by Anne Ross
Merlin appears in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae as prophet and magician, with some input from both local traditions and Nennius the chronicler. Geoffrey (twelfth-century and perhaps a Breton by birth) describes him as having been born to a nun who was a daughter of the king of Demetia, fathered by an incubus. His birth allegedly took place in the city of Carmarthen, the Welsh for which is Caerfyrddin, ‘Myrddin’s town’, but this is thought to be an incorrect etymology. In Geoffrey’s Vita Merlini, Life of Merlin, as well as in the Welsh texts, Merlin figures as a prophet who lived in North Britain in the sixth century. In medieval Wales it was popular to attribute many mantic poems to Merlin, none of which, however, were earlier than Geoffrey. It is believed that they pertain to a much earlier tradition of the ‘Wild Man of the Woods’, which was known throughout the British Isles. Merlin’s mantic powers often threatened his sanity and drove him to behave like one suffering from dementia. Early legend depicts him as living in the Caledonian Forest of Scotland in a wretched state of madness and despair, all of which had been brought about by his unnerving powers of ‘seeing’, that is, of seeing into the future, with its horrors and human suffering. This mental disturbance was allegedly exaggerated by the battle of Arfderydd (one of the ‘Three Futile Battles’ according to the Triad — vide TYP pp.208–10) during which Merlin, ‘bitter and enraged’, joined the ‘wild men of the mountains’ (Arthur of the Welsh p.119).
16 Dragon eating foliage on roodscreen of about AD 1500 in the church of St Issui or Ishow, Partrishow, Powys. After C. Kightly A Travellers Guide to Places of Worship, London, 1986, p.93
Merlin has attained to universal popularity on account of his colourful and often tragic career, his association with the legendary King Arthur and his knights, the creation of the elusive Round Table, and the excitement and tragedy of the prophecies which so sadly almost destroyed the prophet.
5 The Church and the oral tradition in Wales
Giraldus Cambrensis or Gerald of Wales was seemingly born in or around AD 1145–6. He was brought up on the coast of Pembrokeshire, South Wales, in the castle of Manorbier, which he vividly describes in the Journey through Wales. He was the son of a Norman knight, William de Barry. The name was adopted by his family after an island off the Glamorgan coast, Barry Island. He had a Welsh mother, Angharad, daughter of Nest and granddaughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr, Prince of South Wales. Angharad’s father was a Norman knight named Gerald of Windsor, so Angharad was only half Welsh. Gerald himself was three-quarters Norman. David Fitzgerald, a brother of Angharad, became Bishop of St David’s in 1148 and as a result of this influence Gerald was expected to enter the Church. This he did with great distinction. He had an astute mind and was not afraid to record virtually verbatim many interesting items of folklore and early tradition even when these were more apposite to paganism than to the narrow view of Christianity then pertaining. He travelled widely and in 1184 he was appointed by Henry II to be Court chaplain and spent some time in Ireland. His visit led to the creation of two famous books, namely The Topography of Ireland (Topographia Hibernica) and The Conquest of Ireland (Ex Pugnatio Hibernica).
He made many pilgrimages and lengthy journeys preaching the Christian message, visiting the cathedrals of Llandaff, St David’s, Bangor and St Asaph until 1188. These peregrinations he describes in his third book, Itinerarium Kambriae (The Journey through Wales). Four times Gerald had refused a bishopric, twice in Ireland and twice in Wales. The reason for this was his ardent wish for one see alone, that of St David’s. In 1199 King John succeeded to the throne at Westminster. He then sent for Gerald and seemingly informed him that he intended to create him bishop. In June 1199 Gerald went to St David’s, where he was unanimously made bishop-elect. This, however, did not come to fruition and many years of travel and hazards were to ensue. His dream was never realised and he died at an advanced age in 1223.
