Grammar School Girl

We spent the last week of August at a lovely self-catering cottage behind what used to be Tregib Comprehensive, which was formed of Llandeilo Grammar and Llandybie Secondary schools.

So close to home.

When my Mum and Dad were alive the boys and I used to go down home to Carmarthenshire three times a year:  Easter and Spring and Autumn half terms.

Whenever possible we would include a ride on the Gwili Steam Railway.

Since we last went (pre the pandemic) the Railway has been extended from its old base at Bronwydd Arms down to the A40 next to Glangwili Hospital. It has a huge carpark but no new buildings as yet; the ticket office and bookshop are housed in a portakabin and old shipping container.

On arrival we discovered buying tickets is now entirely on-line.  As we got there very early for the first steaming we could wait until just before the train was due to depart to see if there were any seats left.  We spent the time in the second hand bookshop, mostly trying to stop Ferretfingers buying books and other things none of us will ever look at again.  The volunteer looking after the bookshop was very understanding.  Like most volunteers he was around our age.

My mobile rang.

It was one of the girls at Ferretfingers’ day centre.

“Just to let you know the minibus is in for its MOT on Monday and might not be ready at home time, so you may have to come and pick him up.”

“Well it’s very nice of you to call, but we’re on holiday in West Wales and aren’t travelling back until Monday, so the minibus not being available is quite academic really.  But thank you for letting us know.”

“Academic” says the bookshop man in a mock impressed voice “Now there’s a word!”

“Grammar School Girl” I said 

“the last of the ones to go to Llandeilo Grammar School before it went comprehensive.”

“There’s not a lot of you left.”

“No, we’re a dying breed.”

As we walked past the bookshop after our train ride Ferretfingers side stepped me, put on a burst of speed and went in.  I followed, took Great American Railroad Journeys from him for the third time and handed it to the bookshop man.

As he put it back on the shelf he said “Michael Portillo, he’s visited here, lovely man, very polite, just like he is on the telly” 

then with a sideways look “Grammar School Boy of course.”

There’s nowhere quite like Carmarthenshire.