During the Iron Age and Roman Era, the Ordovices tribe lived in what is now south Clwyd and south Gwynedd in North Wales. In addition to parts of Clwyd and Gwynedd, the Ordovices tribes’ territory extended into parts of Hereford, Worcester, and western Shropshire in what is now England. They were great warriors and nearly wiped out an entire Roman regiment. However, even these brave fighters wouldn’t escape Rome’s organized military force by the end.
The Iron Age for Wales spans from 800 BC to 48 AD. During this time, Celtic tribal societies occupied the island of Britain. No king or chieftain ever organized the tribes under a single ruler. Additionally, they didn’t always get along or work well together—facts that didn’t improve matters when Roman troops first stepped foot on British soil in 43 AD.
To understand the Ordovices and what life was like at the time, we need to take a step back and look at how different things were in the British Isles when the Romans invaded. The Celtic countries of Ireland, Scotland, Cornwall, the Isle of Man, Brittany, and Wales as we know them today didn’t exist. If you asked a tribesman if he spoke Welsh, he wouldn’t have known what you meant. Members of the Ordovices tribe spoke Brythonic, a branch of the Insular Celtic language. It would one day give us Cymraeg, but not for another 500 years.
England, on the southeast side of the island, didn’t exist yet, either. The Anglo-Saxon tribes didn’t establish dominance over the land that became England until the 5th and 6th centuries after the Romans left. In fact, England wouldn’t officially become a kingdom until 927 AD. In other words, to conquer Britain, the Romans had to fight their way through screaming, ax-wielding Celts from one end of the island to the other. It wasn’t easy. The Ordovices were one of the tribes who made sure of that.
What is the Meaning of “Ordovices?”
The word “Ordovices” was the Latin name for the Celtic tribe. While we can be sure the Celts didn’t refer to themselves in Latin, various ideas exist about their real name and what it meant.
The Celtic word “ordo” shares a relationship with the word for “hammer” in modern Welsh, which is “gordd.” “Ordo-wik” in Celtic could mean “hammer fighters” as a tribal name (the literal translation is “hammer fight”).
There is also another meaning of “ordo,” which is a variation of the Common Celtic word “ard,” which means “high.” The Welsh word “gwych” comes from Brythonic and means “brave” or “energetic.” The words together could have formed a Brythonic name, “Ordogwych.” Its meaning could have been “brave highlanders” since the Ordovices lived in the mountains in North Wales. It’s hard to be sure since there were likely different dialects of Brythonic, just as there are different dialects of modern Welsh today.
Another idea comes from the name given to a small village in North Wales: “Dinorag.” The Welsh historian Sir John Edward Lloyd suggested that the proper name of the Ordovices has been retained as the word part “-orwig” or “-orweg” in the name of the hillfort Dinas Dinorwig for which the village is named. It means “Fort of the Ordovices.”
How Do You Pronounce “Ordovices?”
For the Ordovices pronunciation, in English, you say the word “Ordovices” like this: “OR-doe-visses,” with the stress on the first syllable.
The Ordovices Tribe: Life in Ancient Celtic Britain
The Ordovices lived in and around heavily defended hillforts. Hillforts were well-fortified settlements built on top of hills or other advantageous positions—often on hills or promontories, but not always. They enclosed the hillforts by a high wall. This wall was often stone on the bottom half, wooden on the top, and wide enough for a man to walk on. In addition to needing good visibility, guards needed to be able to move to and fro while keeping watch. While many Iron Age Celts, like the Ordovices tribe, built hillforts, peoples in the earlier Bronze Age sometimes created them as well. We also see hillfort ruins from the Middle Ages.
Within these well-guarded settlements, people lived inside stone or wooden roundhouses with straw or reed-thatched roofs, depending on the environment. They sealed the walls of their homes with waddle and daub, a mixture of mud and sticks. The tribal chieftain and his family lived in the largest house or building within the hillfort. Some tribe members also lived outside the hillfort near their fields or with their herds of animals. However, they were still relatively close by and could seek shelter within the gate if trouble arose. The Forts of Celtic Britain by Angus Konstam goes into Celtic settlements in detail.
The Celts were highly skilled metalworkers, and having iron meant better tools and weapons. Strong tools made farming more manageable, and iron weapons meant better defense. In Iron Age villages, it was common for people to work as carpenters, potters, and metalworkers. There was often a large building inside a hillfort (a “factory” of sorts) with one or more forges where craftspeople smelted iron and other metals to make necessary items.
The Ordovices and the Romans
Of the Celtic tribes that the Roman Empire had to deal with, the Ordovices put up the biggest fight besides the Silures. When Rome invaded, the Ordovices fought back with everything they had. They refused to submit tamely to Roman rule. When Caratacus (Caradog) came to their aid and led the fight, this Celtic tribe only became more unruly.
Caratacus was a chieftain who had come from the Catuvellauni tribe in what is now Herefordshire, north of the River Thames. He and his warriors had been fighting against Rome for many years. However, after defeat, he was exiled from his lands and went to help the Ordovices and the Silures. Unfortunately, after eight years of fighting the Romans, they defeated him in 50 AD. Although he escaped death that day, Queen Cartimandua betrayed him and gave his whereabouts to the Romans.
Governor Publius Ostorius Scapula captured Caratacus and sent him to Rome. He was allowed an audience with Emperor Claudius. The great tribal chieftain told the emperor that it was only right that he should fight for his people and lands. He stated his case, not begging, pleading, or bowing, even though he knew Scapula would likely execute him. The emperor was so impressed that he let Caratacus go. The warrior king was now exiled from Britain but was allowed to live out the rest of his life in Rome.
The Fight Continues
Not about to give up, the Ordovices continued fighting and resisting the Romans for a remarkable twenty-eight years. In 77 AD, just before the Roman Governor Agricola came to power, the Ordovices won a great victory. They nearly wiped out an entire Roman cavalry regiment stationed in their territory.
Agricola regarded this as a blatant act of war. In 78 AD, he assembled a force of veterans and additional troops and marched into the Ordovices’ land in North Wales. With Agricola’s more organized soldiers and warfare methods, he and his men nearly wiped out the entire tribe. The battle may have occurred at or near Dinas Dinorag, the location of the Ordovices hillfort.
Following this, Agricola and his troops are said to have gone to Ynys Môn (Isle of Anglesey). One tactic Agricola may have employed is taking Batavian soldiers as his auxiliary troops. These Germanic people who used to live in what is now the Netherlands had particular seafaring skills. They were accustomed to swimming alongside their horses in their armor. It is said that Agricola and his soldiers then invaded Ynys Môn and destroyed the Druid stronghold there.
Where Did the Ordovices Come From?
The Ordovices tribe’s history traces back to European Celts, who migrated to Britain from the continent as early as 1,000 BC and ended their migration as late as 100 BC. By the time the Roman Empire sent troops to the island, the Ordovices had well established themselves in North Wales.
What Celtic Tribes Were in Wales?
The Ordovices, Silures, Deceangli, Gangani, and Demetae were the five ancient Celtic tribes living in Cymru during the Iron Age. The Deceangli tribe is believed to be an offshoot of the Gangani tribe. The Deceangli and Gangani share a connection to the Irish Concani, a seafaring tribe that traveled to Wales by boat.
The Demetae tribe was peaceable and didn’t resist Roman rule like the Ordovices. They were given citizenship status and absorbed into Rome’s administration.
Ordovices Tribes Facts at a Glance
The Ordovices were a Celtic tribe who lived in ancient North Wales and parts of western England. Their lands were bordered by the Silures to the north and the Deceangli to the south.
How long did the Ordovices fight the Romans? They fought the might of Rome for approximately 30 years, from 48 to 78 AD. (Rome invaded Britain in 43 AD but didn’t reach Wales until 48 AD.) One of the main ways they could hold out so long was through guerrilla warfare.
After Agricola defeated the Ordovices once and for all, he incorporated the tribe into the Roman province of Brittania Major. Their lands became a tribal administrative district.
Some Celtic tribes, like the Dematae, were more peaceful and didn’t want to go toe to toe in battle with the highly organized Romans. The Orodovices, however, were one of the warlike tribes of Wales. They shared this with the Silures, the Gangani, and the Deceangli.
It took the Ordovices until the 3rd century AD to recover their numbers after their defeat at Dinas Dinorag by Agricola, if, in fact, that location is where the final battle occurred.
Cymru will never forget these brave Celts who had true fighting spirit.
Round barrows, Bronze Age burial sites called “cairns” in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, are ancient graves their creators covered with a mound of earth. There are two types of barrows: long and round.
Why are round barrows, Bronze Age burial mounds, often referred to as “cairns” in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales—and is there any difference? The terms “barrow” and “cairn” are sometimes used interchangeably, but they can have different meanings. A barrow is a burial mound from ancient times. The word “barrow” comes from the Old English word “beorg.” Beorg originates from Germanic and is related to the German word “berg,” meaning “hill” or “mountain.
