Wales, land of heroes and giants
I do love a holiday with purpose: just enough purpose to allow for plenty of the doing nothing that we all need more of. So we went for our R&R to NW Wales, rich in place names that remember the fourth branch of the Mabinogion.
There’s a bit of travelogue later, with photos and a couple of suggestions for practice to deepen our connection to these ancestral places, because of something that I noticed. although it was boiling hot, and our family don’t ‘do’ heat we stayed longer than all of the other walkers we saw. So why? I think it’s to do with the differences between tourism and pilgrimage. Some people just love walking – I am one of them myself with everything set fair. But in the height of a heatwave, they seemed a little aimless, and I thought what a pity not to have a purpose for your visit.
Tourist: one who makes a tour for pleasure or culture
Pilgrim: one who travels to a shrine or holy place as an act of devotion
The tourist is travelling and taking in pleasant and cultural experiences along the way and at each destination. We remember ‘The grand Tour’ of the C17-19th, to complete a young man’s education. It covers ground, and every experience is individually separate.
The pilgrim’s travel is always conscious of a significant destination. The events of the journey colours, builds and adds weight to the final experience. Obviously the pilgrim will stay longer having arrived at the object of their energy and time.
So what follows is about visiting and how we can make the end result more profound, grounding and worthwhile. And the ideas apply whether it’s a cathedral, a War cemetery or a grass covered hump of land baking in the heat of the Welsh July.
Is Wales unique in having so many legends enshrined in the landscape? We took on the dual roles of tourist and pilgrim, with pleasure, culture and a devotion to our ancestral heritage seamlessly interwoven.
The journey begins
Fourth branch resonances in the landscape…
Eschewing the possible motorway route, we set the tone by travelling on A roads, including the iconic A470 which connects the north and south and has plenty of its own stories. Parts of it are still called ‘Sarn Elen’, referencing the roadbuilding of Macsen Wledig’s queen, a Mabinogion story that repays close reading.
Having gazed down the green Nantlle valley, when we got to each site, we had somehow to shift from everyday to mythic time, which is a whole heap slower. I’ve added simple techniques to tune into the spirit of the land in italics: a lot of these are simply remembering story in place: witnessing how the narrative strain of the land expresses itself.
Preparation: before setting off, we studied story and topographical features and put them and the stories in the context of the map.
We first visited the River Cynfal.
We settled into the landscape, strolling with no expectation or wish for outcome. We did nothing but consciously acclimatise, introducing ourselves to the landscape.
We remembered that this was where, in the Fourth branch of the Mabinogion, both Gronw Pebr and Pryderi died.
We mentally transported ourselves into mythic ‘timeless time’. We picked up stray fleece, sat by the liminal river banks, separated and allowed each of us our own space.
The famed holed stone of Gronw, pierced by Lleu’s spear, has been transplanted, set on concrete and surrounded by railings, but a remembrance is held by an ancient oak on the river bank whose branches framed some of our party.
Then onwards to Tomen y Mur (Mur Casatell) the legendary home of Lleu and Blodeuedd, Solar King and Flower Bride..
Math, his great-uncle and king, says, I will give him the best cantref for a youth to get…Cantref Dinoding,' (Nowadays that is called Eifonydd and Ardudwy). The place in the cantref where he set up his court was a place called Mur Castell, and that is in the Ardudwy area. He settled then and ruled his lands. And everyone was satisfied with him and his rule.
From the top of the mound of the fort, we looked from a long-ago perspective and saw that Math had done the young man proud. There is panoramic vision all round for safety and security, and expense of clear water and good grazing for sheep.
We slowed down to see it with the eyes of the young lord and of all the people who had had their living there - and a magical thing happened.
The day was baking hot, and from one tiny wispy transparent cloud drops of rain fell on our shoulders and feet. It came and it went within two minutes: a true blessing.
We descended then to the only source of shade. Which our friend insisted was the remains of a pig pen: remembering the magical significance of pigs and sties throughout the Mabinogion, we agreed.
We entered a space of remembering, witnessing and speaking for the ancestors.
This is just one way to deepen the connection: to remind the spirit of the land of its tales: after all, it is our job to retell them. This is what we did.
We took three breaths, with earth, sea and sky
We listened to the murmuring narrative of nature - the birds, the wind, rustling grasses
I formally asked: ‘Who will speak for the story of this place?’
In turn, we spoke for each character: Blodeuedd, the choices she made and her transformation; Lleu, Solar Lord, and his return from near death Gwydion, the arch-manipulator, and his story of magic and growing through his mistakes. We spoke of magic, stagnation and transformation, of fluidity, change and blessing: of the perennial relevance of this tale.
Our twenty-first century interpretations seemed to bring the story alive in the present. As we ended with Gwydion’s redemption through selfless love, we drew to a natural conclusion.
In return for the gift of the story and our experience, we crumbled some oat cake for the local wildlife and sang three Awens to the landscape.
Math’s court
The semi-divine Math son of Mathonwy – Bear, son of one who is like a Bear - maintains the harmonies of the land, and is a personal hero. We drove past some of the suggested locations - impressive hill forts with commanding views. But which was Caer Dathyl? I fell in love with Caer Dinlle. The name might reference Lleu, Math’s great-nephew, but there was a rightness about the site; it perfectly fits the actions of the story.
