By Antony David Davies FRSA
My family is woven into the fabric of modern Wales. One ancestor, John Davies of Tal-y-bont, was known across the 19th century as “Apostol y Plant”—the Children’s Apostle—for his tireless work nurturing the nation’s youth. More recently, my cousin, the Reverend Trevor Owen Davies, was a leader in the Calvinistic Methodist movement. Another, the harpist Elinor Bennett, is rightly called a national treasure, and her husband is Dafydd Wigley, one of Plaid Cymru’s most visionary figures. This spirit of service to Wales runs deep.
With a legacy like that, my political path should have been obvious. It wasn’t.
My father was a first-language Welsh speaker; my mother was not. I was raised far from our wider family, in an area dominated by English. At school, the Welsh language was an afterthought—taught without pride or inspiration. And yet, there were powerful undercurrents. I vividly remember seeing the burnt-out shells of holiday homes targeted by the Sons of Glyndŵr, ghostly remains that sparked questions I didn’t yet have the words for. Those early impressions stayed with me, a quiet hum of Welsh identity beneath the surface of my upbringing.
But feeling like an outsider, I looked elsewhere. My father, a traditional Montgomeryshire Liberal, deeply admired Emlyn Hooson as a man of principle and quiet strength. Out of respect for that tradition, I joined the Liberal Democrats. I delivered leaflets in all weathers, believing idealism could shape politics. That belief shattered at a local candidate selection. After two passionate applicants made their case, a third was chosen simply because he was the retiring MP’s personal pick. My idealism curdled into disillusionment. It seemed all the grassroots work meant little when principle could be so easily sidelined by patronage.
Adrift, I also considered the other great tradition in my family: Labour. My mother’s uncle was a staunch member and a well-known trade union leader on the railways in Crewe. While I admired his lifelong commitment to the working class, the combative nature of his brand of socialism never appealed to me. It felt rooted in a sense of perpetual conflict, not the community-building I longed for.
This left me open to other ideas. I was raised with memories of an older kind of conservatism — the sort embodied by Lord David Gibson-Watt, a well-known Welsh Conservative and landowner for whom my father worked as a gardener. His wife, always gracious, made it no secret that she hoped I’d become a Conservative one day. Back then, the party still carried echoes of its One Nation tradition: family, community, and public service.
But when I revisited the party as an adult during the lockdowns, I found none of those values. The party I saw was a shell of its former self, trading thoughtful public service for culture war posturing and a sneering contempt for the very communities I hold dear.
During that period of drift, I gave up on politics entirely. I stopped trying to change the system from within and focused instead on helping people directly. I spent over 20 years working in the third sector — a chapter of my life that was more fulfilling than I can put into words. I was fortunate enough to support countless people, families, and communities, often at their most vulnerable. It didn’t make headlines, but it mattered. And it showed me, more clearly than any election leaflet ever could, what our communities need — and who’s actually fighting for them.
And so, in my forties, I found myself politically homeless.
Still proudly Welsh. Still passionate about justice and community. But disconnected from the one party that seemed to speak for Wales.
Then, things began to change. It wasn’t one moment, but a rising tide of them. The casual condescension from Westminster. The toxic rise of a grievance-fueled English nationalism cloaked in Union Jacks. The constant, grinding sense that Wales was being sidelined, its problems ignored, its identity erased.
This forced me to look again at Plaid Cymru, not as an outsider, but as someone searching for a genuine alternative. I found not a closed circle, but an open hand. A party that had evolved—one that holds fast to its cultural roots while opening its arms to everyone who loves Wales. A party driven not by nostalgia, but by a demand for social justice. A party that champions the Welsh language with pride, not as a test of purity.
Though I live just over the border in Shrewsbury, my focus remains on the Welsh communities I know and love: places like Dolgellau, Corris, Machynlleth, and Newtown. I know their rhythms, their struggles, and their people.
My elderly mother is in mid Wales, and I speak to her every day. Through our calls, I am connected to the daily reality of rural life: the impossible wait for a GP, the virtual extinction of NHS dental care, the collapse of bus routes that were once the lifeblood of our villages. Visiting her is a logistical nightmare, not because of distance, but because public transport has been allowed to decay. This isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a policy choice that is isolating a generation. My mother tells me of soaring heating oil costs, of schools and post offices clinging on by a thread. This is the quiet abandonment of rural Wales.
That is why I am now publicly backing Plaid Cymru.
My support is not unconditional—no party should be exempt from scrutiny. Indeed, it is that very process of scrutiny across the political spectrum that has brought me here. This decision is not born of tribalism or family ties, but from a clear-eyed conviction that Plaid is the only party offering Wales the respect, leadership, and vision it so desperately needs.
Plaid is not perfect. But it is the only major political movement whose entire purpose is to put Wales first—unapologetically and structurally. It is a party rooted in community, not corporation; in justice, not privilege; in a confident Welsh identity, not a pale imitation of Westminster.
Plaid Cymru dares to say that Wales can govern itself. Not as a second-tier region begging for scraps, but as a proud nation of ideas, dignity, and potential. That message is not radical. It is essential. And its time has come.
For years, I stood on the outside, believing the door was closed to people like me. I’ve come to realise it was open all along. I just had to decide to walk through it.
My journey home is complete. Now, the work begins.
Some Honest Questions (and My Honest Answers)
“If you care so much about Wales, why haven’t you learned Welsh?” It’s a fair question—and one I often ask myself. I deeply regret not having been encouraged to learn it properly as a child. Like many adult learners, I’ve struggled with time and confidence. I still hope to improve, but I firmly believe that supporting the language, its speakers, and its future is a duty for all of us, not just those who can speak it. Welshness is bigger than a language test.
“You don’t even live in Wales anymore—what right do you have to comment?” I live just across the border, but my connection to Wales is daily and deeply personal. My mother’s life in Mid Wales keeps me rooted in the real-world challenges facing our communities. Where you sleep at night doesn’t erase who you are or where you come from.
“You can’t speak Welsh, so how can you support a party like Plaid Cymru?” This was my own fear for decades. But the Plaid Cymru of today welcomes everyone who calls Wales home. Its commitment to the language is about pride, not exclusion. A love for Wales and a belief in its future are the only qualifications needed.
“Isn’t this just romantic nationalism or a family loyalty thing?” No. My support for Plaid is pragmatic. It’s born from years of watching both Labour and the Conservatives fail Wales, and realising that no London-based party will ever be structurally capable of putting our nation first. This was a reluctant, thoughtful journey, not a sentimental one.
“Plaid will never win. What’s the point?” This is the cynicism that preserves a broken status quo. Change doesn’t come from betting on the ‘safe’ option; it comes from building momentum behind what is right. Plaid Cymru is a growing force in Welsh politics, and backing them is an investment in a better future, not a wasted vote.
“Isn’t this just anti-English?” Not at all. This is pro-Wales. It’s about loving your own country, not hating another. I have dear friends and family in England. But a healthy relationship requires mutual respect, and Wales deserves the dignity of its own voice and the power to shape its own destiny.
“You’ve changed your mind a lot. Why should we trust you now?” Because I’m being honest about a journey that many people in Wales are on. Feeling politically homeless is common. My path reflects that search for a party that truly represents Welsh interests. If my story helps even one other person find their political home, this has been worthwhile.
Antony David Davies FRSA FRAS AFRHistS MCMI MIoL 