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Dr. J. Marshall (Jack) Bevil is a native of Houston, where he also currently lives. He is both a string music educator and a musicologist (B.Mus. with honors, Oklahoma Baptist University , 1970; M.Mus. - Musicology, University of North Texas , 1973; Ph.D. - Musicology, University of North Texas, 1984) with specialization in the history of bowed string instruments, oral-aural musical transmission, British and British-American folk music, and British popular and academic music of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. His doctoral dissertation on the centonate, or oral-aural transmittive, process in Southern Appalachian folksong has been published by University Microfilms, International ( UMI No. 8423854, "Dissertation Services"), and he has published post-doctoral studies in professional journals and presented papers in his areas of specialization, including computer-assisted musical analysis, at regional, national, and international academic convocations in both the United States and Great Britain. He also is the author of encyclopedia articles on John Avery Lomax, Alan Lomax, and Percy Aldridge Grainger; and he has published on the Internet. In addition to his pedagogic and academic pursuits, he is a performer on the crwth, a composer and arranger for string and vocal ensembles (publications on www.sibeliusmusic.com from December of 2004), and a forensic musicological consultant and expert witness in copyright and intellectual property misappropriation disputes.

1.What prompted you to make the decision to study Celtic music, and why did you specialize in the Crwth?

"I have been aware of my predominately Celtic roots almost ever since I can remember. As a small child, I used to listen to my great-aunt, who was born in 1871, sing some of the old ballads. She and my maternal grandparents, with whom I spent many idyllic childhood summer days, had a lot of the old-country expressions in their speech, even though they were born and raised in the American Midwest. My grandfather Marshall, while not a practicing musician himself, was a lover of fiddle music and owned several shellac-disc recordings of the Irish fiddler Patrick Gaffney in performance. I still remember playing “Green Grow the Rushes, Oh!” over and over, on my grandparents' “wind-up” 1915 Victrola that I now own along with the collection of records, most of which have survived several moves.

My investigation of the crwth started in 1965-1966, during my senior year in high school (S.P. Waltrip, Houston), when my studies in English focused on British literature. I volunteered to find out what Dylan Thomas was speaking of in “Under Milk Wood” with his reference to the crwth and also to parchs (ministers). Already being a violinist, I was fascinated with what I learned about the crwth, gathered more than enough information to mightily tax the patience of the classmates to whom I subsequently discoursed, but personally was left with far more questions than answers. Even from that quick, cursory investigation, I became aware of the many conflicting views about the crwth’s origin, its development, its function, and its place within the large and diverse chordophone, or string, family. Demands of college kept all the questions largely on the back burner for the next four years, except in the case of a research project that I did in my senior year, in connection with which the crwth came up again as a tangential issue. Unable to get it out of my mind and, frankly, being more than a little irritated over being unable to answer a lot of nagging questions to my own satisfaction, I took up the matter in earnest the following year in graduate school at the University of North Texas (1970-’71), as a semester project in my first musicological research seminar. The result was what even then I felt to be a less than satisfactory, seventy-page study that presented the often diametrically opposed views of earlier investigators such as John Hawkins, Anthony Baines, Kathleen Schlesinger, Hortense Panum, Karl Geiringer, Arnold Dolmetsch, and others. While my professor commended me heartily, I was still far from satisfied, so I deliberately spent an extra year and summer on my master’s degree in order to bring closure to something that had been bedeviling me for years. My research took me far beyond the University of North Texas Music Library and other American repositories to the British Museum, the National Library of Wales, Durham Cathedral Library, the library of Trinity College in Dublin, the Welsh Folk Museum in Sain Ffagan, numerous sites where important icons exist such as Worcester Cathedral and St. Mary’s Church in Shrewsbury, and the homes of a number of live informants across the water. The final product was a thesis that, even with substantial cuts, reached dissertation proportions before wrap-up and nearly drove me mad but, at the same time, was a pleasure to prepare. For a number of years after its presentation in 1973, I maintained a running, annually updated volume of addenda that took into account studies that came out after the completion of my thesis, until doctoral study and both teaching and research fellowships forced me, after more than a decade, to lay the matter aside. I still perform from time to time on the crwth, and I still occasionally run across something new in the way of valuable information, such as iconographic evidence. I have no illusions (or delusions) of having answered all questions once and for all, so it’s something to which I plan to return after retirement from teaching, probably sometime within the next couple of years."

2. How widespread was knowledge of the crwth when you began your studies? How difficult was it to obtain information/source materials?

"There was a fairly large amount of superficial knowledge, along with a huge volume of often contradictory theory about both the crwth’s origin and its place in the string family, particularly with regard to its relationship to the violin and its kin. Source materials were rather plentiful, but many of them were both brief and dated, even in 1966. Further, most of them treated the crwth as a side issue, relegating it to the category of curious anachronisms among string instruments. It wasn’t until I located the Meredydd Morris monograph, in the Welsh Folk Museum, that I found a whole book-length document on the subject; and even it, while of enormous value in terms of the place of the crwth in Welsh folk culture, was of limited usefulness in terms of technical matters. My reconstructions of both the genealogy of the crwth and the playing techniques were dependent on an understanding of the entire string family in general and fiddles and fiddling in particular.

