MANORBERE CASTLE: AND GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS.
Through the courtesy of a hospitable friend, we now shift our moorings
from Tenby's tourist-haunted streets, to the quiet precincts of
Manorbere Castle. Within those time-honoured walls the charm of modern
hospitality is enhanced by contrast with its mediæval background.
Quitting the train at the little wayside station, a quarter of an hour's
pleasant drive through deep lanes fringed with hartstongue fern, and gay
with 'floureis white and blewe, yellow and rede,' gives us our first
glimpse of the stately old pile. Crowning a low, isolated hill, the
castle stands out 'four square to all the winds of heaven' against a
silvery expanse of the distant ocean; for, as old Leland says: 'This
place is not in the Hyeway, but standith neere the shore of the Severn
Se.'
[Illustration: MANORBERE CASTLE FROM THE EAST.]
A country lad opens a gate giving access to a rough meadow, flanked by
the remains of barbican walls and ruined bastions; traversing which we
presently draw rein before the broad, landward front of the castle.
Crossing the grim but inoffensive drawbridge, our friend explains the
ingenious device by which, in the 'good old times,' an intruder must
perforce 'turn turtle' upon a sort of human beetle-trap. Overhead are
seen the openings whence the garrison might pour down 'something
lingering and humorous, with molten lead in it,' by way of warm welcome
to the foe.
Passing beneath the ivy-mantled gate-tower, we emerge upon the spacious
greensward of the inner court, which is enclosed on every hand by hoary
walls and turrets, whose weather-beaten ruins tell of heavy treatment at
the hand of Father Time.
[Illustration: MANORBERE CASTLE.]
For it is a notable fact in the history of Manorbere Castle, and one in
which we are indebted for its relative state of preservation, that,
unlike its great neighbours of Pembroke and Carew, it has never
withstood a siege. Moreover, having ceased to be inhabited at a very
early period, this castle has preserved unaltered the salient features
of its construction. The architecture is very simple and massive, being
indeed almost entirely devoid of ornament. Some of the apartments retain
the plain, pointed stone vault, devoid of ribs, so frequently met with
in South Wallian castles; while several of those circular chimneys,
peculiar to the locality, rise above the crumbling battlements.
Continuing our stroll around the inner court we observe, hard by the
great gateway, the warders' room, with its narrow window commanding the
entrance. Behind it rises the huge, circular 'Bull' Tower; a massive
structure honeycombed with quaint little chambers approached by a
winding stone stair, and connected with the gate-tower by a narrow
passage in the thickness of the walls. Along the eastern side of the
court extends a long range of apartments, which constitute the modern
residence. These were resuscitated by Mr. J. R. Cobb, a former
occupant, who restored the castle in so admirable and conscientious a
manner, that the modern additions in no wise detract from their
venerable surroundings. Farther away in the same direction lie the
ruined kitchens, with their huge projecting chimneys, and ovens of such
capacity that, as tradition avers, the lord of the domain was wont to
regale his guests upon oxen roasted whole!
[Illustration: MANORBERE CASTLE.]
Traversing the sunny castle-garth, we pass a circular receptacle formed
in the ground for melting the lead aforesaid. Close at hand is a deep
draw-well, half full of water. Some twenty feet down this well is a
blocked-up archway which was opened years ago by old 'Billy,' the local
factotum, who discovered dark, subterranean passages running hence
beneath the adjacent ruins. Here he stumbled against casks and kegs left
behind by the smuggler folk, who in former days carried on their illicit
traffic around the neighbouring coast. At the same time, as a 'blind'
for the Excise officers, they carried on a traffic in grain, which was
stored for the purpose in large barns outside the castle.
At the farther end of the courtyard rise the picturesque walls and
arches of a lofty group of buildings, containing the banqueting-hall and
chapel. This appears to have been the handsomest part of the castle; and
the great hall, with its broad flight of stone steps and stately range
of pointed windows overlooking the sea, must indeed have been a noble
apartment. Beneath it, in grim contrast, lurks a series of dark,
windowless dungeons.
