A quarry from two directions – Marged Pendrell

As a group we had decided to each host a visit to a quarry that we had an affinity with or had worked in previously. For each of us the quarry landscape is a familiar one but I wasn’t expecting the varied histories and personal experiences that we shared during these collaborative journeys.

Approaching Dinorwig quarry from both directions gave an insight into its massive scale both physically and emotionally. I hadn’t taken many steps before I came across my first ‘found object’ –


This was the last thing I had imagined coming across, and an object which was an antithesis of such an environment .At this early stage, I was totally enveloped by the scale  and this small intimate yellow duck, which had the essence of children and play,  brought a softness as a strong contrast to the mountains of grey /purple slate.

The physicality of human achievement however,  both in what was quarried and what was built in order to do so, vast walls ,inclines, steps and  tunnels awakened the sculptor in me and I found myself relating to form and material as a priority from then on.


Walking with Lindsey from her home Coed Gwydr in Nantperis, via Eglwys Sant Peris’ graveyard we saw the headstones of the previous occupants of her house, many of whom had died in the quarries. Standing on this ground at the foot of the quarries made me aware of how large a community had lived in this now, relatively compact village.

There were so many headstones with carved hands of various genders being held, beneath the words ‘Ffarwel -Farewell ’.There was one that differed from the rest and that particularly moved me, in that it included a small child’s hand resting on an older one, both held within the palm of a woman’s hand .It spoke of, ancestors, community and connection to this place.


As we walked from Nantperis into the heart of the Llanberis/Dinorwig slate waste tips following the paths and steep steps of the workers trails, I reflected on how whole communities of this area had been affected by and involved with quarry life. The fact that we started from a quarry house with all its history as opposed to the entering from the other direction, from Dinorwig where I was totally immersed in the physical scale and forms, gave me a deeper insight and wider perspective of quarry life.

Merch y Chwarel, gan Julie Williams (Jwls)

Dyma fi wedi cael fy magu yng nghysgod y Graig, sef Chwarel Penmaenmawr lle bu’n Taid, hen daid a mwy diweddar 3 o frodyr fy nhad yn gweithio.



Y mae chwareli yn rhan o fy hunaniaeth, ac yr wyf wastad wedi mynegu hyn trwy gelf; fy mherthynas unigryw a  lle, a phresenoldeb trawiadol chwareli o fewn y dirwedd.


Merch y chwarel yn wir – ond beth yw arwyddocâd hyn heddiw ?

Wel, mae’r ffaith nad oeddwn erioed wedi ystyried y cwestiwn  yn ddiddorol yn ei hun rywsut?  Heb aros i sylweddoli’r anomaledd, dyma fi ymhlith hanes- dynion?
Y mae cychwyn ar y daith ‘Merched Chwarel’ yn agor gymaint o ddrysa a chwestiynau yn barod:
– o safbwynt fy hun, fel merch chwarel.
– ni’n pedair, ein grŵp a’n cysylltiadau a’n profiadau gwahanol, a’r bwriad o rannu a cyd-weithio.
– Pha rôl oedd gan ferched mewn hanes cyfoethog ein chwareli ?

Am anturiaeth i ddod.



Ffin/Boundary. Marged Pendrell

Walking  the National Park Boundary  around the quarry town of Blaenau Ffestiniog for a previous   project ’ Ail Wneud/Ail Ddyfeisio – Re Take /Re Invent’ left me thinking of other boundaries that exist in this quarry landscape, in particular the gender boundaries.

What role, if any, did women have within the context of these slate quarries?

Our group, Merched Chwarel had similar questions and so a R&D phase of our enquiry began.

My research brought to light Kate Griffiths who, in 1909 both instigated the setting up, running and teaching of 23 children in a remote quarry school in Rhiw Bach village quarry.

Rhiw Bach School

She is the only woman mentioned in the quarry history of Bleanau Ffestiniog and I became curious. Her journey to and from Rhiw Bach (one of the remotest of the Blaenau quarries) during the spring and summer months, was where I invited Merched Chwarel to start.

It began as a line of movement between two places.

Following her path had a meaning, from the material to the spiritual-experiencing the seen and the unseen, the real and the symbolic.