As one who was still something of a novice investigator, I had to learn quickly how to pull the necessary strings to obtain access to materials that were in closed-stack holdings, which most of the British repositories were. Fortunately, my major professor had anticipated that and prepared for me a letter of introduction that helped greatly everywhere except the British Museum, where one stickler of a bureaucrat informed me that they did not accept recommendations from American professors, and that I needed to get a recommendation from, perhaps, Thurston Dart at King’s College, London. When I told him that such was quite impossible in light of Professor Dart’s rather recent demise (eliciting a giggle from a pretty girl behind the desk who did not care for the bureaucrat and later told me that she was so glad that he’d been caught in an error), I was told to go to the American Embassy. I later learned that such shenanigans were not official museum policy, but merely reflective of one small individual’s prejudice. At any rate, armed with my letter from the American Embassy, I ultimately gained entrance to not only the reading room but also the special manuscripts room of the British Museum, where ink pens are verboten and even turning a page with a pencil in one’s hand is a cardinal sin.

The Welsh Folk Museum was wonderfully accommodating, not only furnishing sources that I requested but also assigning two staff members to assist me during the several days that I was working there. Assistance with translating the archaic colloquial Welsh in a number of documents was of enormous help, and my assistants even tracked down some material that I had previously known nothing about, including the Morris monograph. In addition, I was allowed to examine, photograph, and measure each of the original instruments and reproductions in the museum’s holdings.

I would have hit an unyielding, insurmountable wall at the National Library of Wales in Aberystwyth had it not been for the assistance of a librarian who aided me with documents written not only in the characteristic backhand script of the fifteenth century but also in late medieval Welsh."

AmeriCymru spoke to author and freelance drama and comedy director Griff Rowland about his first book ''The Search For Mr Lloyd''. Griff has worked on shows such as Coronation Street, Wizards vs Aliens (Russell T Davies), Pobol y Cwm and Beryl, Cheryl a Meryl - isio Chwerthin with Tudur Owen. He began writing his novel in between projects. Spanning Bangor and London, the novel tells the tale of Mostyn Price, a young pigeon fancier whose prized bird goes missing during his first international race. The story is his search to find him. The Search For Mr. Lloyd

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AmeriCymru: Hi Griff and many thanks for agreeing to talk to AmeriCymru. After a distinguished career as a TV drama and comedy director what made you decide to take up writing?

Griff: I work as a freelance director and as I made the leap from documentary to drama, I had to take a risk and turn a few job offers down. Waiting for the right project to turn up meant I had to fill my time constructively. I''d been in between jobs years earlier when I was working in front of the camera (as a presenter on S4C) and when I had quiet periods, I''d either be knocking on employers doors or watching mindless daytime television programmes. This time, I thought I wouldn''t waste a day. I''d had this idea for a book and I always wanted to write but fear that I didn’t have a good enough idea, let alone be able to see it through to the end got in the way. So, one day an idea came to me when a friend of mine, who was rather a reckless driver nearly ran over a pigeon. It sounds daft, but I looked into it, and got engrossed in the research and learning about Pigeon Fancying. I became fascinated with racing pigeons and especially what became of those that never make it home. Most of them gripped by the claws of birds of prey, but others lose their unique homing instinct and if not found become undomesticated. I liked this as a metaphor and with some initial research the seeds of a novel began to germinate. I used my directing experience then to outline some structure - as I like to know where I’m going! – and began writing the story in between jobs, and I soon got lost in the world.

AmeriCymru: Your book is about one man''s search for as missing race pigeon. The birds disappearance is a defining moment in the life of the main character, Mostyn. What suggested this theme to you?

Griff: Two reasons: As a lad growing up in Bangor and who went to London as a student I had always been interested in the idea of ''gadael cartref''. Second, the idea for this book came to life when I learnt that a racing pigeon’s homing instinct can be befuddled. Mostyn’s pigeon, Mister Lloyd loses his way in life, if you like and this was an attractive metaphor for me. You see, a few years earlier Mostyn’s dad disappeared from his life. Not that he was a missing person, just that one day he walked out on them and Mostyn never sees him again. The grandfather (Taid) breeds racing pigeons and to help him focus on other things gave one to Mostyn to train. After his first international race, when Mostyn is eleven years old, the bird is a no show. Naturally this stirs in him all those unhappy memories. Not finding his missing racing pigeon is not an option and he refuses to believe it has been killed. And yet how do you go looking for a bird so undistinguishable as a pigeon? It’s an absurd idea, but Mostyn is determined. And eventually when school holidays allow, Mostyn Price sets off from his home in Bangor, Wales to go and find him.

AmeriCymru: We learn from the initial press release that the book was written "in between projects". How easy/difficult has it been to find time to work on a novel whilst maintaining your other career commitments?

Griff: It was fine when I was not working, hours would fly by and it gave me a working structure to my days. But when working on directing projects, It’d be nigh on impossible to do the two. Directing is all consuming and you live and breath it day and night. But I carried around with me a little notebook that I would use to jot anything down. I think going out to earn a living while you’re writing naturally slows down the timescale from start to finish. But if it’s something dear to you heart, you find the time!

AmeriCymru: How do you think your career in television has affected and influenced your writing?