Entering the chapel by a flight of ruinous steps fringed with sprays of
spleenwort fern, we explore its dimly-lighted recesses, and discern
traces of half obliterated colour decoration. Clambering by a narrow
stone stairway to the grass-grown roof, we awaken the resentful clamour
of a colony of jackdaws; anon we peer into the tiny chamber for the
priest, and dive into the gloomy crypt, with its low-vaulted roof and
fireplace improvised from a desecrated tomb.
[Illustration: MANORBERE CASTLE.]
Then out once more into the castle garth, to follow the loopholed wall.
This terminates in the many-sided Pembroke Tower, which, bowered in
climbing plants, boasts a certain diminutive chamber wherein, as the
local tradition runs, Giraldus Cambrensis, the famous Welsh historian,
was born. Thence ensues another stretch of lofty wall, backed by a
series of curious flying buttresses: and our peregrination is completed
beneath the hoary, lichen-clad stonework of the great tower beside the
entrance gateway. This is the oldest part of the castle, and (with
apologies to the local tradition) probably the only portion of it that
dates as far back as the days of the worthy Giraldus.
The water-gate, set deep in the seaward wall, is flanked by a huge mass
of stonework which still bears traces of the smugglers' ineffectual
efforts to dislodge it. Following a rough track that winds down the
rocky slope, we stroll onward beside a pretty rill of water
meandering, amidst bullrushes and marsh marigolds, to the moss-grown
wheel of the castle mill. Here we linger upon the rustic foot-bridge to
enjoy a charming retrospect. The gray walls of the grim old castle,
crowning the low, steep hill we have just descended, are reflected in
the placid stream at our feet. A group of low-roofed cottages, and the
mill with its plashing wheel, nestle in the valley beneath; while the
towers and gables of the quaint old parish church peep from a rival hill
that fronts the sea.
The western flank of the castle looks down upon a weed-grown marsh,
occupying the site of a lake that formerly protected it upon that side.
Beside the marsh stands a picturesque old stone pigeon-house, smothered
in ivy and golden lichens; beyond which extends a secluded vale shaded
by oak, ash and holly, that formed part of the ancient park or chase of
Manorbere. The whole scene has a quiet beauty of its own very pleasant
to contemplate.
Meanwhile, after tackling this fascinating bit, we roam across the
wind-blown sandhills, where a derelict boat, lying high and dry above
high-water mark, offers a convenient resting-place for the noontide
_siesta_. Stretching our limbs upon the warm, dry sand, and gazing
dreamily across the deep-blue line of the bay, we call to mind a certain
glowing description of the Manorbere of seven long centuries ago. Gerald
de Barri, the author of this panegyric (better known as Giraldus
Cambrensis), can scarce find words to express his admiration for the
home of his boyhood.
'The castle called Maenor Pyrr,' says Gerald, 'is excellently defended
by towers and outworks, and is situated on the summit of a hill
extending on the western side towards the seaport; having on the
northern and southern sides a fine fish-pond under the walls, as
conspicuous for its grand appearance as for the depth of its water; and
a beautiful orchard on the same side enclosed on one part by a vineyard,
and on the other by a wood remarkable for the projection of its rocks
and the height of its hazel-trees. To the right of the promontory,
between the castle and the church, near the site of a very large lake
and mill, a rivulet of never-failing water flows through a valley
rendered sandy by the violence of the winds.'
The same enthusiastic writer also portrays for us the main features of
the circumjacent country: 'Towards the west the Severn Sea, bending its
course to Ireland, enters a hollow bay at some distance from the castle;
and the southern rocks, if more extended towards the north, would render
it an admirable harbour for shipping. From this point you may see almost
all the ships from greater Britain, which the east wind drives towards
Ireland. The land is well supplied with corn, sea-fish and wines,
purchased abroad; and--what is of more importance--from its
neighbourhood to Ireland it enjoys a mild climate.
'Dimetia therefore, with its seven _cantrefs_, is the most beautiful, as
well as the most powerful district in Wales; Pembroch the finest part of
the province of Dimetia; and the place I have just described the most
beautiful part of Pembroch. It is evident, therefore, that Maenor Pyrr
is the Paradise of all Wales!'
