Acclaimed artist Glenys Cour is just weeks away from her 101st birthday and cannot believe her good fortune.
She has built her long and vibrant life around her passion for colour, met the love of her life along the way and even counted the great Welsh poet Dylan Thomas as a friend.
She is still painting every day at her home in Mumbles overlooking Swansea Bay.
Glenys has never used a paint brush, instead preferring the “immediacy” of working oil paint with torn pieces of fabric and her fingers.

In 1988, World Aids Day began with the aim of raising awareness and understanding of a disease that had struck fear in communities around the globe. That same year, US tennis legend Arthur Ashe learned of his own diagnosis. In History looks at the dilemma that faced Ashe, when, after years of secrecy, he once again became a groundbreaking campaigner.

In April 1992, Arthur Ashe made his way into a packed conference room, where the media were poised with cameras rolling. This time he wasn’t being asked about his role as the first black tennis player to be selected for the United States Davis Cup team, or about his pioneering victories at Wimbledon, the US Open or the Australian Open. He had cemented his name in history as the first black winner of a major men’s singles championship, but after a heart attack that led to multiple surgeries, he had retired from the sport 12 years earlier, at the age of 36.
His intelligence, composure and sportsmanship had made him a popular figure, on and off the court. But the press had heard rumours about his health, at a time when the world was still full of fear of an incurable epidemic. USA Today sports journalist Doug Smith, a childhood friend, confronted Ashe about a tip-off he had received. The next day, keen to control his own story and beat the press, Ashe reluctantly told the world the secret that he and his inner circle had kept since 1988: he had Aids.

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WATCH: ‘Maybe there is no cure for Aids in time for me, but certainly for everybody else’.
He believed that he had contracted the illness from a contaminated blood transfusion during surgery in 1983, two years before blood donations were screened for the HIV virus in the US. The devasting news shocked the nation, but it quickly led to a debate around personal privacy and the ethics of an invasive press. At the conference, Ashe read a statement: “I am angry that I was put… in the unenviable position of having to lie if I wanted to protect my privacy.” He added that “there was certainly no compelling medical or physical necessity to go public with my medical condition”. In his memoir, Days of Grace, Ashe wrote: “More than 700 letters reached USA Today on the issue of my right to privacy, and about 95% vehemently opposed the newspaper’s position.”

Some Aids activists criticised Ashe’s desire for secrecy around his health, as they wanted public figures to broaden discussion beyond the focus of the LGBT+ community. Some felt that he would have been the perfect spokesperson to raise awareness, particularly amongst heterosexuals and minority groups: one letter went as far as to say that Magic Johnson, the NBA player who revealed his HIV diagnosis just five months earlier, could have been saved had Ashe spoken up sooner.
When asked at the news conference why he didn’t go public in 1988, Ashe said: “The answer is simple. Any admission of HIV infection at that time would have seriously, permanently, and – my wife and I believed – unnecessarily infringed upon our family’s right to privacy.” When the subject turned to telling his five-year-old daughter Camera about having the disease, emotion overcame Ashe, and his wife Jeanne read on his behalf.

Isabel Belarsky was one of the millions of people who were processed on Ellis Island before its immigration facility closed in 1954. In 2014, she told the BBC about reaching the gateway to the US from the Soviet Union in 1930.

On 12 November 1954, a Norwegian seaman Arne Petterson was questioned by immigration officials after overstaying his US shore leave. He risked being deported, but instead he was granted parole, and as he stepped on board a ferry in New York Harbor, he was snapped by a photographer. He was the last person to be processed on Ellis Island.
The same day, the island that had been millions of migrants’ first glimpse of the US closed its immigration facilities for good. By the time Petterson left, Ellis Island was mostly being used as a detention centre for illegal entrants and suspected communists, but for more than 60 years for many people it was a stepping stone to a whole new life.

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WATCH: ‘It was interesting but frightening too because we couldn’t speak English’
Situated at the mouth of the Hudson River between New York and New Jersey, the island had been selected by President Benjamin Harrison as the site of a central immigration facility in 1890 when it became clear that the one in Manhattan was unable to cope with the influx of new arrivals. In the decades before Ellis Island opened, the patterns of immigration to the US had shifted. From the 1880s there was a sudden rise in people coming from southern and eastern Europe. Many of them were trying to escape poverty, political oppression or religious persecution in their home countries. But as President John F Kennedy wrote in his 1958 book A Nation of Immigrants, “There are probably as many reasons for coming to America as there were people who came.”