Morlais Castle

A History of St Gwynno’s Church, Vaynor – part 1

by Ena Moreton

Many thanks to Hywel George, administrator of the Cynon Culture website for allowing me to use this article.

The story of St Gwynno’s goes back to 8th Century. The original form of the parish name was Maenor Gwynno, manor of Gwynno. The first early wooden church is believed to have been burned down in 1291 during the battle of Maesyfaenor, an epic struggle between the two neighbouring Norman lords, Humphrey de Bohun, 3rd Earl of Brecknock and Gilbert de Clare, 7th Earl of Gloucester, over the ownership of the nearby Morlais ridge and surrounding lands.

De Bohun won, at the cost of much bloodshed on both sides. Many were buried under the mound beyond the old church known as Cae Burdydd, or field of slaughter, about 100 yards down the track from this church. St Gwynno’s was rebuilt in 1295 and lasted for some 600 years when it became unsafe and was abandoned in the middle of the 19th Century.

Old and New St Gwynno’s Church, Vaynor. Photo courtesy of the Alan George Archive

De Bohun and De Clare

A fierce dispute broke out between Humphrey de Bohun, and Gilbert de Clare, which led to fighting between the two powerful Barons on the borders of Glamorgan and Breconshire.

Gilbert de Clare as seen in a stained glass window at Tewkesbury Abbey

De Clare had built a strong castle at Morlais near Merthyr on land which de Bohun claimed as his own. Raids were made on either side and this part of the country became lawless and swarmed with brigands (“The Welsh Wars of King Edward the First” by John E. Morris). The King’s Writ did not run in the Marcher Lordships. As the Marchers had fought for; and won their estates, they claimed the right to do as they pleased, within their own territories. In Glamorgan, they were known as “Arglwyddi Pren a Phwll” (Lords of the tree and the pool), as they had all the power to order men culprits be hanged and women culprits to be drowned (Rice Merrick and “Edward the 2nd on Glamorgan” John Griffiths). Both King and Marchers were aware, now that the power of the princes of North Wales had been broken, that the custom of private wars between the Marchers would have to be stopped. Edward was determined to enforce the doctrine that the dignity of the Grown was to be respected, and that the Lord. Marchers should be placed on a footing similar to that of the Crown tenants in England.

This private war between the Earls of Gloucester and Hereford was a unique opportunity for interfering and breaking the custom. Accordingly, the King sent a strongly worded proclamation to the two Earls to abstain from active hostilities on 25 January 1290, which Hereford obeyed. Gloucester’s men, however, under his bailiffs with the Earl’s banners, marched from Morlais castle and arrested and killed men from Vaynor, Penderyn and Ystradfellte parishes on three occasions during 1290. They carried, off 1070 head of cattle, 50 horse and bulls and countless sheep and pigs, of which the Earl received the usual one-third share. And soon brigands, who swarmed in the district, people who had been driven from their own homes when de Clare’s had extended their forests in Miskin or had escaped punishment or misdeeds by running away, also began to take part in the raids. In. addition to killing people and stealing animals, they committed sacrilege by taking away the chalice and ornaments from Penderyn Church, they set on fire together with Ty Ralph, Possibly the loot was taken by the brigands through ‘Bwlch y Lladron’ near Hirwaun.

Following these disorders, the King decided to act. Early in 1291, the Bishop of Ely, the Earl of Pembroke and two regular judges were commissioned to hear the case. The two Earls were to appear with the incriminated bailiffs at Ystradfellte on Monday, March 12th 1291. What a “Red Letter Day” this must have been for this quiet and secluded village!

Probably never before or since has such an assemblage of the most eminent notabilities in all their splendour, Barons in mail-armour on well-groomed horses been seen at Ystradfellte. The trial was to have taken place as Castell Coch, Ystradfellte; Hereford arrived punctually but Gloucester, who was married to the King’s daughter and was the most powerful baron in the country at that time, defied the king.

The Court adjourned, to Llanddew, near Brecon, but Gloucester was again absent. The trial proceeded and Gloucester and his bailiffs were found guilty, the damages being assessed at £100. Eventually at a great Council of Archbishops, Bishops, Earls and Barons, presided over by the King in person at Abergavenny at Michaelmas 1291, both Gloucester and Hereford, who were present, were sentenced to be imprisoned and their great lordships and estates to be confiscated. Gloucester was fined 1000 marcs and £100 for damages, and Hereford 1,000 marcs. Gloucester only lived for three and a half years longer, a sadder and wiser man.

