Wales Feed

Hedd Wyn: The Lost War Poet

2017-08-02T10:57:01+00:00

The main challenge that faced us as we began the process of structuring the documentary was obvious, to do justice with one of Wales’ most enduring stories. It’s a story that has been pored over for generations, one that generated an Oscar nominated film during the early nineties, followed by an excellent biography written by its screenwriter, the poet Alan Llwyd.

We decided to try and strike a balance between the obvious drama inherent in Hedd Wyn’s life story and a more factual analysis of his life and work; but without forgetting the man himself. Who knew that Hedd Wyn used to compete in local eisteddfodau in order to get his hands on the not insubstantial cash prizes offered at the time, providing him with beer money with which he would indulge his mates in speed-drinking sessions? Having grown up on the Hedd Wyn ‘myth’, this was definitely one aspect of his character I hadn’t heard of; and more’s the pity. I suppose it sort of made him more ‘real’, somehow less hallowed.

The ‘myth’ referred to is one that began to be cultivated almost immediately after his death. In an uneasy parallel to the intrusive tendencies of today’s popular press, The Daily Sketch sent journalists to his home less than two weeks after the official announcement of his death. Almost unbelievably, they had all his eisteddfodic chairs carried out in front of the house, and had his mother and sisters pose next to them for the article’s accompanying photograph. Hundreds of commemorative poems were published in the local and national press and letters of condolence flooded in to Yr Ysgwrn, by people the family had never met. His death had touched the national psyche – it became the symbol for the tragic waste of young Welsh talent.. As his biographer Alan Llwyd stated memorably, and I paraphrase, he seems more alive in death than when he was alive.

A question often asked about Hedd Wyn is “What would he have achieved had he lived?”, and while it is one that we ask in the programme, it is of course rhetorical, an impossible one to answer. One thing that can be said is that “Rhyfel” (War), the poem Hedd Wyn is mainly remembered for today shows the hallmarks of a new, modernist approach, a style he would no doubt have further explored had he lived. His winning poem “Yr Arwr” is often cited as the last great Romantic poem in the Welsh language. After the horrors of WW1, there would be no going back.

So what will we all remember from the filming?

Seeing the work being carried out over the past few years at Yr Ysgwrn, Hedd Wyn’s home, and its outbuildings has been hugely impressive. The Snowdonia National Park Authority staff have been extremely accommodating with our numerous last minute requests to film; on what was essentially a building site! The amount of work that has gone into transforming the site into a visitor centre has been astonishing, but you would never guess, such has been the sensitive way in which it has been conducted.

It was of course a privilege to film the Black Chair at Hugh Hayley’s workshop in St.Clears, the restoration work having just been completed on it. Another humbling experience, undoubtedly, was bearing witness to the futility and waste of war in amongst the hundreds of stock still gravestones at Artillery Wood cemetery in Ypres.

Hedd Wyn: The Lost War Poet will be broadcast Saturday 5 August at 9pm on BBC Two Wales. It will also be available on BBC iPlayer.

"Art tells us much more about the reality of war……."

2016-07-07T15:26:55+00:00

With the BBC Wales film crew, I looked across a field at Mametz Wood on the battlefield of the Somme - a dark and sombre prospect in the February rain. Trees, tall and bare, grown from the seed of a forest obliterated by British artillery in July 1916, rise, now, from a tangle of bramble and hazel, rust-coloured in winter, like century-old barbed wire.

I walked up the gentle slope to the forest, over the claggy chalk soil, unable to imagine how young men, burdened with equipment and weapons could have made the same, short crossing of open ground under a deadly hail of German machine gun fire. There was nowhere to hide.

In the forest, hidden by the tangled thorns, is a floor pitted with the concave evidence of shell-holes. I wonder how any German soldier could have survived such a barrage. But they did and, when the British shells ceased landing, the German machine-gunners emerged from their bunkers and commenced their slaughter of the advancing Welsh and English infantry.

It was here that the artist and poet David Jones was wounded in the savage hand-to-hand fighting. Mametz Wood was the Welsh Division’s fiercest and most costly engagement of the Great War. Lloyd George commissioned the Maesteg-born artist, Christopher Williams, to paint a version of it – a huge, dramatic canvas of savagery and killing that was to hang in the drawing room of No.10 Downing Street, perhaps as a reminder to visiting generals, diplomats and politicians of the human consequences of failing to keep the peace in an age of industrial, total war. I doubt that any photograph could have fulfilled that function so vividly.

Kim Howells with 'The Welsh at Mametz' painting by Christopher Williams

The paintings and drawings fulfil a different role, now. They give us an insight into the reality of life in the trenches a century ago – not just of the blood and guts, fighting and shelling but also of the long periods of sitting around, waiting and watching. David Jones and Carey Morris (an artist from Llandeilo) sketched their fellow soldiers in the dugouts boiling kettles, cleaning guns, preparing food or just sitting, smoking and chatting.

There is a small, dark painting by Morris of a ruined chateau on the front line, near Ypres in Belgium. It portrays the war continuing into the night. British soldiers are hidden in the darkness, their presence indicated only by the glow of their cigarettes, as the night sky over no-man’s land is lit by flares. Morris could only have painted it because he was there, as a soldier, seeing men seeking some solace from tobacco in the darkness. I know of no photograph that captures such a moment and such telling detail in the terrible years of battle around Ypres.

Boesinghe Chateau by Carey Morris (Photo Credit: The Regimental Museum of the Royal Welsh, Brecon)

The tiny fragments of the wars that I saw first-hand in Iraq and Afghanistan and in countries torn by sectarian violence and civil war were enough to convince me that artists, writers and composers – as well as brave photographers, film-makers and journalists – can add greatly to our understanding of these events by communicating their own, special perception and interpretation of the conflicts into which they find themselves pitched. That is why it is so important to explore the work of these remarkable Welsh men and women during the Great War.

Visions of World War One, part of World War One from BBC Wales.

Watch Visions of World War One on Monday, July 11, 10.40pm BBC One Wales

Penry Williams

2015-04-01T15:59:00+00:00

In the early nineteenth century, the industrial town of Merthyr Tydfil was larger and more important than either Cardiff or Swansea. It was the iron capital of Wales, a role and a position that it did not relinquish for many years.

Even in the twentieth century this was the place that spawned not just highly sought after industrial products but also novelists like Glyn Jones and poets such as Leslie Norris. It was also the birthplace of one of the best-known artists of the nineteenth century, Penry Williams.

South Wales Industrial Landscape by Penry Williams c.1825. Photo credit: Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The National Library of Wales.

Penry (or Penri) Williams was born in Merthyr Tydfil in 1802. He was the son of a stone mason and house painter and from an early age showed remarkable skill as an artist. In this, the young Penry was encouraged by his school teacher, Taliesin Williams, the son of historian and folk tale collector Iolo Morganwg.

Taliesin must have had an eye for talented young artists as he also encouraged and helped the sculptors Joseph Edwards and William Davies. Clearly, despite all its many vices and problems, the seething melting pot that made up industrial Merthyr Tydfil was fostering artistic talent at a rapid rate of knots.

