Amgueddfa Blog – Amgueddfa Cymru – National Museum Wales

Museums are outgoing institutions. Our doors are open to anyone, regardless of age, level of ability, ethnicity, and so on. We are happy to welcome everyone and will do our best to accommodate people’s needs and interests. Many museums are free because we do not want low income to be a barrier for visiting. AC-NMW’s Conservation Department has recently stepped up its outreach programme. We organise regular Open Days (the next one is on 25^th October), talks, behind-the-scenes tours, schools activities etc – preservation of the museum’s objects is an important part of what the museum does and quite rightly forms part of the museum’s public offer. So much for museums.

Now for the visitors. Why do people visit museums? Because they have travelled here and are trying to get a sense of place. Because they want to spend some quality time with friends/family. Because they have a specific interest. There are many reasons, most of which indicate that visiting museums is a leisure activity that reflects what people are interested in and how they like to spend their spare time, just like reading, cycling or watching box sets on TV. Jehra Patrick summarised in her blog some of the motivational identities of museum visitors compiled by John H. Falk. She also suggested that to get people in the doors, museums should stop telling them why they should come and start asking them why they do. 

Last year we asked visitors whether they would like conservators to be more visible in public spaces. The feedback was a resounding and emphatic ‘YES!’ by 90% of our visitors. We heard the shout and started scheduling more of our regular maintenance work during public opening hours both at St Fagans and in the city centre. Again we checked with the visitors and, low and behold, they said they would like to see conservation in action even more often. Visitors are insatiable, one might conclude. Or are we really that good? Either way, it was all good news, the new way of working was a success, we congratulated ourselves, lots of shoulder padding going on etc.

Now a dear friend asked recently: ‘do visitors like to talk to museum staff about Conservation, or do they just like to talk to staff?’ Jaw drops. Had we not asked visitors whether they would like to speak to conservators? And had they not told us that they did? Well, yeah – but what we didn’t ask was whether it mattered that they spoke to conservators. Or anyone else.

It is certainly clear from experience (I am now straying from hard data into anecdotal evidence) that many museums visitors like to talk. When we work in the galleries or historic houses there are endless opportunities for chatting. We, as staff and volunteers, make it as obvious as possible that we are approachable and happy to talk. Many visitors use the opportunity to do just that: ask questions about our work, about the objects on display, or tell us about a moth infestation they once had in a carpet. The latter does not tend to happen randomly – pest management is one aspect of our work.

However, there is certainly a difference between being a member of museum staff (visitor perception) and being a highly skilled individual with years of experience who is fully subscribed to the museum’s policy of inclusivity, enthusiastically raring to inform visitors about the museum’s efforts in heritage preservation (conservator perception). It is interesting to note that, when working in the galleries, conservation is not the only thing we talk about. We also find ourselves giving directions, answering questions about objects on display, telling people about other cultural venues in South Wales. And – for reasons of liability – avoiding giving advice on moth infestations in domestic carpets.

Does it need a conservator to answer general enquiries? Of course not, and the museum already has additional staff for just that sort of thing. Should a conservator therefore refuse to answer such questions? Again, of course they should not – courtesy and politeness alone should be reason enough to attempt to answer any question.

Visitors cannot be expected to distinguish between different members of museum staff or volunteers. I, as a conservator, have to be aware of this and be prepared to answer any question asked of me as best I can to create experiences that fulfil visitor needs. It is also clear that visitors have expectations of their museum experience that often differ from what staff believe the offer is. The route to success for me, as member of staff, is therefore to be flexible and acknowledge the visitor’s diverse interests and needs. And to ask the right questions.

Find out more about care of collections and Preventive Conservation at Amgueddfa Cymru - National Museum Wales here. 

