WELSHPOOL
Montgomery--Offa’s Dyke--The castle--George Herbert--The church and
its screen--The “Robber’s Grave”--Story of John Newton--Situation
of Welshpool--The Severn Valley--Buttington--Parish church of
Welshpool--Cottage of Grace Evans--Escape of Lord Nithsdale from the
Tower--Powysland Museum--Castell Coch--Cadwgan ab Bleddyn--Iorwerth
ab Bleddyn--Ghost story--Guilsfield--The church--Old yews--Holy
wells--Meifod--Charles Lloyd--S. Tyssilio--His story--His cook and the
conger--Mathrafal--Meifod Church--Lake Vyrnwy--Anne Griffiths--The
spirit-stone--The wishing-stone.
THE luckless town of Montgomery has taken a back seat. The railway runs
at a distance of two miles from it, and it is uncertain whether at the
station a visitor will find a conveyance to take him to it. And at that
station there is no hotel at which a trap can be hired. A bus does, I
believe, make an occasional trip to it, but as it only now and then
finds anyone there wanting to go to Montgomery it is discouraged and
reluctant to go again.
Montgomery is out of the question as a centre, but it would be a
delightful corner into which to creep from the swirl of business, curl
up, and go to sleep.
The active, vigorous life of the county has been drawn away to Newtown
and to Welshpool, and the condition of Montgomery, to all appearances,
is hopeless, unless the line be continued from Minsterley, in which
case it will be put into direct communication with Shrewsbury. It lies
very close to the English frontier, and Offa’s Dyke runs along the edge
of Long Mountains, and through Lymore, close to it, and that was the
boundary set in the eighth century, beyond which no Welshman was to
pass. It is a pity it was not to be a line of demarcation which every
Norman-English ruffian was forbidden to transgress.
Curiously enough, when Offa, king of Mercia, drew this line he did
not appreciate the importance of Montgomery, and so left it to the
Welsh; but the Normans perceived the advantages of such a position in
a moment, seized it, and constructed a formidable castle therein. The
ridge on which the castle stands dominated the country round and must
have had an oppidum on it, or camp of refuge, from the earliest time.
Whether the earthworks to the west of the ruins belong to a prehistoric
camp, or to the structure built by Baldwin de Bollers in 1121, is
uncertain; they go by the name of Ffridd Faldwyn, bear his name, but
have the look of having been old when he was born. The castle had been
accorded before him by the Conqueror to Earl Roger de Montgomeri. It
has undergone siege after siege, has changed hands, been demolished and
rebuilt, and was finally destroyed by the Roundheads after the siege in
1644, when it had been held for the King by Lord Herbert.
The ridge rises steeply from the town clothed in woods; the ruins
themselves are inconsiderable. In this castle, not then in ruins,
according to Izaak Walton, was born the saintly George Herbert, in
1593. He was the fifth son of Richard Herbert, a younger brother of
the celebrated Lord Herbert of Cherbury. In his fourth year his father
died, so that, with his brothers and sisters, he was left under the
sole charge of that excellent woman his mother, who subsequently
married Sir John Danvers. He grew up to be a good scholar, and became
an attendant at court, in expectation of preferment. But at length,
weary of such dancing attendance on court favour, he retired into
Kent, “where,” says his biographer, “he lived very privately. In this
time he had many conflicts with himself, whether he should return to
the painted pleasures of a Court life or betake himself to a study of
divinity and enter into sacred orders, to which his dear mother had
often persuaded him. At last God inclined him to put on a resolution to
serve at His altar.” He was offered the prebend of Layton Ecclesia, in
the diocese of Lincoln, whilst still a layman.
In 1628 he married Jane, daughter of Mr. Charles Danvers, a near
relative of his stepfather.
“Mr. Danvers having known him long and familiarly did so much affect
him that he often declared a desire that Mr. Herbert would marry any
of his nine daughters, but rather his daughter Jane, because Jane was
his beloved daughter. Mr. Danvers had so much commended Mr. Herbert to
her, that Jane became so much a Platonick as to fall in love with Mr.
Herbert unseen. This was a fair preparation for a marriage; but, alas!
her father dyed before Mr. Herbert’s retirement; yet some friends to
both parties procured their meeting, at which time a mutual affection
entered both their hearts, and love having got such possession
governed, insomuch that she changed her name into Herbert the third
day after this first interview.”
[Illustration: CHURCH, MONTGOMERY]
A few months after the marriage, the Earl of Pembroke obtained for him
from the King the living of Bemerton, whilst he was still in deacon’s
orders, but he was speedily ordained priest.