By 1816 the young Penry Williams was already producing remarkable pieces like “The Merthyr Riots” and it was not long before he came to the notice of iron masters and patrons of the arts like William Crawshay and John Guest. Recognising exceptional talent when they saw it, the two ironmasters paid for Williams to travel to London where he lived and studied at the schools attached to the Royal Academy.

At the Academy school, Williams was taken under the wing of the Italian painter and teacher Henry Fuseli. He was quick and adept and responded to the teaching in the most positive way, seizing his opportunity to develop his art.

In 1821, when he was just nineteen years old, Penry Williams was awarded the Silver Medal by the Society of Arts for “drawing from the antique” and from that year on he was a regular exhibitor of portraits and landscapes at the Royal Academy and at the Society of British Artists.

In 1827 Penry Williams moved to Rome where he was to live for the next fifty years. Before he left, however, he produced a series of magnificent watercolour views of south Wales and England.

His industrial landscapes – one in particular, showing an ironworks at night – were based on sights and scenes around the industrial valleys of Wales. They were atmospheric and realistic but, at the same time, they were imbued with an artistic excellence that showed his innate ability and the quality of the art education he had received.

In 1828 Williams was elected associate of the Society of Painters and Watercolours and exhibited with them each year until he resigned in 1833. His studio in Rome gradually became something of a pilgrimage site for all visitors to Italy – Welsh visitors being particularly welcome.

Penry Williams died on 27th July 1885. Since moving to Italy he had concentrated on producing Italian views and scenes of ancient Roman life. They were invariably finely judged and well produced but to the eyes of many they lack a little of the emotion that can be found in his early Welsh views.

“The Procession Returning from the Fiesta of the Madonna Del Marco” is considered his masterpiece. The painting is carefully constructed, the figures in the foreground contrasting beautifully with the sight of Vesuvius smoking away in the background.

This painting, along with several other remarkable works on an Italian theme – works such as “The Ferry on the River Ninfa” and “Girl with a Tambourine” - were later acquired by the National Gallery. They have since been passed on to the Tate.

These days Penry Williams work can be seen at the Museum and Gallery, Cyfarthfa Castle, and at the National Museum in Cardiff. He remains one of Wales’ greatest painters, a man who came from humble beginnings in one of the most robust and formative of all valley communities and went on to be hailed as one of the greatest painters of his age.

Do visit the BBC's Your Paintings website for a gallery of paintings by Penry Williams.

The Rhondda School

2015-03-25T12:33:35+00:00

Wales is fortunate in being able to boast a whole range of writers, musicians, singers and artists who have achieved international acclaim.

Artistic endeavour and excellence seem to go hand in hand with the Celtic spirit and nowhere is that statement more obvious than in the mining valleys of the country. In painting and in the visual arts the Rhondda, in particular, has had a lasting influence and effect.

Pembrokeshire might have spawned Gwen and Augustus John; north Wales might have sustained the talent of Kyffin Williams. But the Rhondda, with its interwoven webs of industrial architecture and social deprivation once produced a like-minded group of painters and sculptors that soon became known as 'The Rhondda School'.

The Family, a sculpture by Robert Thomas in Churchill Way, Cardiff

The Rhondda School of artists was never an actual school, in the formal sense, and was in no way an official grouping. The members produced no manifesto or statement about their aims – they were, simply, a group of students from the Rhondda who, in the early 1950s, travelled by train down the valley each day to study at Cardiff College of Art.

The legend about these six men states that they would spread their drawings and paintings across the seats of the railway carriage – thereby discouraging anyone else from entering the compartment – and discuss painting and art for the full length of the journey. For two hours, as the old steam train rattled down the valley, these eager and dedicated men would discuss art with all of the bravado and enthusiasm that go with youth, talent and emerging skill.

The men in question were Ernest Zobole, Charles Burton, Glyn Morgan, Nigel Flower, David Mainwaring and Robert Thomas. They came from different locations in the Rhondda and so boarded the train at different times and at different stations but their aim was the same – to discuss art and artists.

Zobole had been born in Ystrad, the son of Italian immigrants who arrived in Wales in 1910. He is perhaps the best known of the group, a man whose gradual move away from descriptive painting to more abstract work reflects the general trend within the Rhondda School.

Zobole, who died in 1999, might have been the best known but all of the group were influential in their effect on art within Wales.

Charles Burton, for example, became Head of Art at the Polytechnic of Wales while it was still based in Barry, dozens of students passing through his department each year. Once he had finished his course, Burton had moved from Cardiff College of Art to London, to study at the Royal College. With no grant to support him he had to sell paintings in order to live. It was a hard lesson to learn but one which the young man took to with gusto.

These days the sculptures of Robert Thomas can be seen at many locations, in particular in Queen Street, Cardiff. They are stunning representations of Welsh life but it is probably the tall and striking statue of Aneurin Bevan, just opposite Cardiff Castle, that people will know best.

The Miner, Mother and Son, and Aneurin Bevan by Robert Thomas, in Queen Street, Cardiff

All members of the Rhondda School were influenced by the industrial environment from which they came. It was impossible not to be affected by the winding gear of the collieries, the rows of terraced houses and the slag heaps that dominated the valley towns. Nor, for that matter, the broken old men who stood silently at almost every street corner – you would have had to be pretty unemotional not to be touched by all that. And the members of The Rhondda School were keen to reflect their communities and their way of life.

As such – at least to begin with – there was a distinct socialist edge to their work. That interest may have dissolved a little as abstract art began to make itself felt on the group’s work but it never totally died away.

The School – or group, call it what you will – broke up as the artists finished their studies at Cardiff Art College and moved away to different places and different jobs. Yet the influence of the School remained strong. It is another example of the vibrant and dynamic drive for expression that existed and still exists in the Welsh valleys.

Welsh place names

2015-03-04T13:00:00+00:00

Most people who visit Wales are intrigued by the names of our towns and villages. They may not be able to pronounce them – many of those who live in the country would be equally as hard put - but they are still fascinated by the look and by the sounds of those names. They are part of what makes Wales different but where did they come from and what is their origin?

At the risk of over-simplifying the matter, when the Romans invaded Britain in 43AD the vast majority of the native population was Celtic and most of them spoke one of two languages, Brythonic and Goidelic. They were derivations of Common Celtic (Brythonic) and Gaelic and Manx (Goidelic). Brythonic was not unlike the Welsh that is spoken today.

In the pre-Roman days there was little or no tradition of people banding together into communities so there was no need to give names to settlements – they simply did not exist. Instead, names were given to geographical structures such as hills, rivers or harbours. The civilising nature of the Roman occupation changed all that with small communities springing up in various parts of the country.

Aberystwyth - meaning 'mouth of the river Ystwyth'

The pre-Roman names for land features were quickly gathered up and used, now, as the names for settlements. As a result many of the towns in Wales begin with the prefix Aber which means “mouth of” – Aberystwyth meaning the mouth of the River Ystwyth, Abergele the mouth of the River Gele and so on. Places like Porthcawl have a rather special meaning – harbour with sea kale.

Despite the Roman occupation, Brythonic survived rather well in the 400 years after the Roman invasion. By the time the Legions left in 410AD Brythonic was beginning to absorb Latin words but the Saxon raids and conquests of the fifth and sixth centuries saw the Celtic peoples pushed further and further westwards. They went and they took their language with them.

