John Ifor Wyburn

Introduction by J.I. Wyburn

This posting is a translation of a Welsh-language article by Sarah Winifred Parry, originally published in Y Llusern (1907), March (pp. 54-57), April (pp.86-89), September (pp. 138-139).

In this article Parry gives an account of Thomas Pennant, the Welsh naturalist and antiquary remembered today as “the father of Cambrian tourism”. The phrase, used as a banner slogan by the Thomas Pennant Society, highlights his modern cultural status, but risks simplifying the extraordinary range of his work, in which he combined the roles of traveller, historian, ethnographer, and naturalist in Wales, the country of his forebears.

Writing as Winnie Parry, Sarah Winifred Parry had already become a household name through her articles and short stories in Welsh-language periodicals. Her best-known novel, Sioned, first appeared as a serial between 1894 and 1896, was published in book form in 1906, and remains in print today. The translation was published in 2025, 120+ years after the original! Winnie Parry would later become editor of Cymru’r Plant, the influential Welsh children’s magazine, and is remembered as a formative influence on the development of the modern Welsh short story.

Parry’s time is much closer to ours than Pennant’s, and her article could stand as one written today. The illustrations, with one anonymous exception, are from the public domain work of Moses Griffith, Pennant's great friend and preferred illustrator.

Caernarfon (Caernarvon) Castle. “The Splendid Badge of our Subjection” in Pennant’s memorable phrase. By Pennant’s travelling companion and illustrator, Moses Griffith.

Thomas Pennant by Winnie Parry

I wish to give a brief account of the author of a particular book, one of great relevance to we Welsh. This author has been dead for over a century, but the charm and appeal of his life and character still remain. I refer to Thomas Pennant, who set out on a journey through our country in the year 1773 to enjoy its sights, and to study the life and traditions of its people. The book is Tours in North Wales, and those who have read it know that Pennant’s is among the most fascinating of the books that deal with Wales and Welsh things. In the most recent edition, published by Humphreys of Caernarfon, Professor John Rhys gives an outline of the author’s life story [1].

Thomas Pennant was born in Downing, a property in the parish of Whiteford, Flintshire, in the year 1726. He came of a noble family, descended from one Trefor Tudor, who had settled here as early as the 11th century. They had another such property called Bychton in the same parish, and from that situation they took the name Pennant, meaning head of the stream. This name is found in honourable standing throughout the history of Wales. They did not, however, keep the line completely pure, for they mixed through marriage with the English. Thomas Pennant’s own mother was an Englishwoman, the daughter of Richard Mytton, of Halston, a similarly ancient family. She was a kind and good woman, and her son often speaks of her lovingly as “my good religious mother.”

Pennant took great pride in belonging to such a distinguished family, and it is indeed no small thing to feel that one continues the tradition of men who played their part bravely and honourably in life. The French have an old saying about this, of only two words, but conveying a great deal, noblesse oblige [2]. An honourable heritage imposes the necessity to keep the family name unblemished, and Thomas Pennant behaved in a manner becoming the dignity of his ancestors.

Few details about his early days are available. Pennant says that he was brought up on one of the farms on his father’s estate. This tradition of sending aristocratic children to be raised by tenants was common centuries ago, but it has been out of favour for many a day, and it is likely that Pennant is one of the last examples of it. It was a practice with much to recommend it. For one thing, it created a feeling of closeness and affection between the noble and the peasantry, and instructed him in the language and customs of his dependants. This is probably how Pennant became so well versed in the Welsh language. And even though, by virtue of his status, he would afterwards move amongst the aristocracy, he did not forget his early contact with those of a lower standing. He had practical knowledge of their situation, and was inclined to sympathize fully with their needs.

When still very young he was sent to a school in Wrexham, and a Welshman named John Lewis was his first schoolmaster. When he was twelve years old Pennant was given a book on birds, “Willoughby’s Ornithology,” and this first awakened his interest in “Natural History,” and determined the course of his life’s studies. Little of his story is to be found for some years after leaving Wrexham. He spent some time in London, and in the year 1744 went to Oxford. He was there a few years, but left without gaining a degree. There is no explanation for this, because it is clear from his writing that he was a great Latin scholar, so he could not have neglected his studies. There was however no need for him to follow a profession, and he had time and opportunity to pursue his particular interests. A lucky man, was he not?

