Introduction
A LEGACY BUILT ON LOVE AND LABOR
The estate, located in the heart of the Welsh countryside, is far more than a luxury property. Designed as a retreat for local families, artists, and musicians, it features a music barn, a small chapel, walking trails, and a restored miner’s cottage preserved in its original 1940s style — a tribute to Tom’s humble beginnings.
According to project architect Elen Davies, every detail reflects the singer’s connection to Wales.
“He didn’t want a mansion,” she said. “He wanted meaning. He wanted the air, the stone, the songs of this place to live on.”
Inside the main lodge, a simple wooden plaque reads:
“For Thomas and Freda Woodward — who gave me the roots to stand tall.”
Tom’s mother and father both passed away decades ago, but their influence remains etched in every decision he’s made since. The singer, who left Pontypridd in the 1960s to chase dreams beyond the valleys, has often said that no matter where success took him, Wales was home — always.
A PLACE FOR OTHERS TO FIND HOPE
What makes the Pontypridd retreat so powerful isn’t just its symbolism — it’s its purpose. Sir Tom announced that the property will be partially open to the public, with a section dedicated to creative residencies and wellness retreats for local artists and youth.
The program, funded through the Tom Jones Legacy Trust, will provide scholarships for underprivileged Welsh musicians, offering them space to write, record, and reflect — the same opportunities Tom himself could only dream of as a boy.
“When I was a kid,” he said, smiling faintly, “I used to stand outside the local pub and listen to the music coming from inside. I didn’t have the money to get in — but I had the heart. This place is for the kids like that.”
The retreat’s official opening is scheduled for spring 2026, with annual songwriting workshops, poetry readings, and cultural festivals planned to celebrate Welsh identity.
FROM THE STAGE TO THE HILLS
At the end of the ceremony, Tom Jones did what he has always done best — he sang.
With no microphone, no orchestra, just the breeze as his accompaniment, he began softly singing “Green, Green Grass of Home.” The crowd fell silent. A few wept.
By the final verse, his voice cracked — but it didn’t matter. The song, which first made him a household name, now felt like a prayer whispered back to the soil that once held his father’s footsteps.
When the last note faded, Tom removed his hat, bowed his head, and looked to the hills. The words came again, quieter this time, but filled with something eternal:
“Dad… I did it.”