is a fascinating one. Unlike the Wright Brothers he did not have any independent witnesses to the event or, most important of all, any photographic evidence that he had taken to the air.

Bill Frost died in March 1935. By then he was nearly 90 years old and was both blind and poor. He was not bitter but bemoaned the fact that the government, following his first flight and the disaster that befell his machine, had turned down his request for funding.

The government stated that they had no intention of using aircraft either for navigation or for warfare. In the light of the later development of aircraft during World War One, it seemed to Frost and everyone else to be a strange and rather short-sighted statement.

Everyone who knew him was clear that Bill Frost was the most truthful of men. If he said that he had flown then he most certainly had done so. At this distance, however, and without written or photographic proof, it is hard to come down, one way or another. The story remains one more fascinating episode in the history of flight - and of Wales.

And when the oil industry came to Milford Haven in the early 1960s there were many prophets of doom who predicted ecological disaster should one of the giant oil tankers that regularly sailed in past ever run up onto the rocks around the south Pembrokeshire coast. In the main, such disasters have not occurred - that does not mean, however, there have been no accidents and when shipwrecks have taken place the threat from oil spillage has been real and terrifying.

In fact there was near disaster right at the beginning. Esso's new refinery at Gelliswick Bay in the Haven had only just opened for business when, on 8 July 1960, the "" began discharging 32,000 tons of crude oil at the terminal. She was the first ocean-going tanker to tie up at the refinery and expectation and excitement ran high. Unfortunately, so did the risk of danger, not only for the ship and refinery but for the whole town of Milford.

Almost as soon as the tanker began to discharge her cargo, there was a structural failure in one of the arms that took off the oil in huge pipes from the ship and a serious spillage took place. Within seconds the oil had ignited and a massive explosion rocked the area. Firemen quickly put out the flames and the majority of the cargo was saved but the hull of the "Esso Portsmouth" was seriously damaged and buckled.

The explosion was a warning. No serious oil leak had occurred but the incident could so easily have resulted in chaos. The next time an oil tanker was in trouble off the Pembrokeshire coast things did not go quite so well.

On 12 October 1978 the "", en route from Rotterdam to Belfast, ran onto the Hats and Barrels Reef, some 10 or 15 miles off the coast. The ship was quickly re-floated and the captain decided to continue with the voyage. Unfortunately, the rocks had ripped a large hole in her bottom and the ship was now leaking oil at an alarming rate. The owners, BP, ordered her to stop and two tankers came alongside to take off over 20,000 tons of crude oil.

Although the "" was towed out into the Atlantic and scuttled, thousands of tons of oil leaked into the sea. Over forty vessels were deployed, laying down booms around the oil and using skimmers to try to reclaim what they could. Aerial spraying, when it was feared the slick might reach the bird sanctuaries of Skomer and Skokholm, was also employed. In the end, after many days of hard physical effort, the oil was mopped up but not before somewhere in the region of 9,000 sea birds had been killed.

Clearing up at Milford Haven

Pembrokeshire's next oil disaster, the third largest oil spillage in Britain, took place on 15 February 1996 when the "" grounded on the rocks of St Ann's Head at the mouth of Milford Haven. She was bound for the Texaco refinery on the south shore of the Haven but was pushed off course by the current and hit the rocks just after 8.00pm.

The "" had punctured her hull and rescue attempts by tugs from the Port Authority served only to make matters worse as the ship repeatedly re-grounded, slicing open her bottom even more. Over the course of the following week 73,000 tons of crude oil spilled into the water and the was faced with an ecological disaster of major proportions.

It took six weeks for the oil slick to disperse and in that time thousands of birds had died, caught up in the cloying and clogging mixture. , guillemots, , birds that had made their homes on the islands off shore, fell victim to the oil. There was also serious damage to the shore line right around the coast, seaweed and invertebrates being particularly badly hit.

A rescue centre for oiled birds was set up in Milford and dozens of volunteers (as well as paid workers) toiled for days to try to minimize the extent of the disaster. Tugs and other vessels from as far away as Dublin and Plymouth also came to help.

The "Sea Empress" disaster was only the third major incident involving oil tankers to take place in and around Milford Haven. Perhaps the area has been lucky. One thing is certain - the potential for future disaster remains and the only way to avoid trouble is with extreme caution and vigilance. It is the least our coastline deserves.

The exhibition is open until the end of September

Roger Gale, exhibitions and events officer at Swansea Museum, said: "What the Swans have achieved in a short space of time is truly magnificent and this is an opportunity for people to celebrate the club and their wonderful heritage.