Griff: It has been a great influence. I was definitely writing as if I was editing my own pitures in my head. I’d plan things out as if, I need to here next, there after that. In TV I tell stories through words and pictures. I have to paint pictures in my head to tell the crew what we ant to capture in order to tell the story to the audience. Obviously I found it physically different when writing, but you’re still painting a picture and telling a story with words. The other thing my experience in TV has taught me is to not be scared of being ruthless. When you’re in the cutting room, you have to let go of things, shots you loved are maybe not needed when viewing a show in its entirety. Things you’ve filmed are not needed in the flow of the story. So you have to learn to say, get rid of it! It’s taught me not to be so precious and so, on each reading of the manuscript I didn’t mind cutting things. In a way you had to still write it to be able to say you didn’t need it. It helped me think that deleting chapters was not a big deal. And as Mostyn Price ultimately has to learn to let go, so did I. Gone!

AmeriCymru: Are you planning to write more? Any new titles in the pipeline?

Griff: I would like to write more. I loved writing The Search for Mister Lloyd. I’m looking for my next idea, but until that comes, maybe I will start adapting the book into a script. Seems obvious, really!

AmeriCymru: Where can our readers go to purchase the book online?

Griff: The book can be downloaded on Kindle.

AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?

Griff: Not that this is a message - as such - but I may have come across some of your readers when I travelled around the States for a month filming a documentary series for BBC Wales called Star Spangled Dragon which traced the Welsh influence on the shaping of America. this wqas in 2002 and I met so many wonderful people; it was a trip ‘na’i byth anghofio! Diolch am y croeso! And of course when working on it I learned the George Washington quote, Good Welshmen make good Americans’. Fair point!

Interview by Ceri Shaw Email

AmeriCymru:  Hi Tony and many thanks for agreeing to this interview. What inspires your artwork?

Tony:   Since my early childhood in north Wales I spent time drawing, especially faces and animals. My late mother used to say I took after my grandfather who spent his last remaining years painting schooners and putting models of these early sailing ships into bottles. He spent his working life on these ships transporting coal from the north Wales coast (Mostyn) to Ireland. 

After leaving school I attended the local college to study Art and Design and from there I furthered my studies in London. I then worked in visual communication and after working in London (there was very little opportunity in this field of work in north Wales at that time) and Ireland and for a brief period in the US (Seattle) I thankfully returned home permanently to Wales in 1989. But after being layed off work twice and unable to find suitable employment back in Wales I decided to work on my own projects. And the first project had to be about Cymru. I had bought an old print of a map of north Wales (John Speed) while I was studying in London in the early 70’s, this being something I could not resist. I have treasured this map and two years ago I carefully took it out of the frame and got it professionally scanned. This was the start of my Welsh theme, which has been a labor of love.

AmeriCymru:   What is your process? How do you create these wonderful images?

Tony:  All of my work is a combination of design, photography and illustration. I do the research and collect old photographs as well as taking my own photographs. I design the layout and then put everything together on the AppleMac computer.

AmeriCymru:   Care to comment on the Owain Glyndwr image (reproduced above)? 

Tony:  The Owain Glyndwr/ Llywelyn ab Iorwerth ( Llywelyn the Great ) image is to me the most important image I have ever created. I wanted to create an iconic image that communicates a fact, a very important fact. Cut out all the bullshit. A fact that every true Welshman and women should never forget.

AmeriCymru:   Where can our readers go to purchase prints? Do you supply them framed or unframed? 

Tony:   All my work is on the etsy site. www.etsy.com/shop/ddraigdragon

I supply them mostly unframed. (due to postage cost) I have geared a number of my artworks including the Welsh theme to accommodate the IKEA frame Virserum ( dark brown) . Overall frame size is 23 x 19 inches

(48 x 58 cm)  Each individually designed limited edition print is signed and numbered.

AmeriCymru:   What's next for Tony Roberts?

Tony:   ddraigdragon is based in Wales and my aim/vision is to produce unique quality gifts from Wales. Categories include: Maps, Music, Illustration, Sport, and Inspirational sayings (one being) Many people will walk in and out of your life but only a true friend will leave footprints in your heart. Eleanor Roosevelt. I have also begun researching images for a general map of Ireland and Scotland.

I am listing new products on etsy.com on a daily basis.

Commissioned work is also undertaken, please email for further information.

robertdtone@outlook.com

AmeriCymru:   Was there a special reason for you to write this book?

Gruffydd:   I was brought up in Glyndyfrdwy in the old county of Merioneth, the area which gave Owain Glyndŵr his name and where he was proclaimed Prince of Wales in September 1400.  During my academic career lecturing in Welsh in universities—at Dublin, Bangor, and Aberystwyth—I specialized in the medieval Welsh poetry of the gentry ( c. 1350-1600) and became interested in the poetry addressed to Owain Glyndŵr, publishing a number of items relating to it.  I delivered the British Academy’s John Rhŷs Memorial Lecture on the Glyndŵr poetry in 2010, and in 2013 I contributed two chapters to Owain Glyndŵr:  A Casebook , a volume edited by two American scholars, Michael Livingston and John K. Bollard.   Being conscious that 2015 marked the sexcentenary of the death of Owain Glyndŵr—there is very good evidence, on which I elaborate in the book, that he died on 21 September 1415—I was keen to ensure that the event be commemorated.  Although some of the relevant material was already familiar to me, I engaged in new research on certain aspects during the two years when the volume was in preparation.  Much of the research was concentrated on unpublished manuscripts and documentary sources, and I also did some field-work in Herefordshire, an area highly relevant to the topic in question. 

AmeriCymru:  Why, I wonder, did Owain disappear without a trace?

