Scenes in North Wales / With Historical Illustrations, Legends, and Biographical Notices

by G. N. Wright

BANGOR CATHEDRAL.

The city of Bangor is one of the most prosperous and improving seaports on the Welsh coast. Its position, at the embouchure of the Cegin river and entrance of the Mænai strait, has given it a natural commercial superiority, an advantage spiritedly and wisely improved by the principal proprietor in the vicinity. The city occupies a narrow piece of ground, bounded on the east by a precipitous hill, and on the west by the bishop’s lands and the Mænai strait. Extension is inconvenient, from the necessity of lengthening the main avenue, already one mile long, whenever additional houses in a proper thoroughfare are required. Handsome assembly-rooms are constructed over the market hall: convenient lodging houses are erected in the lower part of the city, and many elegant villas in the immediate neighbourhood; besides which, the numerous visiters who frequent this agreeable spot, either for the benefit of sea bathing, the bracing influence of a mountain breeze, or the gratification of examining the noble design of the Mænai Bridge, have further accommodation afforded them at the spacious and elegant inns provided for their reception. H. D. Pennant, Esq. the heir and representative of the noble house of Penrhyn, is the chief proprietor and munificent patron of this place. To him, and to his amiable predecessor, Lady Penrhyn, this neighbourhood is indebted for the stability of its trade, as well as for the rapidity of its growth. The slate quarries of Dolawen, whence the Bangor slates, as they are generally called, are brought, are about seven miles distant from the sea-side. Here from fifteen hundred to two thousand hands are constantly engaged in quarrying metal, and fashioning it into slates. In the process of manufacturing the aid of machinery is embraced, and the powerful press of Bramah is used for crushing and splitting the metal. When formed into the classes or sizes designated by the fanciful distinctions of Queens, Duchesses, Countesses, and Ladies, they are transported by a rail-road of seven miles in length, (one of the earliest introduced into Wales,) to the quay of Port Penrhyn, the termination and consummation of the great and enterprising scheme, accomplished at individual risk and expense, to promote the conveyance of the Bangor slates to all the markets of Europe and America. Whatever modern importance Bangor possesses is attributable to the successful conduct of these quarries, and its commercial value will always be found to rise and fall with the prosperity of this trade alone.

Immediately adjoining the north-eastern extremity of the principal street, the noble demesne of Mr. Pennant originates, and spreads over a wooded surface of considerable area. His castle occupies the site of a palace, erected in the year 720, by Roderic Moelwynog, the last British Prince of Wales, who flourished in the eighth century. The ancient palace was destroyed by Meredydd ap Owain in the year 728, and not rebuilt until some time in the reign of Henry the Sixth, when Gwillim ap Gryffydd raised a stately castle here. This last building endured for many years, and was ultimately subjected to renovation by the hand of a Wyatt; but even this judicious restoration was unable to render it suitable to the rapidly accumulating wealth which the hills of Dolawen poured out upon the board of their fortunate possessor. From a noble design of Mr. Hopper, in a bold and pure Saxon style, a castle has been erected on the ancient site. The style is uncommon, rarely introduced in domestic architecture, and applicable only where the scale is great and the means ample. In this instance the materials, a beautiful dark marble, contribute much to increase the dignity and grandeur of the design, upon which probably one hundred thousand pounds have already been expended. A fine specimen of the Hirlâs, or ancient British drinking horn, bearing the initials of Piers Gryfydd, graven upon the silver mounting, is preserved in the castle of Penrhyn. The castle of Bangor is not to be confounded with that of Penrhyn just described. It was founded some time in the reign of William Rufus, by Hugh, Earl of Chester, but, little of its history survives, and even the ground plan now is with difficulty traced.

The process of quarrying, dressing, and preparing slates for public market, and the fanciful titles by which the various sizes are now uniformly designated, are very happily, playfully, and truly described in the following irregular verses. They are the production of the late Mr. Leycester, who was for many years a judge on the North Wales circuit, while the old system of judicature was tolerated.