“When, at his induction he was shut into Bemerton Church, being left
there to toll the bell, as the law requires him, he staid so much
longer than an ordinary time before he returned to his friends, that
staid expecting him at the church door, that his friend Mr. Woodnot
looked in at the church window, and saw him lie prostrate on the
ground before the altar; at which time and place (as he after told Mr.
Woodnot) he set rules to himself for the future manage of his life;
and then and there made a vow to labour to keep them.”
He died of consumption in 1632, aged 39.
It is remarkable that Wales should have given to England two of her
sweetest sacred singers, George Herbert and Henry Vaughan.
The church of Montgomery, an interesting building with Early English
arcade, is cruciform with a modern tower at the extremity of the
northern transept. It possesses a superb carved-oak screen with
rood-loft and good stalls, but the quaint misereres have been badly
mutilated. The church contains a good deal of Early English work, but
the east and west windows are Perpendicular.
In the graveyard, in a remote corner, is “The Robber’s Grave,” a bare
space even with the surrounding ground, and it remains bare, although
the grass grows luxuriantly about it.
Fresh soil has been frequently spread over it, and seeds of various
kinds have been sown, but not a blade for many years was known to
spring there--the soil remained sterile. Until recently the bare patch
was of the size and shape of a coffin, but of late the surrounding
grass has somewhat encroached; nevertheless the coffin-shape remains.
The date of the grave is 1821.
The story relating to it is this. A widow named Morris and her
daughter occupied a farm called Oakfield in the parish. The farmer,
James Morris, had been a dissipated, neglectful man, and had left his
wife and child in distressed circumstances. The little estate had
formerly belonged to a yeoman farmer named Pearce, and Thomas, who now
represented this family, hoped with his savings to be able, when the
Morrises were down, to recover Oakfield.
Jane Morris, the daughter, was a comely wench, and a farmer of the
neighbourhood named Robert Parker had taken a fancy to her, but as
he was much her senior, she did not receive his addresses cordially.
Shortly before the death of James Morris, a young man named John Newton
had been taken into service at Oakfield. He was a shy, reserved man,
but honest and hardworking, and with his energetic help the widow’s
affairs began to mend, and the prospect of a sale of the property
became remote. Moreover, Jane and John Newton fell in love with each
other, and the mother considered that the match would be altogether
what was best for the farm. Both Parker and Pearce were incensed and
disappointed, and determined upon being revenged on John Newton.
An opportunity for accomplishing this purpose occurred. Newton had
been attending a fair in the neighbourhood, and had been detained by
business to a late hour. He did not leave till six in the evening,
and the night was one in November. At some little distance from the
town Pearce and Parker awaited him, and after a struggle overmastered
him, brought him back into the town, and took him before a magistrate,
charging him with an attempt to rob them on the highway. Newton was
committed and tried.
At the assizes he employed no counsel for his defence, did not
cross-question the witnesses, but contented himself with solemnly
protesting his innocence. However, the testimony of the two men
Pearce and Parker was clear, positive, and unshaken. They were men of
respectability and repute, and he was pronounced “Guilty.”
When Newton was asked if he had anything to say why sentence of death
should not be pronounced upon him, he repeated his assertion that
he was guiltless. “But, my lord,” he said, “if it be true that I am
guiltless in this matter, I am not so in another with which I am not
charged, and of which none know but myself. And I ask of Almighty God
to bear testimony to my innocence of the crime wherewith I am charged,
by not suffering the grass, for one generation at least, to cover my
grave.”
Newton was executed and buried in this corner of the churchyard, and
his grave is the blank spot spoken of.
Parker soon after left the neighbourhood, became a dissolute and
drinking man, and was killed by the blasting of the rock in the
limeworks in which he had found employment. Pearce became low,
dissipated, and gradually wasted away.
Curiously enough, the English county border of Shropshire does not
follow Offa’s Dyke south of Montgomery, but stretches inwards a mile
and three-quarters in length, forming a tongue half a mile across.
A chain of camps extends north and south from Montgomery above the
Severn Valley.
The towns where there is real activity in Montgomeryshire are Welshpool
and Newtown.
Welshpool is a pleasantly situated little place among the hills, about
half a mile from the Severn. It takes its name from the Llyndu, in
the park of Powis Castle; but the Welsh name for it is Trallwng, or
Trallwm, “across the vortex”--that is to say, the llyn, which tradition
says will some day burst its bounds and overwhelm the town.
