Wild Wales: The People, Language, & Scenery

“Hey?” said a voice, after a momentary interval.

“Am I right for Gutter Vawr?” I shouted yet louder.

“Yes, sure!” said a voice, probably the same.

Then instantly a much rougher voice cried, “Who the Devil are you?”

I made no answer, but went on, whilst the train continued its way rumbling down the mountain. At length I gained the top, where the road turned and led down a steep descent towards the south-west. It was now quite night, and the mist was of the thickest kind. I could just see that there was a frightful precipice on my left, so I kept to the right, hugging the side of the hill. As I descended I heard every now and then loud noises in the vale probably proceeding from stone quarries. I was drenched to the skin, nay, through the skin, by the mist, which I verily believe was more penetrating than that described by Ab Gwilym. When I had proceeded about a mile I saw blazes down below, resembling those of furnaces, and soon after came to the foot of the hill. It was here pouring with rain, but I did not put up my umbrella as it was impossible for me to be more drenched than I was. Crossing a bridge over a kind of torrent, I found myself amongst some houses. I entered one of them from which a blaze of light and a roar of voices proceeded, and, on inquiring of an old woman who confronted me in the passage, I found that I had reached my much needed haven of rest, the tavern of Gutter Vawr in the county of Glamorgan.

CHAPTER XCIX

Inn at Gutter Vawr – The Hurly-burly – Bara y Caws – Change of Manner – Welsh Mistrust – Wonders of Russia – The Emperor – The grand Ghost Story.

The old woman who confronted me in the passage of the inn turned out to be the landlady. On learning that I intended to pass the night at her house, she conducted me into a small room on the right-hand side of the passage, which proved to be the parlour. It was cold and comfortless, for there was no fire in the grate. She told me, however, that one should be lighted, and going out presently returned with a couple of buxom wenches, who I soon found were her daughters. The good lady had little or no English; the girls, however, had plenty, and of a good kind too. They soon lighted a fire and then the mother inquired if I wished for any supper.

“Certainly,” said I, “for I have not eaten anything since I left Llandovery. What can I have?”

“We have veal and bacon,” said she.

“That will do,” said I; “fry me some veal and bacon, and I shan’t complain. But pray tell me what prodigious noise is that which I hear on the other side of the passage?”

“It is only the miners and the carters in the kitchen making merry,” said one of the girls.

“Is there a good fire there?” said I.

“O yes,” said the girl, “we have always a good fire in the kitchen.”

“Well then,” said I, “I shall go there till supper is ready, for I am wet to the skin, and this fire casts very little heat.”

“You will find them a rough set in the kitchen,” said the girl.

“I don’t care if I do,” said I; “when people are rough I am civil, and I have always found that civility beats roughness in the long run.” Then going out I crossed the passage and entered the kitchen.

It was nearly filled with rough, unkempt fellows smoking, drinking, whistling, singing, shouting or jabbering, some in a standing, some in a sitting posture. My entrance seemed at once to bring everything to a dead stop; the smokers ceased to smoke, the hand that was conveying the glass or the mug to the mouth was arrested in air, the hurly-burly ceased and every eye was turned upon me with a strange inquiring stare. Without allowing myself to be disconcerted I advanced to the fire, spread out my hands before it for a minute, gave two or three deep ahs of comfort, and then turning round said: “Rather a damp night, gentlemen – fire cheering to one who has come the whole way from Llandovery – Taking a bit of a walk in Wales, to see the scenery and to observe the manners and customs of the inhabitants – Fine country, gentlemen, noble prospects, hill and dale – Fine people too – open-hearted and generous; no wonder! descendants of the Ancient Britons – Hope I don’t intrude – other room rather cold and smoking – If I do will retire at once – don’t wish to interrupt any gentlemen in their avocations or deliberations – scorn to do anything ungenteel or calculated to give offence – hope I know how to behave myself – ought to do so – learnt grammar at the High School at Edinburgh.”

“Offence, intrusion!” cried twenty voices. “God bless your honour! no intrusion and no offence at all – sit down – sit here – won’t you drink?”

