On Thursday, 5 November, Cambria Chapter No. 605 held its annual Enthronement meeting, drawing an attendance of more than thirty members and visitors for what proved to be a memorable and distinguished occasion. The principal purpose of the evening was the Enthronement of Excellent and Perfect Brother Dyfan Vaughan Clwyd Jones into the Sovereign’s Chair, marking the beginning of his year as Most Wise Sovereign.

In a fitting tribute to both the office and the recipient, the outgoing Most Wise Sovereign invited Illustrious Brother Wynford O. Davies to assume the Chair and conduct the Enthronement ceremony. This gave rise to a particularly noteworthy and symbolic moment, as a former Provincial Deputy Grand Master had the privilege of Enthroning the current Provincial Deputy Grand Master. Such occasions are rare, and all present were keenly aware that they were witnessing something rather special in the history of the Chapter.

The ceremony itself was conducted with dignity, precision, and warmth, reflecting the high standards for which Cambria Chapter has become known. The atmosphere throughout the evening was one of celebration and fellowship, with the significance of the occasion evident both within the Chapter and beyond. Indeed, it seemed as though the whole country was joining in the festivities, as fireworks illuminated the skies across the land on what was, quite literally, a night of celebration.

Following the conclusion of the ceremonial proceedings, the brethren retired to an excellent festive board where the convivial spirit of the evening continued. The menu was as impressive as the ceremony itself, providing a feast that would tempt even the most discerning palate and ensuring that the occasion was enjoyed in every respect.

Overall, it was a superb Enthronement meeting, combining a distinguished ceremony, exceptional attendance, and warm fraternal fellowship. It was an evening worthy of the occasion and one that all present will undoubtedly remember for many years to come.

There are some events that become etched into the memory of a nation, even for those not yet born when they happened. The Aberfan disaster is one of those moments. Sixty years on, the name Aberfan still carries a weight that speaks far beyond a small Welsh village. It remains a reminder of loss, accountability, and the terrible consequences when warnings go unheeded.

On the morning of 21 October 1966, life in the village of Aberfan began as it always had. Children made their way to school, parents went about their daily routines, and the community carried on with the ordinary business of life. Then, at 9:15am, everything changed.

A colliery spoil tip sitting above the village collapsed after heavy rain. Thousands of tonnes of liquefied waste surged down the mountainside, engulfing homes and, most devastatingly, Pantglas Junior School. In a matter of moments, an entire generation of children was buried beneath mud and debris.

When the rescue effort began, there was little thought for personal safety. Miners, neighbours, emergency workers and volunteers dug with their hands, shovels and whatever tools they could find. They worked in silence at times, listening for signs of life. The tragedy claimed the lives of 144 people, including 116 children.

The scale of the loss is difficult to comprehend even today. In a community as close-knit as Aberfan, almost every family was touched by grief. Streets lost their children. Classrooms lost their pupils. Parents faced the unimaginable reality of outliving their sons and daughters.

What followed exposed failings that should never have existed. Evidence later showed that concerns had been raised about the stability of the spoil tips, yet those warnings were not acted upon. The disaster was not an unavoidable act of nature. It was a preventable tragedy. The Tribunal that followed concluded that the National Coal Board bore responsibility for what had happened.

For many people, one of the enduring images of Aberfan is the visit of Queen Elizabeth II, whose presence in the village became one of the defining moments of her reign. It reflected not only the nation’s grief but also the feeling that the whole country mourned alongside the people of Aberfan.

Yet the story of Aberfan is also one of community resilience. Despite unimaginable pain, the village endured. Families continued. The memory of those children has never faded. Their names remain part of Wales’ collective memory, and each anniversary serves as a reminder of lives cut tragically short.

What also stands out, sixty years later, is the way the world responded. Donations to the Aberfan Disaster Fund came from across Britain and around the globe. People who had never heard of the village before October 1966 were moved to help in whatever way they could. Grief crossed borders, politics and social divisions.

In one of the most remarkable footnotes to the story, the largest individual donation to the fund was reportedly made by Reggie Kray, one half of London’s notorious Kray twins. It remains a striking reminder that compassion can sometimes come from the most unexpected places.

At the same time, one of the greatest controversies surrounding the aftermath of the disaster was the decision by the government of the day to take £150,000 from the charity fund intended for bereaved families to contribute towards the removal of the remaining spoil tips. Money given in sympathy and support for grieving parents was used to correct a danger that should never have been allowed to exist in the first place.

That contrast tells us something important about tragedies such as Aberfan. They affect far more than the people directly involved. They reveal the very best and the very worst in society. They show extraordinary kindness from strangers thousands of miles away, while also exposing failures of responsibility by those entrusted with public safety.

Sixty years on, Aberfan is not simply a chapter in Welsh history. It is a warning, a lesson, and a duty of remembrance. The children of Pantglas Junior School should have grown up, raised families, and lived full lives. Instead, they remain forever part of a story that still resonates around the world.

As long as their names are remembered, Aberfan will never be forgotten.