In 1754 he was elected a Fellow of the venerable Society of Antiquaries of London. In 1761 he began his great work “British Zoology.” He had intended the profits from this to go to the Welsh school in Grey’s Inn Lane, London [3]. However, when it was published around the year 1766, the expense of bringing it out was greater than the profits. Nevertheless, it gave the author considerable prestige among the naturalists of that time, and when after a few years the book was published in a different format, it enjoyed great success. In 1771, the same year he published “A History of British Quadrupeds,” he was greatly honoured by the University of Oxford, which awarded him the degree of Doctor of Laws, with considerable pomp and ceremony. This demonstrated how his abilities were valued, and the high renown he had gained among his contemporaries.

But it is as a traveller that Pennant is most relevant to us today. This was his main avocation for many years. He travelled on the Continent, through Ireland and the Isle of Man, to Scotland and Cornwall, and, most important to him and to us, he travelled a great deal through Wales. As he says in the “Advertisement” (Introduction) of “Tours in North Wales,” “This is an account of my own country.” This, and the account of his journey in Scotland, were the only such he published. Of all Pennant’s books, those concerning his journeys are probably the only ones read today.

It is curious, isn’t it, the attraction of reading about a man on a journey? It is entertaining to sit by the fire on a long dark night and read about the perils and adventures of a brave man, and feel a reflection of the excitement that follows his steps, without participating in the discomfort and danger that meets him. Some people prefer this to travel itself. But for the majority of people the desire to explore is strong, and if it weren’t for our circumstances, many more of us would be tramping. Strangeness is probably the main charm of such a book; the history of a strange country, and of strange people, and of strange events. Pennant went on his journey in the year 1773, and indeed the Wales that Pennant wandered through is very different from the one we know today (1905!). It is a foreign country to us, and our imaginations are galvanized when we try to form a picture of it as it was in Pennant’s days.

Let us think for a moment about some of the things that made it different. There was no connection between Anglesey and Caernarfonshire; no bridge over the Menai. In place of the bridge are five ferries trying to serve the same purpose. One is in Abermenai, one in Talyfoel, one in Moelydon, one in Porthaethwy, and one in Garth, and all but one still cross the Menai today, but there is a considerable difference in the importance of their work compared to the year 1773. There was no railway either, and that also made the Wales of that time very different to how it is now. Transport was not so readily available. Summer would not bring a flock of foreigners to our country, and there was no danger of Pennant, when he wandered meditatively about as a kind of romantic bard, being distracted by a hoard of loud-voiced tourists. You’ve seen them, perhaps gathered around a man reading a dry description of some old ruin, in a dull and disinterested voice, from a book with red covers. Those were not the days of shilling guidebooks.

Let us consider another difference. The history of a day here in Anglesey in the year 1773 was very different to what it is in 1905. Think of Sunday, for example. It is likely that none of the chapels that now pepper the island were standing at that time. It is true that there was a parish church, but few attended, and at the end of the service most of these, the parson among them, would go openly to the pub nearby, or to amuse themselves with foot-ball [4], cockfights or playing quoits, and very often these games would go on in the cemetery outside the church door [5]. This is not the Sunday we are used to. Then consider the difference in the typical food and drink. It was not a sandwich of white bread and a cup of tea that welcomed Pennant in the cottages he came to on his journey. Tea, now the most common and necessary thing in our houses, was so strange at that time, that it is said that one old woman, when she received some as a gift, boiled it, poured the water away, and tried to eat the leaves. She couldn’t imagine why there was so much praise for tea [6]. Think also about the difference in the dress of the Welsh that Pennant was touring amongst and our dress now. It is not a difference between yesterday’s fashion and today’s fashion, but went further than that. It was almost always home-made. The cloth was spun at home in the cottages, and woven in our own villages. Today we use very little linen, but there was nothing else to be had at that time, no calico nor cotton. We can name many other things, but that is enough to show that the Wales that Pennant travelled through in the year 1773 is a country that seems very strange to us today.

