Wild Wales Part 34

Whether the Edward Owen mentioned here was any relation to the great Gronwy, I had no opportunity of learning. I asked the miller what was meant by the monastery, and he told me that it was the name of a building to the north-east near the sea, which had once been a monastery, but had been converted into a farmhouse, though it still retained its original name. "May all monasteries be converted into farm-houses," said I, "and may they still retain their original names in mockery of popery!"

Having seen all I could well see of the church and its precincts I departed with my kind guide. After we had retraced our steps some way, we came to some stepping-stones on the side of a wall, and the miller pointing to them said:

"The nearest way to the house of Gronwy will be over the llamfa."

I was now become ashamed of keeping the worthy fellow from his business and begged him to return to his mill. He refused to leave me, at first, but on my pressing him to do so, and on my telling him that I could find the way to the house of Gronwy very well by myself, he consented. We shook hands, the miller wished me luck, and betook himself to his mill, whilst I crossed the llamfa. I soon, however, repented having left the path by which I had come. I was presently in a maze of little fields with stone walls over which I had to clamber. At last I got into a lane with a stone wall on each side. A man came towards me and was about to pa.s.s me-his look was averted, and he was evidently one of those who have "no English." A Welshman of his description always averts his look when he sees a stranger who he thinks has "no Welsh," lest the stranger should ask him a question and he be obliged to confess that he has "no English."

"Is this the way to Llanfair?" said I to the man. The man made a kind of rush in order to get past me.

"Have you any Welsh?" I shouted as loud as I could bawl.

The man stopped, and turning a dark sullen countenance half upon me said, "Yes, I have Welsh."

"Which is the way to Llanfair?" said I.

"Llanfair, Llanfair?" said the man, "what do you mean?"

"I want to get there," said I.

"Are you not there already?" said the fellow stamping on the ground, "are you not in Llanfair?"

"Yes, but I want to get to the town."

"Town, town! Oh, I have no English," said the man; and off he started like a frightened bullock. The poor fellow was probably at first terrified at seeing an Englishman, then confused at hearing an Englishman speak Welsh, a language which the Welsh in general imagine no Englishman can speak, the tongue of an Englishman as they say not being long enough to p.r.o.nounce Welsh; and lastly utterly deprived of what reasoning faculties he had still remaining by my asking him for the town of Llanfair, there being properly no town.

I went on and at last getting out of the lane, found myself upon the road, along which I had come about two hours before; the house of the miller was at some distance on my right. Near me were two or three houses and part of the skeleton of one, on which some men, in the dress of masons, seemed to be occupied. Going up to these men I said in Welsh to one, whom I judged to be the princ.i.p.al, and who was rather a tall fine-looking fellow:

"Have you heard a sound of Gronwy Owain?"

Here occurred another instance of the strange things people do when their ideas are confused. The man stood for a moment or two, as if transfixed, a trowel motionless in one of his hands, and a brick in the other; at last giving a kind of gasp, he answered in very tolerable Spanish:

"Si, senor! he oido."

"Is his house far from here?" said I in Welsh.

"No, senor!" said the man, "no esta muy lejos."

"I am a stranger here, friend, can anybody show me the way?"

"Si Senor! este mozo luego acompanara usted."

Then turning to a lad of about eighteen, also dressed as a mason, he said in Welsh:

"Show this gentleman instantly the way to Tafarn Goch."

The lad flinging a hod down, which he had on his shoulder, instantly set off, making me a motion with his head to follow him. I did so, wondering what the man could mean by speaking to me in Spanish. The lad walked by my side in silence for about two furlongs till we came to a range of trees, seemingly sycamores, behind which was a little garden, in which stood a long low house with three chimneys. The lad stopping flung open a gate which led into the garden, then crying to a child which he saw within: "Gad roi tro"-let the man take a turn; he was about to leave me, when I stopped him to put sixpence into his hand. He received the money with a gruff "Diolch!" and instantly set off at a quick pace. Pa.s.sing the child who stared at me, I walked to the back part of the house, which seemed to be a long mud cottage. After examining the back part I went in front, where I saw an aged woman with several children, one of whom was the child I had first seen; she smiled and asked me what I wanted.

