PONT YR TAF

It had been a long period of hot dry summer weather,  that we all knew would become wetter and cooler when the schools broke up at the end of July. But before that time came there had been no rain at all and the sun shone continually such that everybody walked around to do their shopping wearing their Mediterranean beach clothes. The non-existent rainfall had led to warnings of drought conditions for everyone. There were threats of hosepipe bans and the usual advice of putting dirty dishwater onto the garden and only flushing the toilet when absolutely necessary. These admonitions indicated that the stocks of water in the reservoirs would be low. The usual appearance of the lake-like reservoirs in the Taf Fawr valley above Methyr would be altered and a new shape of water would insert itself as the land reclaimed what it had lost through the engineering of men.

To serve as storage places for the water necessary to satisfy the thirst of the populace of Cardiff dams were built and the lower floors of the valley flooded. Although some farm buildings succumbed to the water the only clear remnant of a previous land-based existence is the bridge drowned under Llwyn Onn reservoir. So a trip up the A470 was called for to see a seldom observed feature reasserting itself above the water because of lack of rain.

Three reservoirs were built in the Taf Fawr valley by the Cardiff Corporation who in 1884 were empowered to impound a part of the waters of the river and its tributaries.

Llwyn Onn Reservoir - low water levels

The two upper reservoirs, Cantref and Beacons were completed and opened in 1892 and 1897 respectively. Work commenced on the third reservoir, Llwyn Onn, in January 1911, but was suspended in 1915 for the duration of WW1, then being fully commissioned in May 1927.

Unlike the previous months’ weather this journey began not hot and dry but with a mist thickening as I travelled north. Drizzle was hanging around as if it did not quite have the energy to turn itself into rain or to give up and go away. At the reservoir the shrunken nature of its shore line stood out. The land now no longer resting underwater but open to the air had a very definite reddish tint and the heat of the summer sun had caused it to crack, but everywhere there was a green blush to the ground as small plants and grasses had been able to establish themselves once the bottom of the reservoir had been exposed. This area was flatter and more gently sloping than the surrounding countryside with its rugged weather beaten topography. Clearly the water flowing into the reservoir was slowly placing mud and silt over its floor and hence a flat uniform surface was being formed.

Future Fossils

As I walked over the drying mud the imprint of the shoes of others could be seen everywhere, now waiting to be covered over when the rain came but leaving behind a modern fossil footprint. Leaves were also scattered and pressed into the silty floor providing a palaeontologist of the distant future with a complex contextual problem to solve. The red mud was made up of material eroded by streams and rivers cutting into Pen y Fan and Corn Du. These peaks just to the north are made of Devonian “Old Red Sandstone”, which form the outer rim of the geologic basin that holds the coalfield.  The strata were laid down when the area that is now Wales was situated south of the Equator. Times have changed and now we are very much north of the equator.  Over the 400 million years of its existence, the sand started as alluvium in large semi-arid lakes, then after it became rock it was lifted up by mountain making epochs then to be washed away by temperate rain only to find itself again in a lake-like body of water, this time made by man.

It was easy to see the bridge Pont yr Taf. It was towards the northern end of the reservoir. It now stood clear allowing it to perform its initial function of making it possible to traverse the River Taf Fawr which brought its water to the reservoir. Although an old map told me that the road ran north-east to south-west, the silting of the reservoir left no remnants of its existence, only the bridge with its east-west orientation remained. 

Pont Yr Taf

It clearly was a Victorian stone bridge made of two arches with facing stones on the outer walls and bricked surfaces on the inner faces of the arches. A large tree trunk rested against it clearly transported by the underwater currents of the Taff. One of the arch tops had nearly crumbled away but the keystone stood proud still trying to perform its duty of holding the structure together. The top layers of what would have been the road surface had long since gone and crossing it was like walking on uneven cobbles. In some places were holes and water glinted as it flowed underneath. 

Pont Yr Taf 2018

Later when I looked at images of the bridge as it emerged in the drought conditions of 1976 it was clear that in the intervening years there had been a deterioration of its structure as it slowly crumbled away. In future years it would completely lose it shape and in future drought conditions those seeking to walk across would not be able to do so. It would no longer be a bridge but just the ruin of one.

Pont Yr Taf

Near Pont yr Taf, on its western side had been the small village of Ynys-y-felin – clearly a name reflected the presence of the Pwllcoch woollen mill that stood there originally – the Mill of the Red Pond. Perhaps the name reflected the colour of the mud and rocks that were all around. There was also a public house, aptly named ‘The Red Lion’, a couple of houses, a small school and the Bethal Baptist Chapel. This chapel, founded in 1799, was dismantled and rebuilt before the flood – a task no doubt inspired by Noah; it is now passed by all as they travel on the A470. No signs of the buildings remain.

I had thought that to stand on Pont yr Taf would have given a feeling of reclaiming something that had been lost, but this was not the case, as the bridge and the land currently exposed had given up its function a long time ago and it was now just something laid bare as if by an unusual low tide. I felt that regardless of the weather that soon the water would come affirming its authority and the stones of the dismantling bridge would once again resume their location beneath the surface enliven only by with sunken branches bumping against them.

I was not the only person investigating the bridge, a man had bought his young daughter

and at his request I was happy to take some photographs of them on his phone. I wondered if the girl would remember standing on the bridge or whether it would be lost in her memory except created by the remembrance stimulated by a photograph to which she could say, “This is me and my Dad when the weather was so hot and dry that we could stand on bridge that is usually covered by water.” I wondered how the future story of this event would develop for her, perhaps it would just sit in the repository of a digital memory and become a personal myth dependant solely on the image.

Pont Yr Taf