It was not as simple as that, of course, and, inevitably, the old Welsh tongue was adulterated over the years as other languages also left their influence or their mark on the traditional Brythonic. These include Viking, Norman, Anglo-Saxon and even English.

The Anglo-Saxons were a Germanic people who spoke a language quite similar to Old Norse and in their eyes the Britons or Celts were foreigners. They gave these foreigners the name of “walas” and, almost by default, the name stuck to the land these people occupied in the west. The Brythonic name for the people who lived there was Cymry.

Llanfyllin - one of many places in Wales with the 'Llan' meaning 'Church or parish of' prefix

Even now the names of many places in Wales begin with Llan. It means “Church” – or, rather, the enclosed land around the church where Christian converts had settled – and, as far as town or church names are concerned, is often combined with the name of an individual. Saints, in particular, are often commemorated in this way. Llanbadrig, for example, is named after St Patrick, Llandudno after St Tudno and Llanelli after St Elli.

Eglwys, which also means church, is often also coupled with someone’s name so that Eglwys Brewis in the Vale of Glamorgan is named for someone called Brewis.

Just to confuse matters, there are also towns beginning with Llan that do not have church connections. Llandaff, on the fringes of Cardiff – despite housing the most magnificent cathedral - is named, not after a saint but after the River Taff while Llandrindod in Powys is called after the Trinity (y Drindod in Welsh).The industrial and oil producing centre of Llandarcy, situated between Port Talbot and Swansea, has a much more modern origin and is named after the industrialist William Knox D’Arcy.

Sometimes modern towns were named in the ultimate pragmatic fashion. So Doc Penfro, the Welsh for Pembroke Dock, got its name as the dock that was built in the shadow of Pembroke and its mighty castle – logical and simple.

Trees and plants also gave their name to Welsh towns and communities. Bedw – meaning birch trees or birch woods – is a common name in Wales while a place like Ysgawen derives its name from the elder tree.

The same can be said of animals. Pen means “head of” so the seaside town of Penarth means “Head of the Bear.” Ships captains beating up the Channel used to say that the headland and landmark on the coast before Cardiff was shaped like a bear. Consequently, when the town and its docks were formed in the mid nineteenth century Penarth was a logical name to call it. Other animal connections include Bryn Ceffyl, Ceffyl being the Welsh for horse, and Castell Moch which, in English is Castle or Fort of the Pigs.

Pant means valley or hollow, pont is bridge – you do not have to look far in Wales to find names beginning with both of those. Legends also give other names. Bryn is the Welsh word for hill so places like Bryn-yr-Ellyllon translates as “Hill of the Goblins” while Bryn yr Hen Bobl means Hill of the Ancient People.

There are so many fascinating names for Welsh towns. It would need four or five books to do the subject full justice. Suffice to say that you could spend a month logging and translating the Welsh place names of our country – there are worse ways to spend your time.

Healthcare in Wales before the NHS

2015-01-23T09:16:11+00:00

Wales - and the Welsh people in general - played an important role in the creation of universal health care in the UK.

David Lloyd George and Aneurin Bevan were key figures in the creation of a ‘health for all’ culture but long before they came to prominence in the twentieth century, caring for less fortunate members of the community was an important part of Welsh society.

Rt. Hon. Aneurin Bevan, Minister of Health, speaking in 1942

During the Middle Ages people in Wales developed a tradition of collective loyalty within their communities, wherever or whatever those communities might be. Put simply, people in the village or town looked after their own! Family was at the heart of this collective care but it did not stop there. If someone was in need, help was usually at hand.

Of course, such help was usually quite primitive. Unless an injured man or woman was very lucky, something like a broken limb could well mean death; diseases such as the plague certainly did.

Treatment was limited to herbs and potions and while the reputation of healers and herbalists like the 12th century Physicians of Myddfai was undoubtedly well-deserved, by modern standards their remedies were basic in the extreme.

Despite this, general health care was surprisingly good in the isolated Welsh communities. The writer Giraldus Cambrensis, on his tour through Wales in the 1180s, spoke very highly of the health of the people.

Despite being of aristocratic Norman origin and naturally disdainful of the lifestyles of ordinary working people, Giraldus was clear that the Welsh were very stringent about cleanliness, comparing their practices most favourably to other nationalities in Europe. He particularly noted the way the Welsh cleaned their teeth using small hazel twigs.

Much of the help given to sick people was, for many years, in the hands of the local ‘wise woman’ or the elderly members of the family. Monasteries and other religious settlements could and often did offer beds and treatment to the sick with monks, friars and nuns putting their own safety to one side in an attempt to aid those in need.

Such help, naturally enough, depended as much on geographic location as anything else – put simply, it depended on whether or not there was a monastery in your area. The dissolution of the monasteries in the years after 1536 effectively put an end to such assistance.

The 18th and early 19th centuries saw a dramatic change from a rural environment to an industrial one as Wales, fuelled by copper, slate, iron and coal, became one of the industrial powerhouses of the world. Inevitably, in the new world that was being created health care was now linked to, and governed by, such things as the social and economic conditions that people were forced to endure.

By the end of the 19th century the population of Wales had risen from the fairly consistent 350,000 of the mid-17th century to an amazing two million. People came in their thousands to the industrial areas of Glamorgan and Monmouthshire, lured by the iron works and coal mines. And, of course, industry brought with it distinct problems in the area of public health.

Among other things, poor housing, overcrowding and lack of proper sanitation quickly proved to be a fertile breeding ground for diseases such as cholera and typhus. In the cholera outbreak of 1848 no fewer than 3,000 people died in Glamorgan alone. In Cardiff the death toll was just over 300 but overcrowded and unhealthy Merthyr Tydfil lost 1,389.

One of the results of this tragedy was the setting up of Boards of Health. By 1872 over one million pounds had been invested, by the government, in sewerage and water supply. Some of this, although clearly not all, was spent on the industrial areas of Wales.

The Public Health Act of 1875 was intended to further combat the squalid living conditions of people in urban environments but, unfortunately, its effects were delayed as the mine owners and iron masters were supposed to help pay for the improvements – something they bitterly resented and fought against.

In lieu of other help, many people in the mining communities and in port cities like Cardiff paid into insurance schemes or Friendly Societies – perhaps a penny a week – that would give them a fund to ‘tap into’ if they required medical treatment. That was fine, but it did not even begin to help those operating just above the poverty line or who were actually out of work.

Hospitals were usually provided by charities or, in cases like the miners’ hospital in Caerphilly or the Royal Hamadryad Hospital in Cardiff Docks, through the levying of a toll collected out of men’s wages. There were a number of small isolation hospitals across Wales, set up in the 19th century and catering for people with diseases like smallpox, scarlet fever and diphtheria – again, usually paid for by contributions from working men.

Rt. Hon. David Lloyd George in 1931

Lloyd George’s National Insurance Scheme of 1911 did provide some sort of help but worked on the basis of contributions from individuals, employers and the state. The only treatment it catered for directly was for people suffering from TB – Wales was one of the worst affected parts of Britain – and, crucially, it did not cover dependents.

