Of writers' Block and Welsh myths

Writers Block' strikes us all at times.  As a fantasy and Science Fiction writer, I often find reading old myths and legends will get the creative juices flowing again, and wake up the muse.  Reworking old legends to a modern setting is a good way to start, and I usually find a story will evolve in my mind which is completely different to the original idea that sparked it  and, while going off in a totally different direction, provides the 'starting point' and sometimes even a character, to build on.My native Wales is a land full of myths and legends, with  its fair share of ghosts, and is a rich source of ideas. Usually, it is the beautiful landscape itself, and the many pools, waterfalls and mountains that provide the settings for these stories, rather than old houses or castles.

My upcoming romance 'The Matchmaker's Mare' started that way and the hero, a horse dealer and trainer, loves re-telling the Welsh myths, himself.

Here are just a few tales of hauntings from various parts of the Principality. (Apologies in advance for some of the 'hard to pronounce Welsh names!)

THE HAUNTING OF LLANIDLOES

the Short Bridge, Llanidloes

A lady who could not rest in her grave because of her misdeeds haunted the locals until they could stand it no more.  Somehow they enticed her to shrink and enter into a bottle, after appearing in a good many hideous forms; but when she got into the bottle, it was corked down securely, and the bottle was cast into the pool underneath the Short bridge at Llanidloes, and there the lady was to remain until the ivy that grow up the buttresses should overgrow the sides of the bridge, and reach the parapet.  In the year 1848, the old bridge was blown up, and a new one built instead of it.

 

THE GHOST OF LLANDEGLA

A small river runs close to the secluded village of Llandegla, and in this mountain stream under a huge stone lies a wicked ghost. This is how he came to be there:

It  not is not known why Ffrith Farm was troubled by a ghost, but when the servants were busily engaged in cheese making the Spirit would suddenly throw earth or sand into the milk, and thus spoil the curds. The dairy was also visited by the ghost, and there he played havoc with the milk and dishes. He sent the pans, one after the other, around the room, and dashed them to pieces. The terrible doings of the ghost was a topic of general conversation in those parts.

The farmer offered a reward of five pounds to anyone who would lay the Spirit. One Sunday afternoon,  an aged priest visited the farm yard, and in the presence of a crowd of spectators exorcised the ghost, but without effect.

Llandegla  Bridge

The farmer then sent for Griffiths, an Independent minister at Llanarmon, who enticed the ghost to the barn. The ghost changed its appearance to the form of a lion, but  could not touch Griffiths, because he stood in the centre of a circle, over which the lion could not pass. Griffiths tricked the ghost  into appearing in a less formidable shape, and it changed into a mastiff, but Griffiths demanded that it change to something smaller. At last, the ghost appeared as a fly, which was captured by Griffiths and secured in his tobacco box,  This box he buried under a large stone in the river, just below the bridge, near the Llandegla Mills, and there the spirit is forced to remain until a certain tree, which grows by the bridge, reaches the height of the parapet. When this happens, the spirit shall have power to regain his liberty.  To prevent this tree from growing, the school children, even to this day, nip the upper branches to limit its upward growth.

THE GHOSTLY GIANT OF PONT-Y-GLYN

Pont y Glyn

There is a picturesque glen between Corwen and Cerrig-y-Drudion, down which rushes a mountain stream, and over this stream is a bridge, called Pont-y-Glyn.  On the left hand side, a few yards from the bridge, on the Corwen side, is a yawning chasm, through which the river bounds.  Here people who have travelled by night affirm that they have seen ghosts—the ghosts of those who have been murdered in this secluded glen. A man who was a servant at Garth Meilio, said that one night, when he was returning home late from Corwen, he saw before him, seated on a heap of stones, a female dressed in Welsh costume.  He wished her good night, but she returned him no answer.  She, got up and grew to gigantic proportions as she continued down the road which she filled, so great were her increased dimensions. Other spirits are said to have made their homes in the hills not far from Pont-y-Glyn.

THE GHOST OF TY FELIN
Now for one which doesn't concern a bridge! An exciseman, overtaken by night, went to a house called Ty Felin, (Yellow House) in the parish of Llanynys, and asked for lodgings.  Unfortunately the house was a very small one, containing only two bedrooms, and one of these was haunted; consequently no one dared sleep in it.  After a while, however, the stranger induced the master to allow him to sleep in this haunted room. He had not been there long before a ghost entered the room in the shape of a travelling Jew and walked around the room.  The exciseman tried to catch him and gave chase, but he lost sight of the Jew in the yard.  He had scarcely entered the room, a second time, when he again saw the ghost.  He chased him once more and lost sight of him in the same place.  The third time he followed the ghost, he made a mark on the yard where the ghost vanished and went to rest, and was not disturbed again.

