Fiery Red Dragon

 After almost a year without a break, our trip across the border into North Wales could not have come a moment too soon.  With the UK heatwave dominating the forecast for weeks, the weather looked set to turn for us with a weather warning of storms accompanying each day's forecast for the area around Conwy.  Not that we cared.  There's no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes as the saying goes.

With a late check in time, we made an unscheduled visit to the National Trust managed Chirk Castle, when a road diversion took us almost to the castle entrance.  Serendipity!  A medieval Marcher fortress on the Welsh-English border constructed by Roger Mortimer de Chirk in the late 13th century under the instruction of Edward I, Chirk Castle is one of a chain of fortresses surrounding North Wales.

I confess, as much as I was enjoying the novelty of rain free conditions on the Welsh border, the teen amongst us was a little hot and bothered that day and keen to reach our destination.  So I apologise if my documenting of this visit is a little short on info.  Hopefully, I captured a sense of the place and some interesting details.

Here's the entrance to the 18th century dovecote, which was relocated at some point in its history, to a more favourable location.  Gareth joked on our way out that it had been moved a couple of inches to the left during our visit.

Sweet peas in the kitchen garden.

The family coat of arms including the notorious "red hand of Chirk."  Appearing on the family coat of arms for four generations, the red hand is, in all likelihood, symbolic of a baronetcy and its origins can be traced back to King James I.  However, I prefer the more creative explanation still spoken of today.

  

A long, long time ago, the Lord of Chirk Castle was facing a difficult decision.  Which of his twin boys (physically identical) should inherit the castle and estate?  Summoning both to his chamber and explaining his dilemma, he was relieved to learn that the boys were one step ahead.  The boys proposed that the best way to resolve the issue would be to race for it - from the portcullis to the lake, the winner being the first to put his hand across the winning tape.  The loser would leave for good.

Of course, as tall tales tend to go, one boy was very, very good (patient, gentle, popular) and the other was horrid (bad tempered, devious and selfish).  You can guess which brother the servants were rooting for on the day of the race as they all gathered to witness this historic moment.  

When the race started, the popular brother pulled ahead, but as they approached the lake, the bad egg, now trailing by a few yards, drew his sword, hacked off his own hand and threw it over the winning tape.  Sadly, that's where the story ends.  No one knows the result of these bizarre events and whether the Lord allowed this unconventional victory to stand, further adding to its implausibility.

Fanciful stories aside, we headed inside.  I always love the way the sunlight filters in through old windows, casting long shadows.  

The interior lighting was suitably baronial.

I would happily take the red room!

 

As we headed down towards the old chapel, this was my first glimpse of 1920s era chapel splendour.  What a stunning space!  I can see why Thomas Scot-Ellis (8th Lord Howard de Walden) fell in love with it in 1910 and turned it into a 20th century party pad for himself and his wife, the soprano, Margherita van Raalte.  I'm afraid you'll have to use your imagination now, because it swiftly became impossible to photograph any more given the hoards of tourists present on the day of our visit.

Tommy was a busy man though, his personal interests listed as writing plays, operas, commissioning flying machines, working with radio, Welsh theatre, falconry, fencing, art and literature.  He was also a big spender and had made a handsome offer for Chirk Castle, but ultimately had to settle for a lease.  That said, he still spent significant sums of money bringing the infrastructure into the twentieth century to realise his ambitious entertaining dreams.  

Unsurprisingly, Tommy loved all things medieval and staged jousts at the castle.  Naturally he required his own suit of armour, which he had designed by the armourer Joubert.  The artist Augustus John told of arriving at the castle to discover Tommy sitting in full armour in a Billiard Room armchair.

The guest book read like a who's who of early twentieth century celebrities.  Leafing through, I spotted the signature of Rudyard Kipling for example, who allegedly used to stay at Chirk with his wife in order to visit the Llangollen sheep dog trials.  The parties were legendary and somehow the music and frivolity the visitors must have enjoyed during Tommy's tenure, echoed through the walls of the chapel.