When the Depression hit Wales in the 1920s there were immediate cuts in wages and many mines closed. In Merthyr Tydfil alone the unemployment figure rose to nearly 70%. The result was an immediate blow to the health of out of work miners and their families. By the time of the Beveridge Report in 1944 it was clear that something had to be done and Aneurin Bevan, Minister for Health in the post-war Labour Government – himself a miner before being elected to Parliament - forced through legislation to provide health care that was based on citizenship rather than employment, class or money.

Despite their fine and ancient traditions of health care, the people of Wales had suffered grievously in the aftermath of industrialisation. With the creation of the National Health Service an intolerable burden had been lifted from the shoulders of the working men and their families.

BBC Wales is looking at the health of our NHS in 'Health Check Wales' for a week from Sunday 25 January 2015 on TV, radio and online.

The Story of Singleton Park, Swansea

2015-01-09T11:00:23+00:00

Situated on the edge of the suburb of Sketty, Singleton Park is the largest of all Swansea’s parks, covering over 200 acres.

It has been owned by the Swansea County Borough since 1919 when it was bought from the Vivian family with the express intention of providing leisure amenities for the people of what was, then, still a town – albeit one of the largest in Wales.

Presenter Iolo Williams at Singleton Park

The history of the park, however, goes back a lot further than that. In 1847 the industrialist John Henry Vivian bought Veranda House and the accompanying parkland for his son Henry and his wife Jessie. Just a year later Jessie died in childbirth, leaving Henry distraught. He vowed never to live in the house which was to have been such an important part of his life and the place quickly deteriorated into rack and ruin. By 1853 only the lodge remained, all traces of Veranda House having totally disappeared.

The Vivian family continued to use the parkland, however, and enjoy the revenue of the dozen or so farms that were around the estate. A kitchen and herb garden, created out of the original walled gardens of Veranda House, provided them with many of the luxuries in life. Jessie Vivian was not forgotten and St Paul’s Church – which still stands in the Park – was built as a memorial to her.

After the purchase of the estate by the council in 1919 it was decided to appoint a specialist to oversee the running of the new acquisition. Daniel Bliss was the man chosen to work as superintendent of the park. He was particularly well qualified, having been trained at Kew Gardens in London and it was his decision to create a botanical garden in the centre of the park.

Flowers at Botanical Gardens in Singleton Park. Photo: Gareth Lovering

Since their establishment nearly one hundred years ago Daniel Bliss’s botanical gardens have gone from strength to strength and have now grown to hold one of the largest plant collections in Wales.

The herbaceous borders of the botanical gardens come to full and majestic bloom in the summer months while in early spring the place is renowned for its rhododendrons. Even in the depths of winter there are upwards of 200 different plants in bloom. A rock garden, huge greenhouses and even a Japanese bridge add to the overall effect of the botanical gardens and Singleton Park in general.

One of the most famous buildings in the park is the alpine Swiss Cottage, designed by PF Robinson, the man who also designed nearby Sketty Hall for the Vivian family in the early part of the nineteenth century. It has always been a favourite of visitors, bringing a little of the Swiss alps to urban Swansea.

The alpine cottage was badly damaged in an arson attack in 2010 but has now been restored and renovated to its former glory. Financial problems have recently led the council to try to sell or lease out the cottage but, hopefully, the place will continue to function as a tea room and restaurant in the months and years ahead.

Iolo at the park's alpine Swiss Cottage

Singleton Park has been the venue for many music events over the years, notably Proms in the Park where artists such as Bryn Terfel have come to perform in a magical open-air concert.

There is a boating lake, complete with boats in the shape of swans – loved by children from all over the city - and a pub. The pub used to be called The Inn on the Lake but everyone who visited or passed by always referred to the place as The Pub on the Pond. As a consequence, the tavern has now changed its name to the less salubrious but more charming Pub on the Pond.

There are several other notable buildings in the Park which plays host to part of Swansea University campus and to Bishop Gore School. St Mary’s Church, Singleton Hospital and the Ty’r Blodau educational visitors centre are also important components of this little piece of quiet solemnity in the heart of a bustling and vibrant city.

Singleton Park might be the largest of the Swansea parks but it retains a personal and intimate feel. There are plenty of open spaces to run or walk your dog but there are also many hidden areas where people can shelter or bide a while, watching the squirrels or listening to the tiny waterfall, in perfect peace. The place has a communal feel to it, however you want to use it. That is its unique appeal.

If you’d like to find out more about Singleton Park, Iolo Williams explores the wilder side of this urban park in the first of a new series of Iolo’s Great Welsh Parks on Monday, 12 January at 7.30pm.

The making of the new series of Coming Home

2014-12-03T09:45:10+00:00

Geoff Evans is producer/director for Coming Home. Here, he talks about the stories behind the new series.

My journey began back in early June 2014. Even before I came on board to make the series, an enormous amount of research had already been conducted by our genealogist Mike Churchill-Jones; the man who discovers all the fantastic stories we tell in the series. He has a sixth sense in knowing where to dig for the stories. Sometimes the stories are so good, I'm sure he's made them up, but the evidence is right there for all to see.

I was really excited about this year's line-up. My first shoot was in July, with the larger-than-life character David Emanuel.

I was just four years old when David hit the big time across the world after designing Princess Diana's wedding dress along with his ex-wife Elizabeth.

His stint in the jungle on ITV's 'I'm a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!', certainly made him more widely known to people of all generations. I can honestly say that David's much-loved performance in the jungle, is exactly how he is in real life. He's friendly,warm and a genuinely nice bloke. He told me that before his stint in the jungle, fans always called him Mr Emanuel; but now he's simply David.

David Emanuel and the Coming Home crew. Geoff Evans is far right.

David's story is focused on his grandfather, John Leslie Emanuel, who died before David was even born. David looks into his grandfather's life and uncovers many great stories. From John's time serving in World War Two, to his stint as a motor racer at Pendine Sands.

However, the story begins with David's great grandfather, who worked as a policeman in Merthyr Tydfil in the 19th century; a tough period in Merthyr's history.

I was lucky enough to meet most of David's siblings and his father John. One of the things I love about making this series is the few special privileges you have along the way. Spending time with David and his family was enjoyable indeed and none of them were camera shy. It must be in the genes!

My next shoot was with a man who millions of people see on their screens at least a few times a week; actor Ian Puleston-Davies, who plays builder Owen Armstrong in Coronation Street. Although I'm not a regular Coronation Street viewer, I soon became very aware of how popular its stars are. Arriving at the hotel the night before filming, Ian's scampi and chips got very cold due to the number of Corrie fans who wanted an autograph or picture with him.

Ian was a real gift to us, because of his unusual name, Puleston. Having a more common name like Jones, Davies or Evans (like myself) can be more difficult to trace back very far, but this name took our genealogist Mike Churchill-Jones on a very exciting journey.

Actor Ian Puleston-Davies searched for his links to Welsh Prince Owain Glyndŵr

Ian's main quest for himself and his family was to answer one question which has circulated around his family for years. Certain family members believe they are descended from the Pulestons of Emral and therefore closely related to 14th century Welsh Prince Owain Glyndŵr! But could this be possible? This question is answered during the programme. Ian explores many other Pulestons in his family and their story begins in north Wales and travels as far as the American Frontier during the American Civil War in the 1860s.