On the west are the wooded slopes of Bron y Buckley and Gungrog. The
little stream that waters the town is the Lledau.
The Severn for some miles above and below Welshpool flows through a
broad valley that is a dead level, and stretches to the bases of two
ranges of flanking hills which start abruptly from the broad expanse
of river flat. That beyond the river is the Long Mynd and then comes
the Breidden. This stretch of level is caused by the overflow of
the Severn, which floods it all at times, giving to the basin the
appearance of a tidal estuary.
North-east of Welshpool is the quaintly shaped Rallt, with the steep
side towards the Severn, and dividing that valley from the basin in
which stands Guilsfield.
Below the town by Buttington was the scene of a complete overthrow
of the Danes by the allied English and Welsh forces, in 894, under
Ethelred, Ethelm, and Ethelnoth, eorldermen, whilst King Alfred was
engaged in fighting another body of them in Devon. The Danes had
formed a camp near the river on low ground, and the Anglo-Welsh army
surrounded it. The Danes were in such distress that they ate their
horses. Then they burst forth from their camp and fought desperately.
Several thanes were slain, “and of the Danishmen was made great
slaughter.”
The parish church of Welshpool stands on high ground, and was built
about the year 1275. But very little remains of the original church;
the lower stages of the tower, with its archway into the nave, and an
Early English window in the north gable behind the organ are all. At
the beginning of the sixteenth century the nave was rebuilt, with a
north and a south aisle; but in the eighteenth century the arcade on
the south was removed, and the outer walls rebuilt.
This gives to the church a lop-sided appearance internally, as the
chancel arch is thrown on one side of the unusually broad nave. The
fine rood-screen was destroyed in or about 1738, when the parishioners
appealed to the bishop for permission to remove it, because “a great
number of the very common sorte of people sit in it (under pretence
of psalm-singing), who run up and down there; some of them spitting
upon the people’s heads below.” Hanoverian windows and galleries were
added, and the church made as ugly as well could be. It has, however,
been taken in hand since, and made more decent. It still retains a
fine carved-oak roof in the chancel, supposed to have come from Strata
Marcella Abbey.
The key of the church--in Wales nearly every church is kept locked--is
kept at a picturesque little black and white cottage at the east
end, in which once lived Grace Evans, who assisted Lady Nithsdale, a
daughter of the Duke of Powis, in effecting her husband’s escape from
the Tower of London.
Lady Nithsdale wrote an account of the whole affair to her sister, and
in it she always speaks of the humble Welsh girl Grace as “My dear
Evans.”
William Maxwell, fifth Earl of Nithsdale, had been involved in the
Jacobite cause, was taken prisoner, and committed to the Tower. “As
a Roman Catholic upon the frontiers of Scotland, who headed a very
considerable party, a man whose family had signalised itself by
its loyalty to the royal house of Stuart would become an agreeable
sacrifice to the opposite party,” wrote Lady Nithsdale.
But one day was left before the execution. She appealed to Parliament
for permission to intercede with the King for a pardon, and this was
granted. She flew to the Tower, and “I told the guards as I passed by
that the petition had passed the House--I gave them some money to
drink to the Lords and to His Majesty.”
But she had doubts that a pardon would be granted.
“I then sent for Mrs. Mills, with whom I lodged, and acquainted
her with my design of attempting my lord’s escape, as there was no
prospect of his being pardoned, and that this was the last night
before the execution. I told her that I had everything in readiness,
and that I trusted she would not refuse to accompany me, that my
lord might pass for her. At the same time I sent to Mrs. Morgan, to
whose acquaintance my dear Evans had introduced me, and I immediately
communicated my resolutions to her. She was of a very tall slender
make, so I begged her to put under her own riding-hood one that I had
prepared for Mrs. Mills, as she was to lend hers to my lord, that
in coming out he might be taken for her. When we were in the coach,
I never ceased talking, that they might have no leisure to reflect.
On our arrival at the Tower, the first that I introduced was Mrs.
Morgan (for I was only allowed to take in one at a time). She brought
in the clothes that were to cover Mrs. Mills when she left her own
behind her. When Mrs. Morgan had taken off what she had brought for
the purpose, I conducted her back to the staircase, and, in going, I
begged her to send me my maid to dress me; that I was afraid of being
too late to present my last petition that night if she did not come
immediately. I despatched her safe, and went downstairs to meet Mrs.
