Becoming part of the Place - Beth’s Story 
 

I was born in a small town in Wiltshire, but my earliest memories of childhood really settle in Dorset, where we moved when I was ten. It was a fairly typical, middle-class upbringing in a market town not far from the seaside. The town wasn’t particularly diverse, and while many people around me worked blue-collar jobs, I was incredibly lucky to grow up near the coast, enjoying beach days and cliff-top walks. Life was happy and fun. 

After finishing school, I took a gap year and volunteered in Uganda. I was only 18—no teaching qualifications, just a lot of enthusiasm—and found myself teaching English and French in a girls’ secondary school. We lived within the school compound alongside the local teachers. It was three months that changed my life. I witnessed firsthand how fiercely those girls valued their education—it was their way out, their future. The experience taught me independence, humility, and just how much I didn't know. It made me realise I wanted to work in a sector rooted in social justice and change. 

I returned home with more clarity and went on to study English at King’s College London. Later, I did a Master’s at SOAS after another stint in Uganda—this time a year-long placement working on an HIV/AIDS awareness campaign in the north, within internally displaced persons’ camps. These camps were full of people who’d never even seen their ancestral villages due to decades of conflict. We worked to build trust, educate about testing, and help people understand their status. It was hard, eye-opening, and humbling. 

When I came back to the UK, I worked for charities like Comic Relief and on campaigns like Make Poverty History. But everything shifted when I fell in love with a Welsh man. 

He had a daughter and deep roots in Wales, so moving away was never really an option. I’d spent over a decade in London and was ready for something different. When I visited him in Wales, I felt it instantly—peace, community, nature. We lived out in the Valleys, close to the Brecon Beacons and not far from the coast. It was exactly the kind of life we both wanted—outdoorsy, family-oriented, grounded. 

That was 14 years ago. I moved here in the first week of August 2011—right as riots were breaking out in London. I remember rushing down to pack up my flat, dodging roadblocks and fires, and thinking how strange it was to be leaving chaos behind and heading into calm. 

Settling in wasn’t without its challenges. I didn’t know anyone apart from my partner and his daughter. I had no family nearby—no grandparents to call on if school closed unexpectedly, no one to swoop in during a work emergency. It took adjusting. And the culture—though not radically different—had its quirks. People would just turn up at your house! As an Englishwoman, I found that baffling at first. But now? I love it. 

Welsh people have welcomed me with open arms. I’ve learned the language—partly because my children attend Welsh schools, but also because I love learning languages and believe it's the best way to truly connect with a culture. Learning Welsh has deepened my appreciation for the country’s history, traditions, and sense of identity. 

Some of my most cherished memories are rooted here. I remember going to the Eisteddfod in Abergavenny in 2016 with very basic Welsh. I was nervous, but it didn’t matter. People were kind, encouraging. I was struck by the richness of the culture—music, poetry, and pride, all celebrated without exclusion. 

And then there are quieter moments. One summer, we went camping by Lake Bala. There was a campfire, something cold to drink, and toasted marshmallows under a clear sky. I remember thinking: this is peace. This is home. 

But "home" is a complicated word. I miss Dorset—those stormy coastal walks, the familiarity, my family. And I miss London—the vibrancy, the multiculturalism, the energy. I’ve never forgotten how much I loved the diversity of the city. I still laugh about the first time I went to a pub in Wales and asked for a glass of Pimm’s. My husband looked at me and said, “They’ve got Strongbow—will that do?” 

Despite the differences, I’ve built a life here that I love. My daughters are growing up surrounded by natural beauty, community, and language. I want them to be curious about the world, to feel rooted in who they are but open to new experiences—whether here in Wales or far beyond. 

As for me, I’ve spent my career in the social justice and charity sector, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. There’s still so much to do, so many voices that need to be heard, stories that deserve to be told. My dream is simply to keep contributing meaningfully—and to see my daughters grow into kind, compassionate, thoughtful women. 

If there’s one thing I’d like others to take from my story, it’s that migration—whether internal or international—is a deeply human experience. I may have moved from England to Wales, but it still required effort, patience, and openness to fully integrate. Language, community, and mutual respect matter. 

We sometimes forget how similar we all are. You put a single mum from Ely in a room with a single mum from Eritrea, and they’d probably have more in common than not. It’s in sharing food, stories, laughter, and pain that we find community—not in where we’re from, but in where we are now. 

Wales has reminded me of that every single day.