This evening, Valle Crucis Chapter held its first meeting under its new October meeting date, marking the beginning of a new chapter in the history of the Chapter. To celebrate the occasion, the brethren elected to confer a Double Perfection, continuing a remarkable run of ceremonies. Excluding Installation meetings, this represented the Chapter’s fourth consecutive Double Perfection, a testament to its continued growth and the increasing interest being shown in the Order.

The change of date appeared to be a very positive move, as the meeting attracted another excellent attendance. More than thirty members and visitors assembled for the evening, creating a vibrant and enthusiastic atmosphere within the Chapter. The strong turnout reflected not only the support of the membership but also the esteem in which Valle Crucis is held by neighbouring Chapters.

The ceremony was conducted with the customary care and dignity expected of the Chapter, with members once again coming together to ensure that the candidates received a memorable introduction to Rose Croix Masonry. The enthusiasm shown throughout the evening, both by those taking part in the ritual and by those supporting from the sidelines, contributed greatly to the success of the meeting.

Overall, the evening proved to be an excellent start to the Chapter’s new meeting schedule. With another successful Double Perfection completed and such a strong attendance in evidence, the future continues to look bright for Valle Crucis Chapter.

(Next time we may even remember to take photographs)

This evening I went into the chair of Zerubbabel in Wrexhamian Chapter, ten years after first taking that same chair in my mother Chapter. There is a quiet poetry in that. A full decade turning like a great wheel, and once again I find myself in the same place, but not the same man.

What makes it even more curious is that a few years ago I went into the chair of Wrexhamian Lodge, also ten years after first taking the chair in my mother Lodge. Two cycles, two decades, two returns. I am certain there is some hidden logic in the spirals of the universe that arranges these things. The old masters would say that time moves in circles, not lines, and tonight I felt that truth settle around me like a crimson cloak.

And there was another curiosity. This evening marked the first installation I have ever attended where no representative, not even a temporary stand in, was sent by the Province. I guess it adds weight to the fact that last year I was given a punishment promotion because the new PGM does not like me because I refused to be at his beck and call and be a servant to him when he was the comms guy. Members of the executive have confirmed that is the case, and the fact my installation was shunned by province does further prove it.

Well, while the universe continues to spin on its mysterious spirals, I think I’ve earned a whiskey! a small planetary reward for surviving another turn of the cosmic wheel. A shame I didn’t win the raffle, though; the stars clearly had other plans for my fortune tonight. Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in raising a glass to the symmetry of it all, the decade’s circle, the chair reclaimed, and the quiet laughter of fate echoing somewhere between the constellations and the bar.

It would appear that word has escaped.

A Lodge from a land far, far away (mid Wales), and judging by some of the administrative timelines involved perhaps a long time ago as well, recently contacted the Province of North Wales with a rather intriguing request. Their question was simple enough:

“Do you happen to know a chap called Wayne Owens, and could he possibly save the day by delivering a Welsh Masonic talk for St David’s Day?” I am paraphrasing here, the actual email is below.

So, somewhere out there, amongst the winding paths of Freemasonry, people I have never met have stumbled across my work, my talks, my articles, my ramblings, or perhaps my occasional bouts of enthusiastic Welsh Masonic evangelism, and thought, “Yes, he’ll do.“

I must confess, that is rather a lovely feeling.

After all, most of us spend years quietly contributing to our little corners of the Craft without ever imagining that our reputation may travel further than we do. Then one day a message arrives from strangers, asking if we might lend a hand, share a story, or bring a little bit of Wales to their celebration. It is both humbling and deeply flattering.

Of course, not all heroes wear capes.

Some wear aprons.

Others wear robes, cloaks, bardic regalia, or enough ceremonial attire to outfit a small druidic uprising. Should the emergency require it, I possess several suitable garments and am fully prepared to answer the call.

For now, however, I think I shall take a moment to appreciate the compliment. My ego, which has worked tirelessly behind the scenes for many years, deserves a little recognition. At the very least, it has earned a polish.

Possibly two polishes.

And if we are being completely honest, it has probably earned a rather good coffee as well.

After all, fame is a heavy burden to carry, especially before caffeine.

In the early hours of 22 September 1934, the earth shook, the lamps went out, and 266 men and boys were lost in the darkness beneath our feet. Fathers, sons, brothers, friends. Whole families changed in a single night. The pit wheel stopped turning, but the grief never did.

What moves me most is not only the scale of the tragedy, but the courage that followed. The rescue teams who descended into danger knowing full well what they might find. The women who held communities together with nothing but grit and love. The children who grew up carrying stories instead of memories. And the town that refused to let those names fade.

Even now, when you stand at the memorial and read the roll of the fallen, you can feel it — that quiet, stubborn dignity that defines this part of Wales. These were our people. Their blood is in our soil, their stories in our breath.

So today, on the anniversary, I remember them.

I remember the laughter that once echoed through their homes. I remember the bravery shown in the face of impossible odds. I remember the families who endured the unendurable. And I remember that our community is shaped not only by what we celebrate, but by what we survive.

May their memory be a blessing. May their names be spoken. And may we continue to honour them not just with wreaths and silence, but with the kind of compassion and solidarity they would recognise as truly Welsh.

