Much of the information contained on this website has been drawn from the excellent guidebook to St Cynllo's written by Rev. Brian Whatmore - this lovingly written and scholarly guide is highly recommended for those who would like to learn more about the history of this beautiful Church.
Copies of the guidebook
are available at the
Members of the public were invited to submit poetry & writing to be included in the exhibition. A selection of the poetry can be viewed below, and two stories by WildGoose Arts member John Franks can be found by clicking the following link buttons.
A public reading of War or Peace was given by John as a part of the Centenary commemoration.
The Last Time I Saw You
An Old Soldier Remembers
A poem inspired by a line in the diary of a ‘Carmarthen Pal’
Weary, I pause, leaning heavily on my stick,
Breath, hard to come by, lungs corrupted by gas
A momento from those days in France
But for this moment, I could be there again
As I gaze over the rolling hills and back down the years
There, a lone figure in the distance, striding purposefully
And once more, I am back in Flanders’ fields
It was just you coming towards me, nobody else ?
No walking wounded, no comrades in arms ?
Your face was wreathed in a smile
Like nothing I had seen for so long
A brief exchange of words as you approached
“My leave has come through. Seven days away from this !”
“Please, if you can, tell my folks I’m safe and well”
A quick handshake and you were gone
Down the lane, hurrying home and who wouldn’t ?
Yet on your return you paid the ultimate price
For your good fortune. And no goodbye
Weary, I pause, leaning heavily on my stick.
I am grown old while you remain unchanged my friend
Shall we recognize each other when next we meet ?
'And they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their guns into cricket bats'.
Uncle Tom had been in the war,
Served in the trenches I was told.
Granny said that God had kept
him safe so he had come back
to us and I was, I suppose too
young to understand.
Later I learned that he had
suffered from shell shock.
A mild mannered man with a
passion for cricket who carved
miniature cricket bats out of
wood, binding the handles with
He hated the war, I loved
the cricket bats
85 years old
Served in the wrens during the 2nd World War
E Veronica Pugh
“The bluebells still bloom” – A message to the fallen.
“The bluebells still bloom” in the woods each year
And the summer trees are still green,
The birds still fly in the skies above
And the fish still swim in the stream.
Alive still in the summer warmth
Strong in the evening air,
The waves still sweep onto the sandy shore
for you are everywhere.
The trees will turn golden still,
And the leaves will fall one by one,
The night will come and the stars still shine
All is as it was, though you are gone.
The bluebells now bloom with a richer hue
And the trees tease a deeper green,
The waves now crash on the sandy shore
because you are here no more.
The world will go on turning still,
and our day will forever dawn
The leaves will fall and spring will come
Your life eternal, death re -born.
Our children still run in the grassy fields
And will play in the deep blue sea,
You gave your life
So we could live
In beauty and forever free.