Folklore of Wales

by Anne Ross

  Take care, hasty youth, keep clear of warfare, of fighting, of sorrow, while there is time. As yet there is no single thread of silver hair amongst your dark and curling locks. We know what you want. You want to go out into battle, to earn a great name, to return to your home full of victory and triumph. But do not be hasty. There are many who will go down that road but few will come back. I say to you, go home and do not try to learn the secrets of the stars. The greatest thing for you is to be caring to your neighbours, as good to them as to yourself; to be true to yourself and to all mankind; to help the helpless, to bring comfort to those who sorrow; to feed the hungry and to succeed in those aspects of life which you were born to.

  Then the voice ceased.

  The huge figures slowly vanished into the morning mists, and when Belyn roused himself the sun was high. He was cold and stiff and aching after the night he had passed in the Chair of Idris. He began to turn over the events of the night: what had happened during the unearthly happenings? had he dreamt the whole thing? He seemed not to have gone mad, but whatever had happened it had certainly taught him his lesson. He knew he would never again undertake such a dangerous and foolhardy exploit. Slowly but thankfully he descended the great hill and made for home. ‘Where have you been?’, asked some passers-by on the path down the mountain. ‘I have been up to the highest point’, he said. ‘He’s been praying’ — some fellows taunted him but Belyn left them alone. A neighbour nearer home said: ‘Have you been up amongst the eagles?’. Belyn did not answer.

  3 ‘A commission for holding an Eisteddfod at Caerwys, in 1568, is still in possession of Sir Roger Mostyn, together with the Silver Harp, which had from time immemorial been in the gift of his ancestors … This badge of honour is about five or six inches long, and furnished with strings equal to the number of Muses.’ This commission is dated to 23 October in the ninth year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth (1558–1603). From T. Pennant, Tours in Wales, I, 1874, London, 463–7

  Eventually he approached his home and now twilight was coming again, slowly from the west. He stopped to look back at Cadair Idris and his eyes sought the very upper-most peaks, and he had a vision of the grey giants once again standing there and looking with kindness down upon him. Their outlines were softer, and they were no longer objects of fear, but appeared to be holding out their arms as if in the act of blessing him. At length he reached the home of his father, the half-ruined strong-hold beyond Dolgellau. He once more became oppressed with his thoughts, for his home, which had been a noble fort during the reign of Edward I, displayed the traces of desperate resistance and inglorious defeat. Belyn then wondered if it were not preferable to live in peace and leave the vagaries of war to the brave, wild warriors of Wales.

  Turning all this over in his mind, he suddenly heard sounds of revelry coming from the banqueting hall and the voice of Owain Cyfeiliog, the poet prince of Powys, reached his ears. It was a long speech in praise of battle which ended with: ‘Fill the Hirlais drinking horn … and bring it to Tudwr, the Eagle of Battles …’ Belyn was puzzled by all the noise and revelry, the sound of the harp (3), the voice of Gruffydd their harpist; and there were wild bursts of applause. (The Welsh, almost always famous for their love of music, customarily played three instruments, namely the harp, the pipe and the crwth — a lyre-like instrument played with a bow.) There was a pause as he went on and because he did not wish to be seen he kept to the shadows and sought the shelter of the garden entrance to the great hall. Gruffydd began to play the harp again and to sing further. Then, to calm down the warlike spirits he had stirred up by his first song, he started to play the harp again. Belyn heard his father’s voice bewailing his absence and, overcome with emotion, he rushed into his father’s arms. When all the greetings were over, Madoc whispered a word to the warrior beside him and placed his son’s hand in the warrior’s. Belyn was taken aback. ‘My son, my only son,’ said Madoc, ‘I proudly give your hand and if necessary your life into the keeping of Owen Glendower.’ Belyn was stunned — where now his dreams of peace? He had been, without any reference to himself, placed in the hands of Owen Glendower, who until recently had been his great hero. After various formalities he discovered that he was pledged to go wherever Owen went and to defend the leader of the great uprising against the English King Henry IV. When he sat down beside his father, the words of the grey giant on the hill rang in his ears. ‘Many will go forward, but few will come back.’

