Sunday was a big day in the village Chapel full to overflowing Cars were parked down every street Everyone a’coming and going The organ inside echoing All to stand, about to sing.
They’d come from all the surrounding farms To see the young babe in her arms To make sure he’d not live in shame To chapel he’d come To get his name.
There was John the post and John the farmer John the brickie and John the slater John the bus and John the builder John the shop and John the cobbler John the actor and John the tractor John the elder and John the welder Every one an uncle John.
Behind them in one long procession Came his cousins in succession John the coalman, John the boatman, John the sheep, John the sweep, John who mumbles, John who grumbles, John the jaw, John the law John the news, John the booze. Even Smokey was there (His real name’s John) Those are the only ones I know Every one they say is a cousin They were all there by the dozen.
Then there were all his nephews. John from Llangefni and John from Rhosneigr John from Llanberis and John from Llanbedr John from Llanfaelog and John from Bethel He’s the son of Uncle John’s Ethel.
The minister stood there in his cloak of white Everyone craned their necks to get a good sight Mother handed him over with a smile Father stood proudly in the aisle Aunties there were by the score The rest of the village Squeezed in at the door; John Jones, John Evan John Ellis, John Bevan John Jones, John Owen John Pritchard, John Bowen John Lewis, John Preece John Edwards, John Rhys.
Now inside the chapel there came a hush Not a sound to be heard from anyone Except for the minister, Who said, with much grace “Welcome son, I name you John !”
As is the custom, when the service has ended They went of to the pub for a great celebration. They had named him John So none were offended. Except Will But how he got his name Is a mystery To me !
Hope in the hills of Gwynedd hides Happiness rising up from bubbling springs High above the meadow the skylark sings Hiraeth’s call where my heart resides
Love often touched but never grasped Life’s journey a maze with each turn and twist The dragon’s muffled call so often missed Chances that drifted slowly past
I’m lost in Merlin’s Wonderland Between the dolmens and the salt fish sea Sleeping beneath the shady Green Man’s tree Wishing that I could understand
Still I can hear the sailor sing Slow soft murmurings in his native tongue Love’s loneliness so beautifully sung Kisses to each note strongly cling
It seems to me but yesterday My crossing by Telford’s suspended gates Above the waters of the Menai Straits Walking the sands at Red Wharf Bay
Taking steps to Seriol’s well Sensing belief beneath the Celtic cross Exploring gravestones beneath damp green moss Then resting by the hermit’s cell
And now I sit beneath these stones With images still clear within the mind The reel of the film starting to unwind Soundtracks revived from former homes
Huddled figures sit with their ale Heads turning with accents from overseas Whispers that are meant to be heard with ease Second home buyers. Hope they fail
Visitors viewed with suspicion Tourists appear for the summer season Other visitors must have a reason Ears listen for information
Echoes from pasts before my time Will and John carry water from the spring Down narrow streets I hear the church bell ring The sound of oars upon the brine
Loud clattering of horses’ hooves Heavy anchors splash in the estuary A bustling port now part of history No work is found for growing youths
A wailing from the palace gate News from Cilmeri darkens timbered halls Gwynedd’s line no longer rules from these walls Mon left to suffer Edward’s hate
Lingering the sound of feasting After Cunedda inflicts a defeat Irish invaders hastily retreat Gwynedd’s future slowly dawning
Fainter the druid’s mystic call Floating eerily across Europe’s fields Loud the clash of Roman and Celtic shields Then sacred groves to silence fall
Now past and present mix with time Old stones that are the shaman’s stamping ground Holding those mysteries from all around Worlds swirling through some grand design
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Soft shifting colours of the sun spreading o’er the sky Dunes moving slowly inland beyond the rolling tides Messages beneath the sand once carried overseas Peace out upon the headland where the old bones lie A burial from an apron where the spirit still abides Where once a mystery was brewed, some deity to please. Now there’s a sense of magic just hanging in the air Like a shadow that deceives; on turning its not there A mystery that deepens might lift the veil of despair
Spirits who would fly upon this night Come join with us upon a Beltane eve When sun is gone and moon is bright Join with our sister ‘ere you leave
Time-trodden turf now covers earth above the stones Where believers once steered a course across the seas Nibbling sheep these pastures keep for us this day Flaring torches blaze a path towards the ancient bones Swaying bodies moving forwards; lights that could deceive. A place to meet, a time to keep, no reason for delay Our sister struggled as she wandered through the gloom Shadows closing on her life seemingly bringing doom Until midwinter’s solstice rays lit up the passage in her tomb
Cauldron grail and chalice bring To bless virgin lover and the whore Candles alight now form the ring Waves are breaking on the shore
Once again upon the headland the sounds of voices chanting, Calling to a goddess dwelling far below within the earth. The Shamanka casts the circle with a flaming brand From the coven is a welcome to the sister they are binding There are no dreary dirges dragging, only the sound of mirth Round and round the sisters circle, moving hand in hand Favours may be granted by the power within the spell Hear the drumbeats rising, listen to the cyhyraeth yell. What fate awaits the sister ? Only seers can foretell.
