Voices from the parish, in their own words.

The Caer Llan fund is older than the parish register I keep. It is the quietest pastoral work in our valley — done before anyone notices it has been done. When I came to the benefice in 2019, the chair walked me round the parish in February and pointed quietly to the houses where the trust had helped that January. I have never seen him take a photograph of any of it, or wish to.

I have chaired the village hall for thirteen years. In all that time the Edward ap Evan trustees have asked for the room without fanfare and left it as they found it. They put the kettle back on the shelf where they found it. That, in a small hall, is everything.

I’d not have asked. It was the chair who asked me — at the lych-gate, on a bright cold Sunday, where it could have been any conversation. That, I think, is how a small charity does its work — by knowing the parish well enough not to need a form, and by asking in the kind of place where ‘yes’ is not embarrassing.

Two pairs of school shoes and a half tank of oil. It bought us January. I did not have to fill in a form. I did not have to say more than I wanted to say. I did say thank you, more than once, and the chair told me not to.

My husband died in June. The card came in January with the envelope, and what the card said was that he had not been forgotten by the parish. I keep the card on the dresser. I do not, you should know, keep the envelope — that went where it was needed.

You don’t hear about this charity in the council chamber, and that is a credit to them. They get on with it. The community council points people their way and they answer every time, usually within a fortnight, sometimes within a day if it’s urgent. We have a few small parish trusts; this one is the best-run.

My back stopped me lifting hay last August. The fund didn’t fix my back — but it covered the wood for the stove, and the difference between a cold winter and a warm one isn’t small, even if the cheque is.