Os ydych yn un o ddilynwyr selog @DyddiadurKate, ’da chi’n siŵr o fod wedi sylwi nad oedd Mrs Rowlands mor gyson â’i chofnodion yn 1946. Pam? Gallwn ond ddyfalu. Gofynion teuluol, dim awydd … pwy a ŵyr. Gan fod mis o dawelwch o’n blaenau  — does dim cofnod tan 10 Hydref! — dyma gyfle i ni lenwi’r bwlch gyda rhagor o hanes Kate Rowlands y Sarnau.

Yn gynharach eleni, daeth pecyn drwy’r post i ni yma yn Sain Ffagan gan Eilir Rowlands, un o wyrion Kate. Ynddo roedd toriadau papur newydd, hen luniau, coeden deulu a llythyr yn llawn atgofion amdani. Felly, dyma i chi grynodeb o'r llythyr arbennig hwnnw yng ngeiriau Eilir Rowlands: 

Fy ofynwyd be fyddai fy nain yn feddwl o hyn i gyd – syndod mawr mi dybiaf, gyda’r ebychiad lleol ‘brenshiach y bratie!’ Ond dw i’n siwr y byddai yn hynod falch bod ardal cefn gwlad y Sarnau a Chefnddwysarn yn cael gymaint o sylw yn genedlaethol ac yn fyd eang, a bod y pwyslais ar gymdogaeth glos gyda gwaith dyddiol yn cael y sylw haeddiannol.

Fe sonir am y dyddiadur mewn sgyrsiau yn yr ardal a mae’r enw KATE yn ddiarth i bawb. Fel KITTY TY HÊN y byddai pawb yn ei chyfarch a'i hadnabod… Ni wyddwn fy hun tan yn ddiweddar ei bod yn cael ei galw yn KATE pan yn ifanc!! KITTY ROWLANDS sydd ar ei charreg fedd yng Nghefnddwysarn gyda’r cwpled:

’Rhoes i eraill drysori

Ei chyngor a’i hiwmor hi

Mae'n amlwg oddi wrth dyddiadur 1946 fod cymaint o fynd a dod ag yn 1915 a'r gymdogaeth yr un mor glos. Y gwahaniaeth mwyaf mi dybiaf oedd fod ceir a bwsiau a'r ffordd o drafeilio wedi datblygu oedd yn golygu fod pobl yn mynd ymhellach i ymweld â'i gilydd. Hefyd roedd tripiau wedi dod yn ffasiynol yng nghefn gwlad.

Ganwyd fi yn 1950 felly cof plentyn sydd gennyf am nain a taid yn byw yn Ty Hên, ond yn cofio’n dda am ddiwrnod dyrnu, cneifio a hel gwair. Ty hynod fach oedd Ty Hên, ond clud a chysurus. Bob tro yr oeddwn yn cerdded y milltir o’r Hendre i Ty Hên roedd nain bron yn ddieithriad yn crosio sgwariau ar gyfer gwneud cwilt i hwn a llall. Llygaid eitha gwantan oedd gan nain erioed ond roedd pob sgwar bach yn berffaith. Wrth roi proc i'r tân glo hen ffasiwn ei dywediad fydde 'fyddai'n mynd â hwn efo fi sdi' gan chwerthin!

Roedd safle Ty Hên mewn lle hynod o brydferth. Mae'n edrych dros bentre Sarnau a mynydd y Berwyn yn y pellter. Mae'n cael haul peth cynta yn y bore. Ffordd ddifrifol o wael oedd i Ty Hên ers talwm, rhan ohoni ar hyd ffos lydan a elwid yn 'ffordd ddŵr' ac yn arwain i allt serth a chreigiog. Mi glywais nain yn dweud sawl tro am yr adegau y byddai fy nhaid wedi mynd i nôl nwyddau gyda cheffyl a throl ac yn dod adre i fyny'r allt byddai'n gweiddi ar fy nain (a oedd yn disgwyl amdano ac yn ei wylio wrth ddrws y tŷ) 'SGOTSHEN'. Beth oedd hyn yn ei feddwl oedd os oedd fy nhaid wedi gor-lwytho'r drol ac yn rhy drwm i'r ceffyl ei thynnu fyny'r allt a'r drol yn cychwyn ar yn ôl, byddai'n rhaid cael 'sgotshen' (wejen o bren) tu ôl i'r olwyn i arbed damwain a thamchwa. Byddai nain yn disgwyl am y waedd ac yn gorfod rhedeg yn syth gyda'r 'sgotshen' yn ei llaw a'i gosod tu ôl yr olwyn.