Born at Manorbere Castle in the year 1146, Gerald de Barri was the
youngest son of William de Barri, Lord of Manorbere; grandson of Gerald
de Windsor, Governor of Pembroke Castle; and nephew of David
Fitz-Gerald, Bishop of St. Davids, from whom he received his early
education; while upon the maternal side Gerald was descended from Rhys
ap Tydwr, one of the princes of Wales. The career of one thus born, so
to speak, in the purple, was from the outset pretty well assured. Thus
we find the worthy Gerald promoted from the living of Tenby to a fat
canonry at Hereford Cathedral; and presently the snug archdeaconry of
St. Davids falls to his lot.
About this time, Gerald joined with Archbishop Baldwin to preach the
Crusade throughout South Wales; when he kept a diary of his proceedings
which has proved of no little entertainment to after-comers.
During his long and eventful career Gerald de Barri paid three several
visits to Rome, in order to push his interests at headquarters. He
accompanied Henry II. to France, and was entrusted by that monarch with
the education of his promising son John, of Magna Charta fame. Upon the
death of his uncle the Bishop, Gerald made strenuous efforts to obtain
the coveted appointment of his native see, refusing all other
preferments; but, failing of success, he retired in dudgeon from active
life, and spent the rest of his days in writing those literary 'remains'
that have afforded so much interest to antiquaries.
Gerald de Barri appears to have been a man of studious temperament. He
became, as Lambarde quaintly puts it, 'wel learned and, as tyme served,
eloquent.' He was, moreover, a great writer, and being much given to
disputation, called together the literary _élite_ of Oxford and read his
own works to them. He next proceeded to feast his learned critics into a
satisfactory state of good humour with things in general, and his own
literary effusions in particular; an event which he himself describes as
'a magnificent affair, a return of the Golden Age, an unparalleled
event, in England at all events.'
In person Gerald is portrayed as remarkably tall, his face being
strongly marked by large, shaggy eyebrows; and it has been well said
that, in spite of certain undeniable defects of character, he was
probably inspired with a genuine love for the land of his birth, and a
desire to upraise therein an independent Kymric Church owning
allegiance to the Bishop of St. Davids as its spiritual head.
[Illustration: DE BARRI TOMB, MANORBERE.]
Gerald de Barri was gathered to his fathers, at a ripe old age, in the
year 1220. He is reputed to have been buried in St. Davids Cathedral;
where _at least one_ tomb is pointed out as the last resting-place of
this great ecclesiastic.
Little is recorded of the subsequent history of Manorbere Castle. The
place appears to have been abandoned at an early period; its hanging
woods and vineyards were abandoned to decay, whilst its dismantled walls
and subterranean vaults harboured bands of lawless freebooters, who
haunted these coasts a century ago. Wild work went forward at Manorbere
in those half-forgotten days. It is related how a certain famous
smuggler, notorious for his desperate enterprises, eluded the vigilance
of the revenue men by running his vessel ashore near the headland
ycleped the Priest's Nose; and conveying his illicit cargo, under cover
of night, to the cellars with which the neighbourhood abounded.
Rousing ourselves at length from these cogitations on the sandhills, we
put the best foot foremost and hie away past a spring of pure water
known as the Druid's Well, to the sunny slopes of that selfsame Priest's
Nose. Scrambling warily amidst brakes of prickly furze, we presently
espy a mighty cromlech standing in a nook of the hill, beside the narrow
path. A soft westerly breeze draws in 'gently, very gently from the
sea,' as we perch beside this relic of the immemorial past; wafting the
scent of wild thyme and gorse over warm, crisp turf that shimmers
beneath the lusty summer sunshine. Hence unfolds yet another charming
view of the gray old castle, set amidst a breadth of feathery woodland
that clusters under the lee of the sheltering hill. A turn of the head
reveals the varied line of coast stretching away, league upon league,
past the groves of Stackpole to the bluff, perpendicular landfall of St.
Govan's Head.