Pennant will happily permit us to follow him on his journey, but perhaps it would be instructive to consider his method of conveying what he saw. He did not travel alone, but had the company of two other men; the Reverend John Lloyd, a gentleman of Caerwys, and Moses Griffith, Pennant’s servant. Of the first, Pennant says that he was extremely knowledgeable about the history of Wales, about its poets and writers, and all old traditions, and that he had been of great service to him. He also pays high tribute to Moses Griffith, who had drawn pictures of the different places the three visited, and of the different objects of their interest, the old ruined castles and the ancient churches. “The illustrations in the volumes are the work of my faithful servant; and I beg the reader to pass over any minor errors he finds in them, as they were drawn by one who has enough genius, but has never been disciplined in this art. One also who lives in one of the most rural and remote parts of North Wales, out of reach of all cultural advantages.” This is Pennant’s testimony, and Griffith must have had considerable natural talent to be able to help his master in such a way. And indeed, many such have arisen in Wales after Pennant’s time; the boys of the country cottages, boys of natural genius. Is there any land like to Wales in this? Moses Griffith died in the year 1819 at the age of 72, and Pennant’s son put the following words on his tombstone, - “In memory of Moses Griffith, an ingenious self-taught artist, Who accompanied Thomas Pennant, the Historian, in his tours, and whose works he illustrated by his faithful pencil.”

But to return to Pennant’s journeys. He and his two companions set off on the last day of the year 1773 on a journey through North Wales. They travelled sometimes on horseback, other times on coaches, and others on foot, and wandered all over the country, paying a visit to every object that had a particle of interest attached to it, and Pennant describes it all in detail in his book. He gives the history of every castle he comes across, relates all its sieges, and acquaints us with those whose lives were once connected with the walls which, when Pennant found them, were rapidly crumbling. Here, instead of echoing the sound of weapons and human voices, he heard perhaps only the bleating of a sheep, which grazed on the grass that grew green in the hallways, or the shrill note of an owl sounding at dusk. But Pennant’s imagination dresses the ancient ruins in their original glory, and it is difficult not to share his enthusiasm when he tells of some exploit of “that gallant Prince Owain Gwynedd,” as he styles him [7], or of one of the other heroes of ancient Wales. Pennant has stories of a gentler nature to tell us about many of them, such as how, when he passes Castle Dinas Brân, and he tells us of Myfanwy Fychan, and gives a translation of Howel ap Einion’s ode. One of the poets of the recent century, John Ceiriog Hughes, has also told us this story, in his own incomparable way. Who does not know Ceiriog’s Myfanwy, and remember Howel’s plea when he cries, “O that I were a wandering breeze around Dinas Brân”?[8]

Castell Dinas Bran by Moses Griffith, 1773

When we travel past an ancient church or the ruins of an old abbey, Pennant takes us back to the days when Wales was Catholic, and many of its lands belonged to the monks, whose houses pepper our country in every direction. To judge from the glimpse that Pennant gives us, they had a pretty good life in Wales in those days. When he describes Basingwerk Abbey, which is next to Holywell, he mentions an Abbot, by name Thomas ap Dafydd Pennant (!) [9] who lived in the time of the poet Guttyn Owain. Around 1480 Owain praised the Abbot, saying; “Even though the King’s gold was cast there, he gave out twice the treasure of the king in wine.”

Basingwerk Abbey by Moses Griffith

Among the other delicacies that this Abbot enjoyed was sugar, which was transported from the island of Sicily as early as the twelfth century, but of course only the great of the land were able to afford it. Guttyn Owain and Tudur Aled tell us other things of this Abbot more to his credit. They speak of the mills that he had built, and the improvements that he had made in the abbey, and also about his personal bravery when enemies attacked the monks’ residence, as they did at times in those troubled days.

He also gives a description of every stately home he sees on his way. He is well known to the majority of the country’s gentlemen, and welcome to search the records of old families whose history was linked with that of Wales; and his pride in their deeds is apparent on almost every page. Perhaps it was when searching these old records that he came across a list of the laws of the old Welsh. He gives us a taste of some of these which seem today very comical and strange, such as the one dealing with gwerth (value, compensation). He says that a Welshman’s finger is worth a cow and twenty pence [10], and his nose is worth 6 cows and a hundred and twenty pence; that is, if any were to injure a Welshman’s nose or cut off his finger, the one wounded would get the compensation named. And, if his hair was pulled, he would get a penny for every finger used, and two pence for the thumb. It sounds strange, doesn’t it?