Giraldus is of great interest for many aspects of medieval Welsh history and even includes in his works some fascinating details of certain superstitious folk beliefs and traces of archaic customs alongside his more austere preoccupations. For example, during his travels he was informed about historical events pertaining to particular localities to supernatural happenings or objects of a ghostly or miraculous nature and this plethora of events led him on many occasions to deviate from the subject. He shows a considerable interest in belief in poltergeists and evidence for their existence. He also notes several objects which were accredited with magical power; a staff, for example, which once allegedly belonged to St Curig was kept in the church of St Germanus in the district of Gwrtherynion — a commote of southern Powys. The staff was encased in gold and silver and the top cruciform in shape. It had proven miraculous powers, in particular its healing of certain tumours of the body. People suffering from such distressing ailments were believed to be healed if they approached the holy staff with total faith in its healing properties and made an offering of a small sum of money. All ‘miracle’ healing requires complete faith in order to succeed. It happened in Giraldus’ time that a man, suffering from a tumour, offered the crozier a halfpenny. This resulted in the healing of only one half of his lesion. Not long afterwards, he hastened to offer the staff the second halfpenny, and was at once completely healed.
A miraculous hand-bell (known as Bangu) was housed in Glascwm Church in Elfael, Radnorshire. It too was allegedly possessed of miraculous powers. It was said to have belonged to St David and, according to tradition, had been brought to the church by supernatural oxen as a gift from the saint (Dewi Sant). A local tradition has it that a certain woman took it to Rhayader, believing that her husband, who was imprisoned in the castle, would be freed when she rang it, but the bell was seized by guards and she was refused entry. That night a great fire destroyed the whole town apart from the wall on which the bell had been hung.
On the night when King Henry I died a strange occurrence happened in the Elfael district, which lies to the north of Hay-on-Wye. There were two large pools nearby, one man-made, the other occurring naturally. As is frequently recorded before the death of some royal or eminent person, a marvellous event took place. The two pools suddenly rose and burst their banks. The artificial pool rushed down the valleys and of course was soon empty of water. Strangely, the natural pool recreated itself some two miles away, complete with its fish and other aquatic life.
Giraldus Cambrensis, still on the theme of the supernatural, records that in his own day in parts of Pembroke, ‘unclean spirits’ were believed to have been in communication with human beings. These he describes as being invisible, but their presence could clearly be felt. The poltergeists would for example indulge in annoying acts such as throwing various items of rubbish throughout the house with seemingly an intention of causing only nuisance. They would rip up and damage people’s clothes, and nothing could keep them away from these, even when the doors were thoroughly barred against them. In other cases, even stranger occurrences happened, with the spirits habitually arguing with the inhabitants. When the people objected the spirit would silence them by publicly reciting every nasty little deed they had committed from the time of their birth. These were things they did not like to be made public!
St David’s cathedral was founded in honour of St Andrew the Apostle. The place where it stands is called the valley of the roses (Vallis Rosina). A better name for it would be the valley of marble, for it is in no sense rosy or remarkable for roses, whereas there are plenty of rocks all over the place. The churchyard is bounded on the north side by the River Alun, a muddy and unproductive stream. It runs under the Llech Lafar Stone (lapidae Lechlavar) which means the talking stone, a slab of marble polished by the feet of those innumerable people who have walked across it. I have written about the size, texture and name of this stone in my Vaticinal History (i.e. the conquest of Ireland). What follows is my description of how Henry II, King of the English, crossed over this stone on his return from Ireland, as he went into the cathedral of St Andrew and St David to pra
y … Dressed as a pilgrim, on foot and leaning on a staff, he went into St David’s Cathedral to pray … As a procession advanced, the clergy, walking one by one and with proper ceremony, a Welsh woman threw herself at the king’s feet and made a complaint about the Bishop of St David’s. Nothing could be done there and then … so she gestured violently with her hands and, with everyone listening, had the impudence to shout in a loud voice; ‘Revenge us today, Llech Lafar! Revenge the whole Welsh people on this man!’ She was held back and then driven away by those who understood the Welsh language. As she went she shouted even more loudly and violently. She repeated the well-known fiction and prophecy of Merlin, so often heard, that a king of England who had just conquered Ireland, would be wounded in that country by a man with a red hand, and then on his return to St David’s would die as he walked over Llech Lafar. This was the name of the stone which served as a bridge over the River Alun, a stream which marks the boundary of the cemetery on the north side of the cathedral … It was ten feet long, six feet wide and one foot deep … There is an age-old legend about this stone that once, when the corpse was being carried across it, it burst into speech and in the effort split down the middle, the crack still being visible today. Because of this heathen superstition, attributed to the stone in bygone days, they have given up carrying corpses across it. It so happened that the King knew all about the prophecy. When he reached the stone he stopped and eyed it closely. Then, without further hesitation, he walked boldly over it. As soon as he was across he turned round, glared at the stone, and with no small indignation, made this trenchant remark about the soothsayer: ‘Merlin is a liar. Who will trust him now?’ A wit, who was there among the crowd, heard the king’s remark and pretended to take umbrage at the insult offered to the prophet. ‘You are not the king who is to conquer Ireland’, he said. ‘Merlin was not talking about you at all.’
