I’m not being morbid. Reading the South Wales Evening Post obituaries is like catching up with a town you never knew you loved. It’s the human news. It’s not about politics or traffic. It’s about Elfed who fell asleep in his allotment and didn’t wake up, but his runner beans won third prize anyway.
You learn surprising facts. Did you know there’s a high density of people in Swansea who spent their final years “perfecting their bread sauce recipe”? That is a legacy. Forget billionaires. That’s the real treasure. One obituary even thanked a local pub for “services to friendship and very large chips.” That pub should get a freedom of the city award.
So next time you’re in a café in Swansea, skip the crossword. Pick up the Evening Post. Turn to the very back pages. Brace yourself. You’ll read about a woman who “enjoyed a good argument with the bus driver” and a man who “never wore a tie after 1998.” It’s hilarious, touching, and deeply weird. It’s pure Swansea.
And if you ever see my name in there, know that I probably passed away “peacefully” after tripping over a copy of this very article. But at least my obituary will be entertaining.
