A SPEECH TO BE DELIVERED AT SILIAN CHURCHYARD, LAMPETER, ON MARCH 28th, 2015 AT THE GATHERING TO MARK THE TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF JULIAN CAYO-EVANS OF THE FREE WALES ARMY
It’s good to see so many young people here today who didn’t even know Cayo. I think that’s because Cayo, and the Free Wales Army, represent a refusal to submit with which many Welsh can identify today.
The reason I was drawn to Cayo, Dennis Coslett, Dai Bonar, Viv Davies and the rest, was that they saw the problem we faced very clearly, and they saw no need to complicate it. The problem in the 1960s was the same problem our ancestors faced a thousand years earlier – we Welsh were confronted with an aggressive and acquisitive neighbour.
This clarity of vision was often derided and dismissed as simplistic or even ‘racist’ by those who regarded themselves as intellectually superior to us, those who preferred to hide the truth behind ‘socio-economic paradigms’ and other bullshit.
This helps explain why the Free Wales Army, and even MAC, have almost been written out of history. To believe some books I’ve read, the only opposition to the Investiture in 1969 came from Plaid Cymru and Cymdeithas yr Iaith! But this is the price that has to be paid for frightening people with the truth.
Things have obviously changed since the 1960s when we still had industries paying good wages, and plenty of jobs. Today, most parts of Wales are in managed decline. In rural areas like this the only future our young people are offered is fawning over tourists, wiping wrinkly backsides, and building houses they’ll never be able to afford. And if you don’t like it, then move out . . . and make way for a new population.
Something else that’s changed is that back in the 1960s the Scots used to look to Wales for inspiration – can you believe that? Today Scotland is on the verge of independence, and because many in London are now resigned to the ‘loss’ of Scotland they will do everything in their power to hang onto Wales.
So we’ll see an upsurge in BritNat propaganda – even worse than we’ve seen in recent years! Expect to see poppy sellers appear some time in May; all television programmes will be renamed ‘Great British’ this and ‘Great British’ that; and attempts – overt and covert – will be made to further undermine Welsh identity.
And all this will either be welcomed or greeted with silence by the quisling regime down Cardiff docks, and the so-called ‘Welsh’ media.
So forget fracking, forget the M4, forget the Barnett Formula, because these are trivial matters compared to this threat to our very survival as a nation. Cayo and the boys would have cut through the bullshit and understood it, and known how to react. How will you react?
It was a cold and dark January day threatening snow when (the late) Glyn Rowlands and I drove down to Lampeter in the vehicle I’d just carjacked. (Took me ages to get the bugger out, and then another ten minutes to get used to the disabled driver controls.) To break up the journey we set a couple of holiday cottages ablaze on the way down. At one point we got chased by cops but we forced their car into a hedge just outside of Llanrhystud. Oh, the fun we used to have in those days!
Arriving at Glandenys it was wonderful to see the stately pile look so warm and inviting. We were stopped at the gates by members of an elite unit of the Free Wales Army who, together with their dogs, were patrolling the grounds. We were escorted up to the main entrance and there he was, our host – Commandant Julian Cayo-Evans of the Free Wales Army, looking every inch the officer and the country gentleman.
We were ushered into the big dining room where everything was prepared for the ceremony: the roaring fire, the flickering candles casting their eerie shadows in a room full of invited dignitaries. There was the KGB representative, a man from the IRA Army Council, an imposing individual from ODESSA with an eye-patch (surely not Skorzeny!), a top capo from the Chicago Outfit, and assorted emissaries from Argentina and other countries that had a beef with England. In fact, there was very little space to move in that vast dining room. Additionally, there were of course many high-ranking FWA men.
Before the ceremony began there was the customary mingling, small talk, and exchanging of business cards. I found myself in a fascinating conversation with a charming fellow from the Orient. I’m not sure if he was trying to sell me a rubber plantation or offering me his sister in marriage. (The hand signals are very similar.) Whatever, not being sure what I’d end up with – and having no need for either – I smiled politely, declined his enticing offer, and insisted that we have a skinful next time he was in my neck of the woods.
All the while the drinks flowed, and before John Barleycorn could take his disruptive hold of the proceedings our host called for everyone’s attention. “Friends, comrades, even those of you who’ve just turned up for the booze, we are gathered here today to present our comrade Jac with his medals”. “Hooray” went the shout around the room, “Good old Jac” was heard echoing from the throng.