(Giraldus Cambrensis, The Description of Wales trans. Lewis Thorpe)
This passage is not only of particular interest because of the reference to the prophecy of Merlin, but because of that to the legend of the llech lafar or talking stone. We meet with such a tradition again in The Fifteen Signs Before Doomsday by William W. Heist. The ninth sign before the doom is invariably conceived as the moment when all the stones begin to speak. In some versions not only are the stones said to speak but each stone splits up into three parts and all of these begin to fight. As far as I am aware, however, in all the varied references to the Doom, it is on the ninth day that this disturbing event takes place. (cf. MacKendrick, P., 1962)
Awenyddion ‘Welsh soothsayers’
Giraldus has some quite interesting and potentially important comments to make on this group of inspired Welsh people. They bear, from his descriptions, a considerable similarity to those Scottish Highlanders believed to possess a form of foreknowledge known as fiosaiche. Giraldus describes the way in which the Welsh soothsayers are ‘taken over’ by this trance-like state, in which present reality disappears to be replaced by visions, often expressed in speech having more or less coherency. He states that the awenyddion ‘behave as if they are possessed by devils’. He also states that you will find them nowhere else, which as we have seen is not quite the case, although the two are not absolutely identical. He describes them in the following terms:
When you consult them about some problem, they immediately go into a trance and lose control of their senses as if they are possessed. They do not answer the question put to them in any logical way. Words stream from their mouths, incoherently and apparently meaningless and without any sense at all, but all the same well-expressed: and if you listen carefully to what they say you will receive the solution to your problem. When it is all over, they will recover from their trance as if they were ordinary people waking from a heavy sleep, but you have to give them a good shake before they regain control of themselves … when they do return to their senses they can remember nothing of what they said … It is possible that they are speaking through demons which possess them, spirits which are ignorant and yet in some way inspired.
Here Giraldus skilfully conveys to the reader interesting glimpses of the way in which the awenyddion were ‘taken over’ by some powerful yet invisible force which enabled them to make convincing prophetic utterances. Every Celtic community had its ‘seer’ usually possessing the powers of prophecy or of ‘second sight’, such as was highly developed amongst the Scottish Highlanders.
Giraldus refers to a pseudo-historical and a fictional King Arthur. Giraldus was one of the first, if not the first, to imagine that there were two Merlins, one the magician and soothsayer, and a second and older Merlin whose prophecies he himself discovered when he was in Nefyn with Archbishop Baldwin. He drew attention to the fact that Gildas, in his De Excidio Britanniae (book II, 2, 628) never mentioned Arthur. Arthur’s tomb (Glastonbury Abbey) seems irrelevant for this book, but if required see Appendix 3 p.281.