"It is a relatively small exhibition in our Long Gallery, but Swansea Museum wanted to mark the new success of the home club, and - with the help of fans and former players - show how the Swans have developed over the years."

The exhibition includes many items of memorabilia from fans, including an array of old pottery and bottles exhumed from beneath the famed Vetch pitch when the demolition men removed the ground from the Swansea landscape.

The Vetch was originally rented from the Swansea Gas Company, and the ground was so rough that players had to wear protective knee padding!

Football shirts - including a famous white Number 5 worn by Alan Curtis - photographs, scarves and autographed ball, as well as many more items lent by supporters for the exhibition.

To keep up with the latest news from Swansea Museum you can .

Troops camped near Llanelli during the Railway Strike, 1911 (Image from Cardiff Central Library).

One hundred years ago this year, on 17 August 1911, the first ever national railway strike began in the steel town of Llanelli. The causes were many, not least poor wages, a 70 hour working week and compulsory overtime whenever management felt they needed it. 1911 was the year of "Great Unrest" all over Britain and it did not need very much for worker solidarity to assert itself in the industrial areas of south Wales.

When talks between the union and management broke down on 17 August there was an immediate "walk out," the Llanelli railway workers being quickly joined by thousands of tin plate workers from the area. Before long a 1,500 picket was forming a barricade at the two railway crossings to the east and west of Llanelli station. All train traffic was effectively stopped.

At 10am on Friday 18 August the Fishguard Express, taking passengers and goods to the main ferry port across the Irish Sea, was halted in Llanelli station. Striking workmen quickly raked out the fire from the engine's boilers, immobilizing it completely.

There was already a significant force of soldiers in Llanelli but now magistrates panicked and requested more troops from home secretary Winston Churchill. These were duly sent and by late afternoon there were at least 350 of them in the town. Before the end of the day this figure had grown to nearly 700.

The soldiers went quickly into action. After much skirmishing and a bayonet charge against unarmed workers, the eastern crossing was cleared. Unrest went on much of the night but on Saturday 19 August a train, driven by blackleg railwaymen, reached the station.

After standing for some time at the platform the train finally moved off at about 2.30 in the afternoon. A crowd of some 250 people followed it along the track, jeering and shouting, until it was finally forced to stop by the human barricade at the level crossing on the western side of the station.

A detachment of 80 soldiers under Major Stuart proceeded to clear the line, again at bayonet point. The crowd, rather than disperse, surged up the embankment and stood, hurling abuse and the occasional stone at the military. And then, with the Riot Act being read - the last time it has ever been read in mainland Britain - Major Stuart ordered his troops to open fire.

Two men were killed instantly. One, John John - Jac as he was known - was a local rugby star. The other, Leonard Worstell, was on weekend leave from the sanatorium where he was being treated for TB. He had only left the kitchen of his house, where he was shaving, to see what the noise and fuss were all about. There were other injuries in the crowd before the soldiers left, moving back to the station complex to cries of "Assassins" and "Murderers" from the onlookers.

The death of the two unarmed men created a furore that still surfaces in Llanelli, even today. Many local people believe the shooting was nothing more than a wilful act of murder.

Tragically, the strike had already been settled by this time, management and the government caving in - Churchill himself declared "They have beaten us." Railway workers had already achieved most of their demands with regard to pay and conditions before the events at the western crossing. But the shootings had lit a powder keg and in that hot, hot summer of 1911 troubles in Llanelli had only just begun.

As the afternoon and evening went on tensions and tempers grew. There was looting in Market Street and dozens of shops had their windows smashed and goods stolen. The rioting crowd even took materials and items from some of the goods wagons waiting in the railway sidings close to the station. Goods wagons and railway property were destroyed by the rioters.

At one point a wagon carrying explosives blew up, killing one man and severely injuring several more. Before the next morning three of the wounded had succumbed to their injuries, bringing the death toll in what were already being called the Llanelli Riots to six.

Soldiers continued to patrol the town, managing to clear the streets by midnight - but not before many more people were injured.

In the aftermath of the riots there were several notable events. Children at Bigyn School in the town were so appalled that they decided to arrange their own strike. They duly boycotted lessons as a way of marking the unjust killing of two innocent men.

A few days later an army deserter was found, many miles from Llanelli. He was Harold Spiers and the story he told was a frightening one. He had, he claimed, been in the party of soldiers at the western crossing but refused to fire on innocent and unarmed people. As a result he was arrested but managed to escape and flee.

Local legend - though its truth has never been confirmed - declares that Spiers was the Dai Bach y Soldiwr in the song Sosban Fach. Certainly that verse was added to the song after the riots but the truth will probably never be known.

