Hill Forts and Slate Quarries

Hill Forts and Slate Quarries

Today, May 22, Dad and I set out again in search of Tre’r Ceiri hill fort, and finally succeeded.  We spent almost an hour last night looking at Google Earth and our GPS system, and found a much easier (and considerably shorter) route than the one recommended by Trekking Britain.” 

We stopped at a lay-by on the B4417 out of Llithfaen, went through a gate and headed up a clearly visible path.  The path was steep in places, and very rocky, but the effort was worth it when we reached the top. 

Tre’r Ceiri is an iron-age hill fort, built sometime in the first century BC.  It was constructed of scree from the hillside, stacked up to form the walls of more than 150 round houses like the ones shown in the photo.  The entire collection of houses was surrounded by a 12-foot wall, which was capped by a stone rampart. 

A few of the round houses at Tre’r Ceiri

The fort was occupied throughout the Roman period, with archaeological finds showing it was inhabited as late as the fourth century.  In the prequel to The Harper’s Word, one of the main characters has his court at Tre’r Ceiri.  Although the landscape is exceptionally rugged, with nothing more than gorse growing on the hillside, the views from the top of the Tre’r Ceiri mount are spectacular, and would have provided the people who lived here with ample warning of approaching visitors. 

View from the top of Tre’r Ceiri

The wind off the sea was freezing cold, and much stronger than I expected it to be.  It actually made it difficult to breathe and almost impossible to hear; Dad had to shout directions until we left the northern part of the fort and the walls blocked some of the wind again.  If you plan to visit, don’t forget your gloves!

To reach Tre’r Ceiri, follow the B4417 out of Llithfaen until you reach the lay-by at coordinates 4°24’56”W, 52°58’14”N.  There is a sign that says simply “Tre’r Ceiri,” and room for 2 or 3 cars to park here.  Follow the stone steps to a gate.  Beyond the gate is a steeply sloping field.  Follow this to a kissing gate.  The path then climbs to a stile, which you won’t have to climb since the barbed wire fence has collapsed.  From here, the trail winds its way upwards over rugged and sometimes slippery rock.  There is room for only one person to pass between the thick gorse bushes (I had to hold on to Dad’s backpack and follow behind).  Eventually, you will come to an information plaque.  The hill fort is only a little further up the path—though be warned: this is the most rugged part of the trail, with large, loose rocks underfoot.  The entire walk, including the short time we spent at the top, took us about two and a half hours. 

On our way back to Llanberis, Dad spotted what looked to be an old Norman church.  We pulled over and went to investigate.  In fact, St. Breuno’s Church dates from the 1400s, and contains a number of very interesting artefacts—not the least of which is the chest that would have once held parish records.  Chests such as this, which were carved out of one piece of wood, are very rare. 

St. Breuno’s Church from the road.

The other interesting thing we discovered was that St. Breuno’s Church is connected to Canada.  One of its congregation members, 18-year-old Edgar Christian, travelled to Canada in 1927, and died while on a hunting expedition in the Northwest Territories.  His diary was found ten years later, and has since been published under the title Unflinching.  Apparently this is a “minor classic” in Canada.  Although I’d never heard of it, the story intrigues me, and I have every intention of trying to find a copy once I get home.

In the afternoon, we visited the National Slate museum in Llanberis.  This museum is on the site of an old slate mine that is no longer operational.  In 1882, the quarry produced 87,000 tons of slate. 

The water wheel on display at the museum is 50 feet, 5 inches in diameter, and would have been used to work almost all of the equipment necessary to power the quarry, which was almost self-sufficient.  The water wheel powered saws to cut wood to make repairs to company wagons and ships.  Carpenters and joiners made the buildings and repaired wooden tools when they broke.  A patterner made wooden models that could be pressed into the sand floor of the foundry, where molten metal was poured into the moulds to make the metal tools and mechanisms required by the quarrymen and slate splitters.  Nowadays, with mechanization, 12 men can do the work of 200. 