Alex Jones was looking for information to pass on to her grandfather Denzil

My next programme was with one of Britain's most recognisable faces. Alex Jones is on our screens all week and she has got to be one of the hardest-working people in television. After completing her Friday night appearance on The One Show, she travelled all the way back to Ammanford and was ready to film at 9am. Alex grew up in Ammanford, where her family still live. However, her story was focused in and around Llanelli in Carmarthenshire. She had a number of very interesting ancestors from the area. These ancestors include her Johnson side of the family, who were embroiled in a bitter dispute after the death of Mr Johnson's wife. This wasn't your typical courtroom drama.

Alex's main wish for this programme, was to discover more information, which she could pass onto her grandfather Denzil.

Denzil has told Alex many, many stories about his own grandfather Henry, who claimed to be a professional horse jockey and about Henry's connections to a Grand National horse he helped train. This quest provided our genealogist Mike with a number of challenges, but thankfully we were able to answer many of these questions for Alex at Ffos Las race course. At Ffos Las, we were also able to present Alex with something very rare indeed, which she was excited about. I'm doing my best not to give any spoilers, so I'll leave it there.

Sian Lloyd's family history took the production team all over Wales

Our final programme of the year is with a face everyone knows, from her many years of presenting the national weather. Sian Lloyd certainly had the most geographically-challenging programme we've ever made. We travelled from the far north of Anglesey, to Llanberis, through Snowdonia, down to Llandovery and finished the story in Carmarthenshire. As a director, you want to spend as much time on location filming as you can; but having so much travelling to do, you really need to use your filming time very wisely. All that said, because of the richness of our travels, Sian's programme is probably the most visually stunning we've ever made.

A new series of Coming Home starts Friday 5 December on BBC One Wales at 7.30pm

Llanelly House: a perfect example of a Georgian town house

2014-12-02T15:26:21+00:00

Llanelly House stands, more or less, in the centre of Llanelli and, since its recent restoration, it provides visitors with a perfect example of a Georgian town house. Built at the beginning of the 18th century, it is probably the finest domestic building of its type to be found anywhere in south Wales.

Llanelly House

Creation of the house was the brain-child of Sir Thomas Stepney, Member of Parliament for Carmarthenshire and head of the most significant landed gentry family in Llanelli, possibly the whole of the county.

The Stepney’s were originally a London family who had come to Wales, via St Albans, as far back as 1559 when Alban Stepney took up residence in Pembrokeshire. In 1714 one of his descendants, Thomas, decided to build himself a house in the town of Llanelli. The town was beginning to grow to the extent that it would soon become the largest urban conurbation in Carmarthenshire.

Lady Stepney's chamber following restoration

The place was already becoming a renowned centre for copper and lead smelting although it was tin plate that really made the town’s name. That was not all the town became famous for – a pottery was also operated in Llanelli and, later in the 19th and 20th centuries, the famous town rugby club became a sporting force to be reckoned with.

The production of tin plate, however, was the most significant product of the town and the Stepneys, like most other wealthy families, benefitted greatly. At one time there were no fewer than thirty tin plate mills in the town, an industry that made many people very wealthy. It was natural that Sir Thomas Stepney would choose to display his wealth and social position.

The house was originally thought to stand on “virgin ground” but archaeological excavations during the recent renovations have shown that there was a dwelling on the site that dated back to the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods. The new house was spectacular, attracting visitors like John Wesley when he came to preach in the nearby parish church, and the Stepney family lived there for many years. The baronetcy that was awarded to the family finally became extinct around 1825.

Llanelly House passed through the hands of several successive owners, most of them related to the Stepneys in some way. It was eventually purchased by the town council and much of the frontage was soon in use for shops and other businesses. The building fell into a sad state of repair.

Enter the BBC Restoration television series. Championed by designer Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen, the house was a finalist in the competition when it became clear to everyone that they were sitting on a cultural and architectural gem.

In November 2009 the Carmarthen Heritage Restoration Trust obtained a £6 million grant to begin work on restoring the property to something like its original glory. The plan was always to create a revolutionary visitor experience so that anyone entering Llanelli House would gain a clear insight into what life in 18th and 19th century Llanelli was really like.

In 2011 architects Austin-Smith were employed to begin the restoration work. This was a costly and complicated business that involved taking out the 18th century shop fronts, re-vamping the stair and hallway – always the core of the old building – and giving the rooms, such as Sir Thomas’s study, a new lease of life.

Restoration is now complete and Llanelly House is open to the public. As well as the house itself – now a Genealogy Heritage Centre - there is a wide range of period artefacts to see. Guided tours are informative and regular.

Llanelli House, like all old buildings, has an interesting past. It was recently voted in the top three most haunted buildings in Carmarthenshire, the others being the Parc Howard Museum and Kidwelly Castle.

The attic after restoration.

The ghost of Mia Turner, who was present in the house on the night of the 1851 census but disappeared soon afterwards, provides guides with a ready-made ghost story that will have all imaginative visitors quaking in their shoes.

Llanelly House, although dating back to the beginning of the Georgian period, is one of the newest tourist attractions in Wales. It provides valuable insights and a superb atmosphere for anyone who has a feeling for the history of Wales.

Jack Jones - writer and political activist

2014-11-27T12:29:30+00:00

In many respects Jack Jones, the writer of “Off to Philadelphia in the Morning” – a fictional picture of the early career of Welsh composer Joseph Parry – was a typical product of life in the industrial valleys of South Wales in the first half of the twentieth century.

He was a writer, a fine public orator and a political activist who at various stages in his life pledged his allegiance to no fewer than five different political parties. Despite this he remained a man with firm left-wing convictions whose interest and affiliation were always with the ordinary working people of Wales.

Jack Jones

Jones was born on 24 November 1884 at Tai-Harri-Blawdd in Merthyr Tydfil. He was the eldest surviving son of miner David Jones and his wife Sarah. The couple had fifteen children in all but only nine survived infancy. Educated at St David’s Elementary School, Jack finished formal education at the age of twelve and went to join his father working in the mines.

In 1901 the young man joined the army and, in the wake of the Boer War, was posted to South Africa. He was unhappy there and went absent without leave. On his recapture he was sent to serve in India. His term of enlistment over, Jones returned to work in the coal mines in Wales.

In 1908 he married Laura Evans from Builth Wells and took work as a bark stripper in his wife’s native area. The money was poor and as they soon had children to support, Jack moved to Pontypool where he once again went down the pit. He was working underground when war was declared in 1914 and as a reservist he was immediately recalled to the colours.

Jones served on the western front in the Great War and was mentioned in dispatches. Wounded by shrapnel, he was invalided home and made Recruiting Officer for Merthyr Tydfil.

In 1920 Jack joined the Communist Party founding the Merthyr Tydfil branch. He remained a communist until 1923 when he left to join the Labour Party. In 1923 he was appointed full-time secretary of the Blaengarw branch of the Miner’s Union, moving his wife and family to live in Bridgend where he was to remain until he left his job with the union soon after the General Strike, when they settled in Cardiff. The General Strike of 1926 had seen him, like many other trade union officials, traipsing the roads of the country making speeches, urging miners to continue the fight for decent wages.