The Llanelli Railway Riots of 1911 were a tragic and unfortunate series of events. Quite apart from the iniquities of the wages and working arrangements of the railway men, six innocent lives were lost. Yes, the strike was an early example of workers solidarity but you have to question the cost.

The story of the Llanelli riots on ������̳ Wales

Phil Carradice will be chatting with Roy Noble about the Llanelli railway riots on Tuesday 16 August, from 2pm on ������̳ Radio Wales.

Presenter Huw Edwards returns to his home town to re-tell the story of the Llanelli riots. A century after the death and destruction that marred the town's history, he attempts to set the record straight and bring to an end 100 years of shame. You can catch the programme Llanelli Riots: Fire In The West on Tuesday 16 August at 10.35pm on ������̳ One Wales.

 

The town of Pembroke Dock burst into existence in 1814, its main purpose being to build warships for the . The dockyard of the town was in existence for just 112 years but in that time it created dozens of giant battleships - including the Duke of Wellington, the largest woodenwall ever built - and no fewer than four royal yachts for Queen Victoria. At one stage the yards employed over 4,000 men with dozens more, throughout the county, depending on the place for their livelihood.

When the dockyard closed in 1926 it left the town it had spawned without hope or reason for existence. Then, in 1931 the RAF announced that they were establishing a flying boat base in the eastern end of the old yard - the sheltered expanse of deep water, the very thing that had brought the ship builders to the region in the first place, was, it seemed, ideal for the seaplanes of the time.

The coming of the flying boats could never hope to replace the economic security provided by the Admiralty dockyard but it did offer some slim consolation to the people of the town. It meant work for many; it meant businesses could thrive and prosper; it meant the town was alive again.

The RAF had meant to stay for just a few short months, but remained in west Wales for 29 years. The first aircraft based in the town were the Supermarine Southamptons of No. 210 Squadron. New barrack blocks and wide slipways were built inside the old dockyard walls and two huge hangers were erected, enormous structures that can still be seen today.

Many famous airmen served at PD, as the flying boat base soon became known. Wing Commander Bob Leckie was the first station commander but perhaps the most renowned of these was , the air marshall who later went on to mastermind the Allied bombing offensive against Germany in World War Two.

As might be expected, the base at PD saw its greatest hours during the war. Throughout those turbulent and dangerous times, giant flying boats - and the odd Catalina - patrolled the Western Approaches, searching out the deadly U Boats that were threatening Britain's very existence. For the crews of these huge machines, patrols were long, cold and arduous and contact with the enemy was rare.

When the Sunderlands did encounter opposition, however, the battles were life and death affairs. In one well known incident in 1942 a single PD Sunderland was attacked by no fewer than eight JU88s while over the Bay of Biscay. The Sunderland, bristling with guns, was no easy target and in the fight three German planes were shot down, a fourth being badly damaged. And although damaged the Sunderland managed to get back to PD.

 

When peace came again in 1945 the base at PD began, inevitably, to lose its importance. Aircraft design had moved on and seaplanes, always at the vagaries of weather and tide, clearly had a limited operational lifespan. Nevertheless, Sunderlands from PD undertook the vital role of supplying members of the British North Greenland Expedition in 1952. The expedition and the job of the PD aircraft were well recorded in local and national press.

The sight of the beautiful white flying boats moored on the haven off the town - or, occasionally, powering down the estuary as they lumbered gracefully into the air - are images that that impinged themselves into the minds of all Pembroke Dock children. The giant aeroplanes seemed to symbolize security and strength and were as much a part of growing up in the old dockyard town as games of football or cricket on the Barrack Hill, overlooking the yards.

The air station at Pembroke Dock finally closed in March 1959, the land where the workshops and hangers stood being given back to the Admiralty. Yet Pembroke Dock was not quite finished with flying boats.

In 1963 Sunderland M2824, originally having served with No 201 Squadron in Pembroke Dock, was presented to the town by the French Navy. A trust was established, local air cadets (including the author) began work cleaning and polishing and the plane was opened to the public as a living memorial and museum. Each year thousands of tourists and locals visited the aircraft but, finally, as time and age began to make themselves felt, in 1971 she was dismantled and taken to a new home at Hendon Museum.

These days the old dockyard and the flying boat base operate as the terminal for ferry boats across the Irish Sea. Many of the buildings put up by the RAF are still there, however, and the Sunderland Trust operates a small visitor in the western end of the yards. At the moment it might be little enough to mark the passing of such a huge operation but, like the PD base itself, it will surely grow and grow in the years ahead.

You can find out more about the flying boats of Pembroke Dock and the Flying Boat Visitor Centre on the website.