Perhaps it was in these writings that he found the history of the Eisteddfod. He relates this from the earliest times, describing the office of the poets, and what their achievements had to be before getting their bardic degrees [11]. It also says what their courtly work was, and the reward they received. When a poet went with the prince’s servants on a campaign against some other, hostile ruler, the poet would encourage them with his songs, and would be rewarded with the best he-goat amongst the spoil. Such a campaign would almost always be made into the territory of the English, and the Welsh assumed they were doing nothing but reclaiming their own property when they went off with the goods of their oppressors.

Should a bard ask a favour from a prince, the bard had to sing a poem of his own composition; if the favour were from a noble [13], he had to sing three pieces; and if the bard asked something from the hand of an ordinary man, the poet must sing until so tired that he must rest on his elbow, or fall asleep from exhaustion.

The value of a harp was a matter of considerable significance. Pennant tells us that the prince’s harp was worth a hundred and twenty pence, as was the harp of a master bard; the key [14] was worth 24 pence; and a noble’s harp was worth 60 pence.

Caerwys, Mathrafal, and Aberffraw, says Pennant, were the places where Eisteddfods were held in the old days, the reason being that each was the court of a Welsh prince. He gives a copy of a fascinating pronouncement regarding the Eisteddfod, a commission from Queen Elizabeth to a number of gentlemen to keep an Eisteddfod in Caerwys. Accordingly, one was held there on the 26th of May, 1569, and Pennant gives a list of the poets who received their degrees. There were 67 of these, and the names of the first four were Lewis Edwards, William Llyn, Owen Gwynedd, and Simwnt Fychan. He also gives a list of those who had received their degrees for playing on the harp and crwth [15]. Those who played the crwth were considered inferior to those who played the harp; they were not allowed to sit, and would get only a penny’s reward for playing. He concludes his account of the Eisteddfod with “the description of the poetical genius of the Welsh by Michael Drugton”, and quotes one of the English poet’s songs.

‘Mongst whom, some there were bards, that in their sacred rage Recorded the descents and acts of every age: Some with their nimble joints that struck the warbling string, In fingering some unskill’d, but us’d to sing To others harp; of which you both might find Great plenty, and of both excelling in their kind, That as the Stethon oft obtain’d a victor’s praise; Had won the silver harp, and worn Apollo’s bays Whose verses they deduc’d from those first golden times, Of sundry sorts of feet, and sundry suits of rhimes, In englins some there were, that in their subject strain; Some makers that again affect a loftier vein, Rehearse their high conceits in cowyths ; other some In owdells theirs express, as matter haps to come. So varying still their moods, observing yet in all Their quantities, their rests, their ceasures metrical; For, to that sacred art they most themselves apply; Addicted from their birth to so much poesy, That in the mountains, those who scarce have seen a book Most skilfully will make, as though from art they took. [16]

Pennant’s knowledge of the language of the people, and his geniality, won him acceptance into the houses of the common people as well; and he was able to collect old stories and traditions preserved only by word of mouth. He mentions their religious rituals, and the customs and superstitions they had concerning burial. For example, he says that the rural people considered it a fortunate thing to have rain at a funeral, “that his bier might be wet with the dew of heaven”.

He describes other old customs about which nothing is heard today. He says that sons and daughters would join together to sing verses alternately around the harp. The youngest would start the night by dancing, and when they were tired of that, they would sit and spend the night singing. Pennant says that one parish would often compete for a prize against another, and that the singing could be heard on the top of every hill around.

He sometimes gives us an account of the industries of the people among whom he moves. When passing Bala, for example, he mentions that it was notable for the large number of stockings knitted and sold there. A stocking market was held every Saturday morning, when a value of two to five hundred pounds would be sold, according to the demand for them. He says that every child he met on the road was knitting, and very often he would meet men at the same work. Because the women loved each other’s company, late in the day they would meet in one of their houses, and sit around the fire to knit. One would tell a story, another would sing a song, and perhaps a neighbourhood harpist would come to entertain them at their work. This was called a Knitting Circle.

Pennant has something like this to say about every place he visits. He has much to say about Caernarfon County [16]. He comes to Nant Conwy to begin with, and Llyn yr Afanc (the Lake of the Beavers), reminding us that those animals were found in Wales centuries ago. He says that the old Welsh had another name for this animal, which was llost lydan, “he of the broad tail”, because of the sturdiness of its tail. He says that its skin was in great demand in the days of Hywel Dda, and that each was worth a hundred and twenty pence, while the skin of a wolf or a fox was worth only twelve pence.