Gruffydd:  This was a matter of necessity.  After Harlech castle fell to the English in 1409 and as support for the revolt waned his situation was desperate.  He was regarded by the English authorities as a traitor and essentially he was a fugitive with a price on his head.  When Henry IV declared a general pardon for all his enemies in 1411 only two were excepted, Owain and Thomas Trumpington, a pretender who claimed that he was the deposed Richard II.  In the words of the chronicler Adam of Usk Owain had to hide’ from the face of the king and the kingdom’. 

AmeriCymru:  Where did Owain Glyndŵr spend his very last days?

Gruffydd:  That is the big question!  We simply do not know for certain.  But it is striking that many of the traditions about his last days are centred on Herefordshire where two of his daughters, Alice and Jonet, were married to local gentry, Sir John Skydmore (Scudamore) and Sir Richard Monington.  In ‘The History of Owen Glendower’, a seventeenth-century work attributed to the antiquary Robert Vaughan of Hengwrt and his friend Dr Thomas Ellis, it is claimed that ‘some say he dyed at his daughter Scudamores, others, at his daughter Moningtons house.  they had both harboured him in his low, forlorne condition.’  But it is worth remembering too that he had an illegitimate daughter called Gwenllian who lived in St Harmon in latter-day Radnorshire.  In the book I refer to bardic evidence which obliquely locates Owain’s burial in Maelienydd (north Radnorshire).  But, of course, he may have found refuge in more than one place and also with supporters who were not his kindred.  As he had to keep out of the sight of the authorities his movements had to be kept secret and no definite evidence about them is available.

AmeriCymru:  What did the Welsh think about Owain straight after the revolt?

Gruffydd:  This is a question which defies a definite answer.  There must have been much popular sympathy for him, for during his years as a fugitive he was not betrayed.  But like every political figure he would inevitably have divided opinion. A sizeable number of his former supporters in south Wales enlisted in Henry V’s army which embarked on the Agincourt campaign in 1415, but some of them, it is certain, were motivated by the desire to be pardoned for their participation in the revolt.  Later on in the fifteenth century there are positive references to Owain in the canu darogan , poems of political prophecy, where he is depicted as a potent military leader of the Welsh who would lead them to victory over the English.  But there may also have been less positive attitudes towards him, such as those which sometimes surfaced in Tudor Wales.

AmeriCymru: Has any new evidence surfaced recently?

Gruffydd:  Yes, I refer to several pieces of new evidence in my book.  The most important piece of new evidence is a note which I found in one of the manuscripts of Robert Vaughan of Hengwrt.  Vaughan records a piece of information he obtained from Edmwnd Prys (1543/4-1623), archdeacon of Merioneth and author of the famous Welsh Metrical Psalms, namely that Glyndŵr had been buried at ‘Cappel Kimbell’ in Herefordshire.  ‘Cappel Kimbell’ was the church of Kimbolton, a tiny village some three miles from Leominster, formerly a chapelry of Leominster Priory.  Edmwnd Prys was Rector of Ludlow, less than 10 miles from Kimbolton, during the 1570s, and he may well have heard some local tradition about Glyndŵr’s burial there.  It is striking that that the homes of two of Glyndŵr’s daughters, Alice Skydmore and Jonet Monington, were very near (less than 10 miles) from Kimbolton.  (Kentchurch Court in southern Herefordshire is usually thought of as the home of Alice and Sir John Skydmore, but I have found documentary evidence which shows that they had another home at La Verne near Bodenham in which they lived during the years of the revolt.)

AmeriCymru: Was the revolt good or bad for Wales?

Gruffydd:  This is a redundant question, as the revolt did take place!  It is true that the revolt would have caused suffering to many Welsh people and much economic destruction.  But it was perhaps inevitable that the revolt would have happened as a reaction to the English conquest of 1282 and the civil disabilities and the psychological subjection that the Welsh suffered in its wake.  There are sure signs that there were tensions in Welsh society during the fourteenth century which needed to be resolved.  In the final analysis it is hardly beneficial—in any period—for a nation to be ruled by another nation!

AmeriCymru:  Why is Owain Glyndŵr so important to the Welsh today?

Gruffydd:  It was he who led the only significant national Welsh revolt after the English conquest.

Apart from being a brave and able military leader he had a vision for Wales as an independent state with its own institutions, its Parliament, its Church, and its universities.  The memory of Owain has maintained Welsh national consciousness, thereby sustaining the continued existence of Wales as a meaningful entity.  Owain continues to inspire and to sustain Welsh dreams!

AmeriCymru:  Any messages for the members of AmeriCYmru?

Gruffydd:  As one who can claim to be half-American—my mother was a Welshwoman who was born in Russell Gulch in Gilpin County, Colorado, where my grandfather worked in a gold mine—it is delightful to be invited to contribute to the AmeriCymru website.  I wish your venture every success.

AmeriCymru: Oedd yna reswm arbennig ichi ysgrifennu’r llyfr hwn?