Walking has always been a strong part of my artistic process. My intention on most walks is to stay open and respond intuitively to the place. However, the Land Artist, Chris Drury’s quote was very much in my mind-

“If you make work about land you are making a political statement as well as an aesthetic one”

My thoughts followed not just the surface of the land but the layers of human history connected with it. Cultural connections to land have always played an important part of my process.

Rhiw Bach Quarry

The above image is of the way in to Rhiw Back Quarry.

I found out later that, at the head of this dramatic incline was also the place where the Carausius stone was originally found, before being moved to St Tudclud’s Church in Penmachno . This was a 5th century carved headstone of the Roman Emperor Carausius with the Latin   inscription, meaning-

“Carausius lies here in this heap of stones”

The OS map marks the Roman road Sarn Helen as also going through the land of Rhiw Bach quarry.   Maps, and the way that they record these visible and invisible paths, which are created by various kinds of touching, are a fascination to me, and always an essential tool on my walks.

The industrial archaeology of this quarry, particularly its scale within the landscape was a source of inspiration. The village ruins were a particular focus as the reality of life here became evident to us all. Although the whole place was ‘absent’ of its inhabitants, the traces of connection became very ‘present’ as we chose a room within one of the houses to have our lunch and to focus on why we had come. The school’s location was an unknown during this visit as it was a corrugated iron building in Kate Griffiths’s time here, with nothing now in evidence.


I   came across this painting by an unknown artist in David Gwyn’s book “Welsh Slate: Archaeology and History of an Industry” at a later date, which brought the village alive for me.


There were questions that arose for us all. I found myself getting obsessed with the practicalities of their lives, how did they wash their clothes etc. The presence of the washing line was, for me, the most memorable structure of the whole village. The domestic was strongly evident in what remained of the village.

The fact that we had chosen this quarry to visit because of the school teacher made me think of the role of education in Wales at this time. It was not that long after the Welsh language had gained a foothold once more following the devastating effect of the 1847 education report and the Blue Books which brought in the Welsh Not.

Sadly, when teachers had to have medicals Kate Griffiths had to stop teaching as they discovered she had a hole in her heart. Two school masters followed her but they lacked her skills and soon after the school was disbanded.

Her return journey each night (apart from the winter when she stayed in the village) ended by joining the Graigddu quarry men coming down the inclines on the Ceir Gwyllt, back into the town. This postcard was kindly given to me by Erik Scott who had interviewed Kate Griffiths when she was in her 70’s and who supplied me with all the information about her.


Our return journey was in haste as the weather turned, becoming cold and wet, exposing us to the unpredictability of the mountains and an insight into the vulnerability of the people who worked there.

Rhiwbach. by Lisa Hudson


Documentation of walking to Rhiwbach Quarry village with Merched Chwarel, led by Marged Pendrell.

The walk was to trace the footsteps of Kate Griffiths, the schoolteacher, who would walk the path from Blaenau to Rhiwbach, to educate the children of the tiny, quarry village. Our journey began by car, through a landscape swathed in frost, but with bright sun and dramatic forms.

We park at the entrance of a working quarry and exchange pleasantries with a man who was there to check the dust levels in the quarry. We walked away from the big machines, massive slabs of rock and earth working equipment, away from the little flags and towards the open landscape, with the quarry on our left.


The boundary marker between “journey to” and “Rhiwbach walk” was a fence and cattle grid. Blue plastic festooned the fence. Long hairs of blue, flapping in the wind like prayer flags, and the cattle grid feels ancient. The rungs pitted and rusted, some collapsed completely, some degenerating from iron to dust at the centre. I choose a sturdy looking one and walk across it tightrope style.The path is deeply rutted but the water is frozen over completely so my attention is focused on hopping from side to side across the ruts, picking out the most solid footing. Pits open sporadically on either side, exposing striated stone with lush moss and ferns and dripping water, evidence of burrowing men, but feeling like fairy story mini landscapes.