The only thing still done by hand in a slate  quarry is slate splitting.  Depending on the grade of slate, the stone can be split into sheets as thin as 1 mm.  Once split, the slates must be “dressed”—that is, cut to a certain size.  Queens are the largest size, and the only ones not specified by measurement; they can be any size larger than a princess.  In descending orders, the sizes are: queens, princesses, duchesses, countesses, etc.  Dressing is done with a large, cleaver-like knife, and a notched ruler.  A good dresser could dress up to 600 slates in a 9-hour day, if the slate was of good quality.  The average number of dressed slates was between 350 and 400.  This is not to say that a dresser was paid for all of these; the company took 28% of the dresser’s wage to cover the cost of slates that broke while in transit (though the number of slates that were actually broken was closer to 5%).  Apprentices would travel from the surrounding villages at the age of 12, and live in the barracks at the quarry.  For the first six months, they would receive no pay.  The second six months, they would be paid 6 pence a day.  Every year after that, their pay would increase by a shilling. 

Unfortunately, all the photos we took at the slate museum were on a smaller camera than the one we’ve been using over the course of the trip, and it looks like I forgot the cable to download the photos.  There are some nice ones of Dad learning to split slate; I’ll post them when we get back to Canada! 

Rain and Ruins

Rain and Ruins

Today, May 21, dawned grey and cold, with mist that edged in and out of rain.  It was not a morning to think about attempting the mountain, so Dad and I headed into Caernarfon (about a 15-minute drive from Llanberis) to visit the Caernarfon Castle.  Even in ruins, this structure dominates the town; I can only imagine what it must have been like when it was first built. 

In 1272, Edward I became King of England while on crusade.  His journey home took him through France, where he stopped in Paris to pay homage to King Philip for the lands he held in France; to his duchy of Gascony, where he stopped to deal with some Ducal business; and finally to England. 

Like most of the Welsh princes before him, Llewellyn ap Gruffedd of Gwynedd refused to pay homage to the King of England.  Unlike his predecessors, Edward I saw this as a slight and a threat to his reign; he began a campaign against the Welsh, culminating in the burning of the harvest on Anglesey (Llewellyn’s primary granary) and a Welsh surrender in 1277. 

Peace was short-lived; in 1282-3 Llewellyn led a second campaign, including several embarrassing defeats for the English.  Finally, in 1283, Edward I quashed the uprising, and began work on a ring of man-made fortresses that would encircle the natural fortress of the Snowdonia mountain range.  His castles included Conwy, Flint, Harlech, and Caernarfon.  Whereas the others were meant to be strictly military, Caernarfon Castle was meant to be a palace as well.  Edward I’s heir was born in temporary quarters here in 1294, the castle still being under construction. 

Caernarfon Castle was built in imitation of the castle described in the folk story “The Dream of Magnus Maximus,” found in the Mabinogion—a thirteenth-century collection of medieval Welsh legends, one of which is the basis for The Harper’s Word.  Magnus Maximus, whom the Welsh called Macsen Wledig (pronounced Mac-sen oo-led-ic), was Emperor of Rome.  In the story, he dreams of a far-off island with many mountains and streams, and a great castle with towers of various colours.  Caernarfon has various coloured stones in its walls, and on its main tower are three stone eagles—the symbol of imperial Rome.  It is said that Edward I deliberately drew on the Welsh love of Rome in creating his palace. 

The courtyard and keep of Caernarfon Castle

Despite its grand scale, Caernarfon Castle was never actually completed.  The king’s gate (the main entrance) is missing several features, the Queen’s gate lacks its ramp, the kitchen’s never reached their full size, and there was to be an elaborate sea gate that was also never completed.  It’s still impressive.  Check out this picture of the stone cauldron supports; the cauldron would rest on the stones while a fire was lit beneath to heat it. 