Mills, who had the precaution to hold her handkerchief to her face,
as is natural for a woman to do when she is going to take her last
farewell of a friend on the eve of his execution. Her eyebrows were
inclined to be sandy, my lord’s were very dark and thick; however, I
had prepared some paint of the colour of hers to disguise his with;
I also brought an artificial head-dress (wig) of the same coloured
hair as hers; and I painted his face with white, and his cheeks with
rouge, to hide his beard, which he had not time to shave. The guards,
whom my slight liberality the day before had endeared me to, let me
go quietly out with my companion, and were not so strictly on the
watch as they had been. I made Mrs. Mills take off her own hood, and
put on that which I had brought for her; I then took her by the hand,
and led her out of my lord’s chamber, and in passing through the next
room, in which were several people, I said, ‘My dear Mrs. Catherine,
go in all haste, and send me my waiting-maid. I am to present my
petition to-night, and if I let slip this opportunity I am undone,
for to-morrow will be too late.’ Everybody in the room, chiefly the
guards’ wives and daughters, seemed to compassionate me exceedingly,
and the sentinel officiously opened me the door. When I had seen her
safe out, I returned to my lord, and finished dressing him. When I had
almost finished dressing my lord in all my petticoats except one, I
perceived it was growing dark, and was afraid that the light of the
candles might betray us, so I resolved to set off. I went out leading
him by the hand, whilst he held his handkerchief to his eyes. I spoke
to him in the most piteous tone of voice, bewailing the negligence
of Evans, who had ruined me by her delay. Then I said, ‘My dear Mrs.
Betty, for the love of God, run quickly and bring her with you; I am
distracted with this disappointment.’ The guards opened the door, and
I went downstairs with him, still conjuring him to make all possible
despatch. At the bottom of the stairs I met my dear Evans, into whose
hands I confided him.”
Grace Evans managed a place of concealment for Lord Nithsdale till he
could be smuggled to the Venetian ambassador’s, and thence to Dover,
dressed as a lacquey, behind the ambassador’s coach and six. There he
was put on board a boat and conveyed to Calais.
The Powysland Museum deserves a visit. It contains many objects
connected with local history and antiquities, among others a bronze
bell of Celtic character from Llangystennin Church, Roman remains from
Caersws, and mediæval from Strata Marcella.
But the chief object of interest in the district is Castell Coch, the
Red Castle of Powys.
This stands boldly out on a rock that has been hewn into terraces. It
is a stately Elizabethan mansion, but underwent injudicious handling
by Sir Robert Smirke, the architect, at a period when the true
characteristics of mediæval architecture and that of the Tudor period
were not grasped. The walls are older than the Elizabethan period, when
it was remodelled. It contains much that is worth seeing--tapestries,
old furniture, and paintings.
James II. raised William Lord Powis to a dukedom after his flight
from England in 1689. The second Duke of Powis was implicated in the
rebellion of 1715, and was sent to the Tower. The dukedom became
extinct in 1748.
Cadwgan ab Bleddyn, prince of Powys, began to build a castle here in
1110. He and his brothers Madog and Rhirid ruled in the three portions
of Powys. Filled with ambition, they combined to attack South Wales,
and drove away King Rhys, who fled to Ireland, but returned, and in a
battle with the sons of Bleddyn the brothers of Cadwgan were killed. He
had, however, two more--Iorwerth and Meredydd.
In 1102 Robert de Belesme, Earl of Shrewsbury, rebelled against Henry
I., and induced Cadwgan and his brothers to make common cause with him.
King Henry, however, opened secret communications with Iorwerth, and
by large promises bribed him to arrest and deliver over his brother
Meredydd to him. Iorwerth did this, but when he appealed to Henry for
his stipulated reward the King contemptuously refused to ratify his
engagement, and had Iorwerth seized and imprisoned.
In 1103 Meredydd found means of escaping, and returned to Wales. Then
ensued the troubles with Owen, son of Cadwgan, who carried off Nest,
wife of Gerald of Windsor, as has been related elsewhere.
The wily Bishop of Hereford entered into negotiations with Ithel
and Madog, sons of the deceased Rhirid, and nephews of Cadwgan and
Iorwerth, to stir up civil war in Powys and Ceredigion.
Iorwerth had by this time also left his prison, and had returned to
Powys, and from Mathrafal issued a proclamation against these turbulent
princes. But Madog, hearing that his uncle Iorwerth was at Caereinion,
near Welshpool, with few attendants, stealthily surrounded the building
and set fire to it. Iorwerth attempted to escape from the flames, but
was thrust back into them by the spears of his nephew’s followers, and
perished.
