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The old county of Carmarthenshire is now represented by the new County Borough of Carmarthenshire
Readers of Wild Wales will remember how Borrow entered this country from Cardiganshire. “We are, sir,’ said the man with the carbuncle on his nose, ‘and shall be each of us, glad to treat you to a pint in his won house in order to welcome you to Shire Car – shan’t we, neighbours?’ “ ‘Yes, in truth we shall,’ said the other two. “ ‘By Shire Car,’ said I, ‘I suppose you mean Shire Cardigan?’ “ ‘Shire Cardigan!’ said the man; no, indeed; by Shire Car is meant Carmarthenshire. Your honour has left beggarly Cardigan some way behind you.’”
We could do far worse than to enter this beautiful county in Borrow’s track, for to see it with his eyes is to miss nothing of its scenic, literary, or poetic charm.
The beautiful vale of the Towy almost bisects Carmarthenshire longitudinally, and on or near its banks some of the finest scenery, the noblest mansions, and most interesting antiquities are to be found.
Beginning nearest the source, the first of the Towy celebrities is Llandovery, a picturesque, old-world place on the little river Bran, close to where it throws itself into the main stream. Llandovery is a vulgar Anglicism for the poetic Llan ym Ddyfri, the “Church among the Waters,” and Borrow’s description of it as “a water-girdled spot” is still very applicable.
Unfortunately its castle, once a fortress of great strength, has suffered much more than transformation with the passage of the centuries, and is now only a fragment on a mound on the bank of the Bran. It was probably of Norman foundation, but its best days were passed in the possession of the Gryffiths of Dynevor, who were descended from the kings of South Wales. It was Gryffith ap Nicholas, Lord of Dynevor, who fell at Mortimer’s Cross, after he and his Welsh contingent had snatched victory for the Yorkist cause by a furious charge against Pembroke’s centre.
But the real celebrity of Llandovery is the famous seventeenth-century vicar, Rhys Pritchard, famous as the author of the Welshman’s Candle, and still more famous for his behaviour as vicar until a ludicrous incident showed him the error of his ways. With his inimitable simplicity, Borrow tells how Pritchard, who had a terrible partiality for the strongest drink his age could produce, one day called a goat to him and “offered it some ale; the creature, for from refusing it, drank greedily, and soon became intoxicated, fell down upon the floor, where it lay quivering, to the great delight of Rees Pritchard, who made its drunkenness a subject of jest to his boon companions,” who were horrified at such antics on the part of the parson. Next morning the goat was “perfectly recovered and standing high. No sooner was a tankard brought than Rees, taking hold of it, held it to the goat’s mouth. The creature however, turned its head away in disgust and hurried out of the room. This circumstance produced an instantaneous effect upon Rees Pritchard. ‘My God,’ said he to himself, ‘is this poor dumb creature wiser than I? Yes, surely; it has been drunk, but having once experienced the wretched consequences of drunkenness, it refuses to be drunk again. How different is its conduct to mine! . . .
But, thank God, it is not yet too late to amend; I am still alive – I will become a new man – the goat has taught me a lesson.’” And after that Puritanism had no greater stalwart in the four kingdoms.
Llandilo, farther down-stream, is the centre of some of the best scenery in the county, and within easy distance of localities of great and varied interest. East and south-east runs the long ridge of the Black Mountains, with their impressive offshoot, the Carmarthenshire “Van2 or Beacon, which is only separated from its fellow, the Brecknock Van, by a deep cleft. North and north-east is a stretch that becomes progressively wilder and more striking as the borders of Brecknock are approached.
Among the attractions which owe their appeal to the joint action of man and time the palm should perhaps be awarded to the beautiful ruin of Carreg-Cennen Castle, beautiful not so much for itself as for a situation which faintly recalls Castillion. Perched on a lofty rock above the little river from which it derives its name, the four great towers which remain give an excellent idea, even in ruin, of the strength of a fortress which must have been all but impregnable before gunpowder delivered siege-warfare over to the tender mercies of science. A curious feature of the castle is the long passage through the rock which leads to a well or spring. As so often happens with curiosities of this kind, there is considerable difference of opinion, among the learned as to whether it is artificial or natural. Such a place one would naturally expect to find associated with picturesque happenings and stirring deeds from time immemorial. But, strange to say, Carreg-Cennen is virtually a stronghold without a history.