Mae Ty Hên erbyn heddiw yn hollol wahanol o ran edrychiad oherwydd fe unwyd y tŷ gyda’r beudy a’r stabl ac mae yn awr yn un tŷ hir. Perchnogion y tŷ yw par ifanc o Loegr sydd â chysylltiadau Cymreig ac maent wedi dysgu Cymraeg. Maent wedi addasu yr adeilad allanol ar gyfer beicwyr sy’n dod ar wyliau. Medraf glywed fy nain yn dweud ‘brenshach y bratie’ pe byddai yn gweld Ty Hên heddiw ac eto yn falch bod bwrlwm a bywyd yn dal yn yr hen gartre.

Gyda diolch i Eilir Rowlands, Cefnddwysarn.

Yr Oriel yn Siarad

Wrth i mi sefyll a myfyrio yng nghanol yr arddangosfa, tybiais i mi weld ffigwr yn sefyll tu ôl i’r cownter pren……yna wrth edrych ar y bolltiau a’r crysau gwlanen ar y silffoedd…bron â chlywn i leisiau dynion…gydag acenion amrywiol…teimlais fy hun fel pe bawn yn llithro’n llythrennol i’r gorffennol….mae’n wir mae distaw oedd y presennol…ond deuai bwrlwm siop brysur o’r gorffennol yn fyw i’m meddwl i……yn sydyn dychmygais gyda gwên ddrygionus bod siwtcês David Lewis yn neidio allan o’r casyn gwydr ac yn mynnu dweud ei stori am ei anturieithau cyffrous…….

Yn wir roedd fel petai congl arall o’r amgueddfa yn galw am y cyfle i fynegi ei hun a dweud ei stori mewn modd bywiog a dramatig.

Dyma stori siop draper Emlyn Davies!

Pwy oedd Emlyn Davies?

Dyn lleol o Gastell Newydd Emlyn a symudodd i Ddowlais, Merthyr Tydfil i weithio fel cynorthwy-ydd yn siop J.S.Davies Drapers. Ym 1898 agorodd ei siop ddefnydd ei hun.

Gwerthu gwlanen fyddai yn bennaf, a prynai’r mwyafrif o’i stoc o Felin Cambrian yn Drefach Felindre (sydd nawr yn gartref i’r Amgueddfa Wlân). Byddai David Lewis, perchennog y felin, yn teithio i’r cymoedd i gasglu archebion am wlanen, a’r defnydd yn cael ei gludo ar y tren i Ddowlais o stesion Henllan. Byddai’r gwlanen yn cael ei droi’n grysau a dillad isaf i weithwyr y pyllau glo a’r gweithfeydd haearn lleol.

Creu Sesiwn i Blant

Ychydig o fisoedd nôl, fe ddechreuais i weithio ar y syniad o greu sesiwn a gweithdy i blant ysgol yn yr amgueddfa wlân wedi selio ar yr hanes uchod, ac atgyfodi’r siop a chafodd ei ail greu yn yr amgueddfa yn 2013.

Mae’n hanfodol, i ddechre, i unrhyw hwylusydd neu actor mewn amgueddfa pan yn ceisio bywiogi darn o hanes i wneud ei waith ymchwil ei hun. Rhaid darllen y ffeithiau wrth gwrs, gwrando ar unrhyw dystiolaeth sydd ar gael yn yr archif, a chael gweld gwrthrychau priodol o’r casgliad - ond hefyd yn ychwanegol i hyn oll mae’n rhaid ymgolli eich hun yn llwyr yng nghefndir a chyfnod yr hanes yn gyffredinol.