Flowing from the wells, running in the streams Tylwyth teg are working magic with the moon Deep inside our hearts, asleep within our dreams Cast the stones to find the message of the rune
Within the encircled mound lies the sleeping soul of Mona Forgotten on an island where sheep now graze upon her grave In their drumming and their chanting, sisters are awakening Lost memories returning, of Rhiannon, Ceridwen and Epona The serpent still is waiting by the entrance to the cave Within the altar now is burning, cauldrons slowly heating In the bay the goddess dances upon white-crested waves Around the mound the sisters dance, no longer to be slaves Within the chamber of the sidhe another party raves
Nine ladies dance around the Beltane fire Chalice lifted slowly to our sister’s lips Knowledge of the cauldron raising her desire A potion from the berries and the hips
They are singing of a freedom, whilst others wait in pews Casting spells of love whilst the preacher points the bone They are riding through the gateways to another world There’s a freedom in the air that carries forth good news Sharing with your sisters, you will never be alone Sail on to the Summer Isles, the canvas is unfurled By the powers of air and fire we follow ancient ways By the powers of earth and water, so be all our days Let the sounds of laughter still echo from these bays
Laugh with your Lover on this Beltane night Howl loudly with your Mother at the moon Walk with the sacred Crone to reclaim a rite A Goddess waits on Mona listening for your tune.
Snow-covered breasts of rock bathed in milky clouds Peaks still hidden by the early morning shrouds Nipples of stones shivering beneath the ice Awaiting the sun-warmed kisses of Spring Gently licking through the morning mist March slowly rising in her passion To release the cold clasp of winter’s fist
Love trickling down from mountain streams Sparkling flow of life for greener dreams The lingering autumn tan of bracken covered thighs Hides the phallic rise of fronds to Springtime sighs Catkin tails dripping pollen from the trees Fertility rising in the morning air Love comes floating on the early breeze
In damp moss-filled crevices that now seem cold Walls begin to seep again and tears unfold Steady flows become torrents of the gushing stream Love comes tumbling freely down the mountainside Riding upon thermal current the hawk silently sails With sun and wind upon this aged face How easily I am seduced by spring in Wales
Sweet maiden of this fair isle, why weepest thou this way ? Why does the teardrop run down the rosy cheek ? Where is the smile that brightens up each day ? The toss of golden hair, the gay laugh so many seek.
What is the cause of such misery ? Has some misfortune come your way ? Some loss, an accident, did you foresee Some peril that may cross your path this day ?
Sir, I thank you for your kindly words about my state That you should care for my unhappiness Alas ! There is nought to be done about my fate Yet e’en so, let me tell thee of my distress.
In burning love the handsome Maelon I would seek for my delight He who sings so proudly and plays so gently on his harp Sweet songs that charm and enchant me upon the blackest night Such joy, such rapture, yet I can no longer play my part.
My father’s wishes have promised me to another Some Lord from overseas; no feelings have I for his desire; For soon would he of my passion for Maelon uncover I care little for his castles and his riches; ’tis the love of Maelon I require
My father’s love is dear to me, and to his wishes I must defer For as he has so decreed then ’tis my duty to obey Though my passions for another I cannot in my heart deter So, kindly sir, now knowest you the reason why I weep this day.