A “cairn” is a mound of stones used to cover a grave, as a landmark, or as a memorial. The word “cairn” comes from Scottish Gaelic “carn,” which means “pile of stones.” The Welsh word for this is also “carn.” Often, cairns were placed over burial mounds, but not always. They were sometimes made symbolically. Cairns were often used to cover burials where the soil was rocky, or digging a deep grave, such as in mountainous regions, would have been difficult or impossible.
The etymology of the words “barrow” and “cairn” is one of the reasons ancient burial mounds in England are referred to as “barrows.” In the Celtic countries like Cymru (Wales), which this article will focus on, gravesites covered with stones are called “cairns.” The word “cairn” can refer to the grave, the pile of stones, or both. However, there are still barrows in Wales (the same or similar constructions you’d find in England), so we’ll use both terms as appropriate.
Wales’ Round Barrows: Meaning and Design
What is a round barrow? A round barrow is a hill-shaped burial mound. In Wales, the Beaker Folk of the Bronze Age used this method to bury their dead. However, round barrows were built from the late Neolithic to the beginning of the Iron Age, with the majority dating to the Bronze Age. You can also find tens of thousands of round barrows in Western Europe, the Americas, and elsewhere.
Besides being called “cairns,” burial sites in Wales can be called by other terms depending on the structure of the grave. For instance, a “cromlech” is a megalithic tomb built of several large upright stones supporting a large, flatter capstone. After being built, the structure was then covered over with earth. Sometimes, the builders also covered the earth with a cairn. So, there’s also an example of how words like “cairn,” “barrow,” and “grave” could get used interchangeably.
Prehistoric peoples constructed two types of barrows: long barrows and round barrows. Long barrows are elongated grave mounds. They were usually built of only earth or a combination of earth with wood or stone. Neolithic people of the earliest agricultural communities built these types of barrow from about 3,800 – 3,500 BC. Some long barrows are chambered, while others are not. Round barrows are spherical and were built in the Bronze Age from about 2,000 – 1,500 BC. The Cwm Bwch Barrows in Powys, South Wales, are an example of this type. We’ll focus on round barrows: Bronze Age Wales’ windows into this intriguing historical time.
Round Barrows Bronze Age Facts
Ancient societies built round barrows to bury their dead. These barrows appear throughout Western Europe, the British Isles, and other parts of the world, such as the Americas.
Burial practices changed during the transition from the Neolithic Age to the Bronze Age. While in the Stone Age, people built long chambered tombs (long barrows), in the Bronze Age, they abandoned this funeral style and buried their dead in round barrows.
You may also see a round barrow referred to as a “tumulus (plural “tumuli),” as they were called on early maps. The word tumulus is from Middle English, which comes from Latin and means a human-created mound or small hill. It especially refers to an ancient grave.
Round barrow tombs are divided into five shapes: bell, saucer, pond, bowl, and disc.
Who Built the Round Barrows in Wales?
The Beaker People (also “Beaker Folk” or the “Beakers”) were the builders of the round barrows dotting the landscape of the British Isles. These ancient tribal people are so named because of the bell-shaped pottery they made. They buried their dead along with their beakers (the pottery) in the round barrows and similar structures.
Sometimes, the Beaker Folk buried one individual alone in the grave, probably a tribal chieftain or other significant person. At other times, they buried many people together. Excavations across the British Isles show that no specific burial practice remained constant—it varied by region and tribe.
Older Than Stonehenge
Long barrows, and some round barrows as well, actually predate Stonehenge, the ironic prehistoric structure on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire, England. Builders constructed the massive stone circle in several stages spanning 1,500 years from the Neolithic Period into the early Bronze Age. Stonehenge’s builders obtained its bluestones (spotted dolerite) from quarries in the Preseli Mountains in Southwest Wales. Many other stones used in the megalith’s construction were also obtained from Wales.
Where Can I Find Round Barrows in Wales?
Here are some sites of round barrows tombs from Bronze Age Wales you might like to visit:
Beacon Hill Round Barrows in Beguildy (Bugeildy), Powys, South Wales. This site contains four barrows in total, dating to the Bronze Age between 2,300 and 800 BC.
You can visit the Cwm Bwch Barrows, also in Powys. Two round barrows are situated on a high point of land overlooking the Radnor Forest. A third barrow, Cwm Bwch III, is a separate barrow on the western side of the valley (Cwm Bwch) that has a fence passing through it.
A famous burial mound is Bryn yr Ellyllon, near Flintshire, in North Wales. The name translates as “The Hill of the Goblins.” Now that you know that, who could blame you for wanting to visit? The site was a literal treasure trove that produced the famous solid-gold artifact, the Mold Gold Cape, and many others. Among the finds were stone tools, pottery fragments, and vessels filled with crematory remains. The round barrow dates back nearly four thousand years to 1,900 – 1,600 BC.
There are also many cairns in the upland areas surrounding the Cynon Valley. To the north of Hirwaun, you’ll find several on Mynydd Y Glog. Many of these round barrows overlaid with cairns were believed to be built on the hills because of their prominent positions overlooking the valley.
You can find a round barrow at the summit of Picws Du in the Black Mountain Range (also called the Western Beacons). It’s one of many you’ll find in Brecon Beacons National Park (Bannau Brycheiniog).
A cromlech is a megalithic tomb in Wales. It’s constructed of several standing stones placed vertically and one large, flat capstone placed on top. This structure was then covered with earth, often leaving an opening to serve as a door. Some cromlechs, like Bryn Cader Faner, have a narrow passage made of stone leading to the inner chamber.
From the blurb:
Following the pattern of his previous books about northern Wales’ prehistoric artefacts, the standing stones and the hillforts, Michael Senior now deals in a similar way with the earliest of them all—the burial chambers and cairn burials—by setting them in their universal contexts, then tracing the origin of the forms, as well as dealing with the examples of them here in detail.
The Beaker Folk is a very detailed account of the people and their way of life. While it may not be for everyone (not for the casual reader, for instance), ancient history enthusiasts will find themselves in their element between these pages. You can also read about the Beaker People in the post Ancient Welsh People .
Neolithic and Bronze Age Funerary and Ritual Practices in Wales describes how Neolithic burial grounds were studied and how funerary practices changed with the construction of round barrows, Bronze Age Wales’ preferred method of interment. The Prehistoric Society has also provided a comprehensive review of the book here .
This book gathers, for the first time, all the burial and funeral practices in Wales from the middle of the Neolithic Age until the point that the Middle Bronze Age ended (3600-1200 BC) into one complete volume. It is the first to offer a modern summary of monument forms and burial practices in Neolithic and Bronze Age Wales. The book provides a thorough overview of all human bone deposits (both cremation and burial) from this period. It includes the analysis of over 250 human bone deposits, with new insights and interpretations. The book also discusses current debates on the changing nature and importance of burial rites in later prehistory.
The Beaker Folk of the Bronze Age may be gone, but they left us an incredible wealth of information about their way of life. For more information on notable sites from this period, visit Cadw , Wales’ historic preservation service.
Town Cryer Barry Short took his usual place in the Square of the little South Walian Hamlet of Merthyr Tydfil and ascended a wooden crate. Short by name and short by nature, at 5 foot 4 it was a strange choice of job given his diminutive stature but needs must when the devil calleth and with most of the men having been killed in the Napoleonic Wars there was not that many men to go around -Short or tall.But at least he was more difficult to hit with a musket ball. As he unrolled his parchment written by a quill on velum, Barry summoned up all his vocal strength to announce the week’s entertainment to the paupers and the very common people ofthe South Wales Valley area.“In the Year of Our Lord 1844, on the forthcoming Sabbath of 14th March, there shall be a duel to be held on the Morlais Castle Common at 11.30pm at Night between local publican,Morris Dancer of Ye Crown Inn, Merthyr Tydfil and his opponent Bartemius Pugh to settle a point of honour!” shrilled Barry.The great unwashed that gathered around now had something else to look forward to -to ease their plight which was filled with malnutrition, rickets and cholera- their own version of Match of the Day.“A duelling scheme up at the Heads of the Valleys is long overdue” muttered Old Hag, Bubo Popp in her native Welsh tongue clad in her Welsh shawl and Stove-pipe hat.