Returning to quarters by another route we fetch a wide compass round;
pursuing the path that hugs the shore, which, hereabouts, is indented by
several fissures of very peculiar character. A short distance beyond
the cromlech we encounter the first of these; a chasm so narrow that a
boy might leap across it, yet of imposing depth, with sides as smooth
and perpendicular as any house wall, and floored with the seething
ocean.
[Illustration: The Church Path Manorbere]
A quarter of a mile farther on we strike a little way inland, to
investigate a still more remarkable _lusus naturæ_ of a similar kind.
Here the insidious onslaught of the waves has tunnelled beneath the
intervening cliff, and penetrated far into the land; excavating a dark,
narrow, and profound fissure in the perpendicular strata of the Old Red
sandstone; so that, gazing seaward through the cleft, we can see the
foaming surf sparkling in the sunlight upon the rocks beyond. Thence we
extend our ramble to Castle Head, a rocky point jutting boldly out to
sea, and scarped with the broad, fern-clad furrows of a prehistoric
earthwork. This appears to have been the stronghold of some invader from
over seas; for the protecting banks curve inland, and, sweeping down to
the rocks on either hand, enclose the outer extremity of the headland.
Secured thus against attack upon their landward flank, the occupants
were protected in rear by the broad expanse of the 'inviolate ocean,'
whose restless billows, surging far below, mingle their music in wild
harmony with the harsh cries of countless sea-fowl.
[Illustration: MANORBERE CHURCH.]
Breasting the rough ascent, we now march across the upland meadows of
Parson's Piece; making in a 'bee-line' for Manorbere Church, whose slim
gray tower peers over an intervening bank. Perched high aloft upon a
bleak hillside, across whose treeless heights 'breathes the shrill
spirit of the western wind,' this venerable fabric rises in lonely
isolation, and confronts in peaceful rivalry the towers and battlements
of the grim old fortalice that crowns the opposite hill.
For quaint picturesqueness, and the singular grouping of its various
parts, this curious old church stands unrivalled, even in this land of
remarkable churches, combining as it does almost every feature
characteristic of such buildings throughout the locality. Originally in
all probability a cruciform structure, the church has apparently been
added to at various times in a capricious fashion; so that the exterior
now presents the quaintest imaginable variety of walls, windows and
gables; all jumbled together in seemingly haphazard fashion, and falling
into fantastic groups, as may be seen from the adjoining sketch.
It will be noticed that one of the gables is surmounted by the original
bell-cot, which probably existed prior to the erection of the tower; the
latter rises above a medley of roofs upon the northern side of the
chancel, and contains a bell inscribed with the legend: EXALTEMUS NOMEN
DOMINI, 1639.
Passing around to the south porch, we enter a low nave arched over with
a slightly-pointed, stone-vaulted ceiling. Strange, low,
rudely-fashioned arches, entirely disdaining the support of pillars,
rise sheer from the level of the floor upon either hand, giving access
to the narrow aisles behind. These arches are, unfortunately, so
enveloped in the general coating of whitewash, that it is impossible now
to discover whether they were originally built as arches, proper, or are
merely openings cut through the walls when the aisles were added to the
nave. A little window of early type opens above one of these arches; the
sole survivor of some old windows that existed previous to the building
of the aisles.
Short, tunnel-like transepts open out on either hand, the one towards
the north having a low ceiling, crossed by the curious arched ribs
seen in our sketch above. The gangway that formerly gave access to the
rood-loft now leads, in a queer, tortuous course, from the north aisle
across the adjacent transept to the tower, which is entered by a door
high aloft in the wall.
To the right a 'squint' passage opens skew-wise into the chancel, where,
beneath a plain arched recess, lies the recumbent stone effigy of a
Crusader clad in chain mail, having his legs crossed at the knees and
sword and shield, charged with the arms of De Barri, beside him. This
monument commemorates one of the ancient lords of Manorbere, who 'came
over with the Conqueror,' and shared with Fitz-Hamon and his knights in
the partition of these lands.
The handsome traceried screen that stretches athwart the narrow chancel
arch was erected about five-and-twenty years ago, when a vigorous effort
was made to arrest the deplorable condition of ruin and decay, to which
time and neglect had reduced this interesting church.
