There will be night.’įinally, to the strains of a Bach partita, played on unaccompanied violin by Ivor McGregor, the coffin was lifted once more and carried outside. Wynn Thomas, a friend and colleague at Swansea University, read another of his poems, ‘Is that where they make clouds, Dad?’ –įrom a stack at Baglan, turned by the late sun One of the readings, was a recording of Nigel’s own unforgettable baritone voice in a rendering of some of his best lines ‘Where poems come from’ (you can hear them on Youtube). The eulogy was delivered by cousin Noel Witts who 64 years ago, when he was 11-years old, became Nigel’s ‘Uncle’. We sang Joseph Parry’s Myfanwy and, to Andy Jones’ guitar accompaniment, Idris Davies’ Bells of Rhymney. Inside it was as though we were transported into an 18 th Century revival, the place crammed and even the gallery above full beyond the tolerance level that modern-day health and safety rules allow. But as we entered the church the clouds parted and the sun shone. It began with the whicker coffin being carried on six shoulders from the hearse into the 13 th Century Church to the mournful sound of Peter Stacey’s Breton pipes. Held on Monday at St Mary’s Church in Pennard in the Gower, just yards from the family farm where he was brought up and rode horses as a boy, he planned the event down to the last detail.įor the hundreds who attended, most of them in the nearby Community Hall where sound of the ceremony was relayed, the proceedings were as much if not more an artistic spectacle than a religious occasion. Nigel Jenkins, much loved bard of Gower and Wales, choreographed his own funeral as performance art. John Osmond reports from Pennard where Nigel Jenkins was laid to rest on Monday.
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