Art thou some sage who could some wisdom give to me ? Methinks that from your face you are a stranger to this sacred isle What course should I take when passion drives my every plea Is there a way to transform my teardrops to a smile ?
Sweet daughter of the island king, whose love is not with foreign Lord Whose forefathers fought hard to free your people from the bloody axe Alliances he forms to secure his kingdom from the Norseman’s sword In mind perplex’d, sweet words you sing are lost whilst he’d make pacts.
Turn your prayers to the wisdom of the Celtic saints at rest That they may aid thee in thy intercession to the deity But tak’st thou care; be true and honest seeking favour to be blessed Seek within the circle a space where they may speak with thee.
So Dwynwen’s tale this day must now unfold Of how when moonlight outshone the flicker of the starry-studded skies She did go forth at dusk, to brave a night so clear yet cold, To make her pleas within the stones, tears streaming still from saddened eyes
As Dwynwen prayed that night upon stone circle another brighter light was shined With radiance that outshone the moon, so bright the circle seemed afire (As past spirits summoned in this way will oft appear to troubled mind) Whate’er such spirits form may be, Dwynwen knew of their attire.
To Dwynwen now the spirit discourse begins to make To tell of a potion that her passion may disperse Which potion made of herbs so rare, a draught she shall partake Though to her lips only; for others the same shall be a curse.
The spirits to their world return, clouds drift o’er to cover moonlit sky Then to her home Dwynwen returns to gather with the morning dew Such herbs that were told to her; within a silver chalice soon to dry Which then with wine be mulled to form enchanting brew .
So she doth drink to ease the burning love from the body young and fair As passion is consumed so feelings of her love vanish without trace Then Maelon, anger ever growing , seeing love is gone forever, cries out in despair Lifts chalice high to drain the cup, his heart no longer wants to race
Alas ! Love has turned cold; so cold that like the lake upon the mountain Covered soon with ice as harsh of winter’s grip sets in Like icicles that grip and seize the flow of clear crystal fountain Her lover once, now the ice is trapped within
Once more to sacred isle she returns to seek out the very sage Whose wisdom aided her release from passion’s fiery storm To tell how by misfortune Maelon has been taken in his rage. The old man walking on the sands is found upon the dawn..
Kind sage the words you gave to me have quenched the ardour of pursuit But surely ’tis by accident the life of Maelon now is held in time Of your advice I seek once more; wisdom to guide me on my route. Her story told, the sage into her ears gently whispers magic rhyme.
Her intercessions once again are made within the circle’s ground Of wishes three, please give to me, break the spell that Maelon will be free Fairies and elves hear of her pleas, woken by the sadness of her sound . To her mind only is the form of vision seen; those who believe surely see.
Three wishes granted by a deity; Dwynwen before her answer gives does pause. First for her lover Maelon, that no longer frozen shall he as ice remain Second that she should no longer be betrothed, no matter what the cause And that for other lovers, if love be true, she might plead of their refrain .
Such wishes she is given; though, in life, love no longer can pass her way. To live a simple life for those who to others wish happiness and kind Upon the rocky island she builds the church whose ruins stand today To drive away such dark and gloom, to heal the troubled mind .
A well there is upon Llandwynwen’s isle, which did with sweet water flow And eels lived within its water deep and clear Who would, if cloth the surface covered, dance quickly to and fro’ Their pattern held a meaning for the lover that was dear.
‘Twas not so long ago that on these very shores, so I am told, That when sea mists rolled in to cloud the wind-blown dunes A figure might emerge from whitewashed cottage, a vision to the bold, Who would tell the meaning of the eels, as others may use runes.
So when the sun is bright, yet low in sky, in the first month of each year Wait upon the fifth and twenty day, then with your sweetheart go To seek answer on Llandwynwen’s isle; but go ye not in any fear For Dwynwen still to honest lovers true shall make their passions grow.
Sweet maiden of this fair isle, why
weepest thou this way ?
Why does the teardrop run down the rosy cheek ?
Where is the smile that brightens up each day ?
The toss of golden hair, the gay laugh so many seek.
What is the cause of such misery ?
Has some misfortune come your way ?
Some loss, an accident, did you foresee
Some peril that may cross your path this day ?
