My parents were born and raised in the coal mining valley of Aberdare. I am sure it has changed now because my memory when visiting my grandparents as a child was of unrelenting, miserable drizzle, low cloud hiding the mountains and the sulphurous smell of coal fires. The terraces of simple stone houses had been built by the coal mine owners and formed terraces from the town centre to a considerable distance up the hills overlooking Aberdare. Row upon row of identical houses, wrought iron front fence, steep steps up to the front door, a never used best room overlooking the street and a small living room with a kitchen just wide enough for my grandmother to stand in front of the Aga with the oven door open. The toilet was outside, and my grandfather used to bath in a galvanised tub in front of the living room fire when he returned from a shift at the coal mine. Out of the back door and just past the toilet, there were more steep steps leading to a tiny sloping stone walled garden that ended in a rear gate and a coal shed. A narrow lane ran along the back of each terrace so that coal could be delivered directly to the shed. This is the house that my father was brought up in, but like many things from my families past, there are aspects that are shrouded in mystery, some things that I have not been told and were never talked about, for instance I do not know which house my mother lived in and we never to my knowledge visited.

 

My father left school at sixteen and went to work in a Davey lamp factory. He must have known my mother at this point but at age eighteen he left Aberdare and was drafted into the royal navy to be trained as a signalman. The stories from that period in his life were retold many times during my childhood and despite the many negatives of national service, he became adept at morse code and more importantly radio transmitters and receivers. I wish I knew more about my mother, but the only information I have is that her mother died when she was very young and that she was badly treated or should I say abused by her father and older sister. The mistreatment at the hands of her family was so severe that on demob from the navy and returning to Aberdare, my father married her immediately in order to remove her from the situation. To add to the mystery, it was intimated that the mental health issues that affected my mother throughout her life, were caused by this mistreatment.

 

What happened to my parents in the next few years has never been discussed and the first knowledge I have is that by 1955 they had moved to Swansea; my father was now working in a television factory, and they had two daughters of five and six years old. Why don’t I ask my sisters to fill in gaps, well unfortunately other events that are equally mysterious to me, resulted in them ceasing to communicate with each other and at the same time they stopped talking to me. There have been periods when we have communicated but I at no time felt that I could ask questions about my missing memories. I always had the feeling the entire family, including my father did not want to discuss the past.

 

My parents’ lives were not exactly normal and the fact that I was born despite medical science deeming it impossible could be considered the first and most significant intervention. It was not easy to escape the Welsh valleys but seemingly by chance my father was selected for radio training in the navy, and it was a skill that he used to leave the mining lamp factory and obtain work building televisions. Many years later he passed on his love of radio communication and electronics to me, and it was the catalyst for my entire career and all the life experiences that have followed.

 

In isolation the next event, my birth is not proof of any early guidance towards my destiny but as my story unfolds it will take on added significance. Living in a small end of terrace house near Swansea my mother stayed at home to look after my five- and six-year-old sisters, money was short, but it appears that life was good. As far as family and friends were concerned, the news that my mother was pregnant was not a great surprise, not unusual, “probably wanted to try for a boy after two girls” they said. It was however quite a surprise to my parents and a shock to the doctors, as well as the beginning of a chain of strange happenings that continue to affect me to this day. 

 

What are these strange happenings? Well, the first appears to be the fact that I am not supposed to exist. My mother was declared unable to conceive and certainly unable to support a pregnancy after the birth of my sister went badly wrong. Despite the impossibility of the pregnancy but having confirmed it as real, the doctors were bewildered and offered a termination to prevent suffering the certain miscarriage that would follow. She rejected the offer, and I was born at full term in the summer of 1956. 

 

In isolation my birth, despite being described as impossible could be explained by medical science not being as advanced as it now. Despite the doctor’s certainty, mistakes can happen but not only was the pregnancy totally normal, I was born on the correct date and the birth so quick and straightforward that my father did not manage to arrive at the hospital in time. 

 

My memories of life in Swansea are very limited especially as we moved from there when I was just three years old, but I do remember swinging a garden fork in the garden, round and round, faster and faster and then letting go thus stabbing my eldest sister in the leg. I remember being chased into the house by a firework that would never be allowed these days, a Jackie Jumper that leapt around the ground exploding. It made some nasty burn marks on the carpet and scared the life out of me. Apart from that there was the day my father and a neighbour for some reason dug up the drive, severed a pipe and caused a massive gas leak. Maybe more memories will come back to me as I write but my feeling is that this was a happy time in my life.