I said that I had come to see the house of Gronwy. She did not understand me, for shaking her head she said that she had no English, and was rather deaf. Raising my voice to a very high tone I said:

"Ty Gronwy!"

A gleam of intelligence flashed now in her eyes.

"Ty Gronwy," she said, "ah! I understand. Come in, sir."

There were three doors to the house; she led me in by the midmost into a common cottage room, with no other ceiling, seemingly, than the roof.

She bade me sit down by the window by a little table, and asked me whether I would have a cup of milk and some bread-and-b.u.t.ter; I declined both, but said I should be thankful for a little water.

This she presently brought me in a teacup. I drank it, the children amounting to five standing a little way from me staring at me. I asked her if this was the house in which Gronwy was born. She said it was, but that it had been altered very much since his time-that three families had lived in it, but that she believed he was born about where we were now.

A man now coming in who lived at the next door, she said, I had better speak to him and tell him what I wanted to know, which he could then communicate to her, as she could understand his way of speaking much better than mine. Through the man I asked her whether there was any one of the blood of Gronwy Owen living in the house. She pointed to the children and said they had all some of his blood. I asked in what relations.h.i.+p they stood to Gronwy. She said she could hardly tell, that tri priodas three marriages stood between, and that the relations.h.i.+p was on the mother's side. I gathered from her that the children had lost their mother, that their name was Jones, and that their father was her son. I asked if the house in which they lived was their own; she said no, that it belonged to a man who lived at some distance. I asked if the children were poor.

"Very," said she.

I gave them each a trifle, and the poor old lady thanked me with tears in her eyes.

I asked whether the children could read; she said they all could, with the exception of the two youngest. The eldest she said could read anything, whether Welsh or English; she then took from the window-sill a book, which she put into my hand, saying the child could read it and understand it. I opened the book; it was an English school book treating on all the sciences.

"Can you write?" said I to the child, a little stubby girl of about eight, with a broad flat red face and grey eyes, dressed in a chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and looking the image of notableness.

The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off me for a moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first made no answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, she at length answered in a soft voice, "Medraf, I can."

"Then write your name in this book," said I, taking out a pocket-book and a pencil, "and write likewise that you are related to Gronwy Owen-and be sure you write in Welsh."

The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and placing the former on the table wrote as follows:

"Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen."

That is "Ellen Jones belonging from afar to Gronwy Owen."

When I saw the name of Ellen I had no doubt that the children were related to the ill.u.s.trious Gronwy. Ellen is a very uncommon Welsh name, but it seems to have been a family name of the Owens; it was borne by an infant daughter of the poet whom he tenderly loved, and who died whilst he was toiling at Walton in Ches.h.i.+re,-

"Ellen, my darling, Who liest in the churchyard of Walton,"

says poor Gronwy in one of the most affecting elegies ever written.

After a little farther conversation I bade the family farewell and left the house. After going down the road a hundred yards I turned back in order to ask permission to gather a leaf from one of the sycamores.

Seeing the man who had helped me in my conversation with the old woman standing at the gate, I told him what I wanted, whereupon he instantly tore down a handful of leaves and gave them to me-thrusting them into my coat-pocket I thanked him kindly and departed.

Coming to the half-erected house, I again saw the man to whom I had addressed myself for information. I stopped, and speaking Spanish to him, asked how he had acquired the Spanish language.

"I have been in Chili, sir," said he in the same tongue, "and in California, and in those places I learned Spanish."

"What did you go to Chili for?" said I; "I need not ask you on what account you went to California."

"I went there as a mariner," said the man; "I sailed out of Liverpool for Chili."

"And how is it," said I, "that being a mariner and sailing in a Liverpool s.h.i.+p you do not speak English?"