Leaving Carnarvon, our next objective was Conway, whose castle is hardly less famous and even more picturesque than that of its neighbor, though in more ruinous condition. The road we followed closely skirts the coast for a great part of the distance, running at times on the verge of the ocean. In places it reminds one of the Axenstrasse of Lake Lucerne, being cut in the side of the cliffs overhanging the sea, with here and there great masses of rock projecting over it; and passes occasionally through a tunnel cut in the stone. A few miles north of Carnarvon we passed through Bangor, one of the most prosperous-looking towns in North Wales and the seat of one of the few Welsh cathedrals—a long, low, though not unpleasing, building. The site of this cathedral had been continuously occupied by a church since the Sixth Century, although the present structure dates from the Thirteenth.
An hour's run after leaving Bangor brought us in sight of the towers of Conway Castle. Nowhere in Britain does the spirit of mediaevalism linger as it does in the ancient town of Conway. It is still surrounded by its old wall with twenty-one watch-towers and the three gateways originally leading into the town have been recently restored. The castle stands on the verge of a precipitous rock and its outer walls are continuous with those of the town. It is a perfect specimen of a Thirteenth Century military fortress, with walls of enormous thickness, flanked by eight huge, circular towers. It was built by Edward I in 1284. Several times it was besieged by the Welsh and on one occasion came near falling into their hands while the king himself was in the castle. It was besieged during the Parliamentary wars, but for some unaccountable reason it was not destroyed or seriously damaged when captured. Its present dilapidated state is due to the action of its owner, Lord Conway, shortly after, in dismantling it to sell the lead and timber of the building, and it was permitted to fall into gradual decay. The castle, with its eight towers and bridge, which matches it in general style and which was built about fifty years ago, is one of the best known objects in the whole Kingdom. It has been made familiar to everybody through innumerable photographs and pictures.
When we drew our car up in front of the castle it was in gala attire and was the scene of activity which we were at a loss to account for. We soon learned that the Wesleyans, or Welsh Methodists, were holding a festival in the castle, and the shilling we paid for admission included a nicely served lunch, of which the Welsh strawberries were the principal feature. The occasion was enlivened by music from the local band and songs by young girls in the old Welsh costume. This led us to ask if the Welsh language were in common use among the people. We were told that while the older people can speak it, it does not find much favor among the younger generation, some of whom are almost ashamed to admit knowledge of the old tongue. English was spoken everywhere among the people at the gathering, and the only Welsh heard was in some of the songs by the girls. We wandered about the ruin and ascended the towers, which afford a fine view of the town and river. There seems to have been little done in the way of restoration, or repair, but so massive are the walls that they have splendidly stood the ravages of time.
On leaving Conway we crossed the suspension bridge, paying a goodly toll for the privilege. It was already growing late when we left the town, but the fine level road and the unusually willing spirit evinced by our motor enabled us to cover the fifty miles to Chester before night set in.
IX
CHESTER TO "THE HIELANDS"
Chester stands a return visit well, and so does the spacious and hospitable Grosvenor Hotel. It was nearly dark when we reached the city and the hotel was crowded, the season now being at its height. We had neglected to wire for reservation, but our former stop at the hotel was not forgotten and this stood us in good stead in securing accommodations. So comfortably were we established that we did not take the car out of the garage the next day but spent our time in leisurely re-visiting some of the places that had pleased us most.
The next day we were early away for the north. I think that no other stretch of road of equal length was more positively unattractive than that we followed from Chester to Penrith. Even the road-book, whose "objects of interest" were in some cases doubtful, to say the least, could name only the battlefield of 1648 near Preston and one or two minor "objects" in a distance of one hundred miles. I recalled the comment of the Touring Secretary of the Motor Union as he rapidly drew his pencil through this road as shown on the map: "Bad road, rough pavement, houses for thirty miles at a stretch right on each side of the street, crowds of children everywhere—but you cannot get away from it very well." All of which we verified by personal experience.