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The old county of Cardiganshire is now represented by the new County Borough of Ceredigion
With a few exceptions, the scenic, historical, and archaeological celebrities of this county lie north and east of a line drawn from Aberayron on Cardigan Bay to Lampeter on the Teife. In this area lie Abersystwyth, with which the average Englishman’s knowledge of Cardiganshire begins and ends; Plinlimmon, whose lack of lack of grandeur is redeemed by its profusion of historic associations and the respect it deserves as the source of five rivers, including the Seven and the Wye; the fine valley of the Ystwyth and even more noble gorges of the Rheidol and its tributary, the Mynach; the reputed grave of Taliessin, great among the greatest of Welsh bards; and the far-famed ruins (such as they are) of Strata Florida.
There are some who say, and others who imply, that Aberystwyth, with “watering-place” writ large all over it now, is a nouveau riche or upstart among such institutions. Nothing could be further from the truth. The town is only a little younger than Brighton, and Gorton, writing in 1832, says that it was then well-established in popular favour and lacking nothing in the way of “amusements.”
Its ancient castle is represented by a somewhat formless ruin which dates from the time of Edward I. But it was not the first on the site, as its predecessor, or fortress erected by Strong-bow, ws destroyed after little more than a century of existence.
In the immediate vicinity of the town are some splendid view-points from which the mighty panorama of Cardigan Bay, backed by the mountains of Carnarvonshire and flanked by Cader Idris, can be beheld in all its glory. Nor should any visitor miss the village of Llanbadarn Fawr, with its twelfth-century church of St Padarn, interesting both for itself and the ancient sculptured crosses in the churchyard. St Padarn was one of the greatest of Welsh saints, and the reputation of the monastery he founded here drew the chronicler, Giraldus Cambrensis, to this spot in 1188.
East and south of Aberystwyth the fine valleys of the Aberystwyth the fine valleys of the Ystwyth and Rheidol lead into the heart of a somewhat solitary but most picturesque quarter of Wales. The Rheidol, after an eastward course of several miles through deep wooded gorge, takes an abrupt turn northward to Plinlimmon, at the point where it is joined by the Mynach. Here, amid sylvan scenery which is worthy of comparison with the finest that Snowdonia can show, is one of the county’s trump cards, the “Devil’s Bridge.”
The present writer is content to take Borrow’s vividly simple language as even now the best description, and to remark, parenthetically, that his Wild Wales is still the secret to all that is charming and romantic in this charming and romantic in this county, and the principality generally.
"To view it properly, and the wonders connected with it, you must pass over the bridge above it, and descend a precipitous dingle on the eastern side till you come to a small platform in a crag. Below you now is a frightful cavity, at the bottom of which the waters of the Monks River [Mynach], which comes tumbling down from a glen to the east, whirl, boil, and hiss in a horrid language of the country Twll yn y graig, or the hole in the rock, in a manner truly tremendous. On your right is a slit, probably caused by volcanic force, through which the waters after whirling in the cauldron eventually escape. The slit is wonderfully narrow considering its altitude, which is very great, considerably upwards of a hundred feet – nearly above you, crossing the slit, which is partially wrapped in darkness, it the far-famed bridge, the Bridge of the Evil Man, a work which though crumbling and darkly grey, does much honour to the hand which is built it, whether it was the hand of Satan or of a monkish architect, for the arch is chaste and beautiful, far superior in every respect, except in safety and utility, to the one above it . . .”If Borrow were living to-day he could add that the arch is even more superior to the terribly mundane structure over which the road is carried.
Over all this region, Plinlimmon, with its five humps, presides in solemn dignity – majesty is hardly the word, as the massif does not present the dramatic silhouette on the sky-line which makes Cader Idris or the Snowdon group so picturesque and effective. To all true Welshmen, however, Plinlimmon is the sacred mount where Owen Glendower, last of the Welsh patriots, gathered strength for his mighty raid into the marches, which all but upset Henry IV’s shaky throne.
The words “Strata Florida” come as a shock in this region of unpronounceable names, but the explanation is that they are a dog-Latin version of Ystrad Fflur, the valley of the Flur, a small tributary of the Teifi. Of the great abbey of Strata Florida very little remains, the great western door alone giving any idea of the importance of this foundation before the dissolution of the monasteries. What a great centre of pilgrimage the abbey was is well illustrated by the existence of places with prefix Yspytty (hospice) in the vicinity.