It has truly been said, as we all must deplore,
That Grenville and Pitt made peers by the score;
But now ’tis asserted, unless I have blundered,
There’s a man who makes peeresses here by the hundred;
He regards neither Grenville, nor Portland, nor Pitt,
But creates them at once without patent or writ.
By the stroke of the hammer, without the king’s aid,
A Lady, or Countess, or Duchess is made.
Yet high is the station from which they are sent,
And all their great titles are got by descent;
And when they are seen in a palace or shop,
Their rank they preserve, and are still at the top.
Yet no merit they claim from their birth or connexion,
But derive their chief worth from their native complexion.
And all the best judges prefer, it is said,
A Countess in blue to a Duchess in red.
This Countess or Lady, though crowds may be present,
Submits to be dress’d by the hands of a peasant;
And you’ll see, when her Grace is but once in his clutches,
With how little respect he will handle a Duchess.
Close united they seem, and yet all who have tried them,
Soon discover how easy it is to divide them.
No spirit have they, they are thin as a lath,
The Countess wants life and the Duchess is flat.
No passion or warmth to the Countess is known,
And her Grace is as cold and as hard as a stone;
And I fear you will find, if you watch them a little,
That the Countess is frail, and the Duchess is brittle;
Too high for a trade, without any joke,
Though they never are bankrupts, they often are broke.
And though not a soul either pilfers or cozens,
They are daily shipped off and transported by dozens.

In France, jacobinical France, we have seen
How thousands have bled by the fierce guillotine;
But what’s the French engine of death to compare
To the engine which Greenfield and Bramah prepare,
That democrat engine, by which we all know
Ten thousand great Duchesses fall at a blow.

And long may that engine its wonders display,
Long level with ease all the rocks in its way,
Till the vale of Nant Francon of slates is bereft,
Nor a Lady, nor Countess, nor Duchess be left.

The see of Bangor extends over all Anglesea, and parts of Caernarvonshire, Denbigh, and Montgomery. It was most probably founded, or at all events a monastic establishment was formed here, in the year 525, by St. Deiniol, who was at first abbot, and afterwards bishop. The name Bangor may signify “the White Choir,” or the “High Choir,” and is found applied to an ecclesiastic institution in Flintshire, as well as to a famous religious house in the County of Down, in the North of Ireland. The subject of this description was distinguished by the prefix “Fawr,” or great, to mark its superiority. The original church existed to the time of the Saxon intrusion, when it was wholly demolished by that fierce and relentless people. In the year 1212 it was restored in a style of much magnificence by John, King of England, but it was again much injured in 1247, during the contentions between Henry the Third of England and the Welsh nobles. The demon of destruction once more visited this sacred edifice in the year 1402, when it was wholly reduced to ashes by a violent conflagration. This occurred in the civil wars, kindled by the brave and artful chieftain, Owain Glandwr. For ninety years there was no resuscitation of the embers; no pious prelate wore the wealthy mitre of this see, who preferred the honour of the church to all earthly considerations, until the reign of Henry the Seventh, when the learned and amiable Bishop Deane commenced the reedification of the cathedral, by erecting the present beautiful choir at his own expense. From an inscription over the western entrance, it appears that the tower and nave were added by Bishop Skiffington, in 1532, whose heart was deposited in Bangor Cathedral, but his body removed to the Cistercian monastery of Beaulieu in Hampshire, of which he had previously been abbot. The conduct of Bishop Bulkeley has afforded matter of much disputation amongst ecclesiastical writers: it is asserted, on one side, that this prelate dishonoured the mitre, which should have graced his brow, by spoliating the see of its estates, and the cathedral of its plate and bells; others assure us, with great earnestness, that Bulkeley did not alienate or abstract the property of the see, but that, on the contrary, he was a benefactor of the church and diocese, and that this was a calumny raised against the church by Godwin, who thought proper to direct his venomous shaft against the establishment through the character of this respectable prelate.