Gruffydd:  Cefais fy magu yng Nglyndyfrdwy yn yr hen Sir Feirionnydd, yr ardal a roddodd ei enw i Owain Glyndŵr a lle cyhoeddwyd ef yn Dywysog Cymru ym Medi 1400.  Yn ystod fy ngyrfa academaidd yn darlithio yn y Gymraeg mewn prifysgolion—yn Nulyn, Bangor, ac Aberystwyth—arbenigais ar ganu beirdd yr uchelwyr ( c . 1350-1600) ac ymddiddorais yn y farddoniaeth a ganwyd i Owain Glyndŵr a chyhoeddi cryn dipyn arno.  Traddodais Ddarlith Goffa Syr John Rhŷs yr Academi Brydeinig yn 2010 ar y farddoniaeth i Lyndŵr, ac yn 2013 cyfrenais ddwy bennod i’r gyfrol Owain Glyndŵr:  A Casebook a olygwyd gan ddau ysgolhaig Americanaidd, Michael Livingston a John K. Bollard.  Gan fy mod yn ymwybodol fod 2015 yn chwechanmlwyddiant marw Owain Glyndŵr—mae tystiolaeth dda iawn iddo farw ar 21 Medi 1415, tystiolaeth yr wyf yn ymhelaethu arni yn y gyfrol—yr oeddwn yn awyddus i’r achlysur gael ei nodi.  Er bod peth o’r deunydd perthnasol yn hysbys imi eisoes, fe euthum ati i ymchwilio rhai pethau o’r newydd yn ystod y ddwy flynedd pan fûm yn paratoi’r gyfrol. Canolbwyntiais lawer o’r ymchwil ar lawysgrifau a dogfennau heb eu cyhoeddi, a gwneuthum hefyd beth ymchwil yn y maes, yn enwedig yn Swydd Henffordd, ardal berthnasol iawn i bwnc y llyfr.

AmeriCymru: Pam, tybed, y diflannodd Owain heb adael unrhyw ôl?

Gruffydd:  Mater o reidrwydd oedd hyn.  Ar ôl cwymp castell Harlech i’r Saeson yn 1409 ac i’r gefnogaeth i’r gwrthryfel edwino yr oedd ei sefyllfa yn bur enbyd.  Fe’i hystyrid gan yr awdurdodau Seisnig fel un a oedd yn euog o deyrnfradwriaeth ac yn ei hanfod yr oedd yn ffoadur a phris ar ei ben.  Pan gyhoeddodd Harri IV bardwn cyffredinol i’w holl elynion yn 1411 dim ond Owain a Thomas Trumpington—ymhonnwr a hawliai mai ef oedd Rhisiart II—a eithriwyd.  Yng ngeiriau’r croniclydd Adda o Frynbuga bu’n rhaid i Owain guddio ‘rhag wyneb y brenin a’r deyrnas’.

AmeriCymru: Ymhle y treuliodd Owain Glyndŵr ei ddyddiau olaf?

Gruffydd:  Dyma’r cwestiwn mawr!  Yn syml, ni wyddom i sicrwydd.  Ond mae’n drawiadol fod llawer o’r traddodiadau ynghylch ei ddiwedd wedi eu canoli ar Swydd Henffordd, lle’r oedd dwy o’i ferched, Alys a Sioned, wedi priodi uchelwyr lleol, Syr John Skydmore (Scudamore) a Syr Richard Monington.  Yn yr ‘History of Owen Glendower’, gwaith a luniwyd yn yr ail ganrif ar bymtheg ac a briodolir i Robert Vaughan o’r Hengwrt, yr hynafiaethydd enwog a’i gyfaill Dr Thomas Ellis, fe ddywedir ‘some say he dyed at his daughter Scudamores, others, at his daughter Moningtons house.  they had both harboured him in his low, forlorne condition.’ Ond mae’n werth cofio hefyd am ei ferch arall—merch anghyfreithlon—o’r enw Gwenllian a oedd yn byw yn Saint Harmon yn yr hyn a ddaeth wedyn yn Sir Faesyfed.  Yn y llyfr yr wyf yn cyfeirio at dystiolaeth farddol sydd fel pe bai’n awgrymu i Owain gael ei gladdu ym Maelienydd (gogledd Sir Faesyfed).  Fe allai, wrth gwrs, fod wedi llochesu mewn mwy nag un lle a chyda chefnogwyr nad oeddynt yn geraint iddo.  Gan fod yn rhaid iddo gadw o olwg yr awdurdodau yr oedd ei symudiadau yn gyfrinach ac nid oes unrhyw dystiolaeth bendant ar gael.

AmeriCymru:  Beth feddyliai’r Cymry am Owain yn syth ar ôl y gwrthryfel?

Gruffydd:  Mae hwn yn gwestiwn amhosib ei ateb yn bendant.  Rhaid bod cryn gydymdeimlad poblogaidd ag ef, oherwydd ni chafodd ei fradychu yn ystod ei gyfnod ar ffo.  Ond fel pob ffigur gwleidyddol diau fod mwy nag un farn yn ei gylch.  Fe ymunodd cryn nifer o rai o’i hen gefnogwyr yn ne Cymru â byddin y brenin Harri V yng nghyrch Agincourt yn 1415, ond cymhellion rhai ohonynt, yn sicr, fyddai derbyn pardynau am eu rhan yn y gwrthryfel.  Yn ddiweddarach yn y bymthegfed ganrif mae cyfeiriadau clodforus at Owain yn y canu darogan, lle darlunnir ef fel arweinydd milwrol ar y Cymry a fyddai’n eu harwain i fuddugoliaeth ar y Saeson. Mewn rhannau o’r gymdeithas Gymreig diau fod cof cynnes a chadarnhaol amdano fel y Cymro a arweiniodd ei genedl mewn gwrthryfel cenedlaethol yn erbyn y Saeson.  Ond gall fod agwedd eraill yn llai cefnogol, fel y dengys y math o sylwadau negyddol amdano sy’n brigo i’r wyneb weithiau yng Nghymru’r unfed ganrif ar bymtheg.