He travels on through the Conwy Valley, and gives us a detailed history of the town and the castle. The population of the town of Conwy was very small at that time, and much of the land inside the walls was used for gardens. Pennant was upset that the castle was crumbling; he attributed this to the work of several foolish persons stealing stones from beneath one of the huge towers, undermining the structure until a large piece of the wall had fallen down.

Moses Griffith (1781), Conwy Castle.

From Conwy Pennant comes to Bangor, and according to his custom gives us all the troubles of the town in the past, and the history of various characters famously connected with those events.

When he travels on to Caernarfon, he tells us - “This town is justly the boast of North Wales, for the beauty of its situation, the goodness of its buildings, the regularity of the plan, and the grandeur of the castle, the most magnificent badge of our subjection.”

Moses Griffith (1781), Carnarvon Castle in Watercolour [17]

He says there are several mansions in the town, where some nobles of the county lived at certain times of the year. He mentions one called Plas Puleston, a very ancient house, the founder of which was Sir Roger Puleston, who lived in the time of Edward I. He was very much in the king’s favour, and Edward had made him Lord of the Castle. In 1294 he was commanded to raise a tax on the surrounding country to carry on the war between England and France. The Welsh in the neighbourhood were not pleased with this, and they rose as one man, rushed the town, took the castle, and hanged Sir Roger at his own door. This Sir Roger Puleston was one of the ancestors of the Reverend Puleston Jones.

From Caernarfon Pennant crossed to Tal-y-foel, and travelled through Anglesey, paying a visit to many places that are well known to us. When talking about Llantysilio he notices how strange it was that most of the churches in Anglesey were built by the sea. When passing through Porthaethwy, he says that it was here that most people would cross the Menai, and that an extraordinary number of animals were transported at this place.

A View on the Menai by Moses Griffith

Anglesey at that time annually exported from 12 to 15 thousand head of cattle, besides a large number of sheep and pigs, and that the animals that remained were around thirty thousand. Some 90 thousand bushels of corn were delivered from the island in the year 1770. When talking about the agriculture of Anglesey he makes a surprising comment: “The improvement in husbandry has greatly increased since the suppression of smuggling from the Isle of Man; before that time every farmer was mounted on some high promontory, expecting the vessel with illicit trade: but since that period, he sets in earnest to industry and cultivation.”

While in the neighbourhood of Porthaethwy he laments an old custom that flourished in Anglesey centuries ago, an example of which had taken place long after the time of the Welsh princes. The custom showed how much power the lord of the land had, having the right to sell his servants and their children as part of the estate on which they worked. Pennant produces a proof of sale from this trade - a receipt for their living persons from Henry Rowlands Mona antiqua restaurata (1766).

He talks about Amlwch and the copper works on Parys mountain in the greatest detail, then says: “From Parys mountain I visited the north-west parts of the island, and passed over a plain sandy country, fertile in grain. See to the right, the Middle Mouse and farther on is the third small isle of that name, called the West Mouse. Between these, on the coast of Anglesey, is Cemlyn Bay, where there is safe anchorage for small vessels.” Then he talks about a quarry on the grounds of Monachdy in the parish of Llanfair-yng-Nghornwy, where they dug a particular kind of marble, a stone that can also be found on the Skerries.

Before leaving Anglesey he gives the following figures. The number of houses on the island were, according to Pennant, 3,956, and counting five in each family, he gives the population at 19,780.

Space will not allow me to mention anything more about the places to which Pennant paid a visit. But I hope I have succeeded in my aim of calling attention to one of Wales’s greatest benefactors. It will be seen that the volumes on Pennant’s travels are full of information and excitement, giving a great deal of the history of Wales and its people in a most interesting way. Quite apart from the historical and antiquarian information he gives us, he tells us about the plants that grow in this part of the country and the birds that frequent it, and all in a charming and engaging way. Dr. Johnson, who himself had been on a trip through Wales, said that Pennant was the most interesting traveller he’d read, and the praise is no more than Pennant deserves. His style is clear, and he is at times strikingly apt in his sayings, as when he calls Caernarfon Castle “The Splendid Badge of our Subjection.” And to top it all off he was a Welsh gentleman who was proud of his nation, and loved his language and his countrymen dearly; and that at a time when the name Welsh had very little prestige attached to it on the other side of Offa’s Dyke. And it was a very curious and atypical thing for someone like Pennant, who was highly regarded in the social and literary world of the English, to boast of his own country, poor little Wales, and that in such an unguarded way, because there is hardly a page of his book where his love for his country does not come to light.

