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The old Welsh County of Merionethshire

The old county of Merionethshire has lost a portion of its eastern territory to the new County Borough of Denbigh whilst the remainder has been absorbed into the new County Borough of Gwynedd

Historical notes on the old County of Merionethshire

Merionethshire is a very beautiful county. This is a bald statement, but it is certainly not controversial. It is a shire of lofty mountains, and deep, wooded valleys, of rushing streams and lakes and broad estuaries. And it is Welsh, very Welsh. English manners and customs have penetrated but little, and the Welsh tongue is universally spoken, not only informally, but in business and in the churches and chapels. Before the end of the thirteenth century, that is to say, before Edward I’s conquest of Wales, the country had not been shired in the Saxon sense. However, in 1284, by the Statue of Rhuddlan, the Principality was divided into eight counties, Merioneth being one of them. There is no need here to differentiate between the Saxon shire, or scir, and the Norman comte. Meirionydd – you feel the soft lilt with the Welsh spelling – consisted of three cantrevs, Meirion, Penrllyn, and Arwystli. A cantrev, or hundred, was really a family division, the habitation of a clan, ruled hereditarily, and the land the common property of the family or trev. When the Act of Union of England and Wales came along in Tudor times, Merioneth received an addition in the form of the lordship of Mawddwy. This same Mawddwy must have been regarded as a mixed blessing by those whose duties included the administration of justice, of the lords of Mawddwy appear to have been a law unto themselves and during a large part of the sixteenth century the red-headed banditti, the “Gwilliad Cochion Mawddwy,” terrorised the country.

The Welshness of Merioneth has been mentioned. This may be due, to a large extent, to the mountain barriers of its interior, and of course, though this it shares with the rest of the Principality, to the intense patriotism of the people. Saxon influence was small, and, practically speaking, the Normans hardly penetrated. To go back to earlier times, the thoroughness of the Roman has left its traces in roads and camps. More interesting, in a way, than these visible evidences are the Roman words that can now be traced in the Welsh vocabulary. “Pont” and “ffos,” bridge and trench respectively, are obvious and simple examples, and, amongst many other, “ffenestr,” a window, may be quoted. Of the inhabitants, according to the 1901 census, a full half spoke Welsh only, and 43 per cent. were bilingual, leaving 6 per cent. who spoke English only. These figures have, of course, changed a bit, but not to any great extent. Their soil claims the people as much the language, for the Welsh countryman is a stay-at-home fellow, and the instances where farmers have sat on their holdings not merely for generations but for centuries are not infrequent.

Slate Quarrying - Wales put the roof on the world

Slate-quarrying, and important industry, principally centred at Festiniog, is not really very old; that is to say, as a scientific industry. There was a little done in a rough way at Aberllefen in Queen Elizabeth’s time. The slates of that and successive periods were, of course, thick and clumsy, taken from the surface outcrops. But the modern industry was started later, when in 1765 the Diphwys Quarry at Festiniog was opened. In 1833 the tramway was laid to Portmadoc, and the trucks were drawn up empty by horses. The downward journey was by gravitation, and the horses rode down on the loaded trucks. It was in the early seventies that the horses were replaced by steam power. The gold-mines of Merionethshire occupy a small but quite attractive page in the county’s annals. The Romans worked one in the neighbourhood of the Upper Mawddach. In modern times the Clogau and Gwynfynydd mines were worked, with great success, and there was a gold-mine at Carn Dochan near Llanuwchllyn. There are also copper, lead, and manganese mines in various parts of the county. Flannel has for several centuries been manufactured at Dolgelly, and at one time it was a very important industry. The coarse woollen cloth was called webs, and was used for the Army in large quantities after the American War of Independence. At Bala woollen caps were made and called “Welsh Wigs.”

The Normans, mainly in the time of King Stephen, flooded the marches with their castles. But in the fastnesses of the mountainous parts this was impossible to a great extent. Merionethshire has very few castles at all, and none of the type built in Stephen’s or Rufus’s day. The one outstanding castle, the most striking one in Wales, is, of course. Harlech. Edward I caused it to be built towards the end of the thirteenth century. But before Edward’s time there was a stronghold or keep some sort of which there are some remains. Without doubt Harlech Castle was tremendously powerful. On one side the foot of the perpendicular rock was washed by the sea, a powerful ally, and on the othera moat was dug, or rather, cut out of the solid rock.

