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!
Elan Llwyd - Fforwm Ieuenctid Sain Ffagan, 7September2016
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.
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 19th-century Danish and Latin).
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).
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.
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.
Our new exciting, family-friendly exhibition Wriggle has now opened and delves into the wonderful world of worms. As part of this exhibition we have put together a display of some very historic worm models made of glass. These are from a part of our collections called the ‘Blaschka glass model collection’. The models were made by the German glass-worker and naturalist Leopold Blaschka, along with his son, Rudolf, in the latter half of the 1800s’. This period was a time of great scientific discovery and new museums were opening to the public with their galleries displaying fossils, plants and animals from across the globe.
However many types of animal and plant specimens are very difficult to preserve and display, particularly soft-bodied animals, such as jellyfish, marine worms and sea anemones. The best method is to preserve in some sort of preserving fluid such as ethanol or formaldehyde but colours quickly faded and their shapes became distorted. Leopold Blaschka devised a solution to this problem by using his glass working skills to accurately model these animals out of glass. Together with his son, he went on to establish a successful business supplying glass models, mostly of marine animals, to museums worldwide during the latter half of the 19th century.
Initially the Blaschkas relied on illustrations in books as sources of reference for the glass animals, and many of the models are three dimensional representations of animals that they never saw in reality. However, in later years they increasingly based the models on their own observations of real animals, either during field trips or from live specimens in specially built aquariums in their house. This development in their naturalist skills is seen in the models as over time they became increasingly scientifically accurate.
Amgueddfa Cymru has an extensive collection of these historic glass models representing a wide range of sea creatures such as sea slugs, sea cucumbers, marine worms, cephalopods and sea anemones. A selection of these models is on permanent display in the Marine galleries both as part of a stand-alone case, and as part of the surrounding displays. However for the Wriggle exhibition we have also put together a display case of all our worm related Blaschka glass models. Some of these models have not been on display for many years, and required delicate conservation work to enable their handling and display in the exhibition. A good example is the life series of three enlarged models of the marine worm Proceraea cornuta. All three of the models had been previously damaged in some way and careful conservation work was required to anable their safe display.
Also on display are models of commonly found species from our seashores such as the lugworm Arenicola marina and the ragworm Perinereis cultrifera.
The models of the leech Pontobdella (Hirudo) vittata and the Peacock worm Sabella pavonina are also notable in that they are still mounted on the packing card the Blaschkas’ would have originally shipped the models out on.
However personal favourites are the models of two tube living worms - the sand mason worm Lanice conchilega and the exquisitesphagetti worm Pista cretacea. Both have dense tentacle crowns which becomes an astonishing piece of craftsmanship and taxonomic accuracy when fashioned in glass!
As usual in this monthly blog post I’d like to share with you some of the objects that have recently been added to the industry and transport collections.
The first objects this month are a flame safety lamp and lamp check that were used by William Targett (c.1890-c.1986) of Pontypridd. He worked at Albion Colliery then Abercynon Colliery, and was a shotsman at some point. In 1947 the family moved to Somerset where he worked in a glue factory. The lamp is a Cambrian No. 9 flame safety lamp - No. 30, and was made by E. Thomas & Williams Ltd. of Aberdare in the early 20th century.
The lamp check dates from the same period and is stamped with the company name Albion Steam Coal Company Limited and the lamp number ‘2379’.
Also this month we were donated an interesting metal roundel decorated with the house colours of the Reardon Smith Line. The Reardon Smith Line was founded by Sir William Reardon Smith. He was born in Appledore in 1856, and started his seagoing career at the age of 12. In 1905 he decided to go into ship owning, and set up W.R. Smith & Sons Ltd. His first ship was the S.S. CITY OF CARDIFF. Her master on the maiden voyage was Captain John Smith (Sir William's elder brother), with his son Harry Smith as Second Officer. By 1922 the company had 39 ships.
The metal roundel was originally attached to the left hand door of the main doors to the company’s office in Devonshire House, Greyfriars Road, Cardiff. This office opened in 1960, and so the roundel will date to then. The Reardon Smith Line Plc. Annual reports from the late 1970s to early 1980s featured the doors on the front covers. This example is from the 1984 Report of the Directors.
You can read about Sir William Reardon Smith, and his links to the National Museum of Wales here.
Finally this month, we have acquired a small collection relating to the mines rescue service in Wales. This consists of a jacket worn by Henry David Nichols who worked for the Mines Rescue Service in the 1960s. He was awarded this trophy for 15 Years Service with the Mines Rescue Service in 1972. The collection also includes a Mines Rescue Service commemorative trophy awarded to ‘Nick’ from Crumlin Mines Rescue Station, and a general Mines Rescue Service National Coal Board badge showing a man wearing breathing apparatus.
Curator: Industry & Transport
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