reality. And indeed, perhaps, in some sense, that is what every such discovery is. Opening a window on to the eternal.
Y Cymro (26 Mawrth, 1974)
One of the great privileges that my father quietly bestowed upon us children, without our fully appreciating at the time how fortunate we were, was the family holiday. He was a man of generous heart, and adventurous at that. The venturesome spirit must have been part of the family's inheritance. Two of his brothers went overseas as young men, one settling in South Africa and the other in the United States, and my father himself had wandered much of the world before marrying. He was never to buy a car, that's true enough. When still a comparatively young doctor setting out on a career as a health officer in Wrexham, he insisted on acquiring a motor-bike, and so I've heard, made quite a name for himself with this early machine as he whizzed gleefully on his rounds, a danger to the life of man and beast in those pioneering days. But by the end of the first world war, when he had once more settled in Cardiff, he was nearly fifty years old, and his eyesight too poor for him to drive a motor-car, and so as a family we were deprived of the privilege of enjoying an occasional trip into the country of a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, as did some of our friends who could afford to follow the new fashion. It was on foot that I had, as a boy, to get to know the countryside around Cardiff, and today I'm very glad about that.
But this didn't mean that we children hadn't plenty of opportunity for setting out from home to see the world. Whenever my brother and sister were home from boarding-school, my father would hire a car to take the family to visit some remarkable place or other in the vicinity, and we were taken, each in turn, to spend a few days in London, like that time I accompanied him to see the Empire Exhibition at Wembley. He took care that we all spent time fairly often with