As we turned the corner, the true vastness of the area opened up. All quiet now. It’s hard to imagine this as anything other than wilderness, but once all those quarries were working and the hills would have echoed with machinery and shouts of men, blasts from all sides. A strange monument to the recent past rose up on the right of the path in the form of a concrete plinth, shed sized but low, on which  3 towers stood, topped with angles of rusted aerials. Piled at the base of the towers there was a wealth of bits of metal and plastic, an iron giant to be reassembled by someone with vision.


We hopped over a very low barbed wire fence to cut a corner and avoid boggy ground, and then back onto a straight path with the swell of the slope on our right and the expanse of the landscape to our left. As we got closer, we came to a winch tower marking the top of a steep, straight incline. From above, Rhiwbach looks like a long abandoned temple to some ancient god. The land it is on is raised in the centre of the valley, and the slate tips spilling out on all side of it like spider’s legs, reaching out towards the valley sides. The incline is dead straight down ahead, steep and impressive, adding to the religious feeling of the place. This point felt like another boundary to me, so I chose here to create a vortex to allow myself to truly be within this landscape.


Spinning at the top of the incline felt precarious but exciting. Fear stopped me from going as fast as I could, but I spun until the world dissolved and it was only me, then I stopped and let myself watch it spin, for one second being truly still, as the world spins on it’s axis without me. Then, as the land resolved, I properly arrived in Rhiwbach.

The descent is very straight and steep, two thirds of the way down, there is a recess in the wall on the right. A rotten wooden frame seems to support the rocks above, with the space within empty except for more rusty nubs and wires. As a group we all stop, admire, rest and each take it in turns to kneel before it and peer inside. Our behaviour implies a shrine.


A couple of yards beyond the “shrine” there is an entrance that felt like a Chinese temple gate, through which were buildings, clustered around a towering brick chimney. Vast stone lintels holding up the walls above large entrances. Each lintel has a serious crack right through the centre, illustrating the precariousness of the entire structure.


We moved into a long open area, studded with remnants of structure. Sheds for splitting, cutting and dressing slate. Fir tree saplings and rusty poles provided flora and colour along with bright orange rust, more cables, chains and bolts everywhere. Each structure once had a purpose. Within the outer lines of quarry sheds, was an open space, dotted with pillars of slate, seven foot at least and thicker at the bottom than at the top. Sturdy supports for nothing but sky.


As a group we started walking towards the edge of the rise, where the path descended the side of one of the slate tips. Zig zaging through the thin, crunching, tinkling rock, (the Rhiwbach slate sounds different to the Bethesda slate. Much more brittle) Above us and to the left is a small rectangle reservoir, and directly below it a shed and a wobbly, broken toothed crawiau fence. Rows of little dwellings, each with a fireplace and a small room or two. We tried to imagine where the school would have stood, where the children would have played and where the washing would have been done. It felt like the weather was drawing in and a slight sense of urgency came with it. We unanimously moved into one of the little houses.  Marged laid the table and I placed a candle in the centre of it. We used other slates as seats and set our food out. Julie rang a bell to call us all together, cutting through the wildness of the place like an echo of the old school bell. We ate sandwiches, hummus, apples and eggs, finished up with bara brith and chocolate. Lindsey read from an 1890’s geology text book, Marged read the ingredients and traditions of Bara Brith. We admired the mossy patina of the wallpaper, and the lush green carpet of grass. We felt like a family, chatting around the table. We were a group.

We left the house as we found it, with nothing to mark our presence save the chalked place settings on the slab. It felt like it was our house. Stepping out after lunch and entering the tiny pedestrian street, the past residents felt close, the after image of washing on lines and feet on the ground fleeting in the corner of my eye. We found a larger building at the end of the row, with grand doorways and windows. This must have been some kind of meeting place. Possibly the chapel.

The magic of our domestic experience seemed to be fading, as the clouds drew in and we began feeling the pull of our individual daily concerns. The return walk was a mirror image of the arriving one, except that each descent of course, became an ascent. The opposing pull of behind and ahead, switched. The steep incline was challenging. Zig zagging to ease the pain in the legs whilst still maintaining forward momentum. We past the scrapyard memorial and the modern quarry came into view, we dissipate and drive towards a glowing sky, away from our quarry house and back to our own individual domesticity.

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