Disillusioned by Labour’s stance on nationalisation, Jones left the party and moved on to the Liberals, taking a job at the end of the 1920s as a speech-maker. David Lloyd George – about whom Jack was later to write a book, “The Man David” – was apparently hugely impressed by the rhetoric of his fellow Welshman. By 1930 he was unemployed and took a variety of different jobs to make a living – as a salesman, a cinema manager, a navvy and, in particular a writer.

His first published article had been on the need for a Lib-Lab coalition in 1927 but Jack was really interested in the power of fiction. It was, he felt, the best way to reach more people. A play he had written, “Dad’s Double,” had done well at a Manchester festival and by 1934 he had published his first novel, “Rhondda Roundabout”.

Several other novels, a play and the first in a series of autobiographies, “Unfinished Journey” appeared before the outbreak of the Second World War.

Jack Jones continued to vacillate in his support for different political parties and during the 1930s, in the days before the full evil of fascism was realised, he even gave speeches on behalf of Oswald Mosley’s new party. He had already stood as a candidate for the Liberals, fighting the safe Labour seat of Neath where, despite all predictions, he managed to poll 30% of the vote and come a respectable second.

Jones became a speaker for the Ministry of Information in the Second World War, making two successful lecture tours of the USA and Canada. He continued to write and change political affiliations, supporting the Conservatives in the 1945 election. In an almost naïve and childlike way, Jones saw nothing wrong in such prevarication – his concern was still with the people.

Jack Jones

His masterpiece, “Off to Philadelphia in the Morning,” was published in 1947. It was the story of another Merthyr boy, the composer Joseph Parry, following the would-be musician and his family in their move from the poverty of south Wales to the hardship of industrial America. The book was an instant success and was later made into a highly successful TV film.

Jones' son Lawrence was killed in the war in 1942, and the year before “Off to Philadelphia” came out his wife Laura also died. He remarried in 1954. His later works; books like “Lily of the Valleys” and “Come Night: End Day” were not as powerful, nor so well-received as his earlier productions but this did not stop him writing. He was made a Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 1948 as a reward for his services to literature and was elected the first president of the English language section of Yr Academi Gymreig.

Jack Jones died in May 1970, leaving an unfinished work “Burnt Offering,” based on the life of Dr William Price of Llantrisant, the early pioneer of cremation. His fame now rests on a handful of works – “The Black Parade,” “Off to Philadelphia in the Morning,” “Bidden to the Feast” and his autobiographical “Unfinished Journey.”

These days Jack Jones is seen as an unfashionable writer and this seems a shame as his sense of humanity shines through in all of his works. More than that, they give an accurate and powerful picture of life in the industrial valleys of South Wales in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Arguably, it has never been done better.

Ghosts Galore This Winter Time

2014-11-21T12:22:48+00:00

Ghost stories are, in themselves, a fascinating phenomenon. In countries like Wales and Ireland they proliferated in the pre-industrial days of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries when travel between one place and the next was difficult and dangerous and when the wind and rain seemed to have lives of their own.

Some ghost stories did manage to survive into the more worldly-wise nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In Wales, as industrialisation changed the face of the country for ever, such stories were a way of keeping in touch with a more reassuring and accepting past.

Many of us will remember being gathered around the fire at Christmas time as some aged aunt or grandmother held everyone spellbound with her tales of headless horsemen and shrieking demons. Being sent up to bed after that, the way lit only by a flickering stub of candle, was just one more aspect to the success of the ghost story, be they about murderers or children lost on the marsh, men killed in battle or women heartbroken by the death of a loved one.

Such stories catch the mood of the time, playing on people’s fears and making use of things like flickering candle light and ancient, derelict buildings. From castles and lonely manor houses to the country inns of rural Wales, you will find ghost stories that are based around all manner of buildings.

Monkton Priory

In Pembroke, for example, there are – strangely – no ghost tales about the castle but several about nearby houses. For many years in the nineteenth century the Rev Tudor Evans lived in the Old Hall next to Monkton Priory, literally a stone’s throw from the castle. The Priory had been dissolved by Henry V111 in the 1530s but continued to function as a parish church.

The Rev was regularly disturbed by knocking on his bedroom door, almost always at 4.00am. Each time the gentleman got out of bed to see who was there the knocking immediately stopped and he was met only by an empty corridor. Was it a mischievous servant playing a trick on her master or something much more sinister? We will never know.

There was certainly something untoward about the Old Hall. The building had another room which Tudor Evans’s dog steadfastly refused to enter. His daughter also claimed to have seen the head and shoulders of a cowled figure at the window of the same room.

In the nearby church the remains of a kneeling woman were found, bricked up behind one of the walls of the Priest’s Room - a nun, perhaps, from the days of the Priory, someone who had committed a cardinal sin? It makes for interesting speculation.

Llancarfan Church

Walled up bodies in ancient houses were, for many years, the staple diet of horror writers like Edgar Allen Poe. Just outside the village of Llancarfan in the Vale of Glamorgan there used to stand an old monastery. According to legend a man once sought sanctuary from pursuers in the monastery but, despite the pleas of the monks, he was recaptured and walled up inside the building – after, apparently, having his leg hacked off.

The mutilated body of the fugitive lay, undisturbed, for many years before being discovered during renovations to the old building in the early twentieth century. Interestingly, it is not the ghost of this man who is said to haunt the gardens and grounds but that of his wife, searching relentlessly for her missing husband.

It was not just the Rev Tudor Evans who was disturbed at a specific time of night. The ghost of John Crichton-Stuart, the second Marquess of Bute, is said to haunt Cardiff Castle, a building that he loved dearly and spent thousands on renovating. His apparition is said to pass through walls six feet thick while at precisely 3.45am, heavy doors have been known to slam shut of their own accord.

New Theatre

Not too far away from Cardiff Castle, the New Theatre has its own ghost. The ghost of an old lady has been seen many times, usually in one of the theatre’s boxes. Several workmen and staff have, in the past, commented on a sudden and unexplained drop in temperature and the strange feeling that somebody or something is watching them.

It is easy to scoff at or dismiss these stories as the product of men and women with over-fertile imaginations. Dark passageways, echoing bedrooms and dimly lit theatres lend themselves to such tales. If they are then told with skill and aplomb, particularly as the light fades and night begins to steal across the landscape, then so much the better.

We all like to feel a flutter of fear along our backbones occasionally, particularly as we know such emotions can be dismissed with the coming of daylight.

But in the long gone days before radio and television, the art of the story teller – and, in particular, the scary story teller – was to keep that fear alive and see it passed on from person to person down the ages.

Behind Wales in the Seventies

2014-11-20T10:51:25+00:00

Steve Humphries is producer/director for the new series Wales in the Seventies.

What was the most influential book for teenagers in Wales growing up in the 1970s? For previous generations it might have been the Bible. But not any more.

There were two books that stood out in the minds of a lot of the people we spoke to in making our new series on how Wales was transformed in the seventies; ‘The Little Red Book’ – a radical new handbook for rebellious teenagers written by two Danish teachers, and Alex Comfort’s bestseller ‘The Joy of Sex’, published in 1972. Wendy Harrison from Lampeter was one of the brave girls who plucked up the courage to buy the book from her local bookshop to try to learn about the mysteries of sex. “I said, ‘Can I have ‘The Joy of Sex’, please?’ The lady looked me up and down and she gave it to me in this brown package. I walked out, red in the face, really embarrassed.”