Climbing hill forts always reminds us of the protective nature of a steep slope. We puffed; we were glad there was no one defending it – until we found its protectors swarming at the top, still patrolling: a wasp’s nest!
Successfully negotiating them, we walked a full circuit and imagined it as the first planner might have.
The fort’s dips, rises and plateaus laid themselves open to us and with the help of a recent excavation we speculated on attendant roundhouse locations.
One large dish-shaped plateau seemed likely for the main hall.
We imagined the story that might have been enacted there – Math’s magical actions. In his hall, he transformed Gwydion and Givaethwy into a pair of deer, pigs and wolves as a punishment. Here he produced the Druid wand which Arianrhod stepped over, giving birth immediately to her two sons.
From the tip of the fort we looked out to the sea which covered the shore and the huge rock, Maen Dylan:
We imagined the young Dylan, Arianrhod’s eldest son, over whom no wave would break, diving into in the sea below and taking to his true nature.
We looked out to the seas that covered Caer Arianrhod, a reef submerged at all but the lowest spring tides.
We told the story of how – perhaps 10 years ago – a group of us inscribed a boat-shape with seaweed and driftwood in the sand, and sat in it – something we could easily replicate in a visualisation. Thus we replicated the story of how Lleu, in the guise of a shoemaker’s apprentice, became ‘The young lion with the steady hand’: and gained his name by sailing to his mother’s Caer with his uncle Gwydion, as later he would gain his arms.
This was our witnessing at this site. It was blazing hot, and we retreated to shade and ice creams for stage two.
Down in the shade, we read the story of Lleu’s premature birth and speculated further on his early life and the close presence of his mother.
We ate ices and walked along the endless shore, turning as the tide came on with startling suddenness. The submerging sandbanks set up a contrary current, a bore, along with us as we hurried back. We remembered a reference to the Culwch and Olwen tale – the Severn Bore and the hunt for the boar Twrch Trwyth.
On to Tre-r Ceiri
The ‘Town of Giants’ on the Llyn Peninsula is a huge hill fort, occupied from pre-Bronze Age times to the Iron Age. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled briefly from a clear sky on our approach and again, echoing our experience at Tomen y Mur, a sprinkle of rain fell as we walked the brown moorland. The immensity of this hill is spectacular, and its name hints at ancient, chthonic earth energies. There are sleeping giants in the land all with their own stories, from Chronos to Bran of Harlech, from Arthur to Sir Francis Drake, the palladia of these islands.
It is a good hour’s steep climb to the top: we couldn’t tackle it on a hot day but just being there placed us in the perspective of the wildness of the whole area. We missed seeing the wonderful stonework that crowns the summit, but a local Druid’s story of being caught up there in a blizzard was salutary. The wilds are the wilds, and we walk with respect and, where necessary, caution. A wonderful stonework has been set up in the car park, where a charming Welsh speaker translated its poem for me. As I remember, it said that we walked in the steps of the stone- and wood-workers of the past - a timely reminder of what we owe to our ancestors and heritage.
After this, the heat drove us home, via the West coast.
We did enter Taliesin territory – Bedd Taliesin was above us, the River Dyfi was near – but this was not the time to unpack that legend. It deserved its own space and time. But just above Aberystwyth we stopped at Borth beach, where the high tide covered the remains of a drowned forest of around 5,000 years ago. I was irresistibly reminded of the story of the oldest animals and forests growing and dying which gives a cosmic timescale to Culwch and Olwen. The legend of the drowned lands of Cantre’r Gwaelod is of a drunken mishap which allowed the tide to roar through the fertile land and the palace, Caer Gwyddno, of Gwyddno Garanhir. This chimes with the poisoning of his horses, as part of the Taliesin legend, and his son becoming the pre-eminent bard’s patron. All very jigsaw-like, with resonances of legends overlapping.
The surfers’ waves crashed on the shingle. It was a fitting end to our adventure, reminding us of the sea’s role as the motorway of those ancient times, and its interconnection with the lives and stories of the heroes of the Mabinogion.
We had slipped effortlessly into all our usual practices of slowing, gratitude, witnessing, being open and gift-giving, pausing at gates and stiles and consciously moving from the everyday into the special; announcing our intent to honour the space, introducing ourselves, and exploring thoroughly and with fascination. We found a different and low-key way to connect to each space on each of our three sites, appropriate to the time, place and us, the people. We left with wonderful memories.
And you’ve been too polite to ask, but, to answer that question, the amazing dog with the look of a Hound of Annwn is Oakley, a staunch and bold companion who pranced like the dog in the vintage children’s puppet show ‘The Wooden Tops.’ He loves doggie ice cream, chasing waves and showing seaweed who’s the real boss, and rather won our hearts.
Next time, maybe we’ll devote ourselves to Taliesin sites, or follow Pryderi from his birth and ruling place, up the country through the three locations where Gwydion kept his stolen pigs, to the possible place of his final battle – one of whose contenders is on the liminal shore territory of Cardigan Bay.
In an earnest of this, we had earlier visited the Pryderi stone...
But until the next time….
Diolch Cymru, gwlad yr arwyr a'r cewri.
Thank you Wales, land of heroes and giants.