As usual, the tiny hamlet had become turned ‘Rumourville’ with idle tongues wagging as to the cause of such dispute.The real reason was that Morris Dancer, the Innkeeper of the Crown – a local hostelry and stage coach departure point - had accused Bartemius Pugh, a Venetian traveller o fgentlemanly standing, of groping his barmaid, Melony Toby, in front of several witnesses,who would swear blind that was what Mr Pugh had deliberately done, when she had bentover to pick up the Landlord’s latest culinary invention.A bar snack of potato origin mixed with fish into a pie – the ancestor of latter-day scampifries. A ‘Me-too’ list was chalked up on the Inn blackboard but one or two of them had to be ignored as they were actual requests. Bartemius also swore blind (as he was in fact truly blind after taking a pistol shot to the face in a previous duel in Paris).The Italian was well versed in duelling by pistol- it was in fact his tenth such duel, as he had been raised by fellow Venetian Casanova and was on the Grand Tour of Europe and just like his mentor- he was in fact a crack-shot.Somewhat ironic really, as he was now in another potentially deadly contest over a different crack that he was alleged to have fondled. Barmaid Melony Toby,- (or Toby Jugs as she was known to the local sheep farmers and swineherds that frequented the establishment with its solid stone slab flooring covered in sawdust & straw and spilt Rhymney Brewery Ales) was a lady of loose morals but only with gentlemen that took her eye.As Bartemius didn’t have any of his own, she wasn’t prepared to give him any.The Venetian tried to defend his actions by claiming that hadn’t realised that he was in fact in an Inn but thought that given the smell of the ‘plaice’ that he was in Olde Morgan’s the Fishmonger’s Shoppe.Toby Jugs, like most Merthyr residents past and present was not known for her love o fbathing – in fact B.O. was another invention that had been credited to the Hamlet. But then again Merthyr had little access to clean water- a Well at Tydfil’s and of course the River Taff often polluted with dead bodies floating down from the rough area known as China being the only options.“Why are they holding a Duel at night under the light of the Brecon Beacons?” asked another wizened old hag, Gwennie Turnip, a great grandmother at 40 years of age- though her solitary remaining tooth in the front – used for central eating her diet of thin porridge.It was a very ‘gruel’ existence.
“It is to even out the contest- replied the local Beadle- Jeremy-it was at the insistence of Morris Dancer’s friend and brave Second Mr Thomas Cooper!” continued the lawman.“Why is HE a brave man?” asked Gwennie looking puzzled.“Mr Pugh is blind but is known to have killed several men by accident in such events most of whom were Seconds!”“With a pistol?” asked local crazy cat woman Nut Meg.“It would hardly be with an epee now would it .....otherwise it would have been over in a split Second? “ Chortled the Beadle at his unintentional quip.The Beadle was not a big fan of the Landlord who had refused to pay him protection money or the manner in which he kept the Tavern going.“But I heard that the Blind Venetian only agreed to the terms put forward by Mr Cooper if Mr Morris Dancer would wear his traditional May Day costume to the duel!” whispered theBeadle as if imparting knowledge not readily available to the public- which had in fact been his own condition.“Pull the other one it’s got bells on!” replied the disbelieving Bubo.“Exactly!” replied the Beadle.“ Be careful who you tell that to mind .... you don’t want that Scold’s Bridle on again now do you?”Gwennie Turnip shivered at the memory of that metal cage around her mouth as punishment to stop her gossiping – she was still left with a drooling problem and mouth fatigue- but at least for the month that she was compelled to wear it,- she didn’t have to perform the usual matrimonial blow jobs.“Are you going on the Black Sabbath Night?” asked Gwennie to her fellow gossips.“Count me in!” – said an eavesdropping local pest controller from high up on a thatched cottage roof- Ozbert Osborne, as he bit into a fruit bat- in doing so risking COVID.“Why are you eating a fruit bat?” asked Bubo Popp confused.“Got to get my five a day in haven’t I ....-Herbie- the man who makes the potions told me that I should have a balanced diet ......”So I will bring the magic mushrooms! to sell at the Event””
Fast forward to the weekend and poor old Morris Dancer was cacking himself.
He was too young to die.He had never fired a flintlock pistol before let alone had a duel with a European Marksman.Thomas Cooper formerly of Caerphilly, took off his fez that he had once acquired from a tradesman when he had ordered by mistake some salad in.“Look ....said the second....I booked the last duelling slot available just before Midnight as there is an Act which went through Parliament making duelling illegal- it comes into force at12.01am....so you only have to delay the event for 30 minutes and then it’s over!” “To shoot you after that would be illegal and he would hang for murder!” Thomas continued. “Just like that?” “THIRTY minutes .....you are getting ahead of yourself .....how can I a simple Publican know when it is closing time?.....in the future there may be devices to measure the time like hour glasses or a device that can read the movement of the sun and moon .....but at present Iam governed by crows of the cock....!” moaned Morris .“That’s what got you into this mess in the first place....an argument over a woman!” said Tommy.“Just like twat!” he said mumbling but trying to create a family catchphrase.“Crows?” replied a confused Morris .“Sorry... I thought you said Grows!” replied the Second.“There’s me in less than two hours about to die and you are telling funnies....who do you think you are some kind of comedian?” said the nervous Innkeeper.“How the Hell am I going to delay the duel anyway!” asked Morris still sitting on the po on the floor of the food preparation area of his pub.“I’ll think of something!” replied his friend.
It is near Midnight and a crowd of villagers gathered around the light of a brazier.“How the Hell am I going to know when the time is up?” whispered Morris nervously to his second.Tommy Cooper said “Don’t worry I have arranged a few distractions to take us passed thewitching hour and save your bacon!”
“Besides I have asked Evans the Coal to pour some tar on the pitch to signify the end of legal hostilities....he has agreed to burn the ‘midnight oil’ as he is a hard worker in exchange for a few groats!” he continued.The independent Magistrate, Judge Jeffries Junior called for silence from the gathered throng- as he was of the opinion that people that were involved in duels deserved be hung-but then again he thought that way about every person that came before him – they all deserved to be hung- sheep stealers, thieves, highwaymen who ruined the safe passage of coaches around the Country- especially the highwaymen as the bastards took your road tax but didn’t fill in the potholes on the turnpikes.He had got himself stuck in a rut many a time and even hung hungry children as young as eight for stealing apples from overflowing gentry orchards.They wouldn’t do it again!The combatants were called together- and after they had turned Bartemius round in the correct direction first were read the rules of the day as to the duelling scheme.“Do both of you gentlemen wish to continue this dispute over honour or will either of you apologise and admit they were wrong?” questioned Jeffries.“He groped my barmaid....the foreign bastard!....he should be sent to Rwanda once it opens for business!” declared the future Brexit-loving Morris with false bravado not wishing to lose face in front of the majority of his xenophobic clientele.“I didn’t .....it was an accident....there was something fishy about the ‘hole’ place...I can’t see ....so how was I know it wasn’t the fish shop.....besides ask him why all the cats in the area follow her around otherwise?” grumbled the Venetian Blind marksman.“In that case, do both of you Seconds have the pistols?”“Yes!” declared Thomas Cooper and Casanova simultaneously.They both held mahogany boxes with green velvet inside and of course a single shot flintlock pistol.Toby Jugs stared at Casanova, cleavage poking out over the top of her Nell Gwynne style dress.Casanova fumbled with the pistol before using the ramrod to force the bullet down into the chamber.“Ooh I do love Sloppy Seconds!” she declared licking her lips and adjusting her ample bosom for the benefit of Casanova.“Are the pistols loaded?” asked the Judge.“Both barrels!” said Casanova staring back at Toby’s Jugs- not concerned with the single barrel flintlock pistol.
“Yes!” replied both seconds.“Now Gentleman you will both take ten paces back each and then turn and fire a single shot!”ordered the Judge.Morris replete in his May Day outfit started to ring out, as he went with the bells giving his opponent a big clue as to his direction.The time was now 11.40pm with twenty minutes left to kill without being killed.With that came the first of Tommy Cooper’s distractions. He had paid local harlot Erica Roe a few groats to invade the pitch topless.Obviously, this didn’t affect Bartemius as he couldn’t see the titties.But it did have some effect on the timing. Bartemius on 5 steps just stopped hearing the commotion and feeling the milk from the cowpox suffering merry milkmaid splattering on his face, wondering what the Hell was going on.Judge Jeffries ordered a reset and that as punishment Erica was to be sent to his room in the local law courts whilst he administered the cat of nine tails.He wasn’t just the local Magistrate but the Chief Whip too.“What you got there then Megan – a handwarmer?” asked Bubo Popp to her friend.“No...it’s my black cat!” said Megan.“Looks Familiar!” said local refuse collector ‘Dennis’ Norden.“He is missing half his ear only one eye and three legs left and has the mange!” continuedMegan.“He has been run over twice by Dennis’s ‘bring out of your dead’ recycling cart.“I thought I recognised him!” said Dennis.“What’s he called?” asked Bubo looking at the poor wretched creature and then at the cat.“Lucky!” replied Megan without any sense of irony.“What’s that around his neck?“ interjected Gwennie.“It is a home-made collar- he is a terror to kill local song birds -so I attached some metaltubular chimes around his neck to warn them he is around!” said Megan.“I found it by the Old Field!”