Sir, I thank you for your kindly
words about my state
That you should care for my unhappiness
Alas ! There is nought to be done about my fate
Yet e’en so, let me tell thee of my distress.
In burning love the handsome Maelon
I would seek for my delight
He who sings so proudly and plays so gently on his harp
Sweet songs that charm and enchant me upon the blackest night
Such joy, such rapture, yet I can no longer play my part.
My father’s wishes have promised me
to another
Some Lord from overseas; no feelings have I for his desire;
For soon would he of my passion for Maelon uncover
I care little for his castles and his riches; ’tis the love of Maelon I require
My father’s love is dear to me, and
to his wishes I must defer
For as he has so decreed then ’tis my duty to obey
Though my passions for another I cannot in my heart deter
So, kindly sir, now knowest you the reason why I weep this day.
Art thou some sage who could some
wisdom give to me ?
Methinks that from your face you are a stranger to this sacred isle
What course should I take when passion drives my every plea
Is there a way to transform my teardrops to a smile ?
Sweet daughter of the island king,
whose love is not with foreign Lord
Whose forefathers fought hard to free your people from the bloody axe
Alliances he forms to secure his kingdom from the Norseman’s sword
In mind perplex’d, sweet words you sing are lost whilst he’d make pacts.
Turn your prayers to the wisdom of
the Celtic saints at rest
That they may aid thee in thy intercession to the deity
But tak’st thou care; be true and honest seeking favour to be blessed
Seek within the circle a space where they may speak with thee.
So Dwynwen’s tale this day must now
unfold
Of how when moonlight outshone the flicker of the starry-studded skies
She did go forth at dusk, to brave a night so clear yet cold,
To make her pleas within the stones, tears streaming still from saddened eyes
As Dwynwen prayed that night upon
stone circle another brighter light was shined
With radiance that outshone the moon, so bright the circle seemed afire
(As past spirits summoned in this way will oft appear to troubled mind)
Whate’er such spirits form may be, Dwynwen knew of their attire.
To Dwynwen now the spirit discourse
begins to make
To tell of a potion that her passion may disperse
Which potion made of herbs so rare, a draught she shall partake
Though to her lips only; for others the same shall be a curse.
The spirits to their world return,
clouds drift o’er to cover moonlit sky
Then to her home Dwynwen returns to gather with the morning dew
Such herbs that were told to her; within a silver chalice soon to dry
Which then with wine be mulled to form enchanting brew .
So she doth drink to ease the
burning love from the body young and fair
As passion is consumed so feelings of her love vanish without trace
Then Maelon, anger ever growing , seeing love is gone forever, cries out in
despair
Lifts chalice high to drain the cup, his heart no longer wants to race
Alas ! Love has turned cold; so cold
that like the lake upon the mountain
Covered soon with ice as harsh of winter’s grip sets in
Like icicles that grip and seize the flow of clear crystal fountain
Her lover once, now the ice is trapped within
Once more to sacred isle she returns
to seek out the very sage
Whose wisdom aided her release from passion’s fiery storm
To tell how by misfortune Maelon has been taken in his rage.
The old man walking on the sands is found upon the dawn..
Kind sage the words you gave to me
have quenched the ardour of pursuit
But surely ’tis by accident the life of Maelon now is held in time
Of your advice I seek once more; wisdom to guide me on my route.
Her story told, the sage into her ears gently whispers magic rhyme.
Her intercessions once again are
made within the circle’s ground
Of wishes three, please give to me, break the spell that Maelon will be free
Fairies and elves hear of her pleas, woken by the sadness of her sound .
To her mind only is the form of vision seen; those who believe surely see.
Three wishes granted by a deity;
Dwynwen before her answer gives does pause.
First for her lover Maelon, that no longer frozen shall he as ice remain
Second that she should no longer be betrothed, no matter what the cause
And that for other lovers, if love be true, she might plead of their refrain .
Such wishes she is given; though, in
life, love no longer can pass her way.
To live a simple life for those who to others wish happiness and kind
Upon the rocky island she builds the church whose ruins stand today
To drive away such dark and gloom, to heal the troubled mind .
