Thomas Crofton Croker was an Irish antiquarian and an early collator of British folklore. His first volume on fairies, Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, was published in 1825 and resulted in a German translation by the Brothers Grimm. Its success lead to a further two volumes, with the third being largely devoted to stories from Wales.

These Welsh tales consisted of selections from William Owen Pughe's translation of the Mabinogion - e.g. Pwyll Pendefig Dyfed and Bendigeidfran - and oral tradition collected by "a lady (whose name he [i.e. Croker] would feel proud in being allowed to mention)."

This lady was Maria Jane Williams, the second daughter of Rees Williams of Aberpergwm House. As her Wikipedia entry states, she "was well educated, a supporter of the Welsh language and traditions and had an extensive knowledge of music. She was especially acclaimed for her singing and was an accomplished player of the guitar, and the harp, having been taught by the famous harpist Parish-Alvars. Henry Fothergill Chorley said that she was "the most exquisite amateur singer he had ever heard." She acquired the name ‘Llinos’ (the Welsh word for linnet), and was associated with the Welsh cultural society known as Cymreigyddion y Fenni and made her home a focus for ‘Celtic Renaissance’ enthusiasts."

Williams prefaced her communications, according to Croker, with:

"The subject of Welsh fairies is one which interests me much; but the opportunities of conversing with story-tellers are few, the race being now almost extinct in Wales. The increase of wealth, the intercourse with enlightened Saxons, the improvement of roads, and the progress of education, have nearly banished 'the fair family'. However, I have the good fortune to inhabit a romantic valley in Glamorganshire, and am acquainted with some old secluded mountaineers who speak no language but their own, and who inherit the superstition of their ancestors.

They see the fairies — they hear their enchanting music, and sometimes join in their merry dances. They are also familiar with ghosts and strange noises, behold supernatural lights, and always foretell death by certain signs. I am sorry to add, too, that my country folk have frequent communications with 'the old gentleman,' who visits them in all possible shapes and places. A favourite spot is near a Roman road on one of the hills behind this house, where it is supposed treasure is hidden*.

(*In a subsequent letter the fair writer says : — "Mama remembers a meeting of twenty preachers assembled on a hill not far from this, to combat the wicked spirit who had enticed so many to sinful practices, by tempting them with bars of gold, which were dug up near a Roman causeway called Sam Helen. A farmer, a tenant of ours, who became suddenly rich, was commonly supposed to have sold himself to the evil one.")

The stories which I send are deficient in the charm of national idiom, as they are translations from the Welsh; but I have endeavoured to imitate as closely as possible any peculiarities of phraseology, and in some instances have preserved the expressions in the original."



From page 201, in his introduction to the Fairy Legends of Wales, Croker explains:

The Fairies were the Dynion Mwyn*, or kind people of the Mabinogion. They were also called Y tylwyt teg, the fair family, and in some parts of Wales, Y Teulu, the family, also Bendith eu Mamau, the blessings of their mothers; and Gwreigedth Anwyl, or dear wives.

The idea of the Fairies being diminutive is only current in Pembrokeshire and the adjoining districts, where they are called Y dynon bag teg, the small fair people. In the poems of the bards, and in the traditionary tales of the country, they had other names, such as Elod, intelligences; and Eltyllon, goblins, or wandering spirits. The term ellyll*, with its plural ellyllon, corresponds with the Hebrew elil and elilim. Bwyd Ellyllon, Elves' food, is the poisonous mushroom; menyg dlyllon, are the flowers of the foxglove. (Llys Mawr, great herb), and Ceubren yr Ellyll, the Elves' hollow tree.

The popular stories of their friendly, and at the same time mischievous, intercourse with the inhabitants of Wales are endless. They are supposed to be the manes of the ancient Druids, suffered to remain in a middle state; not worthy of the felicity of heaven, but too good to associate with evil spirits, and therefore permitted to wander among men until the day of doom, when they are to be elevated to a higher state of being; hence the adage, "Byw dr Air y tylwyth teg" to live in the land of the fair family; that is, to subsist by unknown means.

Though the fairies are generally represented as inoffensive, yet they sometimes discover a mischievous propensity in seizing an unwary traveller on the mountains, and giving him a trip through the region of air. The fairies are believed to comb the beards of the goats on Friday night, which is said to be the reason for the shining and silky appearance of the beard on Saturday, "made decent for Sunday." When a person happens to find a piece of money, he will always find another in the same place so long as he keeps it a secret.

