Some Welsh names just sound made up. Fireman Sam came from a fictional town called Pontypandy and Pontyberry is another pretend place in a Welsh TV show that I have never seen - 'Stella'.
Pontypool.
A real place. One i've heard of but had no reason to visit until I learned of a 1940's weekend taking place there. I'm in the middle of making a bit of a documentary and thought i'd use the event to get a few establishing shots and also to have a look around.
Short promo I put together for the event, using some excess footage.
I followed the Sat Nav directions bluntly delivered by my iPhone and arrived in the middle of nowhere. I've never been to a 1940's weekend before. Events I had visited before this had more of a general theme of war rather than a particular time frame.
I parked my car and walked up to where I saw the tip of a US flag waving for my attention. Underneath that was a small field with camped reenactors either side. Just before I got to that part was the small railway station building where people shuffled into, escaping from the crappy weather. I followed suit.
In here was the canteen. It was great. Straight out of the Forties. Familiar WW2 songs play out of some speakers to a room full of tea-drinking humans in period dress. This is what Gary Sparrow must have felt like.* The real deal.
Just beyond that the steam train was parked at the platform. Allied soldiers patrolling, eyeing up people like me. It was a real treat to see a steam train up that close and fully operational. There was a small cost to travel which I hadn't accommodated for. I'm a student and there is zero allowance for steam trains in my monthly budget. Next time.
Steam.
I had a quick look around and attempted to spot the organiser, Andy. I had no idea what he looked like so went off a few generic descriptions I had from people I had asked. I sat in the canteen and bought a cream tea from the dickie bowed guy behind the counter. Thankfully my modern tender was accepted and I started throwing it down my face.
Great Forties vibes in the canteen.
I spotted who I thought was Andy. He was a understandably busy guy and we parted ways after a brief chat during which he pushed a complimentary train ticket into my hand. What a hero. I get ride on the train.The train ride was great. The local Bobby onboard asked for my papers and the British soldier referred to my camera gear as spy equipment. A nice touch that I appreciated.
The reenactors were great and the most approachable i'd ever met at anything like this. I met two guys (Nick & Richard) who I interviewed for my film and they let me have a look at the impressive stockpile of weapons (Below).
Nick & Richard
The entire event was full of nice little touches. The thing I loved most about the event was the intimacy of it. It was free to get in, there were no overpriced options, no one was there with the sole purpose to make money. It is run by people who are passionate about the era and attended by those who share that passion. I can't remember the last time I attended anything where the only intention was to share an interest without charging six quid for a cup of tea.
Mock-Up of a downed German plane
Big thanks to Andy Knock for the train ticket and allowing me to film at the event.
Driving around, frantically trying to park. The deep thuds of heavy machine gun fire echoes through the woods. We leave the car in a nearby ASDA and rush towards the action with absolute dread.
Caldicot.
We were late. We thought we missed the World War Two reenactment. Luckily what we heard was the fall of Saigon -Vietnam.
Fortress Wales 2016.
Wiermacht soldiers with Cornish accents chatting away happily whilst in line to buy overpriced burgers and Vikings rearranging their horns in the reflection of their three door Volkswagen Polo are a common sight. I've been to a couple of reenactments before but this was the first one my Girlfriend had ever attended. She is slowly getting in to it all so she needs less persuading these days to come with me to things like this.
Troops capture a man from the future.
Near the entrance I saw a swastika flag and I made that my first port of call. Enthusiastic volkssturm chewed my ear off for a good twenty minutes without letting me get a word in. All I wanted to do was hold his panzerfaust. (Volkssturm were basically conscripted males between the ages of 16-60 forced to fight as a last ditch attempt at the end of the war).
There were a few German set ups from different parts of the UK dotted around the grounds of Caldicot Castle, the venue of the reenactment. It reminds me a lot of going on a school trip and there are other schools there. You are all there for the same reason, wearing your uniform, but there's always that unspoken rivalry often resulting in aggressive tutting.
I went there this time with the aim to hold a few of the weapons and have a closer look at them but the majority of the re-enactors weren't keen to let me. Maybe it was for the best. It would probably be like handing over my offspring when they asked for it back.
We made it to the WW2 battle and it was a lot better than expected. A Sherman tank made an appearance and I spotted my mate from the volkssturm, limping away holding his panzerfaust.
Ordering takeout with the lads is always a pain in the arse.
Our journey ended where it began, beneath the toxic green glow of the ASDA sign. My Girlfriend enjoyed her day and didn't need buttering up, so no overpriced burger for her. I dressed up the meal deal and told her it would be romantic if we ate it in the car. It worked. Auf wiedersehen Caldicot.
These guys are slightly more authentic in monochrome.
Just me and a US jeep. Nothing more to say about that.