Cauldron supports in the kitchen of Caernarfon Castle

Included in the castle is the museum of the Welsh Fusiliers (a Welsh regiment dating back to 1689), which was really interesting, despite the lack of tactile things for me.  My favourite bit of information from this site is that the Welsh language has been used to send coded  messages, and has not yet been broken by enemy forces.  It was successfully used against the Japanese during World War II, and again in 1995 against the Bosnians.  This is making me reconsider my chances of teaching myself Welsh ;)

By the time we finished at Caernarfon Castle, it was starting to brighten, and the mist was slowly rising.  We grabbed a bite to eat and headed back to our B&B for our boots and heavy coats.  Then, at last, we began the walk up Snowdon.  Unfortunately, by this time it was 2 in the afternoon, and we wasted a fair bit of time searching for the foot of the trail.  Someone told us to head up this really steep road and, when we did, we found it led to a farmhouse—not up the mountain—so we wasted a fair bit of time back-tracking and searching for the actual start of the Llanberis Path.  Could have done with some bigger sign posts!   Between the lateness of the good weather and the misdirection, we simply didn’t have the time to get all the way up.  I’m disappointed, but we did our best. 

We still have one more day here in North Wales, but I’ve decided that if the weather is good I’d rather try to find Tre’r Ceiri again than to attempt Snowdon.  Based on where I am in the prequel to Harper, having an understanding of the layout of this hill fort and the countryside around it is more important.  I regret leaving Snowdon undone, but I’ll be back to try again.

Tony Blackman, the late president of the Cornish Archaeological Society, always told me that you have to leave some things undone, because it gives you a reason to come back.  I’ve got my reason: all 1000+ metres of it.  Snowdon’s not going anywhere!

Mists on the Moors

Mists on the Moors

Unfortunately, today dawned with a good deal of cloud hovering low over Snowdonia, which meant the upper reaches of Snowdon itself were not easy for first-time climbers to reach.  So, Dad and I put off the climb, and decided to head north toward Dinas Dinlle and Tre’r Ceiri. 

Dinas Dinlle is an iron-age hill fort built on the southern coast of the Llyn Peninsula, facing into Cardigan Bay—not off the tip of the peninsula, as one website I used for research implied.  Dad and I followed our GPS’s directions to the beach, which was marked by a sign with a duck on it—indicating that the area was a good one for bird watching.  We made our way west along the beach, through a metal gate, and then along a “grippy wooden path” that led up the side of the steep hill and through the remains of the fortress.  The sea has claimed back about a third of the Celtic fort, and a fence prevents visitors from getting too close to the steep drop to the beach. 

Dinas Dinlle would likely have dominated the landscape, and you can see for easily 20 miles from the top of the mound.  The mountains of Snowdonia are visible to the southwest, where they seem to crash into the sea, and to the north, the jagged peaks give way to more rolling hills—perhaps the Rivals that we explored later (it’s hard to keep my bearings with all the twisty roads and roundabouts!). 

Within the earthen walls of Dinas Dinlle.

The fortress consisted of two ramparts on either side of a ditch.  Some scholars suggest that livestock would have been kept in the ditch during troubled times. 

We then made our way a little further north to the base of the Rivals.  Somewhere on top of these three, barren mountains is the hill fort of Tre’r Ceiri, which was in use up to circa 400 AD.  Dad and I had downloaded directions from the internet, and began our trek up a grassy moorland.  To either side, the hills fell away to what would likely have been extraordinary views of the coasts of the Llyn Peninsula, had the valleys not been filled with clouds. 

Following the directions and the yellow arrows, we wandered upward, across moderately rugged moors, through a field of sheep, and toward a gate.  At the gate, we met a farmer with his dogs.  We asked him if we were heading the right way, and apparently we weren’t.  He walked back up the sheep field with us, and pointed us in the right direction—further uphill, through a kissing gate.  Supposedly, beyond this point, the track continued straight, over a creek and a bit of rocky ground, to a second kissing gate, where a path would lead to the hill fort itself. 

No such luck.  We made our way through gate 1, over the stream, and along a very, very rocky path.  It was difficult for me, not being able to see where I was placing each foot.  I slipped and stumbled my way behind Dad, pushing through gorse bushes that lined the tiny, rugged trail—leaving only enough space to put one foot in front of the other.  As the trail grew more difficult, Dad left me waiting by a large rock while he “scouted on ahead,” since by this time we couldn’t see more than 100 yards in any direction with the cloud cover (more like fog at this height).  There was no sign of Tre’r Ceiri, and since the clouds were growing worse, boiling up the valleys from the sea and tumbling over our hilltop, we decided that safety had to come first and retreated to our car. 