In Wales, as in other pastoral districts," says a note on Mr. Llwyd's Can y tylwyth teg, "the Fairy Tales are not erased from the traditional tablet; and age seldom neglects to inform youth, that if, on retiring to rest, the hearth is made clean, the floor swept, and the pails left full of water, the fairies will come at midnight, continue their revels till day-break, sing the well-known strain of Torriad y Dydd, leave a piece of money upon the hob, and disappear.

The suggestions of intellect and the precautions of prudence are easily discernible under this fiction: a safety from fire in the neatness of the hearth; a provision for its extinction in replenished pails, and a motive to perseverance in the promised boon."

The fairies have concerts of delicious music upon calm summer nights, which mortals are often permitted to hear. They are also extremely fond of dancing in circles by the light of the moon, and are much addicted to the stealing of children, sometimes even enticing grown-up people away.

"In submitting stories illustrative of Welsh superstition," writes the lady who has collected them, I cannot help expressing my surprise at finding so many labouring under delusions which seem inexplicable. Many of my old friends are highly respectable in their line of life, farmers and farmers' wives, of strict veracity on all other topics save supernatural agencies; and they relate these stories with an earnestness and an air of truth that is perfectly confounding. Some have actually seen the fairies, and among this number is old Shane of Blaenllanby, in the vale of Neath.

She says, "that several years ago she saw the fairies to the amount of several hundreds. It was almost dusk, and they were not a quarter of a mile from her. They were very diminutive persons, riding four a-breast, and mounted upon small white horses, not bigger than dogs. They formed a long cavalcade, and passing on towards the mountain, at a place called Clwydau'r Banwen, they disappeared behind the high ground, and seemed to be traversing the Sarn, or ancient Roman road, which crosses that mountain. Many old people have told me," continues the fair writer, "that when they were young, and had occasion to go to the mountains to look after sheep, or to fetch the cows, their parents always cautioned them to avoid treading near the fairies' ring, or they would be lost."

Click the links to go to dedicated posts for the tales:

★ The Story of Gitto Bach via Tomos Shone Rhytherch.

★ Legend of Llyn Cwm Llwch via Tomos Shone Rhytherch.

★ Llewllyn's Dance via Davidd Shone.

★ The Egg-Shell Dinner via Davidd Tomos Bowen.

★ Yanto's Chase.

★ Fairy Encounters via Morgan Rhys Harris.

★ The Headless Lady of Rhyd y Rhesg.

★ Owen Lawgoch's Castle via Thomas ap Rhys.

★ Island of the Fair Folk via Edward Davies.

★ The Pwcca.

Also included were various tales lifted from the Rev. Edmund Jones' A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth, and the Principality of Wales. I'll be writing a dedicated blog post on Jones in the near future.

Trwyn Farmhouse in Abercarn was once well known as the stomping ground of a 'pwcca' or fairy which threw stones and caused mischief. Today we would probably label the protagonist of such an account a poltergeist. In later accounts, the pwcca was said to have been content at the farm for some time, performing household chores in exchange for bread and milk - until a servant girl ate its meal and incurred its wrath...

The Pontypool Free Press gave a summary of the case in their December 23rd 1876 edition:



"TRWYN PWCCA. Many years ago there existed in certain part of Monmouthshire a Pwcca, or fairy, which like a faithful English Brownie performed innumerable services for the farmers and householders in its neighbourhood, more especially that of feeding the cattle and cleaning their sheds in wet weather until at length some serious person, considering such practices as no christian proceedings, laid the kindly spirit for three generations, banishing him to that common receptacle for such beings — the Red Sea. The spot in which disappeared obtained the name of Trwyn Pwcca (Fairy's Nose); and as the three generations have nearly passed away, the approaching return of the Pwcca is anxiously looked forward to in its vicinity as an earnest of the "good time coming."

The story became a firmly entrenched folktale during the nineteenth century, and was included in many of the major folklore studies of the day. At the 1851 Newport Aethenaeum and Mechanics Institution's Eisteddfod there was even a three guinea prize given to Mr. Jones of Machen by the Abergwyddon Cymreigyddion Society, for "the best Essay upon, or Account of Pwcca 'r Trwyn, the celebrated Mynyddysllwyn Sprite, with a view to answer the question, Whether the traditions of the district, or passages in contemporaneous history, throw any light upon its identity with the public events of the period, in Welsh or English." (The winner argued that the pwcca was, in reality, the folk memory of a fugitive fifteenth-century Welsh lord.)