In 1294 there was a general rising throughout Wales against being sent overseas to fight in Gascony and against the extortions of sheriff’s and bailiffs. The men of Glamorgan were led by Morgan or Rhys ap Morgan against de Clare and possibly this was the occasion or the origin of the stirring tune:

Rhyfelgyrch Cadben Morgan
Rhwym wrth dy wregys gleddyf gwyn dy dad
Atynt fy machgen dros dy wlad

The King cancelled his voyage to Gascony. He marched through Wales from North to South and was in Merthyr Tydfil on June 14th and 15th 1295, when he received the submission of the men of the Taff and Cynon Valleys, who had previously declared, that they had risen against Gloucester and not the King.

Gilbert de Clare, the Red Earl, died on December 7th 1295, and his young son Gilbert was killed at Bannockburn, in 1314. The great possessions in England and Wales were divided among three married sisters.

To be continued…….

To read the original article, please visit: http://cynonculture.co.uk/wordpress/merthyr-tydfil/history-of-st-gwynnos-church-vaynor/

A Secret Tunnel?

The article transcribed below appeared in the Western Mail 130 years ago today (23 May 1889).

ALLEGED ANTIQUARIAN DISCOVERY AT MERTHYR.

THRILLING EXPERIENCES OF A “SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.”

by Morien

In consequence of a rumour to the effect that an extraordinary subterranean passage had been discovered leading from Morlais Castle to no one knew where, I visited the place on Wednesday, accompanied by the Rev. J. Edmund Jenkins, rector of Vaynor, who is a local antiquarian. After a frugal repast at the hospitable Aber Glais Inn, we passed over the romantic river which during countless ages has scooped out remarkable dents in the living rock, and slowly ascended the green slope at the summit of which the castle stands.

In a quarry, about half a mile from the castle, and to the south-east, of it, we came upon some men at work. In answer to our inquiries as to the subterranean passage, they pointed to a heap of sleepers, and said “the hole” was underneath them. After some conversation of a persuasive nature they began to remove these impediments, and eventually the opening was revealed to what looked like a very ugly “hole”. A plank was next placed in it, and pushed forward until it rested upon something solid below. I, Morien, then got on to the plank and, after the fashion of other and youthful dogs, slid down into the unknown abyss. I found that the end of the plank rested on an immense heap of fallen rubbish, with a vault-like roof of uneven rocks overhead and water dropping everywhere.

Owing to the wet and, therefore, slippery nature of the descent, it seemed highly dangerous to attempt to explore below. But I determined to make the attempt, and, having lighted a torch of cotton wool, the darkness was made visible. One of workmen above now came down over the plank and joined me. Lighting his candle by the light of the Morienic torch, he led the way over the great heap of stones down into the great silent depths. I followed him, after the manner of a goat, careful of every footstep.

The roof as we proceeded came nearer to one’s back, and I was made rather uncomfortable by observing that there were spaces between the roof and the hanging stones overhead. Besides the danger of those stones giving way, there was also the peril which would result from an accidental slip of the feet, for had that happened one would have been precipitated over the surface of the immense heap of debris. But my companion still descended, and after he had gone about 40 yards further I – employing the patois of the country-side – called out “Stopwch!” to my companion. I had by this time become convinced that neither a De Bohun of Brecknock nor a De Clare of Glamorgan had ever been such a fool as to risk his neck in such a place, and that the so-called “subterranean passage” from Morlais Castle to some place unknown was a myth. We, therefore, retraced our steps, and eventually reached the surface, none the worse except for dirty coats and unmentionables.

Mr. Evan Lewis, Cefn, and Mr. Richard Hughes had descended a few days ago a little below the place at which I stopped, but neither went more than about 45 yards. They then came to the bottom of the heap. There they found the thigh bone, as was supposed, of a human being, and a large stone lying in a slanting position. Mr. Evan Lewis endeavoured to go beyond that stone, but he told me there was no open space beyond, and the roof there seemed extremely dangerous. Mr. Martin, manager of the Dowlais Works, had given orders to explore beyond if it was seen that the so-called passage was continuous; but, it seems that the stone referred to, closing up the place, does not lie more than five yards from the bottom of the heap of rubbish.

Nevertheless, there is no doubt this castle had its subterranean exits, and it is not impossible, after all that this was one of them, but that it has fallen in.

Pontsarn Sanatorium

Today marks the 105th anniversary of the opening of Pontsarn Sanatorium.