Mae’n bwysig i ffurfio perthynas dda gyda’r curaduron, ac unrhyw arbennigwyr arall sydd yn gweithio I’r sefydliad, a thrwy’r unigolion hynny cael mynediad i lu o adnoddau defnyddiol arall i sicrhau bod y sesiwn neu weithdy yn un a sail hanesyddol gywir iddo.

Gweithio Gydag Atgofion

Y stop gyntaf i mi wrth droedio nol i orffennol y siop oedd i gysylltu a Mark Lucas, Curadur y Diwydiant Gwlân, a fi’n gyfrifol am gasglu’r hanes at ei gilydd.

Fe rhoddodd bentwr o ffeil i mi i ddechrau, yn cynnwys copi o fywgraffiad bywyd a hanes teulu Emlyn Davies a ysgrifennwyd gan ei wŷr Alan Owen: Emlyn Davies: The Life & Times Of a Dowlais Draper in the first Half Of The Twentieth Century.

Un o’r profiadau mwyaf cyffrous i mi yn y broses yma o adfywio hanes yw i gael cyfarfod mewn person a phobol sydd ynghlwm yn uniongyrchol â’r hanes. Diddorol oedd nodi bod Mark Lucas mewn cysylltiad rheolaidd a Alan Owen, a bod cyfle i mi gyfarfod ag ef i holi cwestiunau - mwy am hyn yn y blog nesa!

Wrth wneud gwaith gyda’r Fforwm Ieuenctid, darganfyddais fod yna glytwaith i orchuddio cist o ddroriau (‘patchwork chest of drawers cover’) yng nghasgliad Sain Ffagan a gafodd ei greu gan fy hen hen ewythr, Richard Evans o Lanbrynmair, yn ystod ei amser yn gwasanaethu fel milwr yn India. Mae wedi ei greu o ddefnydd gwlanog trwchus coch a du ac felly tybiwyd ei fod wedi ei bwytho o ddillad milwr, ac yn ôl yr hyn sydd wedi ei arysgrifio ar ei gefn, roedd yn ‘Rhodd i fy Mam Sarah Evans 1883.’ Fe wnaeth y rhoddwr (Miss Ceridwen E Lloyd), sef nith i Richard Evans, ysgrifennu llythyr gyda’r gwrthrych a ymunodd â’r casgliad yn 1962, yn nodi “roedd ganddo fwy o amynedd na llawer ohonom heddiw.” 

Roedd yr amynedd angenrheidiol i wneud gwniadwaith yn un o’r rhesymau pam ddaeth y grefft yn rhan o fywyd i rai mewn gwersylloedd milwrol. Yn ogystal â bod yn sgil ymarferol er mwyn gallu trwsio eu lifrau, roedd milwyr yn cael eu hannog i ddechrau gwnïo fel ffordd o ymlacio. Cefnogwyd y syniad gan fudiadau dirwest yn y bedwaredd ganrif ar bymtheg wrth iddynt weld gwnïo fel ffordd o gadw’r milwyr rhag demtasiynau yfed a gamblo, yn enwedig yng ngwres India. Roedd y grefft hefyd yn cael ei hybu fel rhan o therapi milwr mewn ysbyty er mwyn lleddfu diflastod. Mae yna enghraifft o waith tebyg yn y casgliad yn Sain Ffagan – gemwaith a gafodd ei greu gan y Corporal Walter Stinson pan roedd yn glaf yn Ysbyty VAD Sain Ffagan yn 1917-18.

Roedd gogwydd fwy emosiynol ar y math yma o waith hefyd. Weithiau, crewyd cwiltiau allan o lifrau cyd-filwyr a fu farw ar faes y gad i ddangos ffyddlondeb a gwladgarwch. Roedd gan y grefft bwrpas tu hwnt i’r cyfnod o ryfela hefyd, gan fod dysgu i wnïo yn gallu cael ei gysylltu ag ennill arian ar ôl gadael y fyddin. Yn y casgliad, mae yna ddarlun gwlân a oedd wedi ei brynu gan hen dad-cu y rhoddwr gan gyn-filwr oedd wedi colli ei goes wrth ymladd.