The next day, the exciseman got up early and went away, but, before long, he returned to Ty Felin accompanied by a policeman, whom he requested to dig in the place where his mark was.  This was done and underneath a superficial covering, a deep well was discovered, and in it a corpse.

Under interrogation, the tenant of the house confessed that a travelling Jew, selling jewelry and such items, once lodged with him, and that he had murdered him and cast his body in the well. The ghost had his revenge!

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Welsh Legends,- A Castle, A Golden Bowl and a Mouse

Dyfed is a county in Wales that used to be called Cardiganshire or Ceredigion and has now reverted back to Ceredigion again.  (The British government did love to change boundaries and rename counties, but lets not go down that road.)  It is my home county - having lived in the Aberystwyth area all my life, until I 'emigrated' to England when I married. An old legend about Dyfed, goes as follows:

A magical mist descended  Dyfed, and all animals and people perished, apart from Pryderi, Manawydan, Pryderi's wife, Cigfa, and Rhiannon, Manawydan's new wife who was also Pryderi's mother.  They supported themselves by hunting at first, then moved to England where they made a living making saddles shoes and leather shields, the quality of which was so high that the local craftsmen were unable to complete, and threatened to kill them out of jealousy. Eventually they fled back to Dyfed and became hunters again. While  hunting a white boar  Pryderi and Manawydan  came to  a mysterious castle. Pryderi, against Manawydan's advice, ventured inside and did not return.

Rhiannon went to find him and eventually came upon Pryderi clinging to a beautiful golden bowl, transfixed and unable to speak. When she tried to help him get free,  the same fate overcame her and another mist descended and the castle disappeared, taking them with it. Manawydan and Cigfa returned to England  but once again were driven away and forced to return to Dyfed and take up farming to grow
food for themselves.

They sowed three fields of wheat but the each crop in the first two fields disappeared before it could be harvested. Manawydan kept watch over the third field and realised that mice were responsible for the disappearance of the grain. He caught one and prepared a mouse sized gallows, intending to hang it the next day as punishment.

A scholar, a priest and a bishop in turn offered him gifts if he would spare the mouse but he refused. The bishop said he was willing to pay any price he wanted in  return for the mouse's life and at length
Manawydan relented and demanded  the release of Pryderi and Rhiannon and the lifting of the curse over Dyfed in return for releasing the mouse. The bishop agreed,  because the mouse was, in fact, his wife. He revealed that his name was Llwyd, son of Cil Coed, the other mice were actually lords and ladies of the court and that he caused the enchantment on Dyfed in revenge for the insult against his friend Gwawl, whom Pwyll, Pryderi's father had humiliated, by tricking him out of a marriage with Rhiannon. 

Manawydan handed over the mouse and as agreed, Rhiannon and Pryderi were released from their enchantment and returned, and  Dyfed was restored.

the Destiny Trilogy - each book can be read as a 'stand alone' and  includes some of the same characters

Coming soon - watch out for details of my new paranormal romance 'The Matchmaker's Mare'

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Another Welsh legend - Pwll-y-Wrach, the Witches Pool

There is a pool hidden from the road among a copse on the top of Flint Mountain, in Flint North Wales. The pool is so small that travellers from Flint to Northop would not give it a second glance. But this was not always so. In days gone by Flint Mountain was a bare and desolate place and the pool was known as Pwll-y-Wrach, the Hag's Pool or the Witches Pool, the place where the ellyllon (as the Welsh call goblins) would congregate, and thus a place where humans would stay well clear of, especially after dark.

In 1852 John Roberts a farm labourer paid an unexpected visit to Pwll-y-Wrach. It was a cold winter's  morning and John was setting out to work when he found a youth blocking his path. With a harmless gesture he made to pass the youth but all of a sudden a force propelled him through the air. He landed face down above Pwll-y-Wrach, and the force held him there despite John's best efforts to free himself. He struggled for what seemed a lifetime, but in fact was just a few short minutes, until at the sound of a cock crow he was released. The ellyll, still disguised as a youth, stood astride him and warned. " When the cuckoo sings its first note on Flint Mountain I shall come again to fetch you". John got to his feet and stumbled back home, shaken but otherwise unhurt.

The following May, John Roberts died. He had been repairing a wall at Pen-y-glyn on Flint Mountain when it collapsed and crushed him. A lady who witnessed the accident said a cuckoo had come to land on a nearby tree just as it happened. And as the body of John Roberts was being returned to his home the cuckoo  followed, singing from tree to tree all the way to the front door.

and just to lighten the mood - I  can totally relate to this 😆:

Watch out for news of my latest romance - The Matchmaker's Mare - coming soon!

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A bit more news - and some horsey fun facts

I am sorry I have been quiet for so long. About a month ago I had complex knee surgery. I'm happy to say all went well, but it's taking a long time to get back to something like normal, and in fact it's taking me a long time to do anything - so blogging and social media has had to go on the 'back burner' for a while. I'm looking forward to starting edits for 'The Matchmaker's Mare' and to sharing my cover with  you - it recently came through and I couldn't be happier with it.  I'm waiting until I have some idea of a possible release date to put it on display though, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep you in suspense for a while! 😊 I think you will find it worth the wait though!

In the meantime, I thought I'd intersperse my Welsh legends posts with some 'horsey' snippets, which I hope you'll find interesting. 'The Matchmaker's Mare' is set on in my native Wales and features a horse trainer, several horses and a couple of slightly meddlesome ghosts (although they mean well). It is, of course a romance. Everything I write ends up as a romance - I just can't help myself! 😁😍

SOME FUN FACTS ABOUT HORSES

1. A horse is measured in 'hands'. One hand equals four inches.
2. A pony is a small horse, under 14.2 hands high. 
3. There are also specific breeds of pony. In the UK these include: Welsh Mountain pony, Welsh pony, Welsh Pony of Cob Type and the largest, the Welsh Cob. These are listed in the Welsh Stud book under Section A,B, C and D respectively. Then there are Shetlands, Dales, Dartmoor, Exmoor, Connemara, Highland, New Forest, Fell, and the Eriskay pony. The UK also has several native breeds of heavy horse, including Shire, Cleveland Bay, Suffolk Punch and Clydesdale.
4. On the subject of heavy horses, the Shire is the tallest breed in the world, averaging about 18.2 hands high, although the tallest ever recorded stood at 21.2 hands.
5. Horses can sleep standing up. Their joints lock, although they will sleep lying down if they feel    safe. (and yes, they do sometimes snore!)
6. The gestation period of a horse is eleven months . (A long time to wait for that lovely little foal.)
7.  All racehorses are considered to have their birthdays on 1st January, although most are actually born between April and June.
8. A 'white' horse is always called 'grey' (unless it has pink skin and pink or pale eyes, in which case it is an albino.)
9. A horse cannot be physically sick, so they can suffer quite a lot if transported over long distances, especially by sea. (Not such a fun fact, that one!)
10. An Arabian horse is always called a horse, even if it's under 14.2 hands high.

 

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Welsh Myths and legends - an old Welsh mansion and its legends

Nanteos Mansion

One of my favourite places is Nanteos Mansion, near where I used to live in Wales. I used to keep my horses at the stables and spent many a happy hour soaking up the atmosphere of this historic house, built in 1738.

The Mansion has its share of ghosts and an interesting history. Late at night the stables would ring with unearthly screeches, like souls in torment. Actually it was nothing more sinister than a colony of screech owls nesting nearby. (Or so I was told.) A short distance from the house itself is a little copse used to bury the Powell family’s pets. I would spend sunny Saturday afternoons, after I'd finished riding and caring for my horses, writing on the grass in this peaceful little haven, or looking at the sad little graves. Some of the inscriptions are quite touching and the owner of the stables, which, when I was there, had been sold as a separate entity from the Mansion itself, swore he’d heard ghostly hooves galloping past, late at night.

Many legends name Nanteos as the one-time resting place of the Holy Grail, the chalice that Jesus and his disciples are believed to have drunk from at the Last Supper. The cup, known as ‘the Nanteos Cup’ was apparently brought back from the Middle East in AD 63 by Joseph of Arimathea, who settled at Glastonbury Monastery in the west of England. When the monastery was dissolved in 1539, a number of monks fled with the Holy Grail to Strata Florida Abbey, in the Aberystwyth area, and from there to Nanteos, where the cup passed into the hands of the Powell family. The Grail was famous for its supposed healing powers, and water poured from it was highly sought after as a cure for various diseases. I’ve actually seen the ‘grail’, or what was left of it The owner of the house (and the cup) a Major Merrilees, eventually moved to Herefordshire, taking the Nanteos Cup with him. It is understood that it currently resides in a bank vault somewhere. It is a small wooden vessel (5″ diameter, 3″ deep) in a very poor state today, due to pilgrims’ biting large chunks out of it, over the years, in order to aid recovery from their ills. 