“Please to sit here, sir,” said an old grimy-looking man, getting up from a seat in the chimney-corner – “this is no seat for me whilst you are here, it belongs to you – sit down in it,” and laying hold of me he compelled me to sit down in the chair of dignity, whilst half-a-dozen hands pushed mugs of beer towards my face; these, however, I declined to partake of on the very satisfactory ground that I had not taken supper, and that it was a bad thing to drink before eating, more especially after coming out of a mist.

“Have you any news to tell of the war, sir?” said a large rough fellow, who was smoking a pipe.

“The last news that I heard of the war,” said I, “was that the snow was two feet deep at Sebastopol.”

“I heard three,” said the man; “however, if there be but two it must be bad work for the poor soldiers. I suppose you think that we shall beat the Russians in the end.”

“No, I don’t,” said I; “the Russians are a young nation and we are an old; they are coming on and we are going off; every dog has its day.”

“That’s true,” said the man, “but I am sorry that you think we shall not beat the Russians, for the Russians are a bad set.”

“Can you speak Welsh?” said a darkish man with black bristly hair and a small inquisitive eye.

“O, I know two words in Welsh,” said I, “bara y caws.”

“That’s bread and cheese,” said the man, then turning to a neighbour of his he said in Welsh: “He knows nothing of Cumraeg, only two words; we may say anything we please; he can’t understand us. What a long nose he has!”

“Mind that he an’t nosing us,” said his neighbour. “I should be loth to wager that he doesn’t understand Welsh; and after all he didn’t say that he did not, but got off by saying he understood those two words.”

“No, he doesn’t understand Welsh,” said the other; “no Sais understands Welsh, and this is a Sais. Now with regard to that piece of job-work which you and I undertook.” And forthwith he and the other entered into a disquisition about the job-work.

The company soon got into its old train, drinking and smoking and making a most terrific hullabaloo. Nobody took any farther notice of me. I sat snug in the chimney-corner, trying to dry my wet things, and as the heat was very great partially succeeded. In about half-an-hour one of the girls came to tell me that my supper was ready, whereupon I got up and said: “Gentlemen, I thank you for your civility; I am now going to supper; perhaps before I turn in for the night I may look in upon you again.” Then without waiting for an answer I left the kitchen and went into the other room, where I found a large dish of veal cutlets and fried bacon awaiting me, and also a smoking bowl of potatoes. Ordering a jug of ale I sat down, and what with hunger and the goodness of the fare, for everything was first-rate, made one of the best suppers I ever made in my life.

Supper over, I called for a glass of whiskey-and-water, over which I trifled for about half-an-hour and then betook myself again to the kitchen. Almost as soon as I entered, the company, who seemed to be discussing some point, and were not making much hurly-burly, became silent and looked at me in a suspicious and uneasy manner. I advanced towards the fire. The old man who had occupied the seat in the chimney-corner and had resigned it to me, had again taken possession of it. As I drew near to the fire he looked upon the ground, and seemed by no means disposed to vacate the place of honour; after a few moments, however, he got up and offered me the seat with a slight motion of his hand and without saying a word. I did not decline it, but sat down, and the old gentleman took a chair near. Universal silence now prevailed; sullen looks were cast at me; and I saw clearly enough that I was not welcome. Frankness was now my only resource. “What’s the matter, gentlemen?” said I; “you are silent and don’t greet me kindly; have I given you any cause of offence?” No one uttered a word in reply for nearly a minute, when the old man said slowly and deliberately: “Why, sir, the long and short of it is this: we have got it into our heads that you understand every word of our discourse; now, do you or do you not?”

“Understand every word of your discourse,” said I; “I wish I did; I would give five pounds to understand every word of your discourse.”

“That’s a clever attempt to get off, sir,” said the old man, “but it won’t exactly do. Tell us whether you know more Welsh than bara y caws; or to speak more plainly, whether you understand a good deal of what we say.”

“Well,” said I, “I do understand more Welsh than bara y caws – I do understand a considerable part of a Welsh conversation – moreover, I can read Welsh, and have the life of Tom O’r Nant at my fingers’ ends.”

“Well, sir, that is speaking plain, and I will tell you plainly that we don’t like to have strangers among us who understand our discourse, more especially if they be gentlefolks.”

“That’s strange,” said I; “a Welshman or foreigner, gentle or simple, may go into a public-house in England, and nobody cares a straw whether he understands the discourse of the company or not.”

“That may be the custom in England,” said the old man; “but it is not so in Wales.”