The duel continued with both Bartie and Morris standing back- to- back, pistols pointing upward to the full moon as they came together. It was now 11.45 and still plenty of time for the duel to continue legally. Morris was sweating under his horsehair wig and tricorn hat. All around him the common was busy filling up.The local brotherhood of monks had appeared in their ‘Dry Robe’ outfits so prevalent for the Merthyr area.They began a ‘Modern Talking’ chant about one of their order - Brother Louie, Louie, Louiewho apparently was a big fan of duels and being ‘undercover’. This had been arranged by Thomas to distract one of the few senses that had been enhanced by Bartie’s loss of vision.Bartie’s objection was lost in the chant. Magistrate Jeffries ordered the recount.“Ten paces each... then turn and fire...no more delays!” he declared with some authority.Both combatants began to pace out with Morris so nervous, he could feel the urine running down his campanologist trouser leg.Like a newly expectant Father filling his babies bottles with breast milk from a lactating milkmaid , he had lost count of the strides he took away from the Venetian crack-shot.Was it seven or eight?It was now five to midnight.Did he risk the wrath of the Magistrate and local reputation if he ducked?That decision was taken away from him by the appearance of Gwennie’s black cat Lucky which had crossed his path. Frozen in terror, Morris looked on helplessly as the Blind Venetian turned in one fell movement and fired his single shot in the direction of the hapless moggie that had been making a bee-line for Toby Jugs .“Talk about a black cat crossing your path .....how lucky was that?” said the open-mouthed Magistrate.“Did I get the Welsh bastard?” asked Bartie.“You killed my beloved cat!” wailed Gwennie.
The blood drained to the feet of the blind killer. He had not heard his opponent fire his shot and in terror and the heart of darkness stood there awaiting the impact of a bullet from Morris.Morris was in a quandary. He had never shot another human being before - especially one without sight. But on the other hand, he had called him a Welsh bastard and groped his barmaid. He owed it to all the women in the World to take out this sexual predator. Morris took aim at 10 seconds to Midnight.He pulled the trigger and out of the front of the flintlock pistol came a home- made flag withthe words B A N G written on it.“Watch out ....Beadle’s about!” said the local Magistrate before blowing his whistle to signal the end of legal duelling in Britain.
Poor little Brad Stick was a natural victim. He was only 11 years and had just started going up to the big wide World of the Comprehensive School. Now separated from his earliest friends since Primary School it was a huge culture shock coming from a cossetted little school that he had spent seven years known merely ‘as the Nerd in the corner’. His only friends were imaginary and he was more of a loner than alleged JFK Kennedy assassin Lee Harvey Oswald but in the little school he was tacitly accepted and tolerated by his first school peers.
His emaciated frame, topped by Michael Gove ‘Milhouse’ glasses, struggled to carry the spanking new leather satchel his Mother had bought him, which she insisted he carry to school every morning on his daily 20 minute hike from his house in Brecon Road, Merthyr Tydfil to his new educational version of Borstal. It was a Sisyphean task for the puny schoolboy, as the satchel with his exercise books weighed nearly half his bodyweight and made him look like a myopic hunchbacked King Richard III, as he struggled up the steep hills that led up to his new Alcatraz.
To get there he had to go through hostile enemy territory – well named as ‘territory’ as he was terrified of who or what he would encounter each day on his journey up the ‘Red Lane’ though the notorious Gurnos Estate. The Lane was so called because it was bloodstained from beatings and muggings in this little corner of Paradise. He often sang THAT 1980’s Phil Collins song that he had heard on Spotify for confidence, usually as he passed rough sleepers with their rabid XL Bully dogs, lying in unbridled layers of dogshit, broken glass and used syringes.
But the worst of all- was the elder groups of boys- who hunted in packs of threes for someone to bully and steal their lunch money. His Mother (who had separated from his Biological Father Gordon) was his only protection – as his Mother had told him that his real Father had left for Silicon Valley years ago. He had no recollection of this Father but as he had a penchant for computer sciences -he was always proud of this fact -until the day he discovered that Silicon Valley was the nickname his Mother had given to the big breasted implanted woman he had eloped with.
Which was somewhat strange as his Mother had told him that his Father was only a little over Five Foot in height- she told her son she should blame him for his genetic shortcomings- so he innocently assumed that he must have used them as ear muffs. His Mother continued to be embarrassed by the doorstep gossips as some years later his Father was caught indecently exposing himself to Women in Cyfarthfa Park. She wanted nothing to do with him and made up a story for her young son that his dad was into science fiction whenever the pair were cruelly shouted at in the street about ‘Flash Gordon’.
Brad felt given his wan stature made him a more akin to a test tube baby, as his Mother had worked in the Sekisui science laboratory for years. She claimed to be responsible for the discovery of Viagra but her test case had failed to stand up in the Patent’s Court. Puberty had not yet kicked in for little Brad- the hair on his head was brown and very wavy and every morning it stuck up in all directions for fine weather. During his first ever PE lessons he could remember being assaulted by some older boys trying to discover if the school rumour was true in that he had one solitary pubic hair downstairs.
Sadly for him it was. He had gone from being known as ‘the Nerd in the Corner’ to ‘One Pube’ in an instant.
A Tik-Tok moment that is when he was held down and filmed while one the bully boys put on a David Attenborough voice over – with the infamous words- “ And here we have the Amazon rainforest....decimated by illegal logging with only one tree left standing!”
He particularly hated cross country and was always last finishing last with all of the children returning hours before him but at least it had taught him how to run. One of his local sheep farmers had accused him of interfering with his livestock – suggesting he was seen lying down in his pasture smoking but it wasn’t certainly him- as despite his Mother’s claim to fame - he was incapable of Vape.
Brad had no social life- not surprising considering his face was permanently in a phone or computer screen. He like modern schoolchildren no longer sat around the dining table and actually spoke to his Mother. He only communicated with her by text. A lot of the time she was in work but it was often when they were in the same room. She – like most modern working single parents had little time to actually cook wholesome food- Brad survived on takeout meals from MuckDonalds & the bogus Colonel.
To get by she also worked part time in the evenings in a care home. Not surprisingly he was seriously malnourished, as his Mother was always taking part in clinical trials and was never there to ‘care’ for him. The only time he had nutrition in the form of fresh food was when one of his Mother’s ‘inmates’ went sick and the relatives brought in fruit. But even that stopped when Covid came.
His Mother would however bring home lots of old-fashioned clothes which were destined for the landfill when the old ladies died- which made Brad a little bi-curious when he put them on. He thought he had an alter ego which he called ‘Granny Tranny’. It was not his only alter ego though as he had discovered a new means of escapism from his miserable life. Online Gaming.
Here in the Meta Verse he was no longer called ‘Nerd in the Corner’, nor ‘One Pube’- he could be a virtual hero without challenge. Here he didn’t have to rub his Bitcoin with shit to get back at the bullies.
In cyber space, he was a keyboard warrior under his online masculine name of Arnold Schwarzawigga – which was totally inconsistent with his real life – as he was thinner than supermodel bulimia diet soup.Here in the Meta Verse he had an online presence that was noticed by his fellow female space aliens from all over the Universe. He loved his online Space Crusade game as part of World of Warcraft, where he could teleport into strange Alien Planets and spawn as his Schwarzawigga Hero or other sci-fi hero.
Brad, when walking to school, had his face in a mobile screen and then for six hours every night in a computer one. No wonder he had glasses thicker than the bottom of a milk bottle and that was even before he discovered the other ‘joystick’ evolution had given him.
At 11 years of age, he was like a mini-version of Mr Magoo – everything outside the end of his nose was a blur as he was always bumping into fellow pupils in the corridor as he passed in his own personal i-cloud. This didn’t engender to making new friends and he was often met with the jibe- “Careful One Pube or you will knock it off!”- not from the schoolchildren but from the cruel teachers, who doubled as Prison warders in his new reality Hell.
Academically, Brad was bright but sitting at the front of the class and raising his hand to answer questions just gave the bully majority more cause to pick on him. As soon as the teachers would turn their backs, the innocent child would endure more missiles than those in the Gaza strip. Brad wanted to learn- but the Neanderthal Bullies didn’t and disrupted the class at every opportunity.
He looked forward to the day that the knuckle-draggers were separated out into the remedial classes and he be placed into A-Band where he could actually learn something. Today had been particularly tiresome as his fellow classmates had discovered the art of chewing paper and then spitting it out like an old- fashioned pea-shooter through the hollow plastic tubing of Bic pens. His curly hair in the back was covered in them as he now contained more white spots than a septic tonsil. Even the teachers frustrated him by referring to him as ‘Boy’ when he had a perfectly good name.
No sooner than the school bell had rung for the end of the day than Brad was off running. Like Indiana Jones in the opening scene of the film Raiders of the Lost Ark, Brad sprinted towards the exit trying to get a head-start on the other Amazonian tribesmen throwing discarded cardboard boxes like boomerang frisbies, hoping to reach sanctuary before he lost his new adult teeth to a fist. Jogging down the Red Lane with a gravity assisted satchel the Nerd World Man made his escape. He had outwitted his tormentors once again who had paused to pick on some slower animals on the Gurnos/Serengeti Plain. In a race with a cheetah only the slowest of two men get devoured and he was determined today it would not be him.
That cross-country training must be finally paying off. In through the front door he leapt, stopping only to grab the remains of last night’s pizza delivery as he went upstairs heading for his safe space. His computer and the Meta Verse. He soon became immersed in an alien world of strange characters with blue hair and tattoos everywhere.