  Belyn was no coward, but here were his new dreams of a peaceful world shattered. Not because he wanted this to happen, but because his great father had an iron will. Then he thought of the grim giant who said: ‘Do well in the walk of life to which you were born.’ So Belyn, seeing that his hopes were dashed, then and there made a resolution to try to do his best in whatever situation he might find himself.

  Time passed, and eventually the battle started. Terrible screams and desperate cries of the living, and the heart-rending groaning of those who were wounded and dying, combining with the clash of arms, destroyed the peace of the day, and as evening drew near the frenzy only increased. The sea alone was tranquil. Hardly a ripple disturbed the quiet surface of Cardigan Bay. Monks and friars went onto the battlefield as evening fell, to administer such aid and healing as could be given to those who were wounded, and comfort to the dying. Voracious eagles and starving vultures hovered near the site, ready to take whatever carrion was available, and ravens and hooded crows croaked and barked on the lonely seashore while waiting for flesh. In the front of the battle, Owen Glendower urged his men on, while the opposing hosts fought, fell, rallied and wavered as the overwhelming force of the enemy oppressed them. The scene was ghastly, as the evening sunlight fell across the field of battle. Harlech Castle was taken by Glendower; Belyn son of Madoc lay wounded among his comrades.

  It was now two years since his father had given him over to Glendower and a life of warfare, and there was not a braver soldier in the field. Now he was wounded and thought he was dying. He found himself, with others, close under the castle where the grass was thick and the shadows were dark. He thought he had been there for nights instead of two hours, when a voice roused him from his semi-conscious state. It said: ‘If you wish for shelter and comfort, follow me.’ ‘I cannot’, replied Belyn, ‘I cannot move; my wounds are too severe.’ So the stranger said ‘I will carry you’, and Belyn found himself in the great arms of someone who had superhuman strength. It was a short way to carry him, and the stranger soon placed him in the warm, comfortable kitchen of an old farmhouse. Belyn was amazed at his good fortune but too badly wounded and weakened to ask any questions. In a few days the enemy had gone, and Glendower’s men held the castle. When peace reigned again, and the wounded recovered or died on the field, Belyn was able to sit up and found he was in the house of a friend he had not seen since childhood. Gwilym ap Hywel had been his father’s closest friend, who had left Dolgellau to inherit estates on Anglesey. However he had fallen upon ill times and had been driven to live in this farmhouse, peacefully, with his good wife and children.

  A girl came into the room and asked her father when the stranger would be able to sit with them at mealtimes. Her father told Belyn that this was his small daughter Eluned, and promised that as soon as Belyn could get up Eluned would nurse him, like her mother who nursed the wounded and the sick. When Belyn was able to walk, Eluned helped him and the two became inseparable friends. Belyn was with the family for several weeks. After he left, Eluned pined for him and her parents knew she had fallen in love with Belyn, son of Madoc. In Madoc’s stronghold there was great rejoicing at his only son’s return, and when all the feasting was over his father told him: ‘You shall no longer follow the great Glendower in war, but take a wife and remain here in peace.’ Then he told his father about his love for Eluned and his father was in full agreement with his choice of bride. So Belyn, accompanied by a full retinue, went back to Harlech and asked Gwylim ap Hywel for his daughter’s hand in marriage. When he took his bride home to his father, all
were amazed and delighted at her charm and beauty. Belyn now was deeply grateful to his father, who had ‘given him to Glendower’, for otherwise he would never have met his beautiful Eluned.

  Never again did Belyn allow himself to be concerned about the Triad which had set him on his journey to Cadair Idris, but he never forgot his experience on the mountain, nor the advice that the Great Shadowy Ones had given to him, ‘Go home and try not to learn the secrets of the stars. The greatest inspiration is to … do well in the sphere of life in which thou wast born.’ And so it transpired as we have seen.

