              Copyright
Helen Forder
2005
|
( 18** - 1856)
Stonemason |
| The
Editor is grateful to Neil Taylor, in the USA,
for sending the following message:- |
"Lady Llanover
was responsible for the survival of my ancestor
John Powell. When no one else in the village
would help him during an epidemic. She stood by
him and his family and nursed him back to health.
There are many hundreds, if not thousands, of his
descendants in the U.S. who honor her name as
well as that of her good husband Benjamin. John
Powell worked as his supervising mason in
Llanover in the 1850's." Neil Taylor
|
| John Powell was a stonemason born in
Radnorshire. Why did he come to Llanofer? Was he
seeking work there? Whatever the reason he met
and married Elizabeth Harris, a girl born in
Llanofer, and their first child William was born
about 1840. One of their daughters, Mary, was
born in November 1844; in her memoirs she
described her birthplace in Llanofer as being one
of 'a long row of other houses'. |
| Mr.
Taylor also sent a copy of Mary's memoirs and I
wish to thank him for his permission to quote
them in full here. |
Mary
Sabin Powell's Story.
I was born November 2, 1844 in the
village of Llanover, Monmouthshire, South Wales.
I was the second child in a family of eight, my
brother William being the eldest.
My father's name was John Powell and my mother's
name was Elizabeth Harris Powell. My father was
born in Tedmonshire [sic], England and later
moved to Wales. My mother was born in Llanover,
South Wales.
I can remember seeing my birth place. It belonged
to a long row of other houses. I do not remember
living there as we moved away when I was quite
young. During my early days, Mother boarded three
ministers. One of them, Mr. Morris, took quite a
liking to me. He often carried me upstairs to his
room where I would remain in perfect contentment
the whole afternoon.
The first home that I can clearly remember was
situated on the highway. A long pathway with
flowers on each side led from the door to the
gate. There were roses, daisies, violets and
primroses. What lovely hours I spent in this
garden.
"You may smell the flowers, but do not pick
them," said Father. I remember kneeling and
leaning over to smell the violets. One day when
William and I were in the garden, Father and
Mother passed by with our baby brother. He was
dressed in his little black and white checked
shawl and his lace hood, ribbon-trimmed. They
were taking him to Anover Chapel [sic] for
Christening. |
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