Mae llu o resymau felly i esbonio pam ddaeth gwniadwaith yn grefft fwy poblogaidd i filwyr. Daeth buddion y grefft i ddisgyblaeth a gwellhad milwyr â’r grefft oedd wedi ei hystyried yn un fenywaidd ar hyd y blynyddoedd yn rhan o hunaniaeth milwyr yn ystod y cyfnod hwn – ac ysbrydoli fy hen hen ewythr, yn bictiwr o wrywdod milwr gyda’i getyn a’i fwstash (trydydd o’r chwith yn y rhes gefn) i greu clytwaith fel anrheg i’w fam.

Collections work in Natural History is a process fraught with unseen difficulties. A project can, on rare occasions, proceed rapidly and uneventfully to a satisfying conclusion; however this is not the norm, and usually one soon finds oneself abroad in a treacherous jungle of scientific literature, beset on all sides by pitfalls and false trails, seemingly lost forever in a sea of confusion and miserable self-doubt. Such a process is a part of the standard working behaviour of the biologist, who is forever springing between the meteoric highs and dashing lows of their profession, drawn onwards in endless pursuit of the elusive Name with which to crown their specimen.

The naming game

Names in biology are contrary things, and the source of much agonising and confusion on the part of their employer. Upon discovery, each form of life is assigned a name, which, in theory, will remain with it forever, serving as its own unique cross-cultural reference code, and allowing it, again in theory, to be snugly positioned in the correct place in the proverbial tree of life. The system used, with a group-name (the genus) and an individual name (the specific), is much the same as that used to assign human beings into families – with great success – and would seem to be an ideal tool for defining the interlocking relationships of general non-human forms, but the small-scale elegance of the base idea melts completely away when applied to the vastnesses of known life, which currently musters some 1.2 million units (a number growing by the day). Beyond the inherent scaling problems which occur when expanding a small model by many orders of magnitude, further problems arise as our understanding of biodiversity evolves – relationships between members of a group, and between groups, are frequently revised, to an extent that rarely happens in the human example, as our nebulous understanding of deep prehistory is clarified, and our past mistakes are corrected.

Theo Tamblyn working on the Phorson mollusc slide collection.

Checking the checklists

What does this mean for the average worker ‘in the field’, so to speak? If the material to be addressed is newly collected, not much – reference to current literature and up-to-date checklists should enable the specimen to be correctly identified and assigned the current iteration of its taxonomic name, as opposed to an older version which has been superseded (known as a synonym). However, as soon as your specimen is filed away the clock begins ticking down towards the next taxonomic revision of the group in hand, and when future researchers come upon it in the course of their studies then problems begin to appear. The material I have been working on, the Phorson collection of juvenile molluscs, ranges in age from twenty to forty years since the date of collection, and a lot of the nomenclature employed when the specimens were first identified has exceeded its shelf life by a considerable margin. In order to record the collection in the Museum’s databases to the greatest degree of accuracy, the correct name must be substituted, which is a simple process in the short term but greatly increases in difficulty as the specimens in question get older. Historic material from the early twentieth century or earlier is named and catalogued in archaic ways, often utterly incomprehensible to those trained in the most up-to-date traditions of taxonomy, and the evolution of the name into its modern form tends to become lost to history as the elapsed time increases, much as is the case with the evolutionary histories of real organisms. Older names tend to be referenced poorly and copies of the original texts where they were first proposed are difficult or impossible to come by, rarely accessible with ease and, when found, are impenetrable to the modern reader, extremely long, and often only available in foreign languages (in my last period of work at the Museum I spent many hours struggling with a book on planktonic molluscs, written in a combination of 19^th-century Danish and Latin).