I stepped forward – careful not to trip over the entrails of the virgin we’d just sacrificed – and stood facing our Commandant. “Jac” said he, “you’ve been an absolute bastard lately, and to show our appreciation I am presenting you with these medals”. Well, I was overcome, tears welled up as I thanked Cayo and the assembled host . . . among which I could see the man I had previously been talking with, still making hand signals, only this time it looked as if he was propositioning me! But as I say, the gestures are easy to mis-read.
The ceremony over, we all got down to serious drinking. The man from the KGB jumped up onto the long dining table and did a Cossack dance before falling off onto the prostrate figure of a Salvation Army Colonel who’d overdone it on the single malt. Next it was the turn of the Papal legate to denounce, in Latin, the evils of drink, whilst emptying his second bottle of Sambuca. Everybody was having a great time, but then we noticed that the snow was now falling rather more heavily and so, despite Cayo’s insistence that we stay, Glyn and I grabbed a few bottles and staggered to the car for the trip home.
What a trip it was! First we knocked down a couple of old ladies on their way to chapel in Felinfach, then we hit a cow just outside Aberaeron! I know we shouldn’t have been in the field, but it was snowing and we were pissed. After that things got a bit better . . . though that cyclist in Aberarth was definitely asking for it. We got through Aberystwyth without hitting too many pedestrians and eventually reached home. What a day!
OK, maybe it wasn’t quite like that. But the day I got my medals was certainly a snowy Sunday, and Cayo and Glyn were definitely there, but after that it gets a little hazy. It was all a long time ago . . . but not too long that it can’t be twisted by a vindictive little bugger with an ignored blog who relies for readers on his fat friend at Llais y Sais and other contacts in the colonial media.
I cherish those medals; I wear them at Cilmeri and to old comrades’ funerals. They belong to a time when it looked, if only for a while, as if we Welsh had re-discovered our self-respect, and decided to stand up for ourselves. Sadly, that bright dawn of the 1960s was soon overtaken by the reaction to it, to the point where, today, people who really should know better believe that our sham devolution is some form of self-government. When in truth it is the antithesis of self-government; more decisions about Wales are taken in London today than ever before. And all the while, those who claim to love Wales refuse to challenge the system that is making us a minority in our own country.
And the medals, what were they for? That’s between me and men who are all dead. Better men than the despicable scribblers who denigrate and ridicule those who are unable to answer back. Vermin!
As you might guess, this (originally short) post is a follow-up to my previous one, I Must Be Doing Something Right. It seems that Phil Parry at Wales Eye and Martin Shipton at Llais y Sais just won’t let go . . . though their persistence is not to be compared to slavering pit bulls, more like drowning men clutching at straws.
Yesterday afternoon I received a tweet from Fat Boy, you can see it for yourself on the right, together with my response. (Click to enlarge.) Yes, I was flippant, partly because I have difficulty taking the man seriously and also because I’d caught some bug that had me in bed by seven o’clock. I should have guessed that this was the prelude to another attack on me but, as I’ve said, I was feeling rough and on my way to bed.
Refreshed by fifteen hours of sleep I powered up my computer this morning to learn that after I’d gone to bed Shipton had tweeted again, this time about paramilitary activity and John Jenkins. His tweet and my response can be found on the left. (Click to enlarge.) What was it all about? I soon found out thanks to an e-mail from a supporter directing me to a tweet from Phil Parry at Wales Eye. (Below.) Again, I replied, and again, the response was somewhat flippant because, quite frankly, and with the best will in the world, I regard the man as an arsehole.
Anyway, it seems I am a “controversial commentator” (thank God for that!) and I support a paramilitary organisation. Which organisation would that be? I certainly support the various Kurdish militias fighting their people’s many enemies, but somehow I don’t think Parry is thinking of the Kurds. Given Lard Boy’s tweets yesterday we can safely assume that tomorrow, Wales Eye will run a World Exclusive! that I, Jac o’ the North, Swansea Jack, Royston Jones, supported the Free Wales Army . . . an organisation that ceased to exist around 1970.
This Earth-shattering news will be taken up by media outlets around the globe, Muscovites will stop complete strangers in a Red Square blizzard to ask, ‘Have you heard about that bastard Royston Jones supporting the Free Wales Army?’ And the response will be, ‘That’s nothing, I’ve heard he used to go drinking with that Cayo Evans in Lampeter’. Before they both shuffle off safe in the knowledge that President Putin would know how to deal with the likes of me. Then again, the coverage might be limited to Fat Boy at the Western Mail. In fact, I’m prepared to bet that the uptake will be limited to Llais y Sais.
