Speedy Thayer

A  resident of Llanhilleth, Mr Thayer was distinctive amongst this population of flat cap wearers because he always wore his bowler hat.   A tough miner, he first went underground aged 11.   Around the 1940s when he was forty years old, he proposed a wager:

            That he could run from the Pentwyn Pub in Trinant down the valley, across the river Ebbw, and up through Llanhilleth to Brynithel and St Illtyds Church.   Then he would make the return run down the valley, across the river and back up the slope to the Pentwyn Pub. All this to be achieved in 30 minutes.

View from Trinant into the valley below

On the day in question, crowds gathered along the route to watch this unbelievable feat. Bets  changed hands and much talk was made about whether he would make it or fall by the wayside.

The following poem in the possession of his grandaughter was written by his friend and tells the tale:

            Speedy Thayer a tall lean man
            once a fabulous race he ran.
            He was in South Wales born and bred
            was educated, quite well read.
            In Llanhilleth Pit he earned his bread,
            would fight anything that’s born in bed.
            At this time, this place, he was the best.
            The others failed, we took the rest.

            Speedy was a noted wag.
            When a bet he made, it was in the bag.
            He laid the scene, he made the bet.
            This would be the best wager yet.
            From mountain top to mount he’d run,
            in thirty minutes t’would be done.
            Down the hill and up again
            to strive with all his might and main.
            From Pentwyn to Old Church run,
            all in the heat of the summer sun.

            Speedy had his groundwork done.
            He’d made his plans, one by one.
            They’d been prepared, he had been smart.
            Then he was ready, where’s the start?

            Billy the pond would set the scene.
            For years, he had Llan’s bookie been.
            He too was quite a crafty guy,
            was ever poised for something to try.
            When he learned of Speedy’s run to make,
            made a book, the bets to take.
            T’was quite a feat, this proposed run.
            What wasn’t known, it had been done.
            It was supposed it would take place.
            This run had already been raced.

            Out of hearing, out of sight
            Speedy had run this race at night!

            The day then dawned, the crowd had met.
            This would be the best race yet.
            Speedy stripped, limber  became
            showmanship, the name of the game.

            Down the hill and back once more,
            sweat spouting out of every pore.
            For Speedy the result was known.
            God help him if the gaff was blown.

            The whistle blew, the race was on.
            When it was blown, Speedy had gone
            down the hill with nine foot strides,
            his arms were flailing at his sides.
            Down he went the Vale below
            with nine foot strides thro’ rivers flow.
            Brynithel Hill, its head did rear,
            t’was time to take a lower gear.
            Then up the hill, past Ty Graig School,
            his eyes were staring like a fool.
            Then up the zigzag hill he went.
            He reached the Old Church far from spent.
            He turned and looked out over the track,
            surveyed the way he must take back.

            First he’d a glass of beer drink,
            then without taking time to think
            he set off on the return trip,
            the taste of beer on his lip.

            Down to the river, then once more
            the hill to face on the other shore,
            Glandwr, Cwmnant, y, Gynt, Pentwyn
            with pumping lungs he reached the inn.

            He won the race with time in hand.
            A mighty feat, oh it felt grand!

            Billy the pond paid out with glee.
            Well in pocket he would be.
            Most thought that it would not be done.
            None knew it was already done.
            None knew t’was done without the sun.
            Before the race was done at noon,
            t’was run by Speedy ‘neath the moon.

                                                (anon.)

Tales are still told in the village of the day Speedy ran his race.   Some tell of Speedy arranging for people living in the terraces on the steep slope up to Brynithel from Llanhilleth to leave their front and back doors open. This meant he could run through their houses, and not have to zigzag along the terraced roads, dramatically reducing the distance covered.   Still, a fantastic feat to be achieved in thirty minutes, not only once, but twice.   Officially on the day, and previously a practice run by night.