In 1913 the Merthyr Board of Guardians decided that the town needed an isolation hospital to house the ever-growing number of patients suffering from tuberculosis. The hospital needed to be sited away from the town where the patients could have fresh air.

The Earl of Plymouth made them a gift of some land in the Parish of Vaynor, just below Morlais Castle, and also gave them £1,000 towards the building of the sanatorium.

The sanatorium was officially opened on 13 November 1913 by Dr J L Ward. A report of the opening ceremony can be seen below.

Pontsarn Sanatorium later became the Pontsarn Chest Clinic, and closed in the late 1950’s. It has since been converted to flats.

Patients ‘taking the air’ on the veranda at Pontsarn Sanatorium. Photo courtesy of http://www.alangeorge.co.uk/index.htm

Was it Murder at Cyfarthfa Castle?

By William Griffiths
Transcribed by Carl Llewellyn

Cyfarthfa Castle was built according to the plans of William Crawshay in 1825. He was an iron-master of the Cyfarthfa Ironworks; rich, with a strong will, unassuming yet energetic. While waiting for his Castle to be built, he lived with family at Gwaelodygarth House.

His influence and energy had such an effect on the builders that the Castle was completed in 12 months at a cost of £30,000. Situated in the area of a park, of meadows and woods, it was so placed that a full view of the Iron Works could be seen from its windows. The workers could likewise look upon the edifice and after the affluence of their iron-master up on its elevated ground. At night the blast furnaces illuminated the surrounding country-side, particularly the stone walls of Cyfarthfa Castle its windows reflecting the red and yellow glow of light, in an unusual pattern of colour. The Master had installed his castle with many servants, fit for the magnate he was. His gardeners had changed the grounds into a beautiful park. His gamekeepers patrolled it night and day, against poachers and marauders so prevalent in those days. One of the gamekeepers was named John Lloyd and he lived with his wife at Pontsarn, on the borders of the Cyfarthfa Estate. They were always quarrelling and the servants at the Castle said they were not happy together. Their home at Pontsarn was a lonely place in a beautiful spot: almost at the base of the ancient Morlais Castle, adjacent to the historic site of Vaynor Old Church, where monks had once chanted their prayers and buried the dead of past wars.

Then someone remarked: “John Lloyd’s wife had not been seen for a number of weeks. Is she ill? Has she gone away?” The servants of the Castle began asking questions. But John gave them no answers. The questions became persistent, to be told angrily that she had gone away to Llangyfelach Fair. More weeks passed with no sign of Mrs Lloyd. Meanwhile John carried on at his work in the Castle grounds.

The disappearance could not continue without Mr Crawshay getting to know of it. Eventually he sent for John to question him on the subject: for at that time an employer had far greater power over an employee’s personal affairs than exists today. The Master was waiting for him in one of the living rooms of the Castle, as John gave an extra rub on his boots, before being shown in by a servant. As he entered the magnificently furnished room Mr Crawshay was walking away from him towards the large fireplace. John stood waiting for the Master to turn around but did not, he stood with his back to him, addressing him in a firm tone.

“Well Lloyd – what have you to say about your missing wife? Now understand man: I want the truth.” He turned quickly, raising the tone of his voice on the last sentence. John Lloyd, not a good looking man held his head down making incoherent and confused replies. He pulled at his smock with his left hand, not knowing what to do with his hat, which he held in his right. The more questions Mr Crawshay asked the more nervous he became. It was a conflict between master and servant, emotion being displayed by both men for a basic reason. All the power of position was at the command of the rich industrialist, yet dissatisfied with the result, he waved his arms in front of his gamekeeper, telling him he had no alternative – he must inform the police immediately. “Go” he told him, “Return to your work”. The Merthyr Tydfil Police interviewed John Lloyd later, in conjunction with the Breconshire authorities, for it was situated in that county. They searched the house for clues. Apparently nothing important was found relating to the missing lady, so the mystery became a talking point at Cyfarthfa Works, and eventually the whole district.

The Merthyr Police had now officially contacted headquarters in London, requesting that two investigators be sent to the town to work on the case. They began methodically as compared to the local officers, by questioning all who were acquainted with John Lloyd, judging the character of good or bad behaviour. “Was he jealous of his wife?”. They asked “Did he bear her? Did she have any men friends?” They circled the suspect with their queries: then they approached him singly, and together: They searched his house; dug in his garden; went next-door; gossiped to the neighbours, while John was at work. All those actions they took in the nerve war against him. It was said of Lloyd that he was unperturbed by the investigations. Each evening he made his way home on the rocky path through the woods and lanes of the Gurnos farmland to Pontsarn. His two dogs running to and fro, as he walked: the glow of the Cyfarthfa Iron Works, lighting the place in a shadowy twilight. Guilty or not, the man acted naturally, notwithstanding the pressure of suspicion around him.