Children's TV series from the seventies

They say the sixties really happened in the seventies - and this seems to have been especially true in Wales. This was the decade when a more liberal and permissive culture really took hold. Sex outside of marriage - with or without the pill - started to become the norm, gay liberation began to blossom and feminism attracted more and more Welsh women in the struggle for equal rights and freedom from domestic drudgery.

We uncovered many fascinating stories on all these themes. But for me, perhaps some of the most powerful of all were from women describing the damage that could be done by the old culture of secrets and lies. Sue Bevan from Mountain Ash recounted how she got pregnant as a fifteen year old and was dispatched by her parents to Plymouth in disgrace. Her baby daughter was taken away from her for adoption as soon as she was born and Sue has lived with the emotional consequences ever since.

Another girl from the valleys, June Watkins, also had a harrowing time. After a shotgun wedding aged 21, she became a battered wife. For June there was redemption. She took advantage of the new divorce laws to escape from the marriage and happily married a second time. Then in a story which echoed ‘Educating Rita’, she passed her first O-level in her twenties, and while still a young mother, went on to study for a BA and an MA in scriptwriting at the University of Glamorgan.

School fete in the seventies

One unexpected surprise was the chance to film the boy-made-good from Tiger Bay, Noah Francis Johnson, when he made a brief visit home from the States to visit his mother. Noah has been a boxing and Kung Fu champion, a world champion disco dancer and is now a pop star living in Los Angeles. His account of his early struggle to make something of his life was extraordinary.

No series on the seventies would be complete without stories of the upsurge of Welsh nationalism and the Welsh language. Mici Plwm vividly describes how he was arrested after risking his life climbing up a television mast to protest against the domination of English language programmes. Rhys Mwyn remains as passionate about subversive Welsh punk as he was thirty-five years ago when he was playing in the band Anhrefn. But it was probably the incredible success of the Welsh rugby team in the seventies that did more for national pride and Welsh identity than anything else. Llanelli legend Phil Bennett movingly describes the atmosphere at Cardiff Arms Park, “I think in that cathedral of song and rugby, there was something special that no country ever felt anything like it in the world before.”

Wales in the Seventies starts on Monday, 24 November, BBC One Wales, 10.35pm.

Death of the Merthyr Matchstick

2014-11-04T15:14:44+00:00

The date 4 November might not mean an awful lot to most people. But 4 November 1980 was when Welsh boxing entered its own, very specific, very sad “dark season” with the death of Merthyr bantamweight Johnny Owen, after his attempt to win the World Championship went tragically awry.

Johnny Owen was born John Richard Owens on 7 January 1956 from an ordinary working class Merthyr family. His parents, Phil and Edith, had eight children in all, Johnny being the fourth of them. He began boxing at the age of eight and in a very successful amateur career had 126 fights, winning several Welsh titles in the process.

Statue of Johnny Owen in Merthyr Tydfil. Photo: Darren Wyn Rees

It was inevitable that Johnny would turn professional at some time. This he did in 1976, dropping the letter “s” and fighting under the surname of Owen.

His first professional fight was against fellow-Welshman George Sutton, then ranked as the third best bantamweight in Britain. It was meant to be an easy contest for Sutton but Johnny Owen surprised everyone, winning the match on points.

A quiet, reserved individual, young Johnny preferred to do his talking in the ring, where his skill and determination seemed, at first, to be at direct odds to his appearance. Standing at 5ft 8ins, his slim – even, some might say, skinny – appearance quickly earned him a string of nicknames – the Merthyr Matchstick and the Bionic Bantam being just two.

His looks were deceptive. Johnny had built up his strength and stamina by incessant roadwork, pounding along the hills and valleys of his native town and area. He was a determined fighter, a formidable boxer who opponents underestimated at their peril.

His entry into the British boxing scene was nothing short of dramatic and soon he had built up a following, not just in his home town of Merthyr but all across Wales. His career was destined to be short but boxing fans from all over Britain quickly took the lanky bantamweight to their hearts. Yet despite the adulation, Johnny Owen remained a Merthyr boy.

He won the Welsh bantamweight title after just six fights and took the British title after ten, knocking out the champion Paddy Maguire. Guided by his manager Dai Gardiner, Johnny Owen soon came to dominate the British bantamweight division. There was, literally, no-one in the country to touch him.

Johnny and Gardiner had wider ambitions, however, and soon the Merthyr Matchstick was able to add the Commonwealth title to his British crown. That fight against Australian-based Italian Paul Ferreri was a classic. Although pundits expected Ferreri to win easily, Johnny just wore him down with an immaculate demonstration of boxing skills.

Johnny Owen was the victim of a “hometown verdict” when, next, he fought Francisco Rodriguez of Spain for the European title. Despite dominating the contest, the points decision went to the Spaniard – Johnny’s first professional defeat. He gained his revenge, however, when Rodriguez came to Ebbw Vale to defend his title the following year and found himself on the end of an honest verdict. Johnny Owen was now British, Commonwealth and European champion.

After winning a Lonsdale Belt for defending his British title three times, Johnny Owen’s next target was the world championship. On 19 September 1980 he took on Mexican bruiser Lupe Pintor in a hot and humid Los Angeles.

Despite doing well in the initial stages of the contest – by the end of the 8th round he was actually ahead on points – Johnny was knocked down in the 9th. It was the first time he had been knocked down in his professional career and from that point on the contest began to edge in Pintor’s direction.

Towards the end of the 12th round Johnny was caught by a powerful right hook and crashed to the canvas. Unconscious, his head whiplashed onto the ring floor – he never got up. After lying on his back for five full minutes he was taken to hospital in a coma. And there he died several weeks later.

It later transpired that Johnny Owen had an abnormally delicate skull. Medical check-ups had failed to identify this problem and had his head not smashed into the canvas he might well have survived. Later analysis suggested that the fight should have been stopped but, as someone once said, hindsight is the only exact science.

Documentary telling the tragic story of Merthyr-born boxer Johnny Owen.

Johnny’s parents did not blame Lupe Pintor for the death of their son. They knew he was engaged in what was, potentially, a dangerous sport and actually sent a telegram of support to the Mexican boxer. When, twenty years later, a statue of Johnny Owen was erected in his home town of Merthyr, it was actually unveiled by Pintor.

Johnny Owen was, and remains, a legend in Merthyr Tydfil. His life was cut tragically short and nobody knows what he might have achieved had he survived that disastrous knockout in Los Angeles. The Merthyr Matchstick was a man of great heart, determined to succeed in his chosen profession, truly a man for all seasons.

Ghost Stories and Legends of Wales

2014-10-30T12:56:36+00:00

Ghost stories are a part of our cultural heritage, tales from a long and distant past shrouded in mystery. Stories that originated so long ago it is almost impossible to separate fact from fiction.

Before the days of radio and television, families would gather around the fire and as shadows leapt across darkened rooms and tree branches snapped against the window shutters, they would terrify each other with stories of hauntings, headless horsemen and mist-filled hollows.