Hunting in the Mollusca library for the most useful books to help identification.

The digital age

This may seem like a rather hopeless situation to find yourself in, even as an academic with access to a well-stocked library, but a solution is close at hand, one that opens historic records of taxonomic changes to everyone from the casually-interested member of the public to the paid researcher and the amateur specialist. Widespread online communications have allowed an organic model of constantly-updated databases to become the norm for the curation of large scientific datasets in the digital age, covering topics from biological records and species distribution (the National Biodiversity Network being the main system used in the UK) to the aforementioned taxonomic complexities that plague the curator. For alleviating this latter problem, the whimsically-named WoRMS (World Register of Marine Species) is one of the most comprehensive projects, and the one I have found myself using most often while working on the Phorson collection; administered by a large number of taxonomic editors, luminaries in their respective fields, the site serves as a searchable database for all taxonomic names of marine organisms, both those in current use and superseded synonyms, and enables the user to swiftly follow the links from the searched synonym to the version in current usage (where a full list of synonyms for the species in question is displayed).

Theo Tamblyn and bivalve expert Anna Holmes getting to the bottom of a tricky identification.

Workers in the field of taxonomy have taken these ideas yet further, building new online projects to manage future changes in nomenclature in a way that simplifies things for everyone involved. Divorced from the limitations of the printed media, these sites can be updated as and when changes occur, making them an always-reliable source of up-to-date information on biological names, and a record of past changes as they happened. The National Museum of Wales’ ongoing project on the Bivalve molluscs of the United Kingdom (Marine Bivalve Shells of the British Isles: http://naturalhistory.museumwales.ac.uk/britishbivalves/) is a peerless example of this principle, addressing a field of study which has been historically poor in terms of identification  guides and accessible publications aimed at those away from the ‘front line’ of research. The site is an online identification resource, where descriptions and photographs of the complete British Bivalve fauna can be viewed, compared and searched, and keys allow even those with no prior knowledge of the subject to work through the fauna until they find the correct match. This ‘opening’ of knowledge to those who were historically denied access – through their placement outside research institutions, or an inability to afford expensive niche publications, is part of a commendable shift taking place within the sciences, a quiet revolution championing the principles of free and open access to knowledge that would, in the past, have been hidden in a closed library or behind a paywall. The internet is a marvellous forum for the dispensation of the condensed expertise gleaned from the study of innumerable books and scientific papers, over decades and centuries. A colossal and terrifying volume of work to confront in its entirety, certainly, but when filtered into a useable format through the dedication of scientists and curators, a great doorway into the long galleries of human understanding of the world, thrown open to all who pass by and find themselves drawn in by stirrings of curiosity and wonder.

Using digital taxonomic resources to capture the most up to date names.

What the future holds…

During my work at the Museum I have had the rare privilege of watching the British Bivalves project grow, perhaps even through reference to the material from Ted Phorson’s collection that I have curated. These endeavours to open the galleries seem to me, in my more optimistic moments at least, to be a glimpse into the future of science and the curation of knowledge (which is perhaps the core function of the Museum as an institution) – a future where understanding is as familiar to us as running water, and the fruits of scientific endeavour can be beamed around the globe to anywhere an internet connection exists. Such prospects cause me quite unreasonable levels of excitement, at least until I realise that at online guide to the Gastropod (snail-shelled) molluscs is yet to be attempted, and they form the bulk of the British molluscan fauna; and I am brought heavily to earth again. It is a shame that I will perhaps not live to see the full extent of scientific digitisation, but I can console myself with the thought that, through my work at the National Museum of Wales, I may have left my mark somewhere at the very beginning. In any case I hope I have been able to express a little idealism without leaving myself open to accusations of naïveté and dangerous utopian thought; such is, after all, the prerogative of the millennial youth, of which I seem to have found myself a part, and after sifting the more arcane scientific literature for hours on end, a buoying thought and a cup of strong tea is a great necessity.