A low-lying camera pans over a former airfield, recently colonised by folding chairs and unruly tents. It is 2002, and the National Eisteddfod occupies a square of land just outside Wales’s medieval city, St Davids. A slightly sinister soundtrack, heavy on the electric guitar, accompanied by images of eisteddfotwyr (eisteddfod-goers), sets the tone for what […]
To access this content, you must be a subscriber to New Welsh Review. Subscribe today Existing subscribers, log in to view this content.