A World not dissimilar to James Cameron’s Avatar – a World he controlled and could interact with fake humans just like on Love Island. As he ‘spawned’ his character onto a planet with moon like craters. He was suddenly approached by a three-breasted semi-naked woman.
“Hello Muscles....why aren’t you handsome!” said the stranger. Brad suddenly had a picture in his head of a slim Ariana Grande. But just in case Brad kept his fingers poised above the X button. This was the button that enabled him to raise his gigantic Highlander sword.
He had encountered virtual sirens like this one before and always erred on the side of caution. “How old are you?” asked the virtual stranger in bubble speak. Brad looked at his spawn clock.
“Two minutes old!” the keyboard warrior replied also in caption form.
“What’s a good- looking thing like you doing in a place like this?”
Brad wasn’t sure whether to press the X button and strike or continue the Artificial Intelligence chat. He decided on the latter.
“Why don’t we go over to the power juice bar and I can buy you some liquid steroids ?”
Brad followed the stranger – interested to see where this new emotion of affection might lead him. He did after all have some stirrings in his Nether Regions that he could not explain even if he could put his finger on it.
“The bar takes payment by bitcoin or if you go to your Mother’s handbag and get her credit card its free!” said Three Tit. Brad paused the game and went downstairs to get the requested card.He could hear that his Mother was in the shower.
“Schwartzenwigga .....do you have the card?” asked the stranger. Brad typed back “Yes!”
“Good Boy!”
“ Now read me the long numbers off the middle there should be 12 of them!”
Brad started to get suspicious. “Why did the stranger call me Boy when I am a man in this World?” He still typed in the numbers but more slowly this time.
“Well done Boy!” replied the stranger.
She called me Boy again he thought.
“What do you want to drink?... Power Juice....Steroid Surprise.... or a Tiny Cocktail?” questioned the Tri-mammoried Avatar.
“Power Juice please!” Brad replied knowing his character would take on extra energy for the game ahead.
“Okay Boy can you read me the expiry date on the card?” continued the stranger.
“Why do you need that?” typed back Brad hackles beginning to raise. He then typed the numbers.
“And finally Boy ....what about the three numbers on the signature strip....its so we can both pay for the Power Juice of course!” replied the Alien Avatar.
Brad began to smell a cyber rat.
“I can’t find them!” he typed.
“Boy ...look on the back of the card!” demanded the stranger.
“Sorry I can’t see it....the numbering is too small for my limited eyesight!” replied Brad frustrating the efforts of the Avatar who was now paused with three tits swaying angrily like a cat’s cradle.
“I say there Boy.... do you have a web cam?” asked the stranger.
The Avatar had now called Brad ‘Boy’ more times than cartoon rooster Foghorn Leghorn.
“Yes....a Spiderman Web cam from my Mother for Christmas!” said Brad.
“Good...then switch on then Boy and put the card up close to the camera!” ordered the stranger.
From his early schooling through to present day, Brad was hard-wired to do what he was told by adults but coming from Merthyr he had been born with the rebel streak. He was no longer confident that the alluring semi-naked space alien that was the other end in cyber-space was who she claimed to be, but in his innocence, he didn’t know what harm it could do to give his mother’s information out. He did however, reach across his desk fumbling for something. As the two-way camera whirred into action, the sight that met his bespectacled eyes was not what he had expected.
It was not the beautiful US cheerleader schoolgirl that he had imagined but a fifty year old man sat in stained vest and y-fronts squinting back at him trying to see the card. Brad turned the laser pen on full beam blinding the Yankee Con-Man as Brad took on the mantle of his old man -an alternative Flash Gordon and ‘Boy’ had he been ‘merciless’ to that Minging creature at the other end of that lens. Just like Mannfred the other Man had been ‘blinded by the light’ and the Nerd World Man had triumphed over the First World one.
It was December 13th 2023 and the delegates at the United Nations Climate Change Conference known as C.O.P 28 in Dubai the capital of the United Arab Emirates were just about to conclude matters, when the heavy golden double doors flew open and a size 10 Railtrack Boot appeared followed rapidly by a leg belonging to Welshman Morgan Chamber.
“Now hold on everyone......sorry I am late but I am the Official delegate from the Green Party of Wales...and I want to say my piece!”
Morgan Chamber, known locally as Mog the Smog, was never one to go or come quietly, as his Fifth Wife on their second Honeymoon would undoubtedly testify.
He strode purposely towards the 24- carat golden podium. The assembled delegates from over 400 countries looked somewhat confused as he had a small round wooden boat attached to his back.
As he took to the stage – Security was on high alert- fearful of a terrorist attack from the World- renowned Free Wales Army- whose military wing had first formed in the Former Lamb Inn in Merthyr Tydfil- and understandably the Arabs were worried about their monopoly on the stage and the prospect of there being different Martyrs to the Cause.
The Head of the Conference, Prince Al Bin Chopiz Ed Off raised his oily palm for Security to hold on. He was a fair man and wanted to listen to different cultures just like his ancestors had done sat around their Bedouin campfires at the oases in past centuries blowing camels and smoking cigarettes too. He believed that everyone from the Third World should be entitled to voice their opinion before ignoring all recommendations on the reduction of fossil fuels.
Mog was not phased seeing so many different coloured faces before him wearing different white robes and multi-coloured attire -after all he himself was dressed in the new National Dress of Wales- the bright luminous orange Railtrack jumpsuit -which made him look like an escaped prisoner from San Quentin Penitentiary in California. He stood before World Royalty and influential power people – the actual ‘illuminati’ that kept the lights on and controlled Global economies and decided policy for innumerable Nations.
“Evening all!” he said upon reaching the Magic Mike.
By some unknown technological wizardry his words were instantaneously translated into over 400 different languages, except of course for Welsh, for the 1001 Arabian Knights sat in the Blue Zone of the Great Hall of Aladdin.
“I am here so that the World can hear the voice of Wales- one of the oldest continuous Celtic Nations now consisting of 4 million people and eleven million sheep-who have been subjugated by our English Ironmasters- men, women and children have toiled in the bowels of the Earth and have been subjugated and forced into economic slavery and to mine the black gold from the Planet’s soft underbelly, in doing releasing thousands of tonnes of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere helping choke the lungs of the Earth- just like the English Ironmasters who filled the lungs of our little ones with pneumoconiosis and all for profit and greed- You the good people of the United Arab Emirates or the United States of America would never force anyone into slavery- just for greed, money and power – now would you?”
The room fell silent.
“We in Wales have tried our best to put in place many measures to reduce our genetic carbon footprint such as becoming the first Country in the former United Kingdom to impose a mandatory 20 MPH speed limit in urban areas – not just to reduce the number of accidents- but also to reduce traffic pollution from petrol and diesel engines- the extraction of oil and natural gas must stop otherwise we could turn the Planet into desert regions just like this one!” Mog continued.
The room was more silent than a Trappist Monk fart.
The Prince rolled his eyes but let Mog continue as each speaker was allotted 15 minutes.
Mog picked his nose and rolled it in-between his right thumb and fore finger and stuck the bogie to the underside of the podium- just like he did with his chewing gum in secondary school in his native Rhondda Valley.
“No more greenwashing- no more green credits for companies who burn wood from trees and claim tax relief on it.....otherwise the Ice Caps in Snowdonia will melt leading to the extinction of the endangered Welsh Yeti.....!”
Mog paused for dramatic effect.
“We conducted a survey in conjunction with Friends of the Earth and Greenpeace and it was found that one of the biggest sources of greenhouse gas was old cow farts...so we immediately recalled the Senedd and insisted they wear Michelle Mone PPE masks to cut down on their Bullshit....we also send a message on Facebook to our online followers to ensure that if they were returning from England that it was manda-TORY to defecate on the English side of the Owain Glyndwr Prince of Wales Bridge!”
“It had 11 million likes and was clearly a popular policy with the second generation ovine voters too!”
“Westminster has reduced the amount of money it gives to the Principality Post-Brexit- under the ‘Trinkets for the Natives’ budgetary policy recorded in Hansard- the Welsh people now have to have a roads curfew as the street lighting and road lighting gets turned off by most County Councils at 7pm-!”.....”We even had to pull the slogan of the extra £350 Million a week for the NHS off the side of the former Pit Ponies!”
“We have tried alternative green measures to increase the amount going into the National Grid but just like our Welsh Water it is syphoned off by our colonial masters- Water Mills, Wind Turbines (personally I am not a big fan) and solar panels on the roof.....we even attached a lead to the Pelaton of Olympic cyclist Geraint Thomas but it wasn’t enough and he crashed yet again as a result....!”
“We stopped burning down holiday homes in West Wales too – although the advent of Ring doorbell technology was a deciding factor too...!”
Looking directly at the Papua New Guinea delegate- “We even took a ‘leaf’ out of your book and started eating Pro-European Vegans- as they were filled full of vegetables- but Port Talbot’s Anthony Hopkins confirmed he preferred to eat a liver and a nice Chianti and not just the ‘Remains’ of the Day!”