“What have you got to conceal?” said I. “I suppose you are honest men.”

“I hope we are, sir,” said the old man; “but I must tell you, once for all, that we don’t like strangers to listen to our discourse.”

“Come,” said I, “I will not listen to your discourse, but you shall listen to mine. I have a wonderful deal to say if I once begin; I have been everywhere.”

“Well, sir,” said the old man, “if you have anything to tell us about where you have been and what you have seen we shall be glad to hear you.”

“Have you ever been in Russia?” shouted a voice, that of the large rough fellow who asked me the question about the Russian war.

“O yes, I have been in Russia,” said I.

“Well, what kind of a country is it?”

“Very different from this,” said I, “which is a little country up in a corner, full of hills and mountains; that is an immense country, extending from the Baltic Sea to the confines of China, almost as flat as a pancake, there not being a hill to be seen for nearly two thousand miles.”

“A very poor country, isn’t it, always covered with ice and snow?”

“O no; it is one of the richest countries in the world, producing all kinds of grain, with noble rivers intersecting it, and in some parts covered with stately forests. In the winter, which is rather long, there is a good deal of ice and snow, it is true, but in the summer the weather is warmer than here.”

“And are there any towns and cities in Russia, sir, as there are in Britain?” said the old man, who had resigned his seat in the chimney-corner to me; “I suppose not, or, if there be, nothing equal to Hereford or Bristol, in both of which I have been.”

“O yes,” said I, “there are plenty of towns and cities. The two principal ones are Moscow and Saint Petersburg, both of which are capitals. Moscow is a fine old city, far up the country, and was the original seat of empire. In it there is a wonderful building called the Kremlin, situated on a hill. It is partly palace, partly temple, and partly fortress. In one of its halls are I don’t know how many crowns, taken from various kings, whom the Russians have conquered. But the most remarkable thing in the Kremlin is a huge bell in a cellar or cave, close by one of the churches; it is twelve feet high, and the sound it gives when struck with an iron bar, for there are no clappers to Russian bells, is so loud that the common Russians say it can be heard over the empire. The other city, Saint Petersburg, where the court generally reside, is a modern and very fine city; so fine indeed, that I have no hesitation in saying that neither Bristol nor Hereford is worthy to be named in the same day with it. Many of the streets are miles in length and straight as an arrow. The Nefsky Prospect, as it is called, a street which runs from the grand square, where stands the Emperor’s palace, to the monastery of Saint Alexander Nefsky, is nearly three miles in length and is full of noble shops and houses. The Neva, a river twice as broad and twice as deep as the Thames, and whose waters are clear as crystal, runs through the town, having on each side of it a superb quay, fenced with granite, which affords one of the most delightful walks imaginable. If I had my choice of all the cities of the world to live in, I would chose Saint Petersburg.”

“And did you ever see the Emperor?” said the rough fellow, whom I have more than once mentioned, “did you ever see the Emperor Nicholas?”

“O yes; I have seen him frequently.”

“Well, what kind of a man is he? we should like to know.”

“A man of colossal stature, with a fine, noble, but rather stern and severe aspect. I think I now see him, with his grey cloak, cocked hat, and white waving plumes, striding down the Nefsky Prospect, and towering by a whole head over other people.”

“Bravo! Did you ever see him at the head of his soldiers?”

“O yes! I have seen the Emperor review forty thousand of his chosen troops in the Champs de Mars, and a famous sight it was. There stood the great, proud man looking at his warriors as they manœuvred before him. Two-thirds of them were cavalry, and each horseman was mounted on a beautiful blood charger of Cossack or English breed, and arrayed in a superb uniform. The blaze, glitter and glory were too much for my eyes, and I was frequently obliged to turn them away. The scene upon the whole put me in mind of an immense field of tulips of various dyes, for the colours of the dresses, of the banners and the plumes, were as gorgeous and manifold as the hues of those queenly flowers.”

“Bravo!” said twenty voices; “the gentleman speaks like an areithiwr. Have you been in other countries besides Russia?”

