CONWAY.
The town derives its name from Cyn (chief) and Wy (river).
The principal inn is the Castle, which affords every accommodation the traveller can desire. The Wynnes are celebrated here, as in all parts of North Wales. In the interior of the town stands Plas Mawr, which was erected in 1585, and is still a remarkable structure; its founder was Robert Wynne of Gwydir, the uncle of Sir John Wynne the historian. Over the grand entrance is inscribed, in Greek characters, “bear and forbear,” over which in Roman characters, “J. H. S. X. P. S.” (Jesus Hominum Salvator et populi salus). The old college is in Castle Street, and the church is built from the remains of the ancient Cistercian Abbey, which was founded here by Llewellyn ap Jorwerth, 1185. It contains a rich baptismal font of gothic structure, with a tablet to the memory of Nicholas Hookes of the town of Conway, who was the forty-first child of William and Alice Hookes, and who was himself the father of twenty-seven children.
During my short stay in Conway, I endeavoured to discover the best view of the town, which I think is from the eastern side of the river, about midway between the chain bridge and the mansion of Sir John Hilton. Nothing can be more interesting. The variety of small craft, sailing and anchored, before its warlike screen; the castle, with its towers and turrets, rising in hostile grandeur upon its rocky base; the bridge, and lovely scenery beyond of purple hills and thriving villages; and the bright waters sporting with the luxuriant foliage of its woody margin, create a sensation of delight in the pursuer of picturesque scenery, which he has probably seldom before experienced.
Another delightful view may be obtained by ascending the rock, which overhangs the lodge of the bridge upon its eastern side. A flight of steps conducts to the summit, where a seat is most conveniently placed for the accommodation of the lovers of romantic beauty; and the bridge, although inferior in magnitude to the stupendous work of art which stretches over Bangor Ferry, commands the admiration of the spectator. But the chief object of interest is the castle, which surpasses in picturesque grandeur any building of the kind I ever beheld. I thought Carnaervon Castle the most beautiful of ruins, but it is not, in my opinion, to be compared with Conway. The solidity of its structure, and its expansive site, resembling the fortresses of Syria and the Holy Land, give to its exterior all that the most romantic imagination could desire. Its foundation is a rock of slate, and its works are impregnable. Nothing but famine could, at the time it was erected, have had power to subdue it. Its walls are from ten to twelve feet in thickness, and it had formerly a deep and broad moat, on the west and north west sides; which with the sea washing its base on the east and south, formed insurmountable barriers to the assailants.
It was evening when I first entered this noble ruin. The porteress very ungraciously left me to my meditations after admitting me, locking the gate after her, and leaving me like a state prisoner in the royal fortress. I confess I was little pleased with the manners of my conductress and the solitary situation in which I was placed, and sensations arose within me like those which a school boy feels when passing a churchyard at midnight.
The sun had set, and the deep shadows of eve were darkening into night, as I stood alone in the court yard, and flitting visions arose before me of those who crossed its space in distant bygone ages—“the plumed troops,” and courtly dames, and all the glitter of the olden times. As I thus stood amongst the ruins, a deep drawn sigh, close by my ear, made my heart leap into my throat, as I turned to discover from whence it proceeded. But all was solitude around. The huge festoons of ivy, unruffled by a breath of air, hung heavily in funereal grandeur on the walls. As I passed into what had been the banqueting hall, the darkness increased. It was a noble apartment, and measured 130 feet in length, and thirty in breadth, in height twenty. Nine windows looked southward, up the river, and two into the courtyard. In the recesses were stone seats, capable of accommodating twelve persons; and, as I seated myself in one of these, my delusion of other days came over me. Here sat the first Edward, the hero of Palestine; here was the monarch besieged, and almost reduced by famine; here Hotspur and King Richard held a conference; and the latter, putting himself into the power of Northumberland, was betrayed by him, and sent a prisoner to the usurper Bolingbroke.
“Life’s but a walking shadow—a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more!”
As I made this apt quotation, another deep and heavy sigh, and a rustling in the ivy, startled me, and the bird of solitude, the lonely owl, flapped his heavy wings, and flew past me to a remoter corner of the ruined hall. I arose, and walked to a small chamber, where there was an open ornamented casement, and which, as I was afterwards informed, bears the name of the queen’s oriel; from which there is a pleasant prospect of part of the ruin and scenery beyond.
I then proceeded to the terrace, at the south western extremity, which is on the surface of the rock; and the prospect from this spot, interesting at all times, is doubly so by moonlight. The suspension bridge beneath, the ocean on the left, and this fertile valley on the right, with the sparkling Conway meandering through it, compose a scene of unexampled beauty.