AmeriCymru:  A oes unrhyw dystiolaeth newydd wedi codi i’r wyneb yn ddiweddar?

Gruffydd:  Oes, ac yr wyf yn cyfeirio at sawl peth newydd yn fy llyfr.  Y darn pwysicaf o dystiolaeth newydd yw’r nodyn a ganfûm yn un o lawysgrifau Robert Vaughan o’r Hengwrt.  Cofnoda Vaughan ddarn o wybodaeth a gafodd gan Edmwnd Prys (1543/4-1623), archddiacon Meirionnydd ac awdur y ‘Salmau Cân’ enwog, sef bod Glyndŵr wedi ei gladdu yn ‘Cappel Kimbell’ yn Swydd Henffordd.  ‘Cappel Kimbell’ oedd eglwys Kimbolton, pentref bychan rhyw dair milltir o Lanllieni (Leominster), eglwys a oedd yn ‘gapel’ i Briordy Llanllieni.  Fe fu Edmwnd Prys yn Rheithor Llwydlo, llai na 10 milltir o Kimbolton, yn y 1570au, ac efallai iddo glywed rhyw draddodiad lleol an gladdu Glyndŵr yno.  Mae’n drawiadol fod cartrefi dwy o’i ferched, Alys Skydmore a Sioned Monington, yn agos iawn (llai na 10 milltir) o Kimbolton.  (Arferir meddwl am Gwrt Llan-gain (Kentchurch Court) yn ne Swydd Henffordd fel cartref Alys a Syr John Skydmore, ond cefais hyd i dystiolaeth ddogfennol a ddangosai fod ganddynt gartref arall mewn lle o’r enw La Verne ger Bodenham y buont yn byw ynddo yn ystod cyfnod y gwrthryfel.) 

AmeriCymru:  A oedd y gwrthryfel yn beth da neu’n beth drwg i Gymru?

Gruffydd:  Mae hwn yn gwestiwn ofer, gan fod y gwrthryfel wedi digwydd!  Mae’n wir fod y gwrthryfel wedi achosi ddioddefaint i lawer o Gymry a llawer o ddinistr economaidd.  Ond efallai ei bod yn anorfod y byddai’r gwrthryfel wedi digwydd fel adwaith i’r goncwest Seisnig yn 1282 a’r anfanteision sifil a’r darostyngiad seicolegol a ddioddefodd y Cymry yn sgil hynny.  Mae arwyddion sicr fod tyndra yn y gymdeithas Gymreig yn ystod y bedwaredd ganrif ar ddeg a bod angen rhoi sylw iddo.  Yn y pen draw, prin ei bod yn beth da—mewn unrhyw gyfnod—i genedl gael ei llywodraethu gan genedl arall!

AmeriCymru: Pam yw Owain mor bwysig i’r Cymry heddiw?

Gruffydd:  Ef a arweiniodd yr unig wrthryfel cenedlaethol Cymreig arwyddocaol ar ôl y goncwest Seisnig.  Ar wahân i fod yn arweinydd milwrol dewr a galluog yr oedd ganddo weledigaeth o Gymru fel gwladwriaeth annibynnol a chanddi ei sefydliadau ei hun, ei Senedd, ei Heglwys, a’i phrifysgolion.  Mae’r cof amdano wedi bod yn hwb i’r ymwybyddiaeth genedlaethol Gymreig ac, yn sgil hynny, yn ateg i barhâd cenedl y Cymry fel endid ystyrlon.  Mae Owain yn dal i ysbrydoli ac i gynnal breuddwydion y Cymry!

AmeriCymru:  Unrhyw negeseuon i aelodau AmeriCymru?

Gruffydd:  Fel un a all hawlio fy mod yn hanner Americanwr fy hunan—yr oedd fy mam yn Gymraes a aned yn Russell Gulch yn Gilpin County, Colorado, lle bu fy nhaid yn gweithio mewn pwll aur—mae’n braf iawn cael cyfrannu i wefan AmeriCymru.  Pob llwyddiant i’r fenter.

Part 2 of an exclusive story for AmeriCymru for Glyndwr Day (September 16th). 'Glyndwr's Dream' by   John Good  - "The room was as described: Fine, sturdy, oak bed, large seated firedogs guarding a warm night fire, the dark cherry wood paneled walls softened with tapestries of ancient British myths and heroes......"

Glyndwr's Dream cont'd

The room was as described: fine, sturdy, oak bed, large seated firedogs guarding a warm night fire, the dark cherry wood paneled walls softened with tapestries of ancient British myths and heroes. Sir John showed his guest the door–subtly anonymous, blending in with the wall panels–the door that led to the tight stone staircase that spiraled down to the dense forest close beyond. Owain, unaccustomed to such comforts, having recently found the straw mattress of a cold friar’s cell in Cardiff comparatively luxurious, sank instantly into untroubled and fathoms-deep sleep. The world and warfare, king’s pardon, parliaments and princes could all wait outside the door of this rare and serenely peaceful bedchamber.