In his daily life Pennant was amiable and kind, of a measured and smooth temperament, the object of love and admiration for a large number of friends among the lowest class as well as among the nobles of society. These comments cannot be concluded better than by paraphrasing the words of Professor Rhys at the end of his short biography of Pennant, when he says,- “I have tried to pay tribute of respect and honour to a Welsh gentleman who used his abilities and his genius for the glory of his country and his nation.”

NOTES BY JIW

[1] 1883, available for free on the Internet Archive. Parry attributes the biography to Professor Rhys, the editor. In the 1883 edition which Parry consulted, the credit is given to one W. T. Parkins. However, editors (then as now) typically got the credit for all the material they included!

[2] Noblesse oblige, “nobility has its obligations”. Parry doesn’t give the phrase itself, it being very current in Victorian times.

[3] This was originally the British Charity School or Welsh Charity School, located on Clerkenwell Green from 1738, before moving to Gray's Inn Road in 1772, and eventually to Ashford in 1857. In Pennant’s time it was a boys' school, from 1758 co-educational, and from 1882 admitted girls only, becoming the Welsh Girls' School. It changed its name to St David's School in 1967, and closed in 2009.

[4] “Foot-ball” was not the familiar 11-a-side game of today, or of Parry’s day, but a kind of free-for all scramble that followed the progress of a ball through streets and between towns.

[5] This reflects a widely held Nonconformist view of the state of religion in eighteenth-century Wales, and indeed Britain, before the Methodist revival. Contemporary Methodist writers frequently complained of Sabbath-breaking, drinking, gaming, and other secular recreations. See, for example, The Works of John Wesley, vol. XI, pp. 164–166, “A Word to a Sabbath-Breaker”.

[6] The anecdote is found in Volume IV of Robert Southey’s Common-Place Book.

[7]King of Gwynedd from 1137 to 1170, succeeding his father Gruffudd ap Cynan. Owain Gwynedd was the first recorded Welsh ruler to style himself king of Wales and Prince of the Welsh.

[8] Howel ap Einion’s ode was the inspiration for the popular poem Myfanwy Fychan by John Ceiriog Hughes. The words were put to music by Joseph Parry and published under the title Myfanwy, which went on to become one of the most popular Welsh songs ever. Pennant does not tell us who provided the English translation. Ffion Mair Jones (2025) notes that Robert Williams of Rhuddlan supplied Pennant with a number of Welsh poetic translations and discusses the Myfanwy Fychan translation in that context, suggesting that Williams may have been the “ingenious friend” referred to by Pennant.

[9] One of two abbots of the same name as Thomas Pennant’s. As parry observed, “This name is found in honourable standing throughout the history of Wales”!

[10] Twenty pence in the laws of Hywel Dda represented a substantial amount of purchasing power, several weeks’ labour for an ordinary freeman, and enough to purchase livestock or professional equipment.

[11] I.e. degrees of Bardic standing, Bardd (bard) or Prifardd (Chief Bard).

[12] The eisteddfod had been abandoned by Pennant’s time and was not revived until late in the great man’s life. By Winnie Parry’s time it had become the significant arts and cultural event we know today. This image is from the 1872 event, when it was already much more substantial than one Pennant could have attended.

[13] A lesser aristocrat, below the rank of prince. In Wales “Prince” meant the highest rank of nobility, the (local) head of state, and was used instead of “King”. Compare Elizabeth I’s rebuke to Robert Cecil: ‘Must’! Is ‘must’ a word to be addressed to princes?”

[14] The tuning-key of a harp, also called the tuning-wrench, is used to to tighten the harp-strings. Before standardisation, these were likely very expensive to replace for a given harp.

[15] The crwth was a bowed instrument, somewhere in the lineage of a violin.

[16] Stethon is an English corruption of Eisteddfod. Maker is an older word for a poet, as in Dunbar’s Lament for the makers.