“O yes! I have been in Turkey, the people of which are not Christians, but frequently put Christians to shame by their good faith and honesty. I have been in the land of the Maugrabins, or Moors – a people who live on a savoury dish, called couscousoo, and have the gloomiest faces and the most ferocious hearts under heaven. I have been in Italy, whose people, though the most clever in the world, are the most unhappy, owing to the tyranny of a being called the Pope, who, when I saw him, appeared to be under the influence of strong drink. I have been in Portugal, the people of which supply the whole world with wine, and drink only water themselves. I have been in Spain, a very fine country, the people of which are never so happy as when paying other folks’ reckonings. I have been – but the wind is blowing wildly without, and the rain pelting against the windows; – this is a capital night for a ghost story: shall I tell you a ghost story which I learnt in Spain?”

“Yes, sir, pray do; we all love ghost stories. Do tell us the ghost story of Spain.”

Thereupon I told the company Lope de Vega’s ghost story, which is decidedly the best ghost story in the world.

Long and loud was the applause which followed the conclusion of the grand ghost story of the world, in the midst of which I got up, bade the company good night, and made my exit. Shortly afterwards I desired to be shown to my sleeping apartment. It was a very small room upstairs, in the back part of the house; and I make no doubt was the chamber of the two poor girls, the landlady’s daughters, as I saw various articles of female attire lying about. The spirit of knight-errantry within me was not, however, sufficiently strong to prevent me from taking possession of the female dormitory; so, forthwith divesting myself of every portion of my habiliments, which were steaming like a boiling tea-kettle, I got into bed between the blankets, and in a minute was fast in the arms of Morpheus.

CHAPTER C

Morning – A Cheerless Scene – The Carter – Ode to Glamorgan – Startling Halloo – One-sided Liberty – Clerical Profession – De Courcy – Love of the Drop – Independent Spirit – Another People.

I slept soundly through the night. At about eight o’clock on the following morning I got up and looked out of the window of my room, which fronted the north. A strange scene presented itself: a roaring brook was foaming along towards the west, just under the window. Immediately beyond it was a bank, not of green turf, grey rock, or brown mould, but of coal rubbish, coke and cinders; on the top of this bank was a fellow performing some dirty office or other, with a spade and barrow; beyond him, on the side of a hill, was a tramway, up which a horse was straining, drawing a load of something towards the north-west. Beyond the tramway was a grove of yellow-looking firs; beyond the grove a range of white houses with blue roofs, occupied, I supposed, by miners and their families; and beyond these I caught a sight of the mountain on the top of which I had been the night before, only a partial one, however, as large masses of mist were still hanging about it. The morning was moist and dripping, and nothing could look more cheerless and uncomfortable than the entire scene.

I put on my things, which were still not half dry, and went down into the little parlour, where I found an excellent fire awaiting me, and a table spread for breakfast. The breakfast was delicious, consisting of excellent tea, buttered toast and Glamorgan sausages, which I really think are not a whit inferior to those of Epping. After breakfast I went into the kitchen, which was now only occupied by two or three people. Seeing a large brush on a dresser, I took it up, and was about to brush my nether habiliments, which were terribly bespattered with half-dried mire. Before, however, I could begin, up started one of the men, a wild shock-headed fellow dressed like a carter, in rough blue frieze coat, yellow broad corduroy trowsers, grey woollen stockings and highlows, and snatching the brush out of my hand, fell to brushing me most vigorously, purring and blowing all the time in a most tremendous manner. I did not refuse his services, but let him go on, and to reward him, as I thought, spoke kindly to him, asking him various questions. “Are you a carter?” said I. No answer. “One of Twm O’r Nant’s people?” No answer. “Famous fellow that Twm O’r Nant, wasn’t he? Did you ever hear how he got the great tree in at Carmarthen Gate? What is wood per foot at present? Whom do you cart for? Or are you your own master? If so, how many horses do you keep?”

