Cemaes Merfyn Phillips (Cheltondale, 1952)

Merfyn Phillips, brother of the late Ioan Phillips (Cheltondale, 1942) and late Hywel Phillips (Cheltondale, 1947), and uncle of the late Ioan Phillips (Cheltondale, 1969), Huw Phillips (Cheltondale, 1971), Ifor Phillips (Cheltondale, 1975) and Alun Phillips (Cheltondale, 1983), died on 16 November 2021, aged 87.

The following is an abridged version of the eulogy given at Merfyn’s funeral by his nephew Ifor.

Merfyn was born on 4 May 1934 in Taiping in the state of Perak, Malaya, the third son of Robert (Robin) and Eluned Phillips. The family returned home to Wales the following year when Robin retired as a major, from the Indian Army.

Merfyn followed his brothers to Hillstone Prep School, in Malvern, and then on to Cheltenham College. He was awarded a place at Oxford University, which he did not take up. Instead, after National Service, he came home to The Briars in St Dogmaels.

His father died unexpectedly three weeks before Merfyn’s 22nd birthday. Merfyn took up farming at The Briars, which had been built for his Great Grandfather Evan Phillips and his wife Margaret.

Living there with his mother, Merfyn, a natural linguist, learned and perfected his Welsh. In the ‘60s and ‘70s he took up the challenge of learning several other Celtic languages as well as Dutch. The interest in Dutch was triggered by what became a lifelong friendship with Eelke Muller who first came to St Dogmaels, from Holland, to help out on the farm in 1964 aged about 18. The day after he died Eelke wrote to me of Merfyn, ‘Such a lion of a man, intelligent and erudite.’ I would add fun and mischievous.

Merfyn immersed himself in Welsh and Celtic history and culture as well as the languages. The Briars became Parc y Ffrier, he joined Plaid Cymru and The Celtic League, he translated a book from Erse into Welsh, he never missed an Eisteddfod, he campaigned for bilingual road signs and even constructed, in the colours of the Welsh flag, the first Llandudoch sign, which he erected opposite Parc y Ffrier on the Cardigan side of Ty Johnny.

We, his nephews and niece, have very fond and varied memories of helping, or hindering, Merfyn around the farm when we visited every summer.

My very first memory of Merfyn is of him chasing me with a hissing gander called Gwilym tucked under his arm. I was aged four and it made such an impression on me that I named my son after that goose. I remember bringing the cows in for milking; there was brindled Marged, Jane who was scarred from falling down a well when she was a calf, Iris the beautiful Jersey and her daughter Blodwen.

My brother, Huw, has memories of milking being finished too late to catch the milk lorry and then having to chase it with Merfyn driving the churns in his Morris 8 at breakneck speed along the country roads.

My cousin Veronica recalls travelling to market in Merfyn’s grey Land Rover and feasting on the self-seeded nasturtiums growing along its back window. She also remembers the small flock of Ryeland sheep. I’m not surprised; I can still picture her screaming as Charlie the ram chased her across Parc Gwyn.

There were pigs and there were bees and of course there were dogs; Sara, Rhodri, Baksheesh and lastly Jack. There were ghost stories mischievously told to unsettle guests new to the house. There was laughter and none could compete with the sound of Merfyn and his brothers laughing together. It was a truly wonderful sound and we miss it.

Merfyn was loyal to his mother and cared for her at Parc y Ffrier until just before her death, in Cardigan Hospital, at the age of 96. Parc y Ffrier was sold after Mamgu died and Merfyn emigrated to Cornwall to do his bit to help preserve the Cornish language. During his twenty years there he made some great friends. The Reverend Canon Alan Rowell who was vicar of Pendeen, where Merfyn lived from 1981 to 2015, wrote, ‘Merfyn coming to live in Pendeen was one of the best things that happened to me in my time there.’ Merfyn returned to Cardigan from Cornwall in 2018.

Merfyn loved swimming, any day of the year and particularly with his dogs, but he had a lucky escape in his early days in Cornwall when he was caught in dreadful swell and was battered against the rocks.

He loved railways, particularly Brunel’s Great Western and most times he came to see us in Oxfordshire would include a visit to either the Swindon or the Didcot Railway Museum.

Merfyn was a Welshman proud of his background and by choice he lived without modern innovations such as television, computers and mobile phones, he loved books, but never read novels.

He lived a simple and uncomplicated life.