Mog cast his eyes to the back of the hall where two delegates were leaving.
“India and China.....I can see you sneaking out”
The heads of the audience turned towards them – shaming them- and then back. Just like a Wimbledon Tennis Umpire when Anna Kournikova has bent over to pick up a ball.
“We Welsh and you Arabs must stick together....we go back over 2000 years to when Welshman Hugh Griffith playing Sheik Iderim in Ben Hur!”
“We must together stop the new chariots polluting our Cities ....I live in O.P.E.C that this generation of children will still be able to live on the Earth....after all there is no Planet B only a Cardi one....there can be no RE-GRETAS....we must (pointing at the sleeping or possibly dead US President Joe Biden) educate these Fossil Fools!”
“The two biggest perils to the Planet are caused by air pollution- how many of you 8,000.00 delegates walked in your Jesus sandals to this Climate Change Conference- you three (pointing at the British delegation consisting of Tory Prime Minster (this month) Rishi Sunak, Foreign Secretary & Pig F**ker David Cameron and King Charles III ....I bet you all flew here separately on private jets!”
“I, on the other hand set out a month ago arriving on this trusty coracle!” continued Mog. “How much damage did I do to the environment and ozone layer?”
“Admittedly, I had to dump all my daily faeces in the Palm Jumeirah & the World Islands but it is only what the Former United Kingdom Government is doing Post-Brexit to our Welsh rivers anyway- the ‘Bog’ Snorkelling Championship is no longer confined to Llanwrtyd Wells!”
“And the second one from Silicon Valley- all the Earth’s precious energy is being wasted on mobile phone charging, I-Pods, I-Pads & Laptops.....just like your close neighbour from your friends in Israel- Moses- we need to take the tablets away..... !”
“And Swedish Doom Goblin Greta Thunberg has her part to play too- unless we change the ways of the young as well as the old and their addiction to selfies and social media- as time is running out -Tik- Tokking away if you like!”
“The only electrical appliances to be charged into the National Grid should be the Sinclair C5 electric trikes- pioneered by the late Sir Clive Sinclair- the purported Saviour of the Hoovers Washing Machine Factory- before it was hung out to dry in my native Merthyr Tydfil-!”
“What do you need a mobile phone anyway- except if you are hanging off a cliff precipice?...and with the exception of the Burj Khalifa how many off them do you have in Abu Dhaba?”
“ That is why the Swiss yodel!”
“The Global economy should not be built on a house of fog and sand!”
“It’s time to shut down the reliance on oil and natural gas before it destroys the Earth and the Planet overheats and turns us into Mercury!”
“You lot sit here and play Good C.O.P but outside its bad and please remember that ULEZ stands for Ultra Low Emissions Zones in London and should not be a reference to the lead lady in a Pride March- you bunch of Shi-ites!”
Prince Al Bin Chopiz Ed Off now made eyes at the security guards that Mog’s time was up. In his muslin robe, he looked as white as a Sheikh. Mog’s fifteen minutes of fame that Andy Warhol he had raved on about was now over. It was his time in the sun. The Hosts would peg him out naked in the desert with no Boots Factor 50 to help him. Either that or take him to the Turkish Embassy.
Tom Emlyn releases his new single ‘Double-Crossed’ on the 21st June. Accompanied by a video filmed by Sam Ffoto / Pypi Slysh. From his forthcoming new album Rehearsal For The Rain: Scaredycat, Vol.2, due for release on August 29th, 2024.
Welsh singer-songwriter Tom Emlyn releases his new single, ‘Double-Crossed’ on the 21st of June. With tender vocals, introspective lyrics caressing a daydreaming guitar motif, and lo-fi percussion it explores the darker side of self-reflection to a stripped back Velvet Underground -inspired groove. Originally written and recorded in lockdown, the song features on his forthcoming album Rehearsal For The Rain: Scaredycat, Vol.2 , due for release on August 29th, 2024.
The self-produced record is his fourth solo effort in the space of two years, continuing an impressive streak of creativity and inspiration. The single is accompanied by a video by Sam Ffoto - a series of photographs, taken rapidly enough to give the illusion of film, on a cold January day in Cathays Cemetery, Cardiff.
What is it that pursues our hero through these frigid spaces? Is it a stranger, a friend, or his own shadow? Explore ‘Double-Crossed’ and find out for yourself. A song that explores self-portrayal and small-town paranoia, but not without a sense of warmth and comfort.
Tom Emlyn's fourth album in two years, Rehearsal For The Rain: Scaredycat Vol. 2 is a self-produced, powerful, fully realised creative statement.The album will be released digitally and on cassette, with a launch show at the Moon, Cardiff on August 29th to celebrate.
In summer 2022, Tom released his debut solo album ‘News From Nowhere’, a bittersweet love letter to his hometown of Swansea, described by Adam Walton (BBC Radio Wales) as a record of “undoubted brilliance, eloquence and energy”. It has been positively received, with airplay and support from Radio Wales, BBC Horizons, R.E.P.E.A.T. fanzine, God Is In The TV, and Joyzine, among others. Tom’s second album ‘I’ve Seen You In Town’ followed quickly– a more mellow, acoustic affair which was also well received. He also released the ‘Scounger EP’ on Bandcamp last February.
His latest record follows hot on the heels of Return Journey Revisited: Scaredycat Vol 1, which was released in May 2023. In the same vein as the first volume, Rehearsal For The Rain gathers up lost fragments from years of songwriting and making music.
A dreamlike, lo-fi psychedelic bedroom pop journey, with elements of prog, blues, indie and alternative folk.
"Peripatetic musical genius" - Adam Walton
"The songs have true emotional depth, are highly tuneful and melodic with lyrical sharpness and shades of dark, combining the magical ingredients of melancholy and wit" - Cath Holland, God Is In The TV zine
"Tom has an unerring knack of turning up with an unexpectedly vivid phrase or metaphor that will jolt you, and make you think" - Richard Rose, R.E.P.E.A.T. fanzine
Are the Welsh Celtic or Gaelic? “Celtic” refers to a diverse group of tribal societies with a shared language that once occupied much of Europe. “Gaelic,” on the other hand, is a subdivision of the Celtic family of languages that evolved into Irish, Scottish Gaelic, and Manx.
Are the Welsh Celtic or Gaelic? When we speak of Celtic and Gaelic, it’s important to understand that the terms are related but not interchangeable. “Celtic” refers to the language and culture of a tribal people who originated in central Europe as early as 1200 BC. They spread across Europe, Spain, Germany, France, and the British Isles. The common language, in particular, is what classifies them. Beyond that, a single ruler or group never unified the tribes, and each society was different, although they did hold some similar customs and religious beliefs. Even these, however, varied from tribe to tribe.
The Celtic language is separated into two main branches: Continental Celtic and Insular Celtic. As the names suggest, Continental Celtic was spoken by people who lived in central Europe (on the continent). The Celtiberians, the Gauls, and the Galatians also spoke the language. Insular Celtic was spoken by the people who migrated to the British Isles.
Insular Celtic is further divided into two branches: Goidelic (or Gaelic) and Brythonic (or British). Goidelic evolved into Irish Gaelic, Scottish Gaelic, and Manx Gaelic. The shortened terms are Irish, Scottish Gaelic, and Manx. The Brythonic branch evolved into the languages of Breton, Cornish, and Welsh. So, the Welsh are Celtic but not Gaelic. “Gaelic” refers to the culture or the language spoken, and it is not the language of Wales.
As mentioned above, in answer to the question, “Are the Welsh Celtic or Gaelic?” the Welsh are Celtic but not Gaelic. “Gaelic” refers to the Goidelic branch of Insular Celtic that evolved into Irish, Scottish, and Manx. The word “Gaelic” is pronounced “Gal-ick” (like “gal” as in “galaxy”) and not “gale-ick” (like “gale” as in a gale of wind). The Welsh people speak Cymraeg (Welsh), which came from the Brythonic branch of Insular Celtic. To further clarify this, you could say that Gaelic is always Celtic, but Celtic isn’t always Gaelic. It depends on the language the person speaks.
Other commonly asked questions are: 1. “Are the Welsh Celtic?” and 2. “Is Welsh Celtic?” The answer to the first question is yes, as the DNA of the Welsh people traces back to the tribal societies of Europe, which held the ancestral Celtic language in common. The second question refers to the Welsh language itself. Yes, Welsh is a Celtic language from the Brythonic language group of Insular Celtic.
What Are the Six Celtic Languages?
Six Celtic languages are still spoken today—the modern Celtic languages. These are Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Manx, Breton, Cornish, and Welsh . All six Celtic languages are referred to as “living, “meaning they are still spoken. Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, and Breton have been continuously spoken. Manx and Cornish had died out, but thanks to a revival, they are now spoken again as a second language by several thousand people. Of all the Celtic languages, Welsh is the only one not considered endangered by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization). In fact, from 2008 to 2020, the number of Welsh speakers has actually increased. In an article published by the BBC in 2020, a group of scientists from New Zealand say that within 300 years, 74% of the Welsh population will be able to speak and write Welsh.