The clouds over the Rivals

Tre’r Ceiri, I’m told, is a very impressive site if you can find it: a hill fort so large it contains the remains of more than one hundred round houses.  I was keen to reach the spot, since I’ve arbitrarily decided that it is here that one of the key players in The Harper’s Word held court.  Maybe if the weather clears, we’ll try again. 

Unfortunately, our struggles on the slopes of the Rivals has shown me that, while I would probably be physically capable of climbing the Snowdon Ranger Path (the path up Snowdon that I’d really like to take), the mental endurance required to deal with the stress of never knowing what type of footing I’m going to find the next time I take a step is likely too much at this time, especially since the Ranger Path is supposed to be one of the more rugged ascents.  This doesn’t mean I’ve given up on getting to the top of Snowdon, just that I’m going to relent and take an easier path—but not the train! (For those of you who don’t know, there is a nineteenth-century steam train that takes visitors to the top of the mountain; I flat out refuse to use this, as it feels too much like cheating :P) 

Dad and I did drive around to the base of the Snowdon Ranger Path, and walk a few hundred yards up the trail to get a sense of direction and layout (I need it for a scene in the prequel to Harper).  We spent a bit of time on the shores of Llyn Cwellyn, a cigar-shaped lake at the foot of Snowdon. 

The mountain visible is not Snowdon, but a neighbouring peak.

We met a couple from Coventry descending the Snowdon Ranger Path just before we headed out for supper, and paused to chat with them about the ascent.  They were regular climbers, and had made this particular ascent 5 times before.  Today, they set out at 1 pm, and were just finishing their hike at 6:30 pm.  This was encouraging, and the hikers said that while it was indeed more rugged than some of the other paths—like the simple Llanberis path, or the popular Pyg or Minor’s tracks—it probably wouldn’t be impossible for me to do it.  This trip, though, we’ll stick to an easy route so we can reach the summit.  Next time—and hopefully next time will be soon—I’m going to make my way up the Ranger Path.  Just because :P 

In Search of Llew Llaw Gyffes

Today, Sunday, May 19, Dad and I drove north from Brynna, up through the Brecon Beacons toward Snowdonia National Park.  The landscape varied from coniferous forests to barren, rounded mountains, to deciduous forests and more barrens. 

Brecon Beacons

We stopped in Trawsfynydd and asked directions to Tomen-y-Mur

Tomen-y-Mur, literally “the mound within the walls” is a large, conical mound just north of town.  It was originally a Roman fortress, built in timber in 77 AD to help in subduing local tribes, and rebuilt in stone when the political climate stabilized early in the second century.  It was abandoned by the Romans in the third century, and not used again until Norman times.  The area is considered to be the site of the legendary fortress of Mur-y-Castell, the home of Llew Llaw Gyffes and his wife Blodewedd in the Mabinogion.  The site’s association with the ancient legends was the reason for our visit. 

CMG with the mound of Tomen-y-Mur in the background

Llew Llaw Gyffes was the nephew of the Welsh magician Gwydion.  When Llew was cursed by his mother to have “no wife of this world,” Gwydion made him a wife out of flowers, whom he named Blodewedd.  The couple lived together at Mur-y-Castell (which, as you can see, is a pretty bleak part of Wales!) until Blodewedd fell in love with Gronw when his hunting party took him near to the mound.  Gronw and Blodewedd plotted to kill her husband, but were foiled when Llew transformed into an eagle and flew away.  Sometime later, when he was healed of the wounds he had received from Gronw, Llew returned to his home and slew Gronw, while Gwydion transformed Blodewedd into an owl. 

I’m currently working on a historical fiction version of this story, and was glad to have the opportunity to visit Mur-y-Castell to get a sense of the landscape.  Thanks, Dad, for all the driving!

Directions:

To reach Tomen-y-Mur, head north on the A470 north of Trawsfynydd.  Pass the power station on your left, and a small chapel on your right.  Just beyond the chapel there is a very small, one-track road that goes under a bridge.  Follow this past a cottage to a parking lot; the site is clearly sign posted at this point.  Use the stile that leads from the parking area into the field, then follow the path to the mound itself.  Mind the sheep!

Tomorrow: Snowdon.  Wish us luck!