Our earliest record of the events, however, comes from Edmund Jones' 1780 work, Apparitions of Spirits in the Principality of Wales:

"HERE is an account of a Spirit which came to the house of Job John Harry, living at the Trwyn in this Parish, and continued there from some time before Christmas until Easter-Wednesday, which was the last day of his abiding there: in which space of time it spoke and did many things which were very remarkable, as being done by an invisible Spirit. The report of it spread very far, and is still remembered and spoken of at times. Being aware that some things might be added in the report, and other things altered from what they really were, I chuse not to relate all that I heard, but what I judge most likely to be true.

At first, it came knocking at the door, chiefly by night, which it continued to do for a length of time, by which they were often deceived by opening it. At last it spoke to one who opened the door, upon which they were much terrified, which being known, brought many of the neighbours to watch with the family. T. E. foolishly brought a gun with him to shoot the Spirit, as he said, and sat in the corner. As Job was coming home that night from a journey, the Spirit met him in the lane near the house, and told him that there was a man come to the house to shoot him; but he said thou shall see how I will beat him. As soon as Job was come to the house, stones were thrown at the man that brought the gun, from which he recieved severe blows: the company tried to defend him from the blows of the stones which did strike him and no other person; but it was in vain: so that he was obliged to go home that night, though it was very late, — he had a great way to go.

When this Spirit spoke, which was not very often, it was mostly out of a oven by the hearth's side. He would sometimes in the night make some music with Harry Job's fiddle. One time it struck the cupboard with stones, the marks of which were to be seen, if they are not there still. Another time it gave Job a gentle stroke upon his toe when he was going to bed; upon which Job said, "Thou art curious in smiting", to which the Spirit answered, "I can strike thee where I please".

They were at length grown fearless and bold to speak to it; and its speeches and actings were a recreation to them, seeing it was a familiar kind of Spirit which did not hurt them; and informed them of some things which they did not know. An old man, more bold than wise, on hearing the Spirit just by him, threatened to stick it with his knife, to which he received this answer, "Thou fool, how can thou stick what thou cannot see with thine eyes?" This Spirit told them he came from Pwll y Gasseg, (Mare's Pit), a place so called in the adjacent mountain, and that he knew them all before he came there.

One notable passage was thus, B. the wife of M. R. of L, desired one of the family to ask the Spirit who it was that killed W. R. the Scotchman: as soon as he came home he did so, and the Spirit's answer was, "Who bid thee ask that question?" to which he replied, Blanch y Byd, — (Worldly Blanch); by which name she was often called afterwards, who was a creditable substantial woman, of no evil qualities, but that she was very industrious to gain the world, though still in an honest way; she would also do some charities. Some of her posterity are virtuous, creditable, substantial people. On Easter Wednesday he left the house, and said, Dos yn iach Job, — (Farewell Job) to which Job said, "Where God pleases".

Doubtless this was one of those sort of Spirits which the Scriptures calls familiar Spirits, and speaks much about them, warning the people of Israel from seeking after them, Levit. xix. 31. which intimates they would not have come to them if they did not seek after them; and therefore are more in fault themselves than the Spirits: Ordering the seekers after and the workers with familiar Spirits to be stoned to death, and to be destroyed from the land of the living, as not fit to be with men on earth, but among the devils in hell. This shews what a sin this was, which deserved an immature violent death. It is mentioned as one of the monstrous sins of Manasseh that he dealt with a familiar Spirit. It is said that the Lord slew Saul, the King of Israel, because he asked counsel of one that had a familiar Spirit. They are called familiar Spirits because they make some poor show of familiarity, and do some kind of services; but their services are evil, and for evil ends. This Spirit at the Trwyn, in Mynydduslwyn, was of this sort. — It never shewed any signs of virtue and goodness in any respect. It appears to me like a diabolished human Spirit, who had lived in sin and died in a state of enmity to God.

I had once an opportunity to speak with David Job, whom I several times saw at the meeting at Penmain, who seemed to be a sober man: I asