Perhaps, However, It Would Have Been Well Had We Gone By
The New, For The Hen Ffordd Was A Very Dull And Uninteresting Road,
Whereas The Ffordd Newydd, As I Long Subsequently Found, Is One Of
The Grandest Passes In Wales.
After we had walked a short distance
my guide said, "Now, sir, if you will turn a little way
To the left
hand I will show you a house, built in the old style, such a house,
sir, as I daresay the original turf tavern was." Then leading me a
little way from the road he showed me, under a hollow bank, a small
cottage covered with flags.
"That is a house, sir, built yn yr hen dull in the old fashion, of
earth, flags and wattles and in one night. It was the custom of
old when a house was to be built, for the people to assemble, and
to build it in one night of common materials, close at hand. The
custom is not quite dead. I was at the building of this myself,
and a merry building it was. The cwrw da passed quickly about
among the builders, I assure you." We returned to the road, and
when we had ascended a hill, my companion told me that if I looked
to the left I should see the Vale of Clwyd.
I looked and perceived an extensive valley pleasantly dotted with
trees and farm-houses, and bounded on the west by a range of hills.
"It is a fine valley, sir," said my guide, "four miles wide and
twenty long, and contains the richest land in all Wales. Cheese
made in that valley, sir, fetches a penny a pound more than cheese
made in any other valley."
"And who owns it?" said I.
"Various are the people who own it, sir, but Sir Watkin owns the
greater part."
We went on, passed by a village called Craig Vychan, where we saw a
number of women washing at a fountain, and by a gentle descent soon
reached the Vale of Clwyd.
After walking about a mile we left the road and proceeded by a
footpath across some meadows. The meadows were green and
delightful and were intersected by a beautiful stream. Trees in
abundance were growing about, some of which were oaks. We passed
by a little white chapel with a small graveyard before it, which my
guide told me belonged to the Baptists, and shortly afterwards
reached Ruthyn.
We went to an inn called the Crossed Foxes, where we refreshed
ourselves with ale. We then sallied forth to look about, after I
had ordered a duck to be got ready for dinner, at three o'clock.
Ruthyn stands on a hill above the Clwyd, which in the summer is a
mere brook, but in the winter a considerable stream, being then fed
with the watery tribute of a hundred hills. About three miles to
the north is a range of lofty mountains, dividing the shire of
Denbigh from that of Flint, amongst which, almost parallel with the
town, and lifting its head high above the rest, is the mighty Moel
Vamagh, the mother heap, which I had seen from Chester. Ruthyn is
a dull town, but it possessed plenty of interest to me, for as I
strolled with my guide about the streets I remembered that I was
treading the ground which the wild bands of Glendower had trod, and
where the great struggle commenced, which for fourteen years
convulsed Wales, and for some time shook England to its centre.
After I had satisfied myself with wandering about the town we
proceeded to the castle.
The original castle suffered terribly in the civil wars; it was
held for wretched Charles, and was nearly demolished by the cannon
of Cromwell, which were planted on a hill about half a mile
distant. The present castle is partly modern and partly ancient.
It belongs to a family of the name of W- who reside in the modern
part, and who have the character of being kind, hospitable and
intellectual people. We only visited the ancient part, over which
we were shown by a woman, who hearing us speaking Welsh, spoke
Welsh herself during the whole time she was showing us about. She
showed us dark passages, a gloomy apartment in which Welsh kings
and great people had been occasionally confined, that strange
memorial of the good old times, a drowning pit, and a large prison
room, in the middle of which stood a singular-looking column,
scrawled with odd characters, which had of yore been used for a
whipping-post, another memorial of the good old baronial times, so
dear to romance readers and minds of sensibility. Amongst other
things which our conductor showed us was an immense onen or ash; it
stood in one of the courts and measured, as she said, pedwar y
haner o ladd yn ei gwmpas, or four yards and a half in girth. As I
gazed on the mighty tree I thought of the Ash Yggdrasill mentioned
in the Voluspa, or prophecy of Vola, that venerable poem which
contains so much relating to the mythology of the ancient Norse.
We returned to the inn and dined. The duck was capital, and I
asked John Jones if he had ever tasted a better. "Never, sir,"
said he, "for to tell you the truth, I never tasted a duck before."
"Rather singular," said I. "What, that I should not have tasted
duck? Oh, sir, the singularity is, that I should now be tasting
duck. Duck in Wales, sir, is not fare for poor weavers. This is
the first duck I ever tasted, and though I never taste another, as
I probably never shall, I may consider myself a fortunate weaver,
for I can now say I have tasted duck once in my life. Few weavers
in Wales are ever able to say as much."
CHAPTER XVI
Baptist Tomb-Stone - The Toll-Bar - Rebecca - The Guitar.
THE sun was fast declining as we left Ruthyn.
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