Have you ever had a vivid dream when you knew that you were dreaming, but felt in full control? That you were an actor in and amongst the play of characters, environs and events, able to speak and clearly understand? Well, as Prince Owain’s long silver hair touched the wildflower-scented pillow, the second his eyes closed on a rare and memorable evening–the taste of full bodied red wine still on his lips–he seamlessly slipped through the door that nightly leads to life’s second self. The garden of recollections and imaginings, where deep cares and delights, fears and hopes, shadow and light, where the past present and tomorrows grow wild as blackberries in the teeming profusion of a long and late summer. Haf Bach Mihangel , the Little Summer of Michaelmas.

Owain found himself dream-walking through a series of fine, princely rooms and halls that were amalgams of real and imaginary buildings. A fusion of the family home at Sycharch, of Edward Longshank’s arrogant castle keeps, barons’ courts and knights’ fortified dwellings, all of which he had visited throughout the years; an amalgamation of a lifetime’s hallways, vestibules, galleries and even of the very room in which he now peacefully lay dreaming. The balmy air was pleasantly scented with forest flowers and herbs, and the exuberantly colored tapestries depicting ancient British heroes–struggling with dragons, Saxons, serpents, magicians, wild boars and giants–caught the eye and seemed to come alive. Almost imperceptibly, the vibrantly dyed warp and weft was slowly changing from textured threads and webs into living, breathing figures. Fifteenth century stylized bodies and faces were becoming corporeal; limbs gesturing, lips shaping sounds, growing in volume until many voices were conversing at once, as if anticipating a speaker, poet or musician.

This all seemed quite natural to our dreamer, as it would to most sleepers, and anyway, the medieval Welsh psyche was­–and in many ways will always be–wide open to magical and transcendental excursion. So it was of small concern when the woven throng surged forward, into the room, forming an arc around one eminent tapestry figure who, stepping out in front of the rest, spoke directly to the prince, or rather sang in the perfect meter of Bardic lore.

“ Henffych ! Owain, shining son! As one, Avalon hails Owain.” The millennially-aged man was familiar to Owain, simultaneously being many shifting face-shapes, another amalgam, this time of real and mythologized heroes. “Yes, it’s true, Urien I am.” The gold­en-robed man beat his hazel staff on the floor for emphasis, as he answered this unspoken question. Owain could ask and answer by thought-words. There was no need to speak. “I am Arthur, Peredur, Pwyll; Llywelyn, Merddyn and Madog, at rest now in this westerly world. All the gathering glittering ghosts, assembled hosts of our storied history, all–as one–call this council, merge in merit, culture and heritage.” These words were a mixture of the Bronze Age Brythonic, known to the eloquent Caractâcos, the Old Welsh of Taliesin’s singing and the universally timeless symbol-sounds of dream-speech. They seemed to flow like a verdant valley’s silver nant ; a pleasantly running stream, their beauty, authority and truth filling the mind of our dreamer, by now, become a deep lake of introspective tranquility.

“Unbearably heavy heart, your life load–great weight of Wales–you carry for the Cymry yet to come. A nation’s generations in chains? Life-breath or death the decision… To submit, take the pittance of Henry’s peace, or whether never to kneel, defiant in your defeat until–not long will you wait–you sail the sea of all souls. Another brother brought home, to the solace of timelessness; I Ynys Afallon , to Avalon’s Isle.”

“Assume Henry’s amnesty? At ease under these stout eaves; a soft bed, warm fires, safe at bread; in foul weather sheltering at rest from tempestuous death blows of snowy seasons; the rest of your brightest days blessed, living free with loving family. Yet know, Prince Owain, this path has a price.”

“Wales, the Cymry , her tales and tongue, bard harping and singing, verse, chapter, banter and boast, yea! Even history’s starry astrology will vanish, banished from books. Avalon bereft of the valiant? Immortals become mortal?” The speaker’s voice rose and fell like a restless, broiling ocean, building for the storm.

“This ancient, nascent nation, beloved and bedeviled bright country, within a century will breathe her last breath; no grace will keep her from the grave. Your bowed head our kindred’s eradication. Past glories fast forgotten, each tomorrow sorrowful.”

The figure himself grew to the size of a tidal mountain, then as easily subsided to dream-normal, as the great power and visible emotion of his words threatened to carry all away. In the calm that followed, “Disregard Henry’s pardon? Head held high in defiance, the winter snow of Snowden, eira gaea’ Eryri , will bring you peace, releasing your soul to ancestral rest. No slate will mark your wintery sleep. Carrion crow will carry Owain skyward… a final scattering.”

“Many will say you died in some wide wildwood, taken in some forsaken fastness, lie cold below some lonely crag. Yet our poets–true people­–harpers and tellers of tales, they will say you merely sleep; say you wait for the day of days, that you await the nation’s need. They know you’re the mab darogan , their wild-eyed prophesied son!”

A tangible, timeless silence fell, seeming to last both hours and yet no time at all. Then the speaker picked up the thread. “Many a setback, backtracking, hundreds and hundreds of indifferent, bowed years of obedience, a frail feeling, seemingly slight, still a slow tide–at its low sleep­–unseen and soundlessly will rise and in rising, as weight of waters gather scorn, will grow and flow into flood and our mystic ship of dignity, our ancient nascent nation will rise high on that rising river, in your name reclaiming the realm, fighting with and righting wrongs. Cymru fydd fel Cymru fu! Cymru will be as Cymru once was.”

The speaker’s appearance, shape and size mirrored–became metaphor–for his thoughts. Speaking plainly, “Either hero of heroes, or past and last of the line, choose wisely, this is your choice, choice, choice, choice...”

These last, curt words were accompanied by the rhythmic beating of his staff on the oak floor and, as the final phrase trailed away, the tapestried throng and speaker himself lost dimension, began slipping towards grayscale, as motion turned back to motionless woolen thread. Startled, Owain burst into wakefulness, surprised to find the night had completely passed. Dawn was stealing into the bedchamber and the distant sound of someone knocking at the manor house front door brought the new day to our astonished dreamer.

Rhodri had been up for hours, attending to his countless tasks, as he had done since childhood; making sure the fires were burning brightly, the house was in order and the kitchen staff were preparing the food for the day. Hearing the knocking, he carefully unbolted and opened the heavy, front door and was just about knocked down by Maredudd, rushing past him into the hallway. “ Bore da Rhodri , good morning, are my sister and Sir John ready to receive guests yet? I need to speak to them, this moment.” Rhodri regained his balance and told Maredudd they were in the great room along the hallway, waiting for the friar to rise. Maredudd looked inquisitively at Rhodri when he mentioned the friar, but rushed on, as was ever his impetuous way, to join Alys and Sir John.

Then it was true, Maredudd had been approached under truce by Sir Gilbert Talbot, one of the kings most trusted men. He and Owain, his father, if they submitted to the king–swore never to rise again or incite the wild Welsh tribes to rise–would be pardoned; would live within the king’s peace. Maredudd didn’t seem surprised when he heard that Owain himself was asleep in the tower. They were always aware of at least general whereabouts of one another, just in case Charles the Mad­–the French king­–recovered his senses and decided to live up to his promise to send ships and soldiers against the English. But it wasn’t long before all three and wily Rhodri, who had immediately recognized his aging Prince, even disguised as a friar, were climbing the steep stone steps to Owain’s bedchamber.

Sir John knocked quietly at first, saying Prince Owain’s name in lowered tones, then waited. When even insistent knocking failed to bring a response, he unlatched, opened the door and went in. The room was completely empty. The fire was still embering, the bed slept in, still warm and unmade, and the door to the back staircase was wide open. The assembled company rushed through the narrow opening as one; two-at-a-time ran down the spinning back stairs, out into the bracing beauty of a clear and crisp autumn morning in the Monnow Valley.

Looking out into the ever-encroaching forest, there was not even a suggestion of a breeze to animate a turning leaf and the evocative mist had completely vanished as, apparently, had Owain ap Gruffydd Fychan ap Madog. The stillness was palpable…

No one, not even his family, would ever see the great man again. That beautiful October morning, Owain Glyndwr had quietly and unobserved walked into history without leaving a trace or even a note of farewell. There would be no eulogy or headstone when he passed and, to tell the truth, he didn’t need either. He had joined the immortals.

Deeply sad at heart, Sir John, Alys, Maredudd and Rhodri stood in complete silence for a very long time, hoping to see this enigmatic man walk back out of the woods. Then they themselves, without saying a single word, as if one, turned back to the house. As they reached the tower’s back stair, the crisp silence of the bright, new morning was broken by a solitary skylark, as it soared up, up into the clear air, singing its ecstatic praise for the day. Alys managed a bitter-sweet smile. Now she understood the meaning of her song.

 

On the 16th of September, Owain Glyndwr Day, Y Lolfa will launch a special book to commemorate the six-hundredth anniversary of the death of one of our major national heroes – an occasion that Wales has not properly celebrated since 1915, when the five-hundredth anniversary of Glyndwr’s death was marked with extensive and deserving attention.

Owain Glyndwr’s last years are one of the biggest mysteries in Welsh history. In  Dyddiau Olaf Owain Glyndwr (Last Days of Owain Glyndŵr) Gruffydd Aled Williams explores the traditions concerning the place where he died. Amongst the locations that are discussed are some that have been discovered as a result of new and exciting research by the author into manuscripts and documents; locations that could be significant but have never been discussed in print before. To support the text and to bring the possible locations to life, this attractive book is full of striking photographs by photographer Iestyn Hughes.

Gruffydd Aled Williams says, “We don’t know where Owain died, but we have traditions – the oldest of which can be traced back to the sixteenth century – which connect his death with several places in Herefordshire (where some of his daughters lived) and in Wales. This volume examines the plausibility of these traditions by looking at historical evidence (and discussing, lightheartedly on occasion, some unlikely and unbelievable places that have been suggested). Although historians, antiquarians and romantics have discussed many traditions through the ages, there has never been such extended or thorough coverage of this subject before.

Gruffydd Aled Williams’ interest in the subject began during his upbringing in Glyndyfrdwy, the area that gave Owain his name. During his professional career, his main interest was the poetry of the late 13th to early 16th century bards, known as Beirdd yr Uchelwyr, and has published a number of papers on the poems that were composed for Glyndwr and their historical background. This book is an extention of that interest, although it is an historical study rather than a literary one.

Dyddiau Olaf Owain Glyndŵr (£9.99, Y Lolfa) will be launched on Wednesday the 16th of September, in the Seddon Room, the Old College, Aberystwyth at 7:30pm, with a visual introduction by the author. There will be a warm welcome to everyone.