Harlech Castle

On the rock at Harlech the mind can wander back to the dim legends of the shadowy past of centuries before Edward I built the mighty castle. Here lived Bran the Blessed, King of Britain, and his fair sister Branwen. To Bran came Matholwch, King of Ireland, with a fleet of thirteen goodly ships with flags of satin, very fine to see, so well equipped were they. And Matholwch demanded alliance with Bran and the hand of Branwen, daughter of Lleyn, for, says the Welsh chronicle, “she was one of the three chief ladies of this island and she was the fairest damsel in the land.” Alas! the marriage was a sad one, poor Branwen was sent to the kitchen to cook. Then she caught a starling, and she her pet talked together, and she told him where Bran lived, and tied a note under his wing. So Branwen’s starling flew away and gave the note to Bran the blessed. And, with a strong force, he invaded Ireland, but got sadly the worst of the fighting, until he and seven men were all that remained of the army. So he commanded that his head be cut off – for he was mortally wounded – and taken to Harlech. This the seven knights did, and they took Branwen with them. When they got as far as Anglesey poor Branwen broke her heart and died, and they buried her there; white-bosomed Branwen, sister of Bran the Blessed. One picture of her as a gentle lady, gentle as Nicolette, Aucassin’s sweet friend, whom he loved so well. And Nicolette had feet whiter than snow, kirtling her skirt to cross the lawn.

But Harlech later on, the Harlech glorying in a mighty castle, stood its ground, grim and forbidding, to the roar of the battle music. Owen Glyndwr seized it, and his own forces were besieged in their turn. Later, in the reign of Henry VI, Dafydd ap Sinion was Constable of Harlech Castle. In due time Edward IV came to the throne and demanded the castle. Dafydd ap Sinion refused, and Herbert of Raglan, Earl of |Pembroke, and his brother Richard, marched with a strong force across Wales to settle this truculent Welshman. Dafydd, however, was obstinate and refused to surrender, declaring that he had held a castle so long in France that all the old women in Wales were talking about it, so now he would hold the Castle of Harlech in Wales till the old Women in France talked of it. Sir Richard Herbert attacked, and in the end Dafydd had to surrender. This he did on condition that Herbert would endeavour to save his life. The King was not, indeed, particularly amiable about the business, but promised to spare him. Afterwards Edward IV showed signs of going back on his word. Herbert stuck not merely to the letter, but to the spirit of his own promise to Dafydd, and asked the King either to send the Constable back to his Castle of Harlech and send another soldier to dig him out, or to kill him, Herbert, instead of Dafydd. The story varies in detail, but the above is the substance.

At Llanbedr the River Artro flows into the sea, with a beautiful valley reaching up into the mountains, and at the head of this valley is a lake, Cwm Bychan, with the Rhinog Mountains, wild and lofty, rising behind it. Here, at the end of the lake, a family lived for five hundred years, alone, away from all civilisation, and, one would imagine, from intercourse with man. Writing at the beginning of the nineteenth century, Pennant described how he made a special visit to the Squire of that day, who “gave me a most hospitable reception, and in the style of any Ancient Briton. He welcomed us with ale and potent beer, to wash down the Coch yr Wden, or hung goat, and the cheese compounded of the milk of cow and sheep. The family lay in their whole store of winter provisions, being inaccessible a great part of the season by reason of snow. Her they have lived for many generations without bettering or lessening their income, without noisy fame but without any of its embittering attendants.” He also gave the worthy Squire’s pedigree, which to English ears is quaint hearing.

One thinks of them in their mountain eerie, all these generations, faithfully chronicled, going back to Cynvyn, Prince of North Wales and Powys, together with Gruffydd ap Cynan of Gwynedd, opposed the Normans, who were building castles on the marches and setting out to conquer Wales. Bleddyn was killed in battle in 1075, and his cousin Trahaern ap Caradog succeeded him in the Lordship of Powys.

Gruffydd ap Cynan, however, with his men of Gwynedd attacked Trahaearn, rightly regarded as an interloper, at Gwaeterw, and put him to flight. Following up his advantage Gruffydd caught Trahaearn at Mynydd Carn, defeated and slew him. Gruffydd then became Lord of Gwynedd and Powys, but was afterwards to languish in chains for twelve years in Chester Castle in the hands of Hugh the Wolf of Chester. Gruffydd was rescued eventually and got away to Ireland, returning, eager for the fray – for the twelve years in chains appears not to have broken his spirit – with twenty-three ships. The countryside rallied round him, and with Cadwgan ap Bleddyn – you will find him in our pedigree above – now Prince of Powys, he went for the Normans with undaunted energy. The Barons of the Marches called to William Rufus for help, and in 1096 the King went to Shrewsbury and thence to Merionethshire. Cadwgan and Gruffydd attacked him suddenly with such vigour that Rufus retired, by vowing to come again and wipe the Welshmen form the face of the land. He did return, but had an even tougher reception, losing heavily and doing no harm to his mountains enemies.

This was a time of great Welsh princes. The son of Gruffyd ap Cynan was Owain Gwynedd, a fine soldier. Then there was his grandson, Llewelyn ap Iowerth, who married King John’s daughter Joan. He did not get on particular well with the slippery monarch, and as Llewelyn was one of the most influential of the barons in forcing from John the Great Charter in 1215, his unpopularity with his father-in-law is not surprising Wales gained back the stolen Marches; her limits and those of each part were clearly defined, and Llewelyn was established as the overlord of Wales by the chieftains. The last great prince was Llewelyn’s grandson, Llewelyn ap Gruffydd. He ruled for twenty-six years, and nobly upheld the tradition of his grandfather. After his death in 1281, ther was no man of note until, a hundred years or so later, Wales was to see the meteoric career of Owen Glyndwr ap Flyn Dyfrdwy.

