If you ever played for Borth against Bow Street without committing a single foul, then sir you are a gentleman in the true sense of the word.

"And there never was one. These words are attributed to an eminent lawyer who was born in Borth. We are talking of football of course and the good man evidently knew all about it.

As children in Bow Street during the war years and after, we grew up with a passion for football, a game that had developed throughout the century in the village and we looked forward to physical encounters with our arch rivals Borth, usually played on Boxing day (quite appropriate!) with a return match on New Years Day.

There had always been a bitter rivalry between the two villages - 'Brain y Borth' we called them (Borth Crows), while they called us 'Piod Bow Street' (Bow Street Magpies). Ironically, the names stuck and the birds became village emblems.

Men of the cloth joined in with their support on some occasions - much to the disgust of some villagers. One of the first captains of the Borth side in the later 1800's was a curate the Rev. David Pugh Evans whose team was described in the press as 'worthless men' kicking a football.

During one angry encounter at Cae Bryn Castell in Bow Street against Borth, with tempers near boiling point, a fracas developed between two opposing supporters between the side line and the boundary.

When they were eventually pulled out of the thorny hedge it transpired that one was the Borth postman and the other a minister of religion newly appointed to shepherd the sheep of non-conformist Bow Street!

But the village for once closed an eye on the incident, after all, here was a man ready to defend us against the old enemy.

We grew up to love our village and our heroes were these local, men who played football for the honour of their native village. During the closing war years, a few Bow Street lads were still waiting for demob in stations across the country. Wyn Ellis, who had returned from service in Burma was secretary on the reformed club, and would send telegrams to the Bow Street lads, 'Come home, aunty seriously ill.'

On one such occasion Hadyn Fleming was given permission by his commander to leave St Athan in South Wales, but to report back on Monday morning. On his journey from one bus to the other our centre forward noticed that the commander was following on every bus, and all the way to Aberystwyth. But when the officer jumped on the Bow Street bus Hadyn knew there was real trouble ahead.

However, the following morning, looking out through the bedroom window, our centre forward saw the commander cutting fire wood in the house next door. It transpired that the officer's Aunty lived there!

Monday morning Haydn Fleming reported that his Aunty was much better and when the commander realised who Haydn's family were he was given leave to go home every weekend.

Times changed, even on the soccer scene, and many old scores between the rivals were buried. Decades ahead during the annual dinner of the Magpies, when manager Tom (Pantyperan) Hughes was to call it a day, one of the three players Tom had imported from Borth paid tribute to him saying, 'He's the sort of bloke that you'll do anything for.' With that sentiment from a Borth man, one felt that the old score had finally been put down forever.

It was not all football. The non-conformist-chapels played an important part in the development of the village throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Especially Capel y Garn.

The congregation was mainly of a literary and music culture and many fine musicians and literary people emerged over the decades. Bible classes contained heavy minded philosophers who yearned for modern knowledge. Dr. Cynddylan Jones, a well known preacher in his day, referred to these people as 'Doctoriaid y Garn' - the Garn (Chapel) Doctors.

In later times the eminent Welsh scholar and poet Professor T Gwynn Jones, who lived in the village for some years, noted that Bow Street contained the most cultured minded working class people that he had ever come across in Wales.

It was among these people that we grew up, listening in the evenings to their stories and arguments in workshops, farms, on the roadside or where ever people congregated. And especially on the hearth of our homes, before the days of television. We grew to understand that there was something special about our village.

Deacons from both nonconformist chapels in the village were to us as children a rare breed. We were told by our parents to respect them, and when a 'blaenor' - Welsh for deacon - came across us, there would be an uneasy silence, and certainly no swearing.

In contrast, Professor T. Gwynn Jones was one evening leaning on the gate to our playing field, watching us playing football, and remarked to a passerby 'Don't they swear sweetly?'

As already mentioned music played an important part in village life. Garn Chapel had appointed an ex-miner from the Ystradgynlais area to teach music to the congregation and especially its children. He was J. T. Rees and was to become a leading musician throughout Wales.

His influence spread to many quarters and even today, it can be felt at Capel y Garn. He lived a long life at Brynceiro, serving the people he loved to the end. One of his hymn tunes was quite popular in the village, and was often sang on the last bus home on Saturday nights and on football trips! It was an arrangement of a Bengali tune and at one time became known as the National Anthem of Bow street, much to the disgust of some people.

There were also poets, novelists, and drama producers in the village that we knew and learnt to look up to. Tom Macdonald, who had been born in a gypsy camp on the outskirts of the village was a poet and novelist, by our time living in South Africa.

One of his books, The White Lanes of Summer was later translated into Welsh by his friend, another poet from Bow Street, Hadyn Morgan. 'Y Tincer Tlawd' is an excellent account of a gypsy family, Catholics - growing up in a Protestant environment.

And there was Dewi Morgan, poet, who had won the National Eisteddfod Chair, working locally at the Cambrian News, self educated, he taught elocution and produced plays in the area.

As we played in the village and the surrounding farms, we never could escape the sound of music and the discussion of poetry and literature among the local folk. Sadly we were to witness the end of one era. The Gogerddan Estate was drawing to an end with the death of the last of the Pryse family. And the Gogerddan Foxhounds whose blood went back several centuries, was to end.

There would be no more following the hunt for the locals. The estate was cunningly sold off to the University College under the noses of local tenant farmers who were forming a syndicate at the time.

Time moved on fast and the village changed. In the late forties while waiting for the school bus in the morning we could play football on the main road and even put our coats down as goalposts and hold up play while a slow moving car approached.

Today one has to wait five minutes to cross the road in the morning as the commuters rush to work. Farms are no longer places for children to go and visit and help with the harvest since the introduction of health and safety rules. This leaves a large gap opening between the rural and village life. Despite the growth of the village, Aberystwyth seems to attract social and cultural life leaving our societies to struggle for existence.

Several generations of my family have lived in this area. Thomas Edwards, a great-grandfather three times back was born at Quarry (Chwarel today) near Rhydypennau in 1783.

His son David Edwards of Caergywydd was a drover, and on returning one night near Dolau farm was attacked and shot by a highwayman. He missed his man, but shot the horse's tail off.

The horse and rider galloped home, the animal dropping dead at the stable door. Had the shooter's aim been straight, most probably I, like many others, would not be here today. The story of Bow Street could have been different, in that others might have farmed the lands and possibly not sold their fields for housing, or sold at different times. But perhaps it is not worth a thought."

An article by Vernon Jones

Read about Bow Street's history...