  In this story there are several elements or motifs which are common to all Celtic storytelling both early and late, and customarily based upon an oral original. There were many reasons for this. The Welsh, like all the Celts, were quick to learn and voracious for knowledge. As we saw in the introduction, this characteristic certainly goes back as far as the time of Julius Caesar, and earlier archaeological monuments testify to them at a period before written documents in the vernacular had become widespread. The Druids passed on their learning by word of mouth, as did the early bards, and this tradition was also current amongst those who tilled the land and did not have the benefit of a fundamental education. The storyteller would hold his audience enthralled as he recounted tales not dissimilar to the one above, lightening the load of heavy physical labour and bringing relaxation, humour and a great deal of knowledge to those who would otherwise be denied it. Perhaps the complexity of the oral tradition is more highly developed in the Gaelic countries but that is not to say that Wales did not at one time have its full share of this tradition, although it would seem that for many obvious reasons it suffered more from political upheavals, invasions and the development, for example, of extensive coal mining in the north and steel-working, as well as coal, in the south. There were many set motifs, as we have seen in the tales, and any deviation from the accepted pattern of storytelling would be immediately checked by the quick minds of the engrossed audience.

  In The Lady of the Fountain, a tale about Arthur and many adventures, we learn that the king was at Caerlion in Usk. Arthur said that if the others did not object, he would like to sleep while he waited for his dinner, ‘And for your part, you can tell tales, and get a stoup of mead and chops from Cei’ (Mabinogion, Jones and Jones, p.155–6). And so they sat and ate their meat and drank their mead, and then one of them, Owein, said to Cynon, one of Arthur’s men: ‘Start thou with the most wonderful thing thou knowest.’ ‘I will’ said Cynon, who then embarked on the telling of a long and complex tale. This was a somewhat more sophisticated milieu than that of the small farmer or cotter or crofter, but hardly less enjoyable, and the audience was clearly just as avid for tales as were the humbler elements of society.

  In our story we have seen the emphasis laid on Triads and triadic utterances and this is reflected in every aspect of Celtic folklore and tradition. The number three from earliest times was sacred throughout the Celtic world and superstition and belief in the existence and powerful influence of supernatural beings and forces was again a commonplace. This Merioneth tale, the central figure of which is Belyn ap Madoc, shows how the hero’s life is deeply affected and influenced by his reading of an enigmatic Triad which led to a somewhat unnerving adventure on the mountain, Cadair Idris. Here he encounters one after the other, three gigantic beings, grey and sombre. The gods are invariably portrayed as being of great size and they often counsel and advise mortals. Here, although the eager young man is given advice by each of these great men in turn, he is not destined to follow the advice of the last speaker — which is somewhat overlaid with Christian morality. He goes home determined to follow this advice, but fate has a different future in store for him, as we have seen.

  Place-names

  Archaeology is more and more relevant to our studies of past history and hypotheses about previous religions and cult practices. Almost every week some new object, group of objects or significant site is brought to light by one or other of the current archaeological techniques. It is not perhaps irrelevant then to consider one recent site discovered in an aqueous context on the marshy wilds of Holme Beach, Norfolk, where a circle of oak trees currently dated to the Bronze Age has as its central point a vast oak tree, the whole imbuing this watery wilderness with an eerie atmosphere. Because this enigmatic circle resembles the great stone circles — the most famous of which is, of course, Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain — it has become known as Seahenge.