To return to Llyn Cwm Bychan. The “Roman Steps” lead over the pass through the Rhinog Mountains. They become, as the track goes up-wards, well-laid stairs for over a mile. The explanation is undoubtedly found in the carriage of minerals from a mine in the highlands, for the track is wide enough to allow the leading of pack-horses. Drws Ardudwy, the “Gate of Ardudwy,” is another pass to which a legend is attached. The men of this part, from Dwryd to Mawddach, wanted wives. So they set out, in warlike array, through rugged and gloomy Drws Ardudwy, with Great and Little Rhinog on either side, to the fat and fair Vale of Clwyd, and they stole the women – every schoolboy knows the history of the Rape of the Sabine women – and marched home with their presumably indignant spoil. Unfortunately for the men of Ardudwy, the male relatives of the stolen women did not take it lying down, but gave lively chase, and hard by Festiniog killed the lot; a very proper retribution. But this is not the end of the story. The women, the cause of the slaughter, perhaps because they had no objection to being stolen, or, possibly, because the Vale of Clwyd had no attraction for them, one and all threw themselves into the nearest lake and were drowned. And the lake is called Llyn-y-Morwynion, which means the “Lake of the Maidens.”

Llyn y tri Graienyn is the Lake of the Three Grains. Pebble Pool people sometimes call it, a poor title after the pleasant-sounding Welsh. Idris the Giant high up in his great chair shook the pebbles – huge rocks they were – from his shoe, and, in a rage, hurled them into the little lake. In a rich fishing country this lake was barren, and, strange to tell, some thirty years ago a big fish was reported to be basking in its clear shallow waters. A brown trout of five pounds was captured by the first cast of a minnow. But the strange thing was that this trout was the only fish in the lake. How he got there was, and has remained a mystery. Perhaps he was the sole survivor of a large family; who knows? There are a group of lakes round Cader Idris, of which Talyllyn is the biggest. It is very beautiful, lying amid green meadows with rugged, precipitous Cader Iris towering aobe it, and out of it runs the Dysynni River.

A vista unsurpassed beauty is the estuary at Barmouth, looking upwards towards the mountains. Here at high tide is a blue lake “winding between steep shoes where rocky crags and wild woodland alternate with the rich luxuriance spreading around the county houses that nestle in the bays. And above all this wealth of wood and water and rock and meadow, blended in a fashion so exquisitely unconventional, uncommon, and indescribable, are always the great mountains, climbing heavenwards. The triple peaks of Cader Idris look closer at hand thrusting out the high tributary ridge along the southern shore of the estuary, that, cloven by many a shadowy hollow, falls over against the town of Barmouth, with much boldness, and from a great height, into the sea.” Mr A. G. Bradley need not describe as a “futile effort” his wholly charming description of the Mawddach estuary.

When Gwyddno Garanhir reigned, many years ago, the country of Gwaelod lay out in Cardigan Bay, and the sea was kept out by big banks. Of these banks one Seithenin was the guardian. Unfourtunately, rumour says that he had had too much to drink, he forgot his tasks, left open the sluices, and the sea swept in and the whole of Gwaelod was drowned. Be this as it may, there are two walls or reefs stretching into the bay, the Sarn Badrhwyg, and the Sarn y Bwch, their points bend towards each other, forming a narrow fairway, a source of great danger to seamen ignorant of the coast, or when a westerly gale is blowing.

The town of Dolgelly

Dolgelly, the conty town of Merionethshire, near the Mawddach River, on the northern side of Cader Idris, may boast little of its architectural beauties, but much of its position. Cader Idris lies above it, in all its rugged and tempestuous grandeur, and the little river Wnion runs through the town. Owen Glyndwr know Dolgelly, and from the town wrote to the King of France, as one king to another, proposing an alliance against his enemy, Henry Bolingborke.

Though, as has been noticed, there are few castles in Merionethshire, there are plenty of fine old manor houses. The end of the Wars of the Roses brought to a close the domination of the old barons, and a new class sprung up, which, later on, was to be described as the landed gentry. This class belonged much closer to the soil and their people than ever the greater barons and their retinue did, to whom the people were a necessary or, possibly, an unnecessary evil, at any rate not worth notice, except when they had the termerity to break out, whereat punishment was sweeping and swift. We remember the peasant, dark-visaged, inarticulate, and oppressed, was to be thrown out of his hovel with his aged mother because he had lost an ox and had not the few coins wherewith to compensate the owner, giving rein to his wrongs, and the wrongs of all peasants, to the young lord who rode through the forest weeping for the loss of his favourite hound (it was really Aucassin weeping for his lost Nicolette). These old landowners have clung to their soil, and many of them have carefully preserved their family records. Near Cymmer Abbey is the old house of Hengwrt, the family seat of the Vaughans. The Hengwrt Mss. were priceless, including The Book of Taliesin, the White Book of the Rhydderch, The Sanct Greal, and many others. Thanks to Sir John Williams, they have been preserved as a national collection.