Melancholia

Today, we went to Trefonen to look for signs of the Morris family in the graveyards there. We found half-a-dozen Morris graves and the mention of four more on the Roll of Honour in the church there: research to be done on our return home later in the week. We had a wander around Oswestry and a pint in a pub there: there seemed to quite a number open, which is encouraging given the state of the licensing industry and culture these days; although whether this typical of the town - it was market day, after all - remains to be seen. However, it's a very pleasant and surprisingly vibrant place and well worth the visit. We then investigated a place we'd noticed on our way into town, in Llanfyllin: the old workhouse, pictured, which is now part museum, part community resource and part bunkhouse. A little tired and under-funded, it is nevertheless free to explore, has a video explainer, a cafe and secondhand bookshop operating an honesty-box principle. One thing though, was the slightly queasy reluctance I felt when entering the place. The building still has a melancholy to it, despite the art exhibition and the brightly coloured knitted fabrics for sale. Stone walls are steeped in their history, and these walls undoubtedly hold much sadness and tragedy in them, still palpable. The knowledge that at least one of my clan died in poverty in one of these places obviously resonated more with me than I had reckoned for.