Unfortunately, most ghost and horror stories are figments of the storytellers’ imaginations and many of them have travelled the length and breadth of our country before they have finally been settled in one particular location or another. Locals will swear that they originated from and belong to their particular stretch of the land, albeit with little proof. And sometimes the same tales can be found in widely disparate parts of Wales.

There is, for example, a wonderful tale from Amroth in Pembrokeshire where the son of an old farmer who tries to scratch out a living on the windswept coast, goes to sea to make his fortune and simply disappears from view.

Years later a ship is sighted, beating in from the Atlantic, and the wreckers – the old farmer amongst them – set false lights to lure the ship onto the rocks. There is little evidence of “wrecking” around the coast of Wales but that matters not in the creation of a good story like this. The ship duly ploughs onto the coast and the following day the farmer and his colleagues go down to pick over the remains.

At the water’s edge is the half-dead body of a sailor. There can be no survivors and no witnesses, so the farmer takes a boulder and smashes in the man’s head. When he turns the body over he finds that it is none other than his long-lost son.

It’s a great story but one which is also told about the Glamorganshire coast – exact locations vary – and about the Llyn Peninsula in North Wales. Which one is the true location – if any of them – is not known but as the man once said, why let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Llantwit Major, once a major religious and educational centre, is the scene of several well-known ghost stories. Boverton Castle, on the eastern edge of the town, was once owned by the Earl of Gloucester. His daughter Hadwista was the first wife of King John but when John succeeded his brother Richard Ias King of England, he divorced her to marry Isabella of Angoulême. Hadwista retired to Boverton Castle where she spent the rest of her days, pining after her lost love. That much is certainly true.

Boverton Castle, which is said to be haunted by The Black Lady of Boverton

When Boverton Castle was being renovated and, eventually, destroyed in the late nineteenth century workmen claimed to have seen the spectral shape of a woman dressed completely in black wandering around the ruins. She had long black hair – just as Hadwista had – and was seen and heard to weep copiously. It was, people of the town declared, the ghost of Hadwista, still pining for evil King John. The spectre was immediately christened the Black Lady of Boverton.

Such tales clearly have a basis of truth, although the “ghostly” element has been added later to give a touch of menace to the story. With some of these stories, it is relatively easy to see the joins between fact and what, to superstitious locals in the dim and distant past, are meant to be tales to terrify – and perhaps educate.

The Old Place in Llantwit Major is also rumoured to be haunted.

Llantwit Major was the scene for just one of these stories. According to legend, an old woman, on her deathbed, made her daughter-in-law promise to divide up her estate between the family members. The daughter-in-law simply kept the money for herself and settled back, happy, rich and content. However, before long the ghost of the old lady began to visit the woman, hitting and pinching her and keeping her awake most of the night.

Eventually the ghost gave the woman a choice – admit the deceit or throw the money into the river. She chose the latter but threw the cash upstream, not down towards the sea where it would have been carried out into the Bristol Channel. The ghost then supposedly threw the woman into a whirlpool from where she was later cast up onto the river bank.

Found, battered and bruised by locals from the town, the story soon came out, much to the shame of the woman. Family members were, for many years, haunted by weird noises at night and long after her death, it was claimed, members of the woman’s family were regularly haunted.

A drunken brawl? An unfaithful wife caught out by a husband who then beat her? Or simply a story to explain away the sudden good fortune of husband and wife? The possibilities are endless – all part of the wonderful wealth of ghost stories from ancient and medieval Wales.

Poets’ Graves

2014-10-29T12:12:20+00:00

You can learn a lot from the gravestones that stand proudly in our churches and graveyards. Whether they are simple slabs of marble or slate, whether they are huge gothic or neo-gothic edifices, the tombstones of our ancestors can tell us much about the character of the man or woman concerned and about the times in which they lived and died.

Dates of birth and death, length of life and, if you are lucky, information about family are all often inscribed onto a person’s tombstone.

Sometimes there is even a little humour, as in the case of Private John Harding of the Royal Marines who was killed in October 1850 when he pitched headfirst into the unfenced moat of the Defensible Barracks in Pembroke Dock. On his headstone in the old Park Street Cemetery of the town it says:-

“Except the Lord direct our feet and guide with gracious care;

At every step we danger meet, in every path a snare.

Then reader, pause, whoe’er thou art, as thus my grave you view –

Remember, thou from life must part, perhaps as quickly too.”

Sometimes the messages, the epitaphs, are simply the dates of a person’s life. That in itself tells you something. Sometimes, however, they say so much more – like the telling epitaph on a grave in Key West, Florida, which states “At least I know where he’s sleeping tonight.”

In Wales, where the enjoyment of mourning became, in the Victorian age at least, almost a national pastime, there is a particularly rich vein of information to be gleaned from studying gravestones and church memorials.

A new book by the writers Damian Walford Davies and Mererid Hopwood, along with the photographer Paul White, maps out what Davies calls “the sepulchral topography” of Wales. In 'Poets’ Graves/Beddau'r Beirdd' (Gomer Press, 2014) the last resting places of over 70 famous, sometimes forgotten, sometimes little-known, writers are shown and written about. It is a telling reminder that no matter the reputation of the individual, there is always going to be one final comment on their career – their gravestone.

As you might expect, the two Thomases, RS and Dylan, feature – even though RS chose to be cremated and is remembered here by a simple plaque on the grass. Dylan lies in what Damian Walford Davies calls “overspill,” the second section of the churchyard in Laugharne, the rest of which is stuffed full of “burgesses and cocklewives.” Dylan himself would have been proud of that image.

Seminal figures like Dafydd ap Gwilym, Henry Vaughan, Islwyn and Taliesin take their place in this gazetteer of the last resting places of Welsh poets, men who by their skill and tenacity brought Welsh history and culture to life for thousands. For those who may never have read, or are ever likely to read, the works of such writers, the pathos of their monuments is sure to hit the mark.

Perhaps one of the most lasting images, however, is White’s photograph of the now barely remembered Daniel Evans who died in 1846. Alongside the church wall and far more prominent than the grave, lies a wheelbarrow, on its side. It dominates the photograph, a sure reminder that the world goes on, no matter how notable the writer might have been while he was alive.

It is, however, the images of - and words about - the huge Victorian edifices that make a statement about a long-gone way of life. Arguably, in full and certain knowledge that they were going on to a “better place,” the desire of these people – or at least their relatives – to leave their mark behind is quite a powerful statement. In the case of writers such as the ones commemorated here you would have thought that their words would have been enough. It was clearly not the case.

Anyone interested in history has to be left wondering about the effort, not to mention the inclination, it took to create something like the memorial stones to Evan Evans or Ceiriog (John Hughes). By contrast Harri Webb’s simple stone in Pennard churchyard looks almost inconsequential.

Of course, it is not just poets or writers who were commemorated in this fashion. Ordinary men and women, right across Wales, were given gravestones that marked their lives.

A simple or cursory study of these stones can reveal so much hard historical fact. Anyone interested in history, and in family history in particular, would benefit from time spent in our churchyards and cemeteries. It is certainly not morbid and can be very revealing.