Here's the Irish artist, Sir John Lavery's painting of the family at Chirk.

Outside, Chirk Castle's 480 acre estate demanded time and cooler conditions, neither of which we had.  The gap in the trees on the hillside above the formal gardens, glimpsed through the hessian blinds, was about as far as we wandered.

I did capture a couple of the grounds' permanent residents though....Lucchesi's Bronze Nymph clutching a bunch of lilies, symbolising virginity and purity....

...and Hercules, commissioned in the 1720s and originally positioned at the castle entrance before being moved to his elevated castle vantage point.

So there, in a nutshell, is my very limited knowledge of our relatively fleeting visit to Chirk, but I love a reason to return!

As we travelled along the old Roman road (the A5, which runs diagonally across Britain from Anglesey in north-west Wales to Dover in south-east England), the scenery flanking the road sides grew ever taller, greener and tree lined...

but if you're ever in any doubt that you've arrived in Wales, the bilingual road signs are often the first clue, invariably followed by sightings of the Welsh flag, featuring the red dragon.

The Welsh kings of Aberffraw first adopted the dragon in the early 5th century in order to symbolise their power and authority after the Romans withdrew from Britain and on Saturday 13th August, we experienced the heat of the dragon's breath.  It's not customary to expect good weather in Wales, but we certainly received a warm welcome at our destination on Saturday in every sense; blistering sunshine, not even the whisper of a breeze, clear skies and a holiday cottage purpose built for me.  

Pen-y-Bont is a detached thick stone walled cottage dating back to the 16th century (the oldest building in this Conwy Valley village), accessed by a footbridge over a babbling brook...

...or via a series of stepping stones.

Here I am outside (photo from later in the week), looking around 4 inches tall and breaking all the fashion rules in double denim with style sinner walking shoes.

So far, so idyllic.  But the fun didn't stop there.  The cottage was 20 seconds' walk away from the charming Ty Gwyn Hotel and - be still my beating heart - no more than 20 paces away from an abandoned graveyard, nestling within a glade next to the stream.

Inside, we immediately put the wine from our generous welcome pack left by Paul, the owner, to chill, unpacked and soaked up the sun and the smell of the numerous roses surrounding the cottage.

After a good night's sleep, I woke early on Sunday morning and, a little bleary eyed, headed straight outside into bright sunshine - still in my nightie (Dilli Grey) - to paddle in the stream, thinking I had found my happy place and enjoying the warming fiery breath of the Welsh dragon on my skin.

Shortly after, and fully clothed, I met local gent Ken, a lifelong village resident who was keen to show me the Grade 2 listed Seion Chapel just up the hill from our cottage.  

Built in 1841, the chapel contained an exhibition on the growth of Nonconformism and photos and descriptions of the lives of the local community in the early 20th century.  

Ken, however, had other ideas.  He fired (friendly fire) a million questions at me:  Had I visited before?  How long would I be here?  Did I believe?  What did I do?  Hobbies and interests?  Was I on the internet?  Did I live in a multi cultural community?  Could I identify him from a school photo on display in the chapel?  Could I pick out the village's other famous former resident, Paula Yates (Punk Princess, author, former wife of Bob Geldof, former girlfriend of Michael Hutchence) from her school photo - also on display?  

I managed to get a couple of shots of the ceiling roses, typical of chapels of this era...

... and the view from one of the windows...

...all the time fielding questions from Ken.

Did I live in Birmingham?  It was at this point I tried to explain that Birmingham and the Black Country were not one and the same. However, I think this fell on deaf ears. I tried naming a few of our own famous local heroes, but he had never heard of Led Zeppelin, telling me he was more of a male Welsh voice choir man. He resumed his questioning. Parents still alive?  Would I sign the visitors book?  He then willingly posed for a photo before issuing me with a list of places to visit, kissing me on the cheek and wishing me a lovely holiday.

I left the chapel that morning a little stunned, quite exhausted, but chuckling to myself and armed with a plan of action.

See you soon for more Welsh tales.