Where Are the Celtic Languages Spoken?
Irish is spoken mainly in Ireland and Northern Ireland. However, Irish speakers are elsewhere in the UK, the US, Canada, and Australia.
Scottish Gaelic is the Celtic language spoken along the northwest coast of Scotland, the highlands, and the Hebrides Islands. Speakers can also be found in Australia, the US, and Canada (mainly Nova Scotia). Another language, separate from Gaelic, called “Scots,” evolved in the Middle Ages in the lowlands of Scotland. Scots is more similar to English, as it’s a Germanic language that developed from the Angles’ tongue. Scots has four different regional dialects.
About 200,000 people speak Breton in Brittany in northwestern France.
Manx is spoken on the Isle of Man. Since revival efforts began, around 2000 people are believed to be speaking the language.
Cornish (“Kernewek”) is spoken in Cornwall in southwestern Britain. Like Manx, Cornish currently has around 2000 speakers.
Cymraeg ( Welsh) is spoken primarily in Wales and the Welsh colony in Patagonia, Argentina. There are also speakers in England, Scotland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the US.
Are Welsh and Irish Related?
Welsh and Irish are related in the sense that they are both Insular Celtic languages. In other words, they are Celtic languages that evolved in the British Isles. Insular Celtic divides into Brythonic (British) and Goidelic (Gaelic). The Welsh language is Brythonic, while the Irish language is Gaelic.
The Brythonic branch is also called “P-Celtic,” while the Goidelic branch is referred to as “Q-Celtic.” These labels came about because of how the words in each branch developed from Indo-European. Several words are common in each branch. However, on the P-Celtic (Brythonic languages) side, the “p” sound more frequently occurred in those words. The hard “k” sound was more prevalent on the Q-Celtic side.
On this note, another question people ask is, “Is Welsh Gaelic?” No, Welsh is not Gaelic. As mentioned earlier, Welsh is Brythonic. Which leads us to the question: Are the Irish Celtic or Gaelic? They are a Celtic people, but they speak Irish (“Gaelige”), which comes from the Gaelic language group. “Gaelic” can also refer to their culture (Gaelic games, for example).
Scottish Gaelic vs. Welsh
Many words in Scottish Gaelic and Welsh are cognate. Cognate words are those that evolved from the same source word over hundreds or thousands of years. However, since Scottish Gaelic and Welsh don’t belong to the same branch of Insular Celtic, there are more similarities between Irish and Scottish Gaelic, for example. Irish and Scottish Gaelic are both Gaelic languages, whereas Welsh is Brythonic.
Here’s a comparison of some related words in Scottish Gaelic and Welsh.
English
Gàidhlig (Scottish Gaelic)
Cymraeg (Welsh)
river
abhainn
afon
name
ainm
enw
soul, spirit
anam
enaid (also, the Welsh name “Enid” means soul; life)
bread
bairín
bara (the word for “bread” is “bara” in all three Brythonic languages: Welsh, Cornish, and Breton)
small
beag
bach, bychan
brother
bráthair
brawd
cheese
càise
caws
It’s interesting to see that although the words differ in Scottish Gaelic and Welsh, there are some similarities. The Gaelic words aren’t exactly like the Welsh, but they’re not entirely foreign, either. Having the English words there also makes a nice comparison. We can see that, for the most part, the English words are quite different than the Celtic ones. That’s because they evolved through the Germanic branch of the Indo-European language family. The words for “bread” and “cheese,” though, manage to be a little similar across the board with Celtic and Germanic alike!
Welsh vs. Irish Culture
As with Scottish Gaelic, a Welsh speaker would find it hard to understand Irish. They might be able to pick up a few words here and there, but this is another example of the differences between the Goidelic and Brythonic languages. After all, they had thousands of years to grow apart. Still, with Wales and Ireland within 300 miles of each other, there are certainly links between the two cultures. There’s a history there of helping one another.
Both countries take pride in their languages, the history behind them, and in keeping them alive. They do this through literature, cultural events, music, and policies in their respective education systems. According to the 2021 census, 17.8% of the Welsh population speak Welsh. In the Republic of Ireland, however, in 2022, the percentage of Irish speakers was 39.8%. In Northern Ireland, as of 2021, 12.4% said they had some ability to read, write, or speak Irish.
Similarities and Differences
Both the Welsh and Irish love their sports! In Ireland, Gaelic games like Gaelic football, hurling, handball, and rounders are the most popular. In Wales, rugby is the winner.
Welsh culture is known for its friendliness and hospitality; Irish culture is similar. Ireland is very well known for its food and drink. The Welsh are renowned for their music, customs, and festivals.
Wales is part of the United Kingdom and operates as a devolved constitutional monarchy. Ireland, however, is an independent nation with a unitary parliamentary republic form of government. It means that parliament runs the nation. (Note: Northern Ireland is not a part of the Republic of Ireland but is one of the four countries that make up the UK.)
Generally speaking, the Welsh and Irish are close with one another as fellow Celts and neighbors. They’ve been trading, swapping stories and songs, and helping each other when needed since at least the Iron Age. It’s a friendship that goes way back.
Now you understand the difference between “Celtic” and “Gaelic.” If anyone ever asks you, “Are the Welsh Celtic or Gaelic?” you can smile sagely and tell them that the Welsh are Celtic but not Gaelic since Welsh is a Brythonic language.
Adios MF will release the new single ‘They’ on the 7th of June through Dash The Henge Records.
Adios MF is a musical collective spearheaded by Nathan Keeble carving fresh dark wave and electronica sound the underground of Sheffield. Their latest single, "They," was recorded between Brooklyn and Brixton, serves as a sonic manifesto of what's to come. Their music defies categorisation, blending elements of post-punk, electronica, and avant-garde into a sonic tapestry that's uniquely their own.
With sleek production by Nathan Saoudi and Richard Wilson yet coursing with enough detail and character to set it apart, with this impish 80s beat, sinewy guitars, metallic dapping keyboards, and sample loops, it forges a uniquely futuristic sound that’s at once both familiar and yet mirrors the churn of the cityscape.
With a sound that hints at the influence of acts like Human League, Depeche Mode, Kraftwerk and Molly Nilsson, the vocals are addictive and almost mechanical, driven with hooky melodic ticks that sink their nails into and won’t let go, and yet the lyrics reside with a disquiet at the creeping gentrification of urban redevelopment “They built a Starbucks on my street” and reference to shadowy figures who might take you away. It hints at a dark underbelly and Sci-fi dystopia where your every action is being watched.
ADIOS MF say “They” is a Kitsch by product of existence amid the constant churn of urban development and the persistent buzz of drilling. It was written as a tonic to the realisation that resistance is futile; you must simply acquiesce to the world of urbanism and let it carry you along on its unpredictable journey, set to a naughty 80s beat.”
Born from the industrial landscape of the north of England. Adios MF was ideated in January 2024, South London's Dash The Henge Records signed them shortly after hearing their demos.
Digital Only
Words & Music by Corey Clifton & Nathan Keeble
Produced by Corey Clifton, Nathan Saoudi & Richard Wilson
Mastered By Richard Wilson
A release by Dash The Henge Records & Cracked Media
This week sees an updated 5 th edition of a collection of Welsh folk stories republished. Welsh Folk Tales by Robin Gwyndaf (Y Lolfa) was originally published by the National Museum of Wales in 1989 and is an important record of the folk narrative tradition in Wales.
The 2024 edition has been dedicated to the author’s late wife, Eleri Gwyndaf, who sadly died in 2023.
For a period of over twenty years, Robin Gwyndaf interviewed over 2,500 informants, around 400 of them on tape. This material, both written – in books and journals – and oral testimony of around 600 hours of recordings, “gives the reader a vivid glimpse of that long and creative tradition,” as Colin Ford, Director of the National Museum of Wales, says in his foreword to the third edition in 1995.
Welsh Folk Tales records 63 stories from all over Wales, including ‘The islands of saints’ from Ynys Enlli, ‘The eagles of Snowdon’ from Caernarfonshire, ‘Owain Glyndŵr and the Abbot of Valle Crucis’ from Denbighshire and ‘The death of “Llywelyn our Last Prince”’ from Brecknockshire. It describes the legends and traditions and places them in their historical and social context. It also refers to the types and classification, the themes, function and meaning, as well as the value of the tales themselves. Pronunciation of Welsh words and placenames also features.
Dr Robin Gwyndaf says:
“The need to present the history of Wales in an interesting and meaningful manner to all the inhabitants of the country and beyond, whatever their age or language, has never been more crucial. My hope is that this volume, in Welsh and English, will be a small contribution towards fulfilling a dream. It is my dream that all the people of Wales, and Welsh people living abroad – and, yes, the inhabitants of Britain also – come to appreciate the wealth of our inheritance as a nation – our native language, our literature and our culture. An intrinsic part of that vibrant, wide-ranging culture is our folk tales and folk traditions.”
