Emma the Cockles

Emma the Cockles - Llanelli's own Molly Malone

If Dublin's fair city had Molly Malone, Llanelli certainly had its own equivalent with ‘Emma the Cockles’ of Sea Side, one of the older members of the cockle picking family.

Cockle picking was a hard life and the tools of the trade were ponies, a cart, a rake, a hook and baskets to hold the cockles. Often the hooks were farming implements, such as scythes or sickles that would had been adapted by the local blacksmith. The large wicker baskets would have been crafted by local basket weavers.

Cockle picking was governed by the tide and the pickers would have to know exactly when the tide would go out and even more importantly when the tide would come back in. They also had to know how to navigate the sand because soft sand and mud was a constant hazard – one false step and they would sink in the sand or mud which was like quick sand.

The cockle pickers were usually women and girls who were not allowed to wear trousers, or gloves. Even though their working conditions were harsh and they worked in all winds and weathers, they were only allowed to wear dresses or skirts, which would be ankle length. It can only be imagined how uncomfortable these would be soaked from the hemline up and covered in sand and mud. Because they were not allowed to wear gloves their fingers would often be cracked with the cold. The winter months were particularly harsh as the winds whipped across the cockle beds. The only respite from the cold would be when the cockles, that had been picked, were cooked on the beach in large iron pans, held by stone supports, over roaring fires fuelled by a hundredweight of coal.

If the cockle pickers had a cart, the cockles would be loaded onto it but very often the cockles were loaded onto donkeys and ponies or carried by the cockle pickers themselves. The caravan of carts, ponies, donkeys and pickers would wend their weary way back across the sand and mud before the tide returned. The cockles which were still in their shells, would be packed into hand made wicker baskets to be sold in local markets. Often the cockle women would carry a laden basket on their head and another basket on each arm. They were strong, independent hardy women who would often have to walk up to seven miles, across the Burry Estuary to harvest the Welsh delicacy. Cockle picking was definitely not for the feint hearted.

The cockle pickers usually belonged to local families with mother, sons and daughters helping to harvest their valuable crop. The cockles would be found in the sand, which would be exposed when the tide went out and the pickers would have to work quickly before the tide returned. Local cockle pickers had a good working relationship with each other and other cockle pickers from Penclawdd. If local beaches were bare they would travel to St Ishmael’s, Ferryside, Llanstephen and Laugharne. Burry Port beach was well known for its mussels and shrimps.

There is a local story about Mari Elyn who is said to have sold her cockles in Llwynhendy, the day after Boxing Day, wrapped in a pristine white cloth. Mari Elyn was also said to be psychic – having premonitions. One evening she told a local family that someone close to them was going to die soon. A member of the family, a father of 36 years, who had been working in the local pit, told Mari not to be so daft. A few days later the collier put out to sea with a man nobody else wanted to take out. Times were hard, money was short, the young father who had worked in the local mine, only had one lung, having probably lost the other lung as a result of working in the pit. He had a young family and more than likely he was desperate to earn some extra money. The collier and his passenger set out but a storm blew up and the pair were lost. Later the collier was found on Cefn Sidan sands and the other man was found under Loughor Bridge.

During the war years, cockle pickers were often forced to work in the moonlight and they relied on their ponies to keep them to the safe tracks and to guide them back. It was not unusual for them to see a marsh pony who had wandered off the track, become submerged in the sand up to its neck, and who would have drowned when the tide returned. It was not unusual either for unexploded bombs to be discovered in the mud and more than one marsh pony came to an untimely end after stepping on a bomb which then exploded.

They were hard times but there was a camaraderie among the cockle picking families and they supported and cared for each other in the bad times and celebrated together in the good. After a day’s, evening’s or night’s work they would always check and wait for the last person to finish before they left the sands for the safety of the shore.