Why do I bother?

Several of us involved in the fight to prevent the industrialisation of Montgomeryshire have discussed how to keep energy levels up for a longterm fight.   From these conversations and many others, I have come to understand that the links between us and the land are deep, strong and complex.  I will tell you part of my story, which does explain why I bother.
I was accidentally born in Essex, though my father came from a family with Montgomeryshire roots (everyone on the face of the planet has family from Llawryglyn).  My father made no compromises to his exile; he held the only eisteddfod inEssex in the school of which he was, he continued to read and write more cynghanedd than was good for him and promised us every year that we would celebrate next Christmas "at home". When the move came, it was in bad circumstances.  My beloved sister Anthea was killed in a road accident and my mother had an immediate and severe nervous breakdown.  My father was obliged to give up work to care for her; he took to drink.  Then our house burnt down.  Aged ten, I had forgotten how to be safe: I was obliged to be vigilant all the time.  Hide the tablets, hide the Scotch bottle, mend your shoes with cardboard, do not let anyone come near the house.   By the time the tab from the pub was taken away from the fire insurance, there was not much money left: we began looking for houses in Wales.  My parents were looking around the house which became our home: I walked outside and sat down by the brook.  I fell into the first good sleep I had known for over a year.  When I awoke, hearing the brook, footsteps and the forgotten sound of my fathers laugh.  I knew it would all be alright.  And it sort of was.
Thank you, Montgomeryshire: I owe you