( 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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