The ruins now visible are of the twelfth century, though there is good reason to believe that the abbey suffered very severely on at least two occasions, but was restored and flourishing exceedingly when that disaster overtook it . Borrow’s reply to the farmer who asked why it was pulled down discloses a highly prejudiced view of history;
“Because it was a house of idolatry to which people used to resort by hundreds to worship images. Had you lived at that time you would have seen people down on their knees before stocks and stones, worshipping them, kissing them, and repeating pennillion to them.”Tregaron is the “very good place; not quite so big as London, but a very good place, “ which Borrow’s casual travelling companion told his was famed for “very good ham” and for “great man, clover thief, Twm Shon Cattik who was born there.”
Tregaron’s fame for hams has been somewhat clouded with the passage of the years, buth the exploits of Twm Shon Catti, exploits that are three-quarters fiction, one-quarter fact, and wholly comic, still give the place a spice all its own.
It may be remembered that when Barrow innocently asked his chance acquaintance whether the thief was hung, he received the answer: “Hung, no! only stupid thief hung. Twm Shon Catti clever thief: died rich man, justice of the peace and mayor of Brecon.”
So much at any rate seems to belong to history, and the only question is whether the Welsh Eulenspiegel’s early life was really as black as has been painted.
According to tradition he was the illegitimate son of a Welsh country gentleman, and was born at Fynnon Lidiart, near Tregaron, at the end of the sixteenth century. It is said that he took to thieving to support his impoverished parents, and soon developed such a degree of cunning and dexterity in the art that the authorities were no match for him. On one occasion a farmer, who was out for his blood, called at his mother’s house, and asked: “Does Twm Shon Catti liver here?” A wretched and ancient beggar who was squatting at the door replied in the affirmative. “Will you hold my horse while I go in and speak to him?” “Oh yes, I will hold your horse.” The farmer got out his pistols and went in, while the beggar, who was none other than Twm Shon Catti himself, jumped on the horse and rode ten miles to the farmer’s house, shedding his disguise on the way. When he reached his destination he told the farmer’s wife that her husband was in great trouble, and needing fifty pounds at once had lent his horse to fetch it, and given him his whip as proof of bona fides. The too-trusting lady parted with her money readily, and we are told that Twm Shon Catti lived on it regally in London for a considerable time. He is credited with many other bold exploits, but perhaps the boldest was in forcing a beautiful heiress to wed him by the simple but peremptory device of threatening to cut off her hand if she refused.
Apparently the marriage made him respectable, for Borrow’s informant told him that he became “the very best justice that there ever was. He made the old saying good: you must set one thief to catch one thief . . .and a child might walk through the country quite safe with a purse of gold in its hand. He said that as he himself could not have a finger in the pie, he would take care nobody else should. And yet he was not one bloody justice either: never hanged thief without giving him the chance to reform.”
Between Tregaron and Lampeter, the village of Llan Ddewi Brefi, itself obscure and uninteresting, is memorable as the scene of the great church congress convened by St David in 519 to pronounce on the heresies of the Welshman, Morgan, who is better known to history as Peladius. Dewi, a famous theologian of Pembrokeshire, had not been invited, but as all the eloquence and learning of the assembled ecclesiastics failed to prove the unsoundness of the heretic’s dangerous doctrines, that champion of orthodoxy was sent for, and after three days’ work he produced a treatise in writing in which, as Borrow says, “the tenets of Morgan were so triumphantly overthrown that the convocation unanimously adopted it and sent it into the world with a testimony of approbation as an antidote to the heresy.”
Lampeter is chiefly famous for its theological college, St David’s College, which was founded by Bishop Burgess in 1822, and occupies the site of the ancient castle. As a nursery for the ministry of the Welsh Church, this foundation has enjoyed a high and well-deserved renown. The buildings of the college are not particularly interesting, but its library, the basis of which was the collection bequeathed by Bishop Burgess, is important and valuable. Borrow remarks that “the grand curiosity is a manuscript Codex containing a Latin synopsis of Scripture which once belonged to the monks of Bangor Is Coed. It bears marks of blood with which it was sprinkled when the monks were massacred by the heathen Saxons, at the instigation of Austin the Pope’s missionary in Britain.” (Borrow can never keep his religious prejudices in the background for long!)
From Lampeter to Cardigan Bay the one valley of the Teifi – a stream beloved of anglers no less than artists – forms the county boundary and leads past Newcastle Emlyn, with many picturesque windings to the estuary on which the county town, Cardigan, Aberteifi in Welsh, stands.
Little remains to recall the antiquity and importance of Cardigan itself, a quiet town which has been left high and dry by the ebb of material progress in this corner of the county. The Church of St Mary has some attractive Perpendicular work, but all that is left of the castle is a fragment of wall with two towers.
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