[16] Y Llusern was printed in Caernarvon, and Winnie Parry sets the majority of her novel Sioned there.

[17] Caernarvon castle was ordered built by Edward I following his defeat of Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd (1282), and marked the end of significant Welsh resistance against the English until the time of Owain Glyndŵr (Owen Glendower) 200 years later.

Note on the Translation

There are some differences between the written Welsh of 1907 and modern Welsh (even in a popular journal such as Llusern), for example “dyddorol” for “diddorol” (interesting, fascinating) and “o hono” for “ohono” (of him). I have generally erred on the side of readability as against the literal reading. I have split some of Miss Parry’s longer sentences. I have also occasionally trimmed Welsh expansions, circumlocutions or redundancies where the same meaning could be conveyed more concisely in English. Obvious errors in quotation and transcription (all attributable to printing or transmission difficulties), have been corrected in translation.

Bibliography

The original Welsh text of Winnie Parry's collection of strange, creepy, allegorical children's stories Cerrig y Rhyd (Stones of the Ford) is available online. However, the illustrations are ridiculously twee and misleading. This is the introductory poem, also called Cerrig y Rhyd, and my own literal translation.

CERRIG Y RHYD Dawnsia’r dyfroedd clir cydrhwng Hen gerrig llwyd y rhyd, A llawer sydd, o wawr tan nos, Yn camu rhain o hyd;

Fe ddaw y plant ag ysgafn droed A'r gwanwyn yn eu gwedd, A'r hen yn camu'n araf iawn, A'i droed ar fin y bedd;

A dawnsia calon ambell un Fel dawnsia'r dyfroedd gwiw, Ac arall ddaw a'i fron mor drist, Rhy drwm y baich o fyw.

Cerrig y rhyd, Hen gerrig y rhyd, Mae llawer yn cofio hen gerrig y rhyd.

Murmura'r dyfroedd dan y ser, Ychydig ydyw'r rhif Sy'n camu dros y cerrig llwyd, Sy’n camu dros y llif.

Daw ambell ddau a'u dwylaw ymhleth, Y naill i'r llall yn fyd, Fe bery serch, meddylient hwy, Tra llifa dwfr y rhyd;

Ac ambell un a ddaw yn llesg Ar ol y dydd a'i gur, A theimla'i faich yn nofio'i ffwrdd Yn ffrydiau'r dyfroedd pur;

Cerrig y rhyd, Hen gerrig y rhyd, Mae llawer yn caru hen gerrig y rhyd.

Ymhell o swn y dyfroedd cu, Dan oer, ddieithriol nen, Cysgodau hiraeth yn ymdoi Llawenydd dan eu llen;

O am gael golwg ar y fan, Cael unwaith deimlo'r swyn Yn chwythu dros yr enaid trist, Fel awel leddfol fwyn;

Cael cwrdd y rhai a gwrddem gynt Wrth gamu dros y rhyd, Cyfeillion dyddiau cynt- nid oes Eu tebyg yn y byd.

Cerrig y rhyd, Hen gerrig y rhyd. Mae hiraeth ar lawer am gerrig y rhyd.

The literal translation goes:

THE STONES OF THE FORD The clear waters dance between The old grey stones of the ford, And many there are, from dawn till night, Still stepping on these;

The children will come with a light foot And spring in their faces, And the old man will step very slowly, His foot on the brink of the grave;

And the hearts of some dance As the flowing waters dance, And others come with breast so sad, The burden of living is too heavy.

Stones of the ford, Old stones of the ford, Many remember the old stones of the ford.

The waters murmur under the stars, The number now is few That cross the grey stones, That step over the flow.

A few come with their hands entwined, Each to the other a world, Love will last, they think, While the water of the ford flows;

And a few who become weak After the day and its anguish, Feel their burden swim away In the stream of the pure waters;

Stones of the ford, Old stones of the ford, Many love the old stones of the ford.

Far from the sound of the rushing waters, Under a cold, strange sky, Shadows of longing loom Slyly under their veil;

Oh to see that place again, Having once felt the charm Blowing over the grieving soul, Like a gentle soothing breeze;

And to meet again those we met before Stepping over the ford, Friends of earlier days- there are none Like them in all the world.

Stones of the ford, Old stones of the ford, Many long for the stones of the ford.