Dr. Warren re-edified and improved the whole structure; and during the long incumbency of Dr. Majendie, still farther decorations were accomplished. The choir is handsome, though wanting height, and is lighted by a noble pointed window with stone mullions. The eastern transept serves as a parish church, in which Welsh service is performed; and the nave has lately been converted into a place of worship, for the celebration of the service in English, the choir being found inconveniently small during the summer season. Though several prelates were interred here, no monumental honours have been paid them. Morgan requires neither brass or marble to make his fame endure; he has erected a more eternal monument, and established a more immortal name by his learned and laborious translation of the Bible into his native tongue. An effigiated tomb, occupying an intermural canopy in the south transept, is, by some unaccountable tradition, said to belong to Owain Glandwr: if so, it can only be a cenotaph, as that chieftain was entombed at Monington, in Herefordshire, where he expired. The most likely appropriation of this ancient monument is to Owain Gwynedd, who was interred here with his brother Cadwalader, in the year 1169. The investigation of this little historic fact exposes to the light the unrelenting spirit of fanaticism and bigotry. Owain Gwynedd had displeased the hierarchy by marrying his own cousin-german, for which offence his very bones were pursued with the maledictions and hatred of Thomas à Becket, who ordered his remains to be disinterred and removed from the chancel into the cemetery of the cathedral. His servants appear to have possessed a more tender and christian feeling than the great pontiff himself, and in the execution of their pitiful task caused a subterranean passage to be made from the vault into the earth without, thereby evading in some degree the sacrilegious charge of exhumation. In the year 1831 a white marble tablet, bearing a latin inscription, written with much spirit and feeling, was erected here to the memory of Goronwy Owen, a Welsh bard, who flourished in the last century. He was born in the county of Anglesea in the year 1722, and the little story of his life is beautifully and briefly told in the concluding words of his epitaph.

“Nullus eum patronus exciperet, id quod sui negârunt,
Apud exteros quærens perfugium in Transatlanticis terris,
Obscurus vixit, ignotus obiit.”

Which may be translated,

At home he felt no patronising hand,
Then sought its warmth in Transatlantic land,
Where bowed with poverty, by years o’ergrown,
He sunk neglected, as he lived unknown.

DOLWYDELLAN CASTLE.

Few parts of ancient Britain, so consecrated by historic recollections, and endowed with so many natural graces, appear to be less known than the vale and castle of Dolwydellan. The former is nearly a Welsh cwm, or hollow, but more expansive than that term in general implies, bounded on all sides by hills of fanciful and picturesque forms, and sheltered on the west by the beautiful leaning pyramid of Moel Siabod, at whose base the little village reposes in tranquillity. Little rocky eminences, covered with copse-wood or stunted oak, decorate the enclosure of the vale, while a scene of simple greatness envelopes the whole.

In the centre of the valley, and on the summit of an isolated rock, on one side precipitous and inaccessible, and on the other easily defensible, stand the remains of the ancient British castle of Dolwydellan. It was a royal residence, and a place of defence, though now “its walls are desolate; the gray moss whitens the stones; the fox looks out from the window; and rank grass waves round its head.” The castle consisted of two square towers, each containing three stories, connected by a centre, and enveloped by a curtain wall, enclosing the whole superior surface of the rock. The style of building resembles that discoverable in Dolbadarn and the other British castles, the counter-arches being pointed, and of flat shingle. The verdant area encompassing the ruins is usually browsed by a few head of cattle, forming a happy combination, and resembling the compositions of Bergham and other great masters of like style, in whose pictures cattle and ruins are made to lend their graces to each other.