Only necessary changes have been made to the text, and the wonderful illustrations, now in colour, by artist Margaret D. Jones, who is now 105 years old, still shine in the volume. Margaret Jones was commissioned by the National Museum of Wales in 1988 to illustrate a map featuring the folk tales and traditions of Wales, to be published at the same time as the first edition of the book. Both the book and the A2 poster has been out of print for around 10 years, but will be available again this May for £9.99 each.
The book: Welsh Folk Tales by Robin Gwyndaf (£9.99, Y Lolfa) is available now.
The A2 poster: Welsh Folk Tales by artist Margaret D. Jones, and Robin Gwyndaf, researcher and designer, (£9.99, Y Lolfa) is available now.
“Good afternoon and thank you for finally attending this Job Start Interview!” Said the Civil Servant.
“You’re welcome Mr Isious!” replied the attendee politely-reading the name badge on the Official- with all the charm of a gentleman that had been to Gordonstoun and then Dartmouth Naval College.
“ Mr Andrew Albert Christian Edward Windsor I presume,…do you have any photographic identification on you to prove this fact?” asked the former DSS snooper.
“Sorry…one doesn’t carry a wallet around with me…money is vulgar…hang on …One has a photograph of oneself flying a helicopter in the Falklands War …would that suffice…is that what you are Sea King?” Asked the eighth in line to the throne of England, passing over a tattered old Kodak snapshot, now yellowing with age.
“Not really but it will have to do…don’t forget you won’t be allowed to vote at the next General Election without proper identification documents you know!” replied the know -it - all Government employee reading from the YouGov site.
“ So why is one here….is one in trouble?” asked the disgraced Royal.
“Not compared to recent events….you are here because officially you have not worked since 2002 when you left the Navy!” Replied the jobsworth.
“That’s 21 years to be precise and you are only aged 63 and therefore still of an age that you are eligible to work!” He continued.
The Duke of York gulped nervously but didn’t sweat it.
“So according to our Government records, you are receiving State benefit from the Sovereign Grant , formerly the Civil List, to the tune of £250,000.00 ….the question is are you actively looking for work?” the interviewer said looking over his bifocal glasses.
“Well ….stuttered the Prince….my Mother has only recently died …!”
“That was over six months ago in September 2022!” Continued the Questioner.
“And what about the previous two decades….were you just F***ing about?” asked the Civil Servant turning very uncivil.
“Look…one told that BBC Lady, Emily Mattress, in my other interview that one doesn’t drink coffee and therefore haven’t been anywhere near a Maxwell House!” denied the Duke.
“So what exactly have you been doing since your last recorded job in 1982?” Asked Mr Icious.
“Do you have a first name ?” Asked Andrew.
“Of course…it’s Malcolm!” Replied the Government Employee.
“May one call you Mal?….Mr Icious?” Queried the Duke.
“Most certainly NOT!” Replied the Job Centre Plus Interviewer.
“This is a formal interview to determine if you deserve to continue to receive handouts from the state!” He continued.
“So other than playing around with your chopper for two decades…what exactly have you been doing?”
“Well…one has been waving a lot …!” replied the Royal with absolute sincerity.
The interviewer furrowed his brow and stared at the Duke.
“Mainly from the deck of the Royal Yacht Britannia…!” he stuttered.
“ Do you know the song a life on the ocean ‘wave’ is better than going to sea?” Said the posh boy.
“Is that why you are called Handy Andy then?….I thought it was for a different reason!” said Malcolm turning the Royal colour Purple, apoplectic with rage.
“Well we both sponge money off the Taxpayer don’t we?” Said Andrew trying to find ‘common’ ground with the commoner.
“ You mean as a civil servant I am obliged to accept a below inflation pay award and work till I am 67 …five years longer than any Frenchman …whilst you live the life of Riley….it’s complete nonsense!”
“Some would say nonce-sense actually!” Replied the Sniggerer.
“And don’t mention Frogmore please….it’s still a sore point with my family!”
“So are you claiming too for any dependents?” Asked the Interviewer.
“Yes, for one’s daughters Beatrice & Eugenie !” The Royal outcast said.
“ And how old they…are they still in school or full time education?” Malcolm pressed harder.
“Let me see Beatrice is 34 and Eugenie 32 and of course Sarah my other dependent is 63!” Andrew continued.
“Don’t any of them have their own jobs?” Asked Malcolm absolutely flabbergasted.
After three long minutes of laughing from Andrew he replied “Are you serious?”
Looking around the whitewashed walls of the Windsor Job Centre, he uttered.
“Come on…who set this up ….Michael McIntyre or Ant n Dec?”
“Can’t be Jeremy Beadle….he is no longer about after all!”
“This isn’t a laughing matter, Mr Windsor…I am here to make sure that you find work or we stop your State ‘benefit’ like everyone else in this Country!” said the official in a more Mal Icious tone.
“So what skills do you have?” Asked Malcolm.
Andrew racked his brain and repeated “Waving?”
“There are several job opportunities available working in the Pizza Express Woking Branch….do you know it?” asked the Interviewer.
“No!” Replied the Duke immediately.
“Never been there in my life….oops…on second thoughts one went there with one’s daughter on the night that one DIDN’T go to Tramp nightclub…!”
“What perks do you get ?”
“Well it is a bit like the Hooters restaurants they have in Canada and the US with young girls serving in skimpy outfits only with different ‘toppings!” said Malcolm luring the new Prince of Darkness in to bite.
“Interested?”
The Duke was now leaning forward at the desk.
Malcolm lifted the telephone up and spoke into it.
“Susan…would you be good enough to bring me in the Pizza Express bakery job application forms for the Woking branch….you will find them under the P- Dough File!”
Andrew looked suspiciously at the Official he had heard that word chanted a lot when he was in Buckingham Palace ever since he had innocently paid Three Million Pounds to a charity suggested by a girl he had never met.
“You are aware that the allegations about One and Miss Go Free were never proved in a Court of Law do you? said the Duke rather testily.
“Not my concern really!” Said Malcolm.
“Do you know why One did that free interview with Emily Mattress?” Countered Andrew.
“Former BBC reporter Martin Bashir rang up the Palace claiming he had further evidence….bloody phoney wank statements….how dull does he think one is? …Princess Diana or something?” raged Andrew.
“Oh ‘hang on’….there is also an International Job going as a prison officer at the New York Correctional Centre….sounds like money for old rope…!”said Malcolm looking at his computer screen.
“ Are you still allowed to visit the United States ….?” challenged Malcolm.
“Come to think of it….One does have a lot of Air Miles left on One’s frequent flyer account to Palm Beach , Florida….but on second thoughts best not to go there again…you know with all those selfies of people One has never actually met….!” mused Andrew.
“Sauna Tester in IKEA in Kyrgyzstan?” proffered Malcolm.
“You could do that no sweat!”
The evil eye from the Royal followed.
“Why does one have to get a job anyway …surely with all those people coming over in those small boats ….they need a job more than One does…after all…One’s ancestors created the British Empire especially for people who DO have the ability to break sweat….!” Replied the oyal in a posh voice.
“Oh they are fast tracked to Rwanda these days…so the Post-Brexit fruit is still rotting in the fields without anyone to pick it!” said Malcolm.
“Do you fancy a try?….after all you have a plum in your mouth most of the time anyway!” He continued.
Andrew leaned in and whispered
“One thinks we both know that neither One nor One’s family are ever going to do REAL work as we are too important to the British economy given the amount we bring in from tourism?” Replied Not so Handy.
“How much is that a year?”asked Mal.
“19 Million Pinds!” said the Royal gurning with the pronunciation.
“And the cost to the tax payer for the Sovereign Grant ?” questioned the Interviewer. “Don’t know or care!” Said Andrew churlishly.
“It’s amazing what you can find on the internet especially with a Freedom of Information form these days…..try £369 Million give or take a few clocks…!” Replied the clear Republican.
“ So what is your point exactly?” Asked the peeved Royal feeling more exposed than Prince Harry at a Las Vegas pool party.
“Everyone in Britain must now pay their way or get deported to Rwanda!” said Mal “That’s the most ridiculous thing one has ever heard!” said Andy channelling the late Kenny Everett.
“What about Stanley Johnson up for a knighthood?” asked Mal the inquisitor.
Poor little Brad Stick was a natural victim. He was only 11 years and had just started going up to the big wide World of the Comprehensive School. Now separated from his earliest friends since Primary School it was a huge culture shock coming from a cossetted little school that he had spent seven years known merely ‘as the Nerd in the corner’. His only friends were imaginary and he was more of a loner than alleged JFK Kennedy assassin Lee Harvey Oswald but in the little school he was tacitly accepted and tolerated by his first school peers.
It was December 13th 2023 and the delegates at the United Nations Climate Change Conference known as C.O.P 28 in Dubai the capital of the United Arab Emirates were just about to conclude matters, when the heavy golden double doors flew open and a size 10 Railtrack Boot appeared followed rapidly by a leg belonging to Welshman Morgan Chamber.