Many thought him guilty, saying he had an evil looking face, as if the look of a man’s face proved his guilt: whereas it is well known that the most handsome of men can be murderous. The London Police were not concerned about John’s looks. They had to get the facts. They followed him around the estate, talking to him on the subjects of game, or poachers in general. They made him stand near the furnace where he boiled down the bones and meal for the Cyfarthfa hounds. A careful examination was made of the vessels – the furnace itself. They collected samples while many eyes watched them from Castle windows. “Those London police are too late.” it was whispered from one to another: “John Lloyd had done his wife in: boiled her down as food for hounds!” “He was very particular in cleaning the vessels. Sir, after his wife was missing”, a servant volunteered to the police. The investigators followed all the suggestions made to them, and despite a detailed enquiry, had to admit they were baffled. John remained free, as far as he was allowed to be under the investigation, so days passed to months.

They eventually presented their report, which turned out to be of insufficient evidence. So John Lloyd was not charged with the murder of his wife. The police returned to London. It is not known if the suspect remained in the employment of William Crawshay at Cyfarthfa Castle Estate. He lived for about 25 years in the Merthyr area, dying in a Poor-law Institution, diseased and wretched so it is believed, but with no foundation in fact. At the time of Lloyd’s death, a skeleton was found on the borders of the estate, presumed although not established to be the remains of Mrs Lloyd.

John Lloyd was alleged to be the murderer of his wife: the investigation into the case was thorough at the time, when men were hanged for far less crimes than killing their wives. The evidence basically was that Mrs Lloyd was missing or disappeared. No additional facts were produced against Lloyd: therefore according to the enquiry, no charge of a crime was made against him. Let that be his epitaph, and so be it.

Following of from Carl Llewellyn’s thoughts on the meaning of the word Morlais, here is a poem entitled ‘Morlais Castle’ that appeared in the Merthyr Guardian, that he has kindly transcribed.

MORLAIS CASTLE
by A.C. Luthman

I’ve climbed the hill where Morlais stands
And proudly looks on subject lands,
And though no more the banner tells
That there a belted chieftain dwells,
Nor stately dames nor maidens fair
Hold now their gentle revels there;
Nor minstrel wakes his love-notes sweet,
Or guides the dance of fairy feet,
Or sweeping strongly o’er the strings,
Of daring deeds of arms he sings.
Till fiercely up the warrior springs,
And calling for his spear and shield,
He deems himself in battle field
Nor fires beheld whose meteor ray
Gave dreadful promise for the day
Nor arms, that threw a sun like light
O’er vales enshrouded in the night;
Nor mingles with the eagle’s cry,
The trumpet’s tones of victory
Though all are gone, and Ruin’s hand
Hath swept her glories from the land.
Still sits she there in queenly state
And like a monarch struck by Fate,
She looks sublimely desolate
And hundreds to her mountain home
With wondering worship daily come,
And walk round where her bulwarks hoar
The wrath of heaven and mortals bore,
Till Time, the dread destroyer, came,
And shook to dust her giant frame;
One only spot his power withstood,
A temple of the living God,
Formed in its day with matchless skill,
And, though decaying, lovely still.
And one vast rock-hewn pit appears,
The wonder of successive years,
But whether used as druid’s cell
Or giant’s grave there’s none to tell.
I gazed around with heavy heart,
Then turned my footsteps to depart,
But ere I left I looked below
On vales now rich with sunset glow,
Vales where, by labour worn and soiled,
Uncounted vassals hourly toiled,
Or armed as faithful guards were set
Upon her massive parapet,
That Morlais on her rocky throne
Might rule in regal state alone
But oh how changed! Her power no more
Is owned by thousands as of yore!
The hinds are gone who once drew near
Her mighty gates with hearts of fear,
And now the peasant loiters by
And rarely upwards casts his eye,
Save when some passing stranger calls
And asks the way to Morlais halls,
When he replies, They once were there,
But now I scarce can tell you where.

The Glamorgan Monmouth and Brecon Gazette and Merthyr Guardian
25th July 1840