A well there is upon Llandwynwen’s
isle, which did with sweet water flow
And eels lived within its water deep and clear
Who would, if cloth the surface covered, dance quickly to and fro’
Their pattern held a meaning for the lover that was dear.
‘Twas not so long ago that on these
very shores, so I am told,
That when sea mists rolled in to cloud the wind-blown dunes
A figure might emerge from whitewashed cottage, a vision to the bold,
Who would tell the meaning of the eels, as others may use runes.
So when the sun is bright, yet low
in sky, in the first month of each year
Wait upon the fifth and twenty day, then with your sweetheart go
To seek answer on Llandwynwen’s isle; but go ye not in any fear
For Dwynwen still to honest lovers true shall make their passions grow.
I
cry out to the spirits of this valley “Grant me peace !”
In
search of my silver maiden, lost fore’er,
I climb the highest
cliffs e’en to Yr Eifl’s stony peak.
Call out again “Where
hidest thou, Mair ?”
Curses
still are echoing through these hills.
When shall the valley
break from a darkened past ?
Is this some trial of strength of
spirits’ wills ?
Should love here always be in shadows cast ?
Down
through the steeply wooded slopes,
O’er tumbling rocks and
sliding shale,
Where oak clings firmly to the shallow soil
Here
lies the village in this hidden dale.
Where
Gwrtheyrn sought to find his peace
When in disgrace from his own
countrymen he fled
For in deliverance from the northern
Picts
His country to the mercenary Saxons he had wed.
Somewhere,
so ’tis said, among these crags do lie his bones.
Where tinted
granite in more recent years sparked life
When laughter and
friendly chatter rang from now ruined homes
Hiding, for one
small moment, the history of strife.
I
cry out again for Ceridwen, my plea shall echo from the shore,
Ring
from the valley’s sides and through the rowan trees.
“Tell
me, where hides my love ; does she lie beneath the foamy waves ?
As
the hare and then the hound, listen for her in the breeze. “
I
recall the days of childhood seated beside the earthen mound
Wherein
the bones of all our forefathers were placed to rest
We listened
to the elder’s stories as we gathered round
How curses broke the
happiness; of a ancient faith put to test.
Once
god and goddess could be worshipped side by side
When sacred
woods were gathered for the Beltane fire
Hawthorn, oak and hazel
in bundles carefully tied
To entice the Lord and Lady of the
light in their desire.
Whilst
o’er the hills a different faith to Clynnog Fawr had come
Where
Saint Beuno’s monks had scorned our ancient pagan way
And
three now came to tell us that the older paths were done
Ills
would befall those who listened not upon this day.
Ifan,
our chief with flowing hair had sat near the water’s edge
Listened
to preaching of destruction; for so the monks had cried.
Yet had
not this village for some hundred years or more
Let Christian
god with other deities sit side by side ?
Ifan
had in wisdom listened to their brimstone’d reason
Which spoke
of a hell of ever-burning fire and flame
Of a faith that now
claimed to own the spirits’ home
Of one deity, with no goddess,
known by just one name.
Aghast
the wisen’d chief was filled with horror.
“What of
Rhiannon, of the singing lark and cooing dove ?
What faith is
this, that all should be consumed by terror ?
Where is the place
for mounds and wells, shrines to those we love ?”
E’en
as the waves lapped gently on the shore
The monks in earnest of
their mission to convert
Heard not the plea to recognise this
ancient lore.
Though the faith of the monks the chief would not
divert.
‘Til
anger swept through the minds of village folk
Whose worship now
was cursed whene’er they spoke
And from the wooded valley monks
were driven
Nant Gwrtheyrn’s ways to outside world were hidden.
Yet
as they reached the rim of rock that guarded o’er the glen
Each
monk would turn and to the valley hurled a curse
Evil and
darkness poured out from the lips of zealous men
In rage the
future of this village would be worse.
The
first was to declare that for the newly born
No place in
consecrated ground would they e’er find to lie
Births within
this valley the Christian church would scorn
No resting ground
for man or woman when they die.
The
second, turning, cursed the valley with a dread
Fair maids and
youths in this village born who love do find
Would ne’er in
forthcoming years to the same be wed
To love each other was the
curse the monk did bind.