Giraldus has much to say about the important qualities of Anglesey, in North Wales. For example:
When crops have failed in all other regions, this island, from the richness of its soil and its abundant produce, has been able to supply all Wales. You will find much on Anglesey which is worthy of your attention. I have thought it a good idea to choose a few of these features and to insert a description of them here. There is, for example, a stone almost in the shape of a human thigh-bone which has this extraordinary property, so often proved true by the local inhabitants, that however far away it is carried, it returns of its own accord the following night. [NB this belongs to a widespread and varied tradition of the magical return of venerated objects that had been stolen, for example the church bells at Killin.] ‘Huw, Earl of Shrewsbury who, in the reign of King Henry I forcibly occupied the whole island … heard of the properties of this stone. To test it, he had it attached by iron chains to a much larger stone and then thrown far out to sea. Early the next morning, to everyone’s astonishment, they found it back again in its usual place, to which it always returned. The Earl issued a public edict that no-one from this time onwards should remove it from its place. But in another attempt to test the stone, a countryman had it tied to his own thigh. His leg became gangrenous, but the stone returned to its place.
17 ‘Fair gull on the warm tide-flow.’ Dafydd ap Gwilym
Thomas Pennant was born in 1726 in Flintshire and died in 1798. He received a varied education, studying at Wrexham, then in London and Oxford. He was fascinated by natural history and geology, and with these interests in mind, made detailed tours in, amongst other places, the Celtic countries of Wales, Ireland and Scotland. His comments are always of interest; his folklore anecdotes are invaluable.
Pennant, in his account of his journey to Snowdon (Vol. II, 1781) has the following to say about the westerly point of the Lleyn Peninsula:
18 View of Bardsey Island. T. Pennant, 1780, pl.13
In a small time I reached Aberdaron, a poor village at the very end of Caernarvonshire, seated on a sandy bay, beneath some high and sandy cliffs. The mouth of the bay is guarded by two little islands, called Ynys Gwylan (fawr and bâch) (‘Seagull Island’) (17), as security to the small craft of the inhabitants, who were all fishermen. It takes its name from the small rivulet, the Daron, which empties itself here.
One Ynys Gwylan was used as a stopping point by Christians taking the boat across to Bardsey, Ynys Enlli (18), which was extremely popular with pilgrims and a place where many holy men desired to receive burial. That this frequently happened is suggested by the tradition that more than 20,000 saints are buried there. The island is some two miles in circumference (19) and a small number of people have always resided there. At the present time the remaining dwellings are rented out to people who wish to seek peace there in a place where they can spend time in reflection. A boat calls weekly, bringing provisions.
The Lleyn Peninsula off the end of which Bardsey is located probably takes its name from the Laigin, the men of Leinster in Ireland who are reputed to have settled there some
where in the fifth or sixth centuries AD. One has only to drive to the beginning of the peninsula to note that the fields are a patchwork of small walled enclosures reminiscent of the Irish field systems. This is but one example of the powerful impact of the Irish on the landscape of Wales. There are numerous other examples of an Irish presence here. Even in the hilly countryside in the midst of which I live there are remains of small stone dwellings known in Welsh as cytiau’r Gwyddelod, ‘Irish huts’.
19 Ynys Enlli, Bardsey Island, Gwynedd, and approach from Aberdaron
6 Severed heads, saints, sacred waters and stones
Celtic heads; heads in waters
There was a close association throughout the Celtic countries between severed heads and sacred waters such as wells, lakes, pools and fords. The Welsh tradition would appear to be less rich in this respect that that of Scotland or Ireland but this may not be the case. Only intensive research over a wide area will serve to verify this. That is not to say that there are no traces of such a cult in Wales and the literary and folklore traditions do lend some support to this aspect of the cult in Wales. On several occasions I have driven to places in Wales at the request of people who have discovered stone heads or heads in other materials on or near their own properties. One of these was at Llanbrynmair, Powys (20). The houses are built close to the powerful River Twymyn. Some years ago one of the residents of the pretty houses close to the water was making a rockery in his garden and he wanted a river stone of a certain size to put in it. He knew where he would find one and he duly lifted the sizeable boulder from the water and took it back to his garden. There it lay until he was ready to put it in place. When he turned it over he received a considerable shock. The reverse side of the stone, which was somewhat head-shaped, was already carved with a human face. He got such a fright that he almost dropped the stone. The owner of the land, who had read some of my books in which I had discussed the severed head and its implications, telephoned me and asked me to come and see this extraordinary find. This I did as soon as I was able and was taken to view the stone. It was indeed an impressive carving, possibly dating to the early decades of the first century AD.