Not long after, Cadwgan was looking at the works in progress at Castell
Coch, when Madog, with his attendants, crept through the woods, fell on
him, and murdered him also.
[Illustration: POWIS CASTLE]
In reward for having done to death his two uncles Henry I. received him
favourably, and invested him with lands and paid him a large sum of
money. But Meredydd, another uncle, remained, and in 1111 he entered
the lands of his nephew Madog, discovered his whereabouts by torturing
one of his servants, captured him, and handed him over to Owen, son of
Cadwgan, who put out his eyes.
Owen would have killed him but that he and Madog had previously sworn
friendship and fidelity to each other.
A rather curious ghost story attaches to Powis Castle. It occurs in
the autobiography of the grandfather of the late Mr. Thomas Wright, a
well-known antiquary. It was told to Mr. Wright in 1780 by Mr. John
Hampson, a Methodist preacher.
Mr. Hampson, having heard rumours that a poor unmarried woman who had
attended on his ministry had conversed with a spirit, sent for her and
took down her deposition. It was to this effect. She was accustomed to
get her livelihood by spinning hemp and flax, and she was wont to go
from farm to farm to inquire for work, and whilst employed was given
meat, drink, and lodging.
One day she called at Castell Coch for this purpose, and was received
by the steward and his wife, who set before her a heap of material that
would occupy her some days to spin.
The earl and family were at that time away in London.
When bed-time arrived two or three of the servants, each with a lighted
candle, conducted the woman to her bedroom, which was on the ground
floor, and handsomely furnished. They gave her a good fire, and left a
candle alight on the table, and then wished her good night.
She was somewhat surprised at so many servants attending her, as also
at being accorded so grand a room. Before retiring to bed, she pulled
out of her pocket a Welsh Bible, and began to read a chapter. Whilst
thus engaged she heard the room door open, and turning her head, saw
a gentleman enter in a gold-laced hat and waistcoat; he walked to one
of the windows, and resting his elbow on the sill, stood in a leaning
posture with his head in his palm.
Not knowing what to make of this, she watched the apparition for some
time, and then kneeling said her prayers. Presently the figure turned
and left the room.
After the lapse of a short time, he again appeared and walked across
the room. Then the woman said, “Pray, sir, who are you, and what do you
want?” He raised his finger and said, “Follow me.” She at once took the
candle and obeyed. He led her through a long panelled passage to the
door of a chamber, which he opened and entered.
“As the room was small, and I believed him to be a spirit,” she said,
“I halted at the door. He turned and said, ‘Walk in; I will not hurt
you.’ So I walked in. He said, ‘Observe what I do.’ I said, ‘I will.’
He stooped and tore up one of the boards of the floor, and there
appeared under it a box with an iron handle in the lid. ‘Do you see
that box?’ I said, ‘Yes, I do.’ He then stepped to one side of the
room and showed me a crevice in the wall, where, said he, a key was
hid that would open it. He said, ‘This box and key must be taken out,
and sent to the Earl in London. Will you see it done?’ I said, ‘I will
do my best to get it done.’ He said, ‘Do, and I will trouble this
house no more.’ He then walked out of the room and left me. I stepped
to the door and set up a shout. The steward and his wife and the other
servants came in to me immediately, all clung together, with a number
of lights in their hands. They asked me what was the matter. I told
them the foregoing circumstances, and showed them the box. The steward
durst not meddle with it, but his wife had more courage, and with the
help of the other servants lugged it out, and found the key.”
The box was afterwards forwarded to the earl in London, and he sent
down orders to his steward to inform the hemp-spinner that he would
provide for her during the rest of her days. And Mr. Hampson said it
was a well-known fact that she had been so provided for, and was still
so at the time she gave him the account.
The country around Welshpool is marvellously rich and is splendidly
timbered, and the black-and-white old mansions and farms nestling
among the foliage are most picturesque. But one wonders, among the
gentlemen’s seats adjoining one another, where is room for farmers and
cottiers to come in?
Guilsfield, or Cegidfa, the Hemlock field, is situated in a basin, rich
and fertile, and on the way to it the delightful timber-and-plaster
house of Old Garth is passed on the right.
The church dedicated to S. Aelhaiarn is Decorated, with a Perpendicular
east window, and a fine carved ceiling in the chancel. The modern
pitch-pine roofing of the nave and aisles is mean and out of character
with the old work, as is also the modern screen, which is not only
coarse in design, but has been carried half-way up the doorway that
gave access to the ancient loft.