The ford is, what? Human experience? Yet there are places "Far from the sound of the rushing waters,/Under a cold, strange sky…" and few cross to the other side.

Here's the link to the online text.

Y Dydd Olaf (The Last Day) by Owain Owain. Welsh sci-fi, first published in 1976, with an English translation 2024. A Butlerian nightmare, highly recommended. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_Day_(novel)

The Great Deed of Gwilym Bevan by T. Gwynn Jones (1899). Translated into English in 2024 (beating Sioned’s wait by 6 years!). A boy-makes-good novel, but I haven’t read this one yet in either language. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Deed_of_Gwilym_Bevan

Elin by Winnie Parry

Elin brydferth, fwynaf un, Yn fy nghalon mae dy lun, Wedi ei gerfio â phwyntil serch, Delw euraidd gwyneb merch.

Holl brydferthion anian dlos, Fwyn ddeheuwynt, gwenau'r rhos, Ceinion gwridog gwawrddydd haf, Ceinion tyner hwyrddydd braf,

Sŵn yr awel drwy yr ŷd, Sŵn y dyfroedd dros y rhyd, Cân yr 'hedydd oddi fry, Can yr eos hwyr-nos gu,

Swyn y ddisglair lasaidd don, Swyn yr wylan ar ei bron, Swynion oll, brydferthion byd, Ynot maent yn cwrdd i gyd.

Literal Translation

Beautiful Elin, dearest one, I keep your likeness here in my heart, Made with the hand of love, A golden image of a girl’s face.

All nature’s beauties, The sweet south wind, the smiles of the rose, The peony blushing with summer dew, The tender delights of a fine evening,

The sound of the breeze through the corn, The sound of the waters at the ford, The skylark singing from above, The song of the nightingale in the dark,

I'm a former academic whose retirement project is to find and translate neglected works of Welsh literature. My first project is now live on Amazon, a translation of Sioned by Winnie Parry... the first since it was published nearly 120 years ago.

Sioned: A New English Translation: Amazon.co.uk: Wyburn, John Ifor: 9798293759514: Books

Sioned was originally published around the time of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and Anne of Green Gables (Late Victorian era), and has a lot in common with both books, but with a distinctly Celtic flavour. Humour, albeit sometimes black and fatalistic humour, is the prevailing mood. The story is mostly set in the Methodist communities of North Wales, hard-working and practical, but with an undercurrent of superstition. Janet Hughes, known to her friends and family as Sioned, is the lanky, clumsy daughter of Margiad and William Hughes, who rent and work Tŷ Gwyn farm. She is initially very ignorant and has very little conscience when it comes to practical jokes. Her conscience mostly comes in the form of her beloved brother Bob, who's soon to marry her friend Little-Elin-from-the-Hill. Janet doesn't intend to marry anyone who doesn't measure up to Bob, and she considers showing interest in a suitor to be a mark of weakness. These things form the framework for Sioned’s growth over three formative years.

Pollyanna has a coping strategy; Anne Shirley has imagination; Rebecca has intellect; Katy has a single defining life event. Janet, or Sioned, has the strength to take the hits as they come. Winnie Parry wasn't interested in role models or morality tales, she told stories- and Janet never becomes any kind of paragon.

Quotes

Bob on Sioned's domestic skills: "'A good-hearted boy is Tom, Sioned,' said Bob, 'and he decided to say nothing about your cooking, lest he frighten all the boys your age, and you lose any hope of a husband, and die an old maid.' Little did he know, but I was likely to die an old maid in any case, for I'd found no-one the measure of Bob."

Sioned on an unwanted suitor: "And then I started to get up, but he stopped me again, and I got angry, and I said, 'If you don’t let go of my arm, I'm going to scream loud enough to rouse the dead. Not the unquiet dead, but God's own blessed dead, they'll take it for the Last Trump. I’ve told you that I don’t want anything to do with you, and if you were half a man you’d take your hat and go.’"

Sioned on her Uncle's house in London: "There were three maids 'with whom you may speak but not converse', there were two apprentice pharmacists 'with whom you may converse but not socialise', and a Mr Jones, the assistant pharmacist, 'with whom you may socialise but not be familiar'. Of course I thought me and Mr Jones would talk in Welsh, but he was all English except for his name. As for those apprentices, they were the worst and biggest knaves I’ve ever known."

Sioned (Literature) - TV Tropes