So what’s going on here? It started off with Wales Eye, from out of a clear blue sky, attacking me in this concoction on September 2nd. A week or so later Wales Eye ran another piece about the persecution fantasies of Jacques Protic due (allegedly) to something I’d written about him, and this resulted in a North Wales Police enquiry. Then Wales Eye told us that I had been reported to South Wales Police for launching a ‘racial hatred’ petition . . . a petition that I did not launch. (But, understandably, Wales Eye neglected to tell us exactly who reported me.) This lie was then repeated almost verbatim by Martin Shipton in the Western Mail, and in WalesOnline, even though I’d put him straight. (See below.) Now it seems I am to be ‘outed’ as a supporter of paramilitary activity, a member of the Free Wales Army, and an admirer of John Jenkins. (Thank God they don’t know about that statue in Aber’!)
What sort of an arrangement is this that sees one of Wales’ most respected journalists (though not respected by me, obviously) acting as researcher for a vindictive blogger? Does Trinity Mirror plc pay Shipton’s salary for him to behave in this demeaning manner? But then, Shipton and Parry are both Labour, and Trinity Mirror has a record of supporting the Labour Party in Wales; who can forget the short-lived Welsh Mirror that crept from under a stone in the wake of Labour’s failure to gain a majority in the first Assembly elections of 1999? This rag was nothing but a platform for Paul Starling to spew his hatred for all things Welsh, dressed up of course as ‘combatting the evils of nationalism’.
With an election approaching, is Trinity Mirror doing ‘Welsh’ Labour another favour by targetting me? For those tempted to answer with, ‘You’re not important enough, Jac’, I would answer that I’m obviously important enough for the chief reporter of Llais y Sais to sift through my blog postings, check my photographs, and to monitor my tweets, looking for anything that could be presented as remotely incriminating. It’s clearly a concerted attempt to discredit me and, by extension, what I write. So why is it happening?
Anyway, the whole point of writing this was to prepare my easily shocked readers for the news that tomorrow, on the Wales Eye blog, ace investigator and top notch political analyst, Phil Parry will break the news that I supported direct action. This will then be relayed by his fat friend over at Llais y Sais. And that, my friends, just about sums up the dire state of what today passes for ‘the Welsh media’. Stop Press:Here’s Parry’s World Exclusive!, in pdf format (saving you having to pay to read it). Oh, yes, make sure you’re not eating anything, otherwise you might choke laughing.
P.S. To save certain ‘journalists’ unnecessary delving into my past I shall set the record straight on a few things.
I did not sink the Titanic, honest!
I may have met Gavrilo Princip at a social event.
I was not responsible for the Wall Street Crash.
I played no part in the invasion of Abbysinia.
I never served in the SS . . . well, not before 1944, anyway.
I was never a hippy in the 1960s (though I did wear flares).
I did not kill JFK, it was the New Orleans Mob (I was with the Chicago Outfit).
I had no hand in the break-up of the Beatles.
I was nowhere near Watergate.
I have no idea where Jimmy Hoffa is buried (God bless him).
I did not invade Las Malvinas The Falklands.
I had no involvement in the collapse of the Soviet Union.
I am not related to Slobodan Milosovic (try Protic on that one).
I was never formally introduced to Saddam Hussein.
I did not vote Yes in last September’s Scottish independence referendum.
I have recommended you both for the very highest awards your profession can bestow.
Most of these images and illustrations appeared in Ein Gwlad (2002 – 2005), of which I was co-founder with Henry Jones-Davies and Basil Thomas. I say, ‘most’, because some did not appear, having been held back for future issues that, alas, never materialised.
Some of the pictures are obviously dated, which may give them a certain charm. Some may be obscure, referring to events now almost forgotten; while others retain their impact – or carry the original captions – and require no further explanation.
To read the caption, and any description, click on the little ‘i‘ in the small box in the top left of the image. Further options can be found in the bar at the bottom. Each image appears for 15 seconds unless a further option is selected. To leave full screen mode press the ‘Esc’ button on the top left of your keyboard.
The title is of course a reference to the past. That’s because the pictures are all of friends and comrades, taken over the past half century. Some by me, others by the late Rhobert ap Steffan (‘Castro’); while the rest are of unknown origin. When I started writing the captions I realised that I was having to use ‘the late’ far too often. So, in the interests of brevity, and to stop me feeling so old and bloody miserable, I have dropped ‘the late’.
I am slowly organising the photographs I’ve accumulated into collections and galleries and will make them available on this site as they’re done. Eventually I hope to have them all catalogued and available via this blog or perhaps on a separate site.
If anyone has information to add, such as names, dates, corrections, even, then please get in touch. Also contact me if you have photos to contribute. If they’re in good nick then please e-mail me a copy. If not in good nick, then how about about letting me work on it? (The original will be untouched.)