Very different is the story of Dynevor Castle – once known as Newton Castle – which is so picturesque an object in the beautiful grounds of Dynevor Park. In pre-Norman times there was a stronghold of some kind here which was built by Roderick the Great. After various vicissitudes, which involved its disappearance, and probably that of several successors, for the benefit of the present structure, it came into the hands of the princes of South Wales and was long their official residence. Some time after the regal dignity ceased to exist, the castle was given by Henry VII to one of his stoutest supporters, Sir Rhys ap Thomas, a descendant of the former owners. Through him it came to his descendants, the family of Dynevor.
Other “celebrities” in the vicinity of Llandeilo are Grongar Hill, the view from which has been immortalised by the poet Dyer: Golden Grove, a modern mansion, taking the place of a house where Jeremy Taylor found a refuge in 1649, wrote the Liberty Of Prophesying, and preached the sermons which the Puritans would not allow him to preach anywhere else; Dryslwyn Castle, the charming ruin of a stronghold which figured prominently in the Welsh wars of Edward I.
But, indeed, it is possible even to enumerate the varied beauties and interests that make Carmarthenshire in general, and the vale Towy in particular, one of the happiest hunting-grounds for lovers of the picturesque.
Carmarthen, the county town, enjoys a charming situation in one of the prettiest sectors of the Towy valley, and its origins reach back into the mists of antiquity. The Roman Maridunum, one of their most important stations and the junction of two of their great highways, stood on this site. Various small Roman antiquities have been discovered in the neighbourhood, but otherwise there is nothing to connect the present town with its eminent Roman ancestor. In the ninth century Carmarthen was the headquarters of the Welsh princes, notably Roderick the Great, but in the time of his son and successors it was abandoned in favour of Dynevor. Remains of this period are non-existent, and even those of Norman times are remarkably scanty, the fragments of the castle erected in the reign of Henry I being now incorporated in the gaol. Like so many of the Welsh castles, it fell a victim to the loyal adherence of Wales to the Royalist cause in the civil wars of the sixteenth century; it was destroyed by parliamentary forces in 1646.
The parish church of St Peter has a good deal of fourteenth-century work, and its tower, an architectural detail which is half ecclesiastical and half military, is somewhat typical of churches in this region; perhaps its functions were similar to those of the round towers in Ireland. The church’s main claim to consideration is on the ground of its monuments. There is one to Farrar, Bishop of St David’s, who suffered martyrdom by burning in the market-place in 1555, but the finest is the tomb of Sir Rhys ap Thomas, the Welsh “King-maker” who had so much to do with Henry Tudor’s success at Bosworth Field. This monument was originally in Carmarthen Priory, an important monastic foundation of which practically nothing remains. The church is also the burial-place of Addison’s friend Sir Richard Steele, whose impecuniosity compelled him to spend his last years in the little village of Llangunnor, close to Carmarthen.
The portion of the county between Carmarthen and the borders of Pembrokeshire is also full of charm and interest, though its more important monuments of the past have suffered very severely at the combined hands of man and time. Thus the Castle of Clears, once a strategic point d’appui of vital importance, and frequently mentioned in the chronicles, is represented by a mound, and a modern residence stands on the site of far-famed Whitland Abbey, leaving a few columns to recall its ancient glories. Whitland’s main claim to fame is as the residence of Howel “the good,” King of Wales in the first half of the tenth century, whose reign was so memorable as an interlude of peace in an age of incessant strife. It was to Whitland that he summoned representatives of all parts of his dominions to lend him their aid in drawing up the code of laws by which he is best known to history.
On the shores of Carmarthen Bay and its river estuaries are some of the most interesting and picturesque antiquities in the county. First in order of importance is the splendid ruin of Kidwelly Castle, which, even in decay, gives an excellent idea of the strength and complexity of an Edwardian fortress. The first castle on the site was erected by the Normans during their conquest of South Wales. In 1135 the little town, which was even then of some antiquity, was the scene of a fierce conflict between the army of Gwenllian, wife of Gryffith ap Rhys, and Maurice de Londres.
Llanstephan Castle, at the embouchure of the Towy, is less illuminating and picturesque than Kidwelly, and its history also recalls the incessant struggles between the old order and the new in South Wales for the first two centuries after the Conquest.
Laugharne Castle, overlooking the mouth of the Taf, has towers of the early eleventh-century and other work of later date. It underwent a regular siege in the Commonwealth wars, and on its surrender was dismantled and “rendered harmless” in Cromwell’s thorough fashion.
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