This a story about an ordinary man who's name was John. John was born in 1848 to Richard and Mary Felix. He was one of seven children and the family came from the village of Taliesin which is in the parish of Llancynfelyn in mid Wales. This is John.
John's dad, Richard, was a carrier. He drove a horse and cart and worked transporting goods between local villages. The work was hard and didn't pay well but with seven hungry children to feed, Richard worked long hours to provide for his family.
Every day was a struggle for Richard and he hoped for a better life for John and his other children, so, making the most of his trade contacts, John was encouraged to take up carpentry and he began learning his trade from a young age.
September 6th 1895 was another ordinary day for John. The job that week was renovating the village chapel and among other things, he had been tasked with building new pews for the growing congregation. By now John had been working as a joiner for many years and he was both highly skilled and a conscientious craftsman.
The pews were built to an extremely high standard and John felt proud as he made the finishing touches. Made from imported Canadian pine, they were both strong and beautiful.
As John was packing up for the day, he grabbed one of the off cut pieces of wood he'd been working with and just for amusement, he scrawled the date, where he was from and finally, his name. John had a glimmer of hope that maybe at some point in the future, his signed piece of wood would be found and there would be a mark in history and something to remember his hard work. He tossed the signed piece of wood under the floor boards of the chapel and nailed the board securely back in place.
Fast forward to the year 2026. Sadly the chapel John was working on that day is no longer used for Christian worship. It's been repurposed with the upper floor being a home and the lower floor being an antique shop and art studio. The beautiful pews that John built are still going strong more than a 125 years later, although they are now used in a cafe belonging to a local wildlife conservation charity.
I was lucky enough to visit the cafe today and enjoy a cappuccino whilst sitting on one of your pews. Today John, I saw your bit of wood, it's hanging on the wall. I wonder what you'd think about that and also the fact that you're now an internet sensation with people from all over the world able to read your story. And all because of that bit of wood you signed. 🪚🔨
My branch of the family isn't the adventurer side .
In 1868 Charles my great grandfather was born about a mile from where I now live. In a row of cottages I remember being pulled down in the 1980s. His dad John was an illiterate brick field labourer. Digging the clay that was fired into bricks in the kilns near the quay that then went to London on the barges to build the Victorian houses etc as London booked in the late 19th century.
Almost exactly 150 years after his birth my daughter and her husband bought their house. Near the road called *****quay. They decided to put down a patio and some decking. They talk to the fence guy working on that. He moans about all the bricks left by the builders. She shows me the pile of old bricks they are digging out. I point out they are completely different colour and shape to those her house is made of. I quickly go to the overlay old maps site and realise the little railway to the quay finished right in her garden. Next to the kilns in the gardens behind hers.
She still has a little pile of those Victorian bricks by her BBQ in memory of her great great great grandfather who very possibly dug the clay they're made from.