In the churchyard are some fine yews. By one is a tombstone with the
inscription:--
“Under this yew tree
Buried would he be,
For his father and he
Planted this yew tree,”
and the monument is to Richard Jones, who died, aged ninety years, on
December 10th, 1707.
The font has on it some curious carving, and in the porch is an oak
chest hewn out of a single trunk.
A holy well a mile and a half distant is in a pretty dingle; it is
frequented on Trinity Sunday, when its water is drunk with sugar, and
is still regarded as possessing curative properties.
A more interesting holy well is at Llanerfyl. Under a grand old yew
tree in the churchyard, said to be the staff of the saint which rooted
itself there, is the only Romano-British inscribed stone in the county.
Some fragments of the saint’s shrine remain.
The well, Pistyll y Cefn, Bedwog, lies in a field a quarter of a mile
distant from the village. It is in fair preservation, built up and
covered with large granite slabs, but the water has been drained away.
Formerly people assembled there on Whit Sunday and Trinity Sunday to
drink sugar and water at the well.
Meifod, in the valley of the Vyrnwy, is also in a fertile
neighbourhood. Above the village rises the mountain called the Hill of
the Anchorite, with a bald head, blushing with heather, and crowned
with ancient earthworks.
Meifod was the summer residence of the kings of Powys, but was given by
Brochwel to his son Tyssilio when he entered religion, and he founded
here an abbey which became important.
His mother was Arddun, daughter of Pabo Post Prydain, whose monument we
have seen in Anglesey. He was great-grandson of Cadell Deyrnllwg, who
founded the dynasty of the kings of Powys after the expulsion of Benlli
by S. Germanus.
The first Abbot of Meifod was Gwyddfarch. Tyssilio found the old man
one day full of the project of going to Rome. But he was too advanced
in age for such a journey, and Tyssilio said to him, “I know what this
journey to Rome means; you want to see the palaces and churches there.
Dream of them instead of going.” Then he took the abbot a long mountain
trudge, till he was thoroughly exhausted and declared that he could go
no further. So Tyssilio bade him lie down on a grassy bank and rest.
And there Gwyddfarch fell asleep.
When he awoke, Tyssilio asked how he could endure a journey to Rome if
such a country stroll tired him. And then the abbot informed him that
he had dreamed of seeing a magnificent city, and that sufficed him.
Some time after this Gwyddfarch died, and Tyssilio succeeded him as
abbot.
On the death of Brochwel this prince was succeeded by a son, who,
however, died two years later without issue. This son’s widow was a
strong and determined character, and after consulting with the chief
men of Powys, resolved on withdrawing Tyssilio from his monastery,
marrying him, and making him king of Powys.
The times were full of peril, and a strong and able man was necessary
for the post. But Tyssilio was not the right person for the occasion;
he hated war, knew nothing of its practice, and, above all, objected to
marrying his deceased brother’s wife, and she such a masterful woman.
So he refused. His sister-in-law took this as a personal affront. She
was incapable of understanding that Tyssilio had a vocation for the
monastic life, could not believe that he was intellectually and morally
unfit for a life of war, and assumed that his refusal was due to
personal dislike of herself. Therefore, as an offended woman, she did
all in her power to injure and annoy the monks of Meifod.
The position of Tyssilio, close to Mathrafal, where the slighted widow
resided, became intolerable. She seized the revenues of the abbey; and
Tyssilio, to free his monks from persecution, fled with a few attached
to his person and left Wales, crossed the sea, and entered the estuary
of the Rance, near where now stands S. Malo. The river forms a broad
estuary of blue glittering water, up which the mighty tides heave
gently, the waves broken and torn by a natural breakwater. Ascending
this river for four miles, he found a point of high land with a long
creek on the north, making of it a narrow peninsula. On this point of
land Tyssilio drew up his boat, and there resolved on settling.
Tyssilio, like a prudent man, had not left Wales without taking his
_chef de cuisine_ with him, and this master of the kitchen, monk though
he was, had an amour with a girl on the opposite side of the Rance. He
was wont, Leander-like, to swim across and visit her. On one occasion
as he was crossing, a monstrous conger eel curled itself about him, and
the poor cook was in dire alarm. He invoked all the saints to come to
his aid--Samson, Malo, his own master Tyssilio--none could deliver him
till he thought on Maglorius of Sark, and called on him for assistance.
At the same moment it occurred to him that he had his knife attached to
his girdle, and unsheathing that, he hacked and sliced at the conger
till it relaxed its hold, and so the poor fellow got across alive, and
vowed he would never again go a-courting.