Jorwerth Drwyndwn, or Edward, sirnamed “Broken Nose,” son of Owen Gwynedd, by the Lady Gwladys, was lord of Dolwydellan Castle about the year 1169, and here Llewellyn ap Jorwerth, better known to the historian as Llewellyn the Great, was born. His father’s claims to the throne of Wales were disallowed in consequence of the deformity of his countenance, but the martial daring of the son obtained for him the possession of that diadem which the barbarity and folly of the times had withheld from the father. Llewellyn was acknowledged sovereign prince of Wales A.D. 1184; and after a brilliant, glorious, and eventful reign of fifty-six years, embittered only by domestic calamities, was released from the cares of this world, and interred with great ceremony in the abbey of Conway in the year 1240. Amongst the grants made during the usurpation of the Duke of Glo’ster, is found one of Dolwydellan Castle to Sir Ralph Berkinnet, of the county of Chester, knight, chamberlain of North Wales. In the third year of King Henry the Seventh, an act of resumption was passed, whereby all the grants of Richard the Third were recalled, except the lease of the (ffrydd) fryth of Dolwydellan. At this time lived Meredydd ap Jevan ap Robert, who had been enriched by a bequest of Crug in Caernarvonshire, from his foster father, and who had farther augmented his treasures by a marriage with the daughter of William Gryffydd ap Robin. This child of fortune, after a short residence on his newly acquired estate of Crug, removed into his native country of Cessailgyfarch, and there purchased the lease of the castle and frydd [34] of Dolwydellan from the executors of Sir Ralph Berkinnett, part of the castle being then in a habitable condition. After many years residence in the old castle, Meredydd erected a small, but exceedingly substantial house, in the close valley or cwm of Penanmen, the walls, staircase, and roof of which are at this day in good preservation, and afford a comfortable dwelling to the tenantry of his descendants.

The state of this country at his first entering upon possession was so lawless, that Meredydd, although guarded by “twenty tall archers,” dared not make known when he went to church or elsewhere, or go or return by the same way through the woods and defiles, lest he should be waylaid. To protect and strengthen himself he filled his tenements with “tall and able” men, and fixed others of similar prowess in arms on the king’s lands adjoining; one of these, William ap Robert, was placed at Pencraig Inco, for which he paid a relief to the king of ten shillings and fourpence, and his posterity, the Davises of Cyffdû, are still in possession of this ancient estate.

As a further security against interruption in attendance upon divine worship, he threw down the old church, then standing upon a little eminence called Bryn-y-beddau, about three hundred yards from the present church, and erected a new one in its stead. This site was chosen in order that the house of Penanmen and the church of Dolwydellan might both be brought within the ken of a sentinel, to be placed upon a rock called Craig y Big, overhanging the narrow entrance of Penanmen Cwm, who was to give the alarm, if either church or house should be assailed.

In this manner he continued to defend himself and organize the less powerful gentry and free-holders, until at last he counted around his banner seven score tall bowmen, accoutred with an armolette, a good steel cap, a short sword and dirk, together with their bows and arrows. Most of them also were furnished with horses and hunting spears, and were sufficiently matched against the robbers and outlaws of the district, who exceeded one hundred in number, all too well mounted and arrayed.

Besides the “good work,” as it was called, of extirpating banditti, Meredydd also served his royal master abroad, and was an officer of rank at the siege of Tournay. On his return to his native land, he purchased the seat of Gwydyr from Dafydd ap Howell Coytmor, and erected what is called the Lower House, but more properly that portion of it called the “Hall of Meredydd.” Placing a tenant in his strong house of Penanmen, and abandoning the old castle to the owls and wolves, he settled in his new house at Gwydyr, where he departed this life, in peace and honour, on the eighteenth day of March, 1525, aged fifty-five: his remains were deposited in the church of Dolwydellan, which he had caused to be erected at his own expense, and where a modest tablet of three lines epitomizes his history, in the pious form of inscriptions of that day.

The church built by Meredydd is of such substantial workmanship, that it will probably prove the most lasting, as well as pious, monument of his deeds. A little chapel or transept was subsequently added on the south side by Robert Wynne, uncle of Sir John, the author of the Memoirs.

The village consists of a few cottages, unconnected and poor looking: riches or civilization would not harmonize with the scenery of Dolwydellan, which is as though it existed in an age when the use of money and the various arts of life were still unknown or undiscovered.