Nanteos stable yard

Although the Holy Cup is not at Nanteos anymore, there are still ghosts to be found in the many rooms of the mansion. One of the ghosts said to haunt the mansion is the spirit of Elizabeth Powell, the late wife of William Powell, who wanders the hallways looking for her lost jewellery. The story goes that her husband William Powell dearly loved her and showered her with jewels. She could not bear to be parted from her treasured jewellery and dreaded to think what would happen to them after her death. Knowing that she was dying, she rose from her death-bed and hid her jewels. Later that night she died. Today her ghost, shrouded in a long flowing gown, still wanders like a lost soul searching for her hidden jewels. It is said she will haunt anyone that dares look for her treasure. 

 Parties were often held at Nanteos. One evening the house was full of guests, an army officer present went to dress for dinner. Climbing the stairs to his room he met a striking woman in evening dress, holding a strange looking candle stick. Thinking she was one of the guests he bowed and bade her good evening. The lady did not answer but carried on down the stairs as if she had not seen him. He thought it strange but continued up to his room. On returning to the party he gazed around looking for the lady. Eventually he asked if anyone has seen this woman. Immediately, he was taken to one side and told never to speak of the lady with the candle stick or there would be a death in the family. That night, the Lord of Nanteos died... and the strange candle the lady had carried was found a week later in a dusty shelf in a corner of the Silver Vault Room. A phantom horse and carriage is also said to pull up to the front entrance in the middle of the as a forewarning of a death. The most eerie sighting was from the front door, and was that of what was thought to be smoke in the inner hall. The witness stared in disbelief as the smoke transformed in a figure dressed in a long flowing dress. She began coming towards the front door, terrifying the onlooker so much that he ran to Aberystwyth, not daring to look back.

Horses and voices were heard in the stable yard at Nanteos on two consecutive nights at about 4.00am, but as soon as the listener peered into the yard the noise abruptly stopped. (The picture above is the arched entrance to the cobbled stable yard. - two stone eagles and a horse used to stand on the archway but one of the previous owner sold them to America!) 

My favourite story is a rather sad one. One of the windows on the bottom storey has been boarded up for many, many years. The story goes that the lady of the house was watching her husband ride up the drive towards her, when the horse spooked and threw him, killing him instantly. She could not bear to look out of that window again and ordered it to be boarded over and so it remained until the mansion was bought in the early 1990s by a large Consortium and turned into a conference centre,. She mourned for him the rest of her life and they say his ghost still rides up the drive at night. I like to think she rides with him now.

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Exciting News - and another Welsh legend

 Hello dear readers

First of all, I'm very excited to announce that I have recently signed a new contract with The Wild Rose Press. This latest book is not my usual Science Fiction Romance, but a fantasy romance called 'The Matchmaker's Mare." It's set in my native Wales and the male protagonist is a horse trainer (who coincidentally enjoys re-telling Welsh legends!) More about this story in future weeks, but this is my idea of the mare of the title (she's rather feisty, and not entirely what she seems.

Back to Welsh legends. Another mythical creature for you this week - and another dragon. Many dragons in fiction are noble, friendly creatures, not so much the one in this legend - here is the tale of the dragon of Penmynydd:

 

Not far from the manor farm of Penhesgyn, near Penmynydd on the island of Anglesey,  a dragon dwelt on the banks of the river Braint. A soothsayer in the area foretold that the heir to the manor would be killed by the dragon. Hoping to keep him safe, the lord of the manor sent the boy away to England. For several years the young man stayed far away from Wales in the safety of England.  Eventually a brave local lad slew the dragon by putting a polished cauldron in the bottom of a pit.

Seeing its own reflection. and believing it to be a rival, the dragon fought the reflection it until it was exhausted, whereupon the youth killed the dragon and, amid much rejoicing, the locals buried the creature  in the pit. Thinking all was well, and elated by his new freedom to return to his homeland, the heir came back to the manor,  but insisted on seeing the body of the dragon. As soon as the carcass was exhumed, the he kicked the head of the dragon which had caused his exile, but one of the dragon's poisonous fangs penetrated his boot and went into his foot, killing him instantly. Thus the prophecy was fulfilled.

 

(Me thinks he should have been a lot more careful and not tried to take his revenge on the poor, dead creature!) 

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