Whilst Tyssilio was in Brittany, news reached him that his
sister-in-law was dead, and his monks wished him to return to Meifod.
However, he was content to remain where he was, and he declined the
invitation. The name by which he is known in Brittany is Suliau, or
Suliac. His statue is over the high altar of his church on the Rance,
and represents him as a monk in a white habit, a bald head, and holding
his staff. It is a popular belief that as the staff is turned so is
changed the direction of the wind. The old woman who cleans the church
informed me that her husband, a fisherman, was returning, but could
not enter the harbour owing to contrary winds. She turned the crozier
in the hand of the saint, and at once the wind shifted, and the boat
arrived with full sails in the harbour. Tyssilio’s ring is preserved in
the church.
[Illustration: TYSSILIO’S RING AT SAINT-SULIAC]
About three miles up the valley above the junction of the Banw and
Vyrnwy, but on the former, are the mounds that mark the site of
Mathrafal, the former palace of the kings of Powys after they were
driven from Shrewsbury. They form a quadrangle with a tump at one angle
immediately above the river, and there are indications of more extended
earthworks cut through by the road and mostly levelled.
Meifod Church stands in an extensive yard, planted with avenues of
fine trees. It has been much altered by rebuilding, but on the south
side are round-headed arches, very rude, of early Norman work. The
east window of the south aisle is Decorated, but that of the chancel
is Perpendicular. Within the church is a richly carved late Celtic
pillar with figures on it. The screen has been removed; it was late in
character, and is now stuck as a decoration against the wall of the
chancel, and portions are worked into a partition shutting off the
vestry from the church. This vestry occupies the site of the original
church of S. Tyssilio.
Here is buried Madog, eldest son of Meredydd ab Bleddyn, prince of
Powys, from whom is named one of the two divisions of Powys--Powys
Fadog. He is not a man for whom one can feel any respect. He sided
with Henry II. against his own countrymen, and took the command of the
English fleet in the invasion of Anglesey, and was defeated with great
loss. His second wife was Matilda Verdun, an Englishwoman; she had a
temper, and he was of an amorous complexion, and they led a cat-and-dog
life. At last he deserted her. She appealed to the English king, who
ordered each party to appear at Winchester before him, and it was
stipulated that each should have as retinue no more than twenty-four
horses. Madog arrived with his horses and one man on each, but the lady
with twenty-four horses and two men riding on each horse. The result
was that she overbore him, and he was ordered to entail the lordships
of Oswestry upon her and her heirs male, _by whomsoever_ begotten; and
he was thrown into prison, where he was murdered at her instigation.
Thereupon she married John Fitz-Alan, Earl of Arundel, and carried the
lordship of Oswestry to the English house. Madog died in 1161. His body
was transported to Meifod.
Meifod is the parish whence came Charles Lloyd, the founder of Lloyd’s
Bank. He was born in 1637, and was a member of a very ancient family
that was estated at Meifod, and his father was a county magistrate.
Whilst a student at Oxford he took up with the new notions promulgated
by George Fox, and became a Quaker. In 1662 he was arrested and
required to take the oath of allegiance. As he refused, the oppressive
laws against sectaries were enforced against him with the utmost
rigour. For ten years he was detained in prison at Welshpool, his
possessions were placed under præmunire, his cattle sold, and the
family mansion of Dolobran allowed to go to wreck and ruin. He was
confined in “a little smoky room, and did lie upon a little straw
himself for a considerable time.” His wife, who had been tenderly
nurtured, “was made willing to lie upon straw with her dear and tender
husband.”
When released he made over the family property to his son, and removed
to Birmingham, where he became an ironmaster, realised much money, and
founded Lloyd’s Bank.
William Penn is thought to have visited him at Dolobran, and portions
of the panels of oak have been removed as relics and carried to America.
A contemporary thus describes Charles Lloyd:--
“He was a comely man in person, of an amiable countenance, quick of
understanding, of a sound mind, and would not be moved about on any
account to act contrary to his conscience, very merciful and tender,
apt to forgive and forget injuries (even to such as were his enemies),
and did good for evil, hated nothing but Satan, Sin, and Self.”
He died in 1698.
His brother Thomas accompanied William Penn to Pennsylvania; another
brother, John, was the ancestor of that very staunch Churchman, Bishop
Lloyd, of Oxford, who is regarded as the initiator of the Oxford or
Tractarian Movement.
Dolobran is still in the possession of the Lloyd family.
At Llangynyw, in the church, is a screen in position; there is no loft.