A few ivy-mantled fragments of an ancient structure that formerly served
as the parish school, are supposed to be the remains of a chantry
founded by the De Barri who lies buried in the church.
We now stroll leisurely homeward through the gloaming, while the slender
young moon peers over the shoulder of a neighbouring hill. As we
approach the castle, its shadowy front looms darkly silhouetted upon a
daffodil and emerald sky; while the zenith is still suffused with
translucent rosy light, and the pale stars peep one by one as the
daylight slowly wanes. Now the little flittermice awake once more to
life, and flicker to and fro with wavering flight; while a colony of
chattering jackdaws discusses the day's events upon the ruined
battlements. Yonder, like a thief of the night, a great white owl steals
silently by, soft as a drift of thistledown, yet keen as fate to 'spot'
the errant mouse, roaming in search of a meal too far from home.
Thus we recross the drawbridge to the hospitable abode, whose latticed
windows emit a heartsome ray of light that seems a lode-star to the
wayfarers. Pretty tired after our long day's ramble, we clamber up the
corkscrew stair to a certain turret chamber, where, in next to no time,
we lose ourselves in the drowsy arms of Morpheus.
The busy man, hard pressed by the _Sturm und Drang_ of city life, may
find at Manorbere recreation in the truest sense; and should he be
blessed with a congenial hobby, he may entertain himself in this
secluded spot to his heart's content.
To the lover of Nature the place offers many attractions. In the course
of rambles around the varied coast-line, or amidst the hills and dales
of the inland country, the wanderer with a turn that way may study the
mellow lichen-clad rocks of the Old Red sandstone; and will not fail to
notice their well-defined junction at Skrinkle Haven with the limestone
formation, which reappears across the Sound in the cave-worn crags of
Caldey. Or, again, he may note how the salmon-red ploughlands of the
Ridgeway attest the presence of the older rocks, as they rise from the
superincumbent stratum of the mountain limestone.
These conditions afford, within a limited compass, a great diversity of
soil and situation; providing a congenial habitat to many varieties of
ferns and wild-flowers. The botanist will look for prizes amongst the
rich pastures of the Vale of St. Florence, the woodland paths around St.
Issells, and the lush marshlands of Penally; while the sandy burrows of
Tenby, Lydstep and Castle Martin, and even the crumbling ruins of some
castle or ancient priory, will yield their tale of treasure for the
vasculum.
Indeed, wander whither he may, the lover of Nature will find a wealth of
beauty on every hand. Let him clamber amidst the tumbled boulders, where
the samphire thrives on the salt sea spray; and explore the rock-pools
left by the receding tide, whose weed-fringed depths are tenanted by
plump sea-urchins, nestling sociably among zoophytes, sponges, and
delicate 'lady's-fingers.' Or he may choose to wander along the sands of
Saundersfoot and Tenby, where haply he may light upon rare shells of
many a dainty hue; while queer little crabs scuttle hither and thither
amidst the stranded starfish, and other derelict flotsam and jetsam left
behind by the receding tide.
And as the changing seasons cast their ever-varying charm upon land and
sea, the artist in search of 'fresh woods and pastures new' will find,
in this unfrequented country, endless subjects ready to his hand worthy
the brush of a Brett, or an Alfred Parsons. Perchance he will set up his
easel where the ruddy sandstone cliffs, soaring in weather-stained crags
above broad sweeps of untrodden sand, are crowned with a diadem of
golden gorse; while a breadth of sunlit sea stretching away to the
horizon will serve as an excellent background. Or haply he may plant his
white umbrella in some secluded nook, where a picturesque old cottage,
with mighty, bulging chimney and moss-grown roofs, nestles beneath a
group of wind-swept ash trees; the softly folding landscape lines
showing faintly beyond.
Many a beauty-spot such as this gladdens the wayfarer as he roams
through the byways of this pleasant land; and the landscape-painter may
easily 'go farther and fare worse,' than by spending a season in
Pembrokeshire.
[Illustration]