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Richard in Holland


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Edited by Richard Hill, Saturday, 1 Oct 2022, 18:18

I grew up, to English parents, in a small welsh village in Wales, Bontdolgadfan. I spoke english at home, but welsh at school. When I was at primary school, we would attend 'Eisteddfod's. A competitive festival of singing and recitation. I would recite welsh poetry, none of which I can remember. However, I found the one below called Hiraeth (A welsh word for a lost home that can never be returned to). The word Hiraeth means a lot to me in so much it describes (in a single word) how I feel when I think of my eleven years being brought up in that little welsh village. I'd love to be that young welsh/english boy again. Here's a poem I found:


Hiraeth, he called me

Even when I did not know

I recognised Raeth, of the sands,

And believed, he thought of me as home

The earth from which his heart was made

Hiraeth, he murmured, longingly

Even though his fingers cupped my face

I was not what his eyes could see

I had dreamed, as had he

And the whole time, we were just searching

For a word neither understood

For a word we could not lose in loving

In the end I, was for him the meaning

In my folly, I’d believed to be

Like sand I slipped away from him

And he was Hiraeth

A lost home

To me

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