The
third called out in loud voice for the final doom
That village
would fall to ruin and decay, he urged
Those who stayed would
live a life in gloom
Until the earth within the valley from
their faith was scourged.
My
heart cries out. “Where is Rhiannon, where is my queen ?”
I
listen for the hoofbeat of her horse upon this hill.
“Destroy
the evil of this curse; let your magic now be seen.”
Let
your birds guide us on the journey to the spirit world.
When
by the fire that warmed the house with blaze of peat
My mother
recalled for me the fate of men with courage in their hearts
I
seemed to find myself bewitched as I listened from my seat
A
history of fates that had befallen those who dwelled in these parts.
How
Pyrs and Rhodri from their boat in storm were tossed
No bodies
washed ashore for loved ones to reclaim.
How Hywel and Rhisiart
from the height of cliffs were lost
To the ocean depths ; of
many searches, all in vain.
Did
not my father from another village my mother seek;
Fearing lest
he found a love within the valley ?
Did not my sister leave our
home within the very week
That she had reached an age where she
might marry ?
“Sweet
Mair, art thou forever lost to me ?”
We sought in our love
to free this place from the voices of the damned
“Fair
maiden of golden hair I cry for thee.”
Why should the
curses of the past determine that our love is banned ?
It
seems but yesterday when our village was so full of cheer
Our
houses decked with flowers to join us for our future years
Tables
laden down with food; a garland on your head I hear
Your beauty
in white dress defied the ancient fears.
Upon
that very morn, Bifan the puppy dog you had bestowed
As your
gift to me to celebrate our wedding day
I sang of our love as in
the springtime sun I road
To meet with you to join us with
festivity.
When,
by tradition, your fair form we did not meet;
For, as is our
custom, the bride upon the noon be hidden
For groom with fellows
to play such a game as hide and seek
So finding you, in wedlock
we are to be bidden.
I
call for the spirits to cross o’er the waters from Tara’s hills.
To
search with me among the waters of the tumbling streams.
Let me
find again the love that held such thrills
Let us seek within
the caves for one who held my dreams.
I
remember as the shadows lengthened with the evening sun
Fair
Mair whose secret place we never found
Rising, searched again
until the day was also done
Called for her answer and ne’er
heard a sound.
I
stood with our friends upon the towering cliff to stare below
Where
raging seas had tossed the tides upon the moon
Could such
foaming brine have claimed the love I knew
So much that we had
promised; was it lost so soon ?
My
heart is broken as I walk the beach, thoughts of you I tried to
save
The months go by and then the years pass too
Bifan,
memory of our last parting, now laid to rest in watery grave
What
life have I, lost is the sweetest love for you.
Mair
! Bifan ! I listen to the raging sea crash against the rock,
I
hear faint cries of love I knew,
Beneath these cliffs, there
lies the love I would unlock.
Mair ! Bifan ! I jump to be with
you !
When
I sank beneath the waves your spirit I had hoped to find
To
bring us close and at last the village curse defeat
What torment
still awaits ? What curse is so cruel and unkind ?
Will our
spirits rush through these woods, nevermore to meet ?
From
within the woods I still recall the fierceness of a winter storm
A
thunderbolt that split in two the giant oak
Inside the hollowed
trunk they found your bridal form
Your body gripped as in a
vice. Cries were never spoke.
In
love and laughter on that day you hid within our lover’s tree
Where
we had lain beneath the leaves and under summer’s sun had
kissed
Under those very branches where we danced and sang with
glee
What pain this spirit feels. Sweet body within the wood we
missed.
Still
in you bridal gown, your flowing hair now turned to silver’d
gray
Your bones within the coffin placed in sacred ground should
rest
Surely no curse could now deny you peace along the last
pathway ?
The toil of the horse with cart shall carry you to
where you’re blessed.
My
spirit cries in anguish when at last on clifftop the old horse
stumbles
To see your casket slide from tightly-fastened ropes
with such ease
Crashing down the cliff, wood shattered, upon the
rocks the coffin tumbles
I watch as your bones are scattered to
the seas.
Shall
our spirits roam forever in this cursed glen
Each time I hear
your voice I float from tree to tree
I’ll search until I find
thee, for only then….
Yes ! Then shall this valley from
a curse be free.
Park Bench Tales and other writings 