The Berwyn—Mountain Cottage—The Barber’s Pole.
On the following morning I strolled up the Berwyn on the south-west of
the town, by a broad winding path, which was at first very steep, but by
degrees became less so. When I had accomplished about three parts of the
ascent I came to a place where the road, or path, divided into two. I
took the one to the left, which seemingly led to the top of the mountain,
and presently came to a cottage from which a dog rushed barking towards
me; an old woman, however, coming to the door called him back. I said a
few words to her in Welsh, whereupon in broken English she asked me to
enter the cottage and take a glass of milk. I went in and sat down on a
chair which a sickly-looking young woman handed to me. I asked her in
English who she was, but she made no answer, whereupon the old woman told
me that she was her daughter and had no English. I then asked her in
Welsh what was the matter with her, she replied that she had the cryd or
ague. The old woman now brought me a glass of milk, and said in the
Welsh language that she hoped I should like it. What further
conversation we had was in the Cambrian tongue. I asked the name of the
dog, who was now fondling upon me, and was told that his name was
Pharaoh. I inquired if they had any books, and was shown two, one a
common Bible printed by the Bible Society, and the other a volume in
which the book of prayer of the Church of England was bound up with the
Bible, both printed at Oxford, about the middle of the last century. I
found that both mother and daughter were Calvinistic-Methodists. After a
little further discourse I got up and gave the old woman twopence for the
milk; she accepted it, but with great reluctance. I inquired whether by
following the road I could get to the Pen y bryn or the top of the hill.
They shook their heads, and the young woman said that I could not, as the
road presently took a turn and went down. I asked her how I could get to
the top of the hill. “Which part of the top?” said she. “I’r goruchaf,”
I replied. “That must be where the barber’s pole stands,” said she.
“Why does the barber’s pole stand there?” said I. “A barber was hanged
there a long time ago,” said she, “and the pole was placed to show the
spot.” “Why was he hanged?” said I. “For murdering his wife,” said she.
I asked her some questions about the murder, but the only information she
could give me was, that it was a very bad murder and occurred a long time
ago. I had observed the pole from our garden, at Llangollen, but had
concluded that it was a common flagstaff. I inquired the way to it. It
was not visible from the cottage, but they gave me directions how to
reach it. I bade them farewell, and in about a quarter of an hour
reached the pole on the top of the hill. I imagined that I should have a
glorious view of the vale of Llangollen from the spot where it stood; the
view, however, did not answer my expectations. I returned to Llangollen
by nearly the same way by which I had come.
The remainder of the day I spent entirely with my family, whom at their
particular request I took in the evening to see Plas Newydd, once the
villa of the two ladies of Llangollen. It lies on the farther side of
the bridge, at a little distance from the back part of the church. There
is a thoroughfare through the grounds, which are not extensive. Plas
Newydd or the New Place is a small gloomy mansion, with a curious dairy
on the right-hand side, as you go up to it, and a remarkable stone pump.
An old man whom we met in the grounds, and with whom I entered into
conversation, said that he remembered the building of the house, and that
the place where it now stands was called before its erection Pen y maes,
or the head of the field.