The old oak porch is fine.
The adjoining parish is Llanfair Caereinion, the scene of the burning
of Iorwerth by his nephew Madog.
The upper waters of the Vyrnwy have been dammed and converted into a
lake to supply Liverpool with water. Now it fell out that when the dam
was in course of construction there was a stone in the river called
Carreg yr Ysbryd, or the Ghost Rock, and it had to be removed. This was
supposed to cover an evil spirit that had been laid and banned beneath
it. The Welsh labourers engaged on the works would have nothing to
do with shifting the block; but the English navvies had no scruples,
and they blasted the rock, and with crowbars heaved out of place the
fragments that remained.
Then was revealed a cavity with water in it; and, lo! the surface was
agitated, and something rose out of it. The Taffies took to their
heels. Then an old toad emerged, hopped on to a stone, yawned, and
passed its paws over its eyes, as though rousing itself after a long
sleep.
“It’s nobbut a frog,” said the Yorkshire navvies. “It’s Cynon himself,”
retorted the Welshmen. “Look how he gapes and rubs his face. You may
see by that he has been in prison.”
After that, whenever a Taffy was observed to yawn, “Ah, ha!” said his
mates; “clearly you have but recently come out of prison.”
Lake Vyrnwy is nearly four miles long, and is fed not only by the river
that gives its name to the reservoir, but also by many torrents that
dance down the mountain-sides, forming pretty waterfalls. The work of
impounding this sheet of water was commenced in 1881, and the water
was stopped by closing the valves on November 28th, 1888. It has all
the appearance of a natural lake, except from the lower end, where
shows the magnificent dam, 161 feet high, but with 60 feet below of
foundation.
Llanfyllin is the nearest station to Lake Vyrnwy. Near this is
Llanfihangel yn Nghwnfa, where was born and lived one of the sweetest
hymn-composers of Wales, Anne Griffiths. She first saw light at Dolwar
Fechan, a farmhouse in this parish, in 1776, and was the youngest
daughter of Mr. John Thomas, a farmer. She received such education as
was to be obtained in a country school at that period, and acquired a
smattering of English, some arithmetic, and a knowledge of reading and
writing Welsh. She grew up to be a fresh-faced, comely, dark-eyed, and
dark-haired young woman, and was fond of dancing and other innocent
pleasures.
When aged about twenty she joined the Calvinistic Methodist sect, and
thenceforth her life was distinguished for its devotional character
and deep piety. In October, 1804, she married a Thomas Griffiths, of
Cefn-du, Guilsfield, who came to live with her at Dolwar. In July,
1808, she gave birth to a child, that lived but a fortnight, and she
survived it but another fortnight, dying at the age of thirty.
“Thus living and dying in the seclusion and obscurity of a lonely
mountain farmhouse, Anne Griffiths composed some of the sweetest and
most precious hymns in the Welsh language, if not, indeed, in any
language. They are not numerous--all that have been preserved being
only about seventy-five verses--and they are too often marred by
faults of composition and the transgression of the simplest rules
of prosody, yet many of them are so rich in poetic fancy, sublime
imagery, holy sentiment, and seraphic fervour, that they can never be
forgotten so long as hymns are sung in the Welsh language. Mothers
teach their babes to lisp them, and many a pious Christian has been
heard faintly to whisper them in the hour of death.”[6]
None of them were published during her life, and, indeed, it did not
occur to her that they would ever appear in print, or would be esteemed
beyond the circle of her own most intimate friends. She committed
very few of them to writing, but she recited them to Ruth Hughes, a
farm-servant with her, who treasured them in her memory; and they
were taken down from Ruth’s repetition some time after the death of
Anne Griffiths. They were first published at Bala in 1806. They have
recently been translated into English, but they do not bear rendering
out of the Welsh in which they were composed.
In the churchyard of Welshpool is a stone--the Maen Llog. It is
shapeless, and is said formerly to have stood in the abbey of Strata
Marcella, and on it the abbots were installed. After the Dissolution
it was brought to S. Mary’s Church, and those who had to do penance
were required to stand on it in a white sheet with a candle in one
hand. During the Commonwealth the Puritan Vavasour Powell turned it
out of the church, as an object of superstition; but in the graveyard
it continued to be regarded with some respect, and was in request as
a Wishing Stone. Those very ardently desiring something mounted it,
and turning thrice sunways framed their wish; and so, before quitting
Welshpool, I took care to mount it, turned the right way about, and
wished prosperity to this cheerful little town and to its Powysland
Club.