To not one of these questions, nor to a dozen others which I put, both in English and Welsh, did my friend with the brush return any verbal answer, though I could occasionally hear a kind of stifled giggle proceeding from him. Having at length thoroughly brushed not only my clothes, but my boots and my hat, which last article he took from my head, and placed on again very dexterously, after brushing it, he put the brush down on the dresser, and then advancing to me made me a bow, and waving his forefinger backwards and forwards before my face, he said, with a broad grin: “Nice gentleman – will do anything for him but answer questions, and let him hear my discourse. Love to listen to his pleasant stories of foreign lands, ghosts and tylwith teg; but before him deem it wise to be mum, quite mum. Know what he comes about. Wants to hear discourse of poor man, that he may learn from it poor man’s little ways and invirmities, and mark them down in one small, little book to serve for fun to Lord Palmerston and the other great gentlefolks in London. Nice man, civil man, I don’t deny; and clebber man too, for he knows Welsh, and has been everywhere – but fox – old fox – lives at Plas y Cadno.” 17

Having been informed that there was a considerable iron foundry close by, I thought it would be worth my while to go and see it. I entered the premises, and was standing and looking round, when a man with the appearance of a respectable mechanic came up and offered to show me over the place. I gladly accepted his offer, and he showed me all about the iron-foundry. I saw a large steam-engine at full play, terrible furnaces, and immense heaps of burning, crackling cinders, and a fiery stream of molten metal rolling along. After seeing what there was to be seen, I offered a piece of silver to my kind conductor, which he at once refused. On my asking him, however, to go to the inn and have a friendly glass, he smiled, and said he had no objection. So we went to the inn, and had two friendly glasses of whiskey-and-water together, and also some discourse. I asked him if there were any English employed on the premises. “None,” said he, “nor Irish either; we are all Welsh.” Though he was a Welshman, his name was a very common English one.

After paying the reckoning, which only amounted to three and sixpence, I departed for Swansea, distant about thirteen miles. Gutter Vawr consists of one street, extending for some little way along the Swansea road, the foundry, and a number of huts and houses scattered here and there. The population is composed almost entirely of miners, the workers at the foundry, and their families. For the first two or three miles the country through which I passed did not at all prepossess me in favour of Glamorganshire: it consisted of low, sullen, peaty hills. Subsequently, however, it improved rapidly, becoming bold, wild, and pleasantly wooded. The aspect of the day improved, also, with the appearance of the country. When I first started the morning was wretched and drizzly, but in less than an hour it cleared up wonderfully, and the sun began to flash out. As I looked on the bright luminary I thought of Ab Gwilym’s ode to the sun and Glamorgan, and with breast heaving and with eyes full of tears, I began to repeat parts of it, or rather of a translation made in my happy boyish years:

“Each morn, benign of countenance,Upon Glamorgan’s pennon glance!Each afternoon in beauty clearAbove my own dear bounds appear!Bright outline of a blessed clime,Again, though sunk, arise sublime —Upon my errand, swift repair,And unto green Glamorgan bearGood days and terms of courtesyFrom my dear country and from me!Move round – but need I thee command? —Its chalk-white halls, which cheerful stand —Pleasant thy own pavilions too —Its fields and orchards fair to view.“O, pleasant is thy task and highIn radiant warmth to roam the sky,To keep from ill that kindly ground,Its meads and farms, where mead is found,A land whose commons live content,Where each man’s lot is excellent.Where hosts to hail thee shall upstand,Where lads are bold and lasses bland,A land I oft from hill that’s highHave gazed upon with raptur’d eye;Where maids are trained in virtue’s school,Where duteous wives spin dainty wool;A country with each gift supplied,Confronting Cornwall’s cliffs of pride.”

Came to Llanguick, a hamlet situated near a tremendous gorge, the sides of which were covered with wood. Thence to the village of Tawy Bridge, at the bottom of a beautiful valley, through which runs the Tawy, which, after the Taf, is the most considerable river in Glamorganshire. Continuing my course, I passed by an enormous edifice which stood on my right hand. It had huge chimneys, which were casting forth smoke, and from within I heard the noise of a steam-engine and the roar of furnaces.

“What place is this?” said I to a boy.

“Gwaith haiarn, sir; ym perthyn i Mr. Pearson. Mr. Pearson’s iron works, sir.”

I proceeded, and in about half-an-hour saw a man walking before me in the same direction in which I was. He was going very briskly, but I soon came up to him. He was a small, well-made fellow, with reddish hair and ruddy, determined countenance, somewhat tanned. He wore a straw hat, checkered shirt, open at the neck, canvas trowsers, and blue jacket. On his feet were shoes remarkably thin, but no stockings, and in his hand he held a stout stick, with which, just before I overtook him, he struck a round stone which lay on the ground, sending it flying at least fifty yards before him on the road, and following it in its flight with a wild and somewhat startling halloo.