Gresford will never be forgotten.

This evening brought the meeting of St Deiniol’s Chapter, and what a gathering it turned out to be. The room was full to the brim with thirty eight in attendance, a number that speaks volumes about the quality of their meetings. In a time when many places are still rebuilding their numbers after the long shadow of covid, St Deiniol’s seems to have missed the memo entirely. Members, visitors, and enthusiasm are all in plentiful supply.

They welcomed two joining members and a new Candidate for Perfection, and in true St Deiniol fashion they did not stop there. Just as the historic Saint was known for his untiring energy, the Chapter that bears his name seems determined to follow in his footsteps.

The MWS Gareth Evans delivered an excellent Perfection ceremony, full of dignity and precision. The moment the newly made Prince took his seat, Gareth simply turned the page and began the ceremony to Enthrone his successor. Two ceremonies in one evening. Most would not even consider attempting it, yet he carried both with confidence and grace. I suppose sitting beside both the Inspector General and the Past Inspector General gives a man a certain incentive to bring his very best.

If you have never visited St Deiniol’s in Hawarden, you really should make a point of doing so. They are an exceptionally friendly Chapter, the room is full which is always heartening to see, and you may witness things you have never seen before. I particularly enjoyed the moment when they held up pictures of the banners of the intermediate degrees as they were conferred. In all my travels I have never seen that done, and it added a lovely touch of colour and symbolism to the evening.

The three of us who travelled up from Valle Crucis agreed it was a fantastic night, and we will certainly be returning.

Pictured are the Inspector General with the new MWS E and P Bro Martin Jones, and their newest Prince E and P Bro Paul James Rimmer. The second picture features Neville Owens, because I am contractually obliged to include him in any photograph I ever take.

This evening was the Bishop Wilkins College SRIA meeting.

We had a full evening planned, including electing our next Celebrant, a double Grade II° ceremony, and our current Celebrant was going to finally give his paper from going into the chair. What could go wrong?

Well in the run up to cut off for booking a meal, more and more people sent their apologies, some for valid reasons, but the majority were going to visit a craft lodge to see an installation. Personally I am of the belief that your own meeting should always come first, especially if you are in office. But, nether the less we had enough people to do the evening since we had spare people who could fill in roles so all was well.

Then the night before the meeting, our treasurer happened to message some people about the meeting only to be told they were not attending. This included the Celebrant who was doing the ceremony and the talk. But never fear we had the exact number of people (thanks to a visitor) to do the ceremony for the one candidate still coming. And I decided to write a paper on the day of the meeting for “just in case”. We were OK.

Then the day of the meeting came, and as the treasurer checked if a member needed a lift to the meeting, he was informed that he was going to the same installation as the others and not attending the college meeting. We were now officially one person short.

Luckily Bishop Wilkins College has both the Chief Adept, and the Provincial Secretary in it, and they managed to sort it out so we could do the Grade II° for the candidate who turned up, and we had time for two papers, one from myself and another from our Visitor who was also a past member of the college. In the festive board after as we were all chatting away, everyone was saying how enjoyable the evening ended up being. 

So while up to the start of the meeting everything was going wrong, the end result was a great night for all. So let this be a lesson to you all, never give up when things are going wrong because sometimes what comes after is worth it!

Did you observe the two minute silence at the ninth hour on the ninth day of the ninth month?

I did. I stopped, I stood, and I let the quiet do its work.

Because today is 999 Day, a day that deserves far more attention, reverence, and gratitude than it often receives. 999 Day is the annual moment when the United Kingdom pauses to honour everyone who serves in our emergency services. Police, Fire, Ambulance, Coastguard, Mountain Rescue, Community First Responders, and of course the volunteer riders and drivers of Blood Bikes organisations. It is a day woven from courage. A day shaped by people who run toward danger while the rest of us run away. A day for those who answer the phone when someone’s world has just fallen apart. A day for those who stand between chaos and safety, between fear and hope. At the 9th hour, on the ninth day of the ninth month, we hold a two minute silence… a symbolic pause that mirrors the three nines we dial when we need help. It is a moment to acknowledge sacrifice, service, and the quiet heroism that rarely makes headlines.

999 Day matters because the people it honours matter.

• They matter at three in the morning when a stranger’s knock on the door means help has arrived.
• They matter when a helicopter thunders overhead carrying someone’s loved one to safety.
• They matter when a volunteer rider delivers blood, plasma, or vital samples in the dead of night simply because someone, somewhere, needs it.
• They matter because they choose service, not for applause, not for glory, but because they believe in protecting life.

And in a world that often feels loud, divided, and distracted, taking two minutes to stand still and say, even silently, thank you is a powerful act.

As someone deeply involved with Blood Bikes and the world of volunteering, 999 Day always strikes a chord. It reminds me of every rider who has braved storms to deliver a lifesaving package. Every dispatcher who has stayed late to ensure a run is covered. Every volunteer who has given time, energy, and heart simply because they care. These people are the quiet guardians of our communities. And today is their day.