  One antiquarian, namely the renowned Thomas Pennant, travelled widely in Wales in the eighteenth century, recording his many and astute observations on the history, antiquities and folk customs of various periods. In the opinion of the ‘celebrated and learned Mr Henry Rowlands’, former vicar of Llanidan (4), many of the great standing stones and remains of stone circles — often in a poor state of preservation — were of druidic origin. Be that as it may, there is one circle which is perhaps of singular interest: the stones having a cromlech in the centre. Mr Rowlands believed that this was a great temple of the Druids, and that the whole was originally surrounded with a circle of oak trees which formed ‘a deep and sacred grove’. Romantic though this may seem, the Seahenge arboreal circle with a central feature consisting of a vast oak tree may indicate that Rowlands was not in fact far from the truth. Some ancient holy places may indeed have consisted of circles of oaks as the Classics record (vide Ross, Druids). We might also bear in mind the great circle of oaks centred by a complete giant tree of the same species dated by dendrochronology to the first century BC. This remarkable structure, which seems incontrovertibly to have been a great temple or sanctuary, is situated on the summit of the low eminence in County Armagh known as Emain Macha, ‘Macha’s Twins’. The name refers to the cult legend of the goddess Macha who was associated with horses and horse-racing and is a focal point for superstition and legend of every kind down the ages (vide Ross, Druids). There were doubtless many other temples constructed of oak, traces of which have usually gone unrecognised until recent years.

  4 Llanidan old church, Môn. Head on right of south door

  Llanidan old church, Môn. Head on left of south door

  One of the most pathetic and tragic medieval Welsh stories is that entitled Branwen Daughter of Llyr. Although the story is full of fascinating motifs, in the main it lies outside the scope of this book, but there is one episode which has, I feel, an important place here, and that is the tragic death of Bran the Blessed’s sister Branwen. Branwen and the seven men who alone had survived the terrible battle between the Irish and the Welsh — in this tale which constitutes of one the Four Branches of the Mabinogion (Pedeir Ceinc y Mabinogi) — made for Anglesey (Ynys Môn) carrying Bran’s severed head with them. They came ashore at Aberalaw and sat down to rest. Branwen looked over the sea towards Ireland where her only child had been murdered by the Irish and gave a great sigh and her heart literally broke in her breast. Her companions constructed a four-sided grave for her on the bank of the River Alaw and here they buried her, and it has been known thereafter as Bedd Branwen. A few years ago, some excavation was done in what was believed to be the site of the grave but the only tomb that was discovered dated to the Bronze Age and so was discounted. However, I think this was not necessarily a piece of negative evidence. Tales about places linger long in remote rural areas and the storyteller of the Branwen legend may well have known that an important burial had taken place but at a period earlier than the story suggests.

  3 Calendar customs

  As we shall see throughout this book, the influence of nature and its vagaries have been, from earliest times down to the present day, prime factors requiring propitiation and offerings. The early Celtic year was — as it has remained, down to the present time — divided into four quarters, 1 November, 1 February, 1 May and 1 August, and each quarter was marked by a different celebration (Calan Gaeaf, Gwyl Fair, Calan Mai and Gwyl Awst) in keeping with the nature of the work. For example, casting lots for the fishing banks in regions where fish was a
staple of the chancy diet. The period of sowing the crops in spring was likewise a time of hazard and anxiety, the success of the harvest being dictated right up to the last moment by not only the elements — and the good or ill will of the gods and malign forces of various kinds — but by the destruction of a splendid and seemingly safe grain crop, even on the eve before harvesting was due to begin, by sudden, violent storms and floods of rain causing the crop to be lost virtually overnight. This of course could and did lead to lack of food supplies for both man and the animals, resulting in sickness and disease and a high mortality rate. No wonder then that it was considered vital to propitiate the gods with sacrifice and offering and to enact the battle between the treacherous deity and the powerless farmers.

  Thus in the Celtic countries, as widely elsewhere, plays representing this annual battle, literally between good and evil, were enacted by members of the communities concerned. Furthermore, by enacting the battle between good and evil, failure or success, it was believed possible to influence the actual outcome. The gods — and later God — must be offered their share of a successful season of whatever was taken or caught according to the nature of the harvest. From these simple rites of propitiation and fulsome acts of thanksgiving when all was safely gathered in, much of our surviving folk tradition is derived.