In the year 1290, when Edward was engaged in a dispute with the King of France, and was determined to revenge himself upon that potentate, in order to obtain supplies, he made the experiment of taxing his newly acquired Welsh subjects; which they resented by hanging Roger de Pulesdon, who had been appointed to collect the tax; and by defeating the English forces, who attempted to enforce them.
Alarmed at a revolt, which was now rising into importance, and which threatened to wrest from him his new dominions, Edward entered North Wales, to conduct the war in person.
Having proceeded in his march to Conway, he crossed that arm of the sea with a part of his forces, and retiring into the castle with them, awaited the arrival of the remainder. In his passage he lost many waggons, and other carriages, loaded with provisions, which were intercepted by the Welsh, who came down in multitudes from the mountains, and invested the castle, upon the land side, while a sudden rise in the Conway, which prevented his troops from crossing the river and rendering him assistance, made his situation extremely alarming. He was surrounded by water and the enemy, cut off from his army, and threatened with famine.
The good fortune of Edward, however, returned to him in the hour of need. The river subsided, and his forces being able to cross to his relief, the Welsh again retired to the mountains, and the English monarch passed his Christmas holidays without interruption at the castle.
In 1665, the Earl of Conway, under pretence of its being for his majesty’s service, stripped the castle of all its furniture, iron and lead, and shipped them off to Ireland, otherwise it might have remained as firm and entire at the present day, as when it was first erected.
If these Goths were aware of the ignominy they attached to their shields by acts so disgraceful, they might perhaps have permitted beauty and grandeur to remain undefiled by their sacrilegious touch.
The young men still keep up many of the ancient local customs; amongst which, on Nos Calanmai, or, the eve of the first of May, they hang on the houses of their sweethearts bunches of rosemary and ribbons.
At the door of a prude they tie a penglog, or part of a horse’s skeleton. There is likewise a custom preserved called Stocsio. Upon Easter Sunday, a great number of boys and men assemble on Pentwthil, with wands of gorse, to proclaim the laws and regulations which are to be observed upon the following morning. The last married person is sought to perform this office, who, mounted on a heap of stones, issues his mandate, while the rest listen with silent attention. He decrees that all men under sixty years of age are to appear in the street before six o’clock on the following morning; and all under forty, before four; and all under twenty are commanded not to go to bed at all, under penalty of being put into the stocks.
The orator then descends, amidst loud cheering, and the assembled parties separate; the younger branches to form plans of amusement, and the graver to secure their carts, waggons, and wheelbarrows, with chains and locks, to prevent their being seized upon the following day; a very necessary precaution, as every vehicle, unmanacled, or otherwise unsecured, is sure of being pressed before dawn of day into the service of the light-hearted youths, who are not over careful of their neighbour’s property during the uproarious period of their festivity.
Early in the morning, the stocks are placed at one end of the street, and a party, marching to the inspiring music of a drum and fife, parade the town, in order to convey to the place of punishment all seceders from this ancient law of custom. When they arrive at a house where a rebel resides, the storming party endeavour by all practicable means to gain admittance; such as climbing in at the windows, forcing open the back door, &c., and they generally secure the culprit; who, if he be caught in bed, is allowed sufficient time to dress himself, and then hurried away to the stocks, amid the exulting shouts of the assembled multitude.
His feet being secured, one of the party gives him a severe lecture upon the sin of idleness, and of breaking old established customs. Then taking his right hand, he puts questions to him; such as, whether he would rather kiss the mistress or the maid?—whether he prefers buttermilk or strong ale?—and the more satisfactory his answers are to the party, the more thickly his hand is plaistered with mud, until at length he is released, and, with loud cheering, permitted to join the forces, as they march off in search of another rebel.
There is a pearl fishery at Conway, and many poor families are supported by gathering the muscles, which contain these gems.
The fish is called by Linnæus myd margaritefera. The produce is transmitted to London in the pure natural state, and easily finds a market amongst the jewellers, who purchase them by weight, but in the neighbourhood of Conway the purposes they are appropriated to are unknown.
It was my good fortune to meet with a brother tourist at the Castle Inn; who, after acquainting me with the above facts, offered to conduct me in the morning to Llandudno, which offer I thankfully accepted; and, before the sun had finished his draught of mountain dew, we had crossed the bridge, and were pursuing our course to the appointed spot. The tide was at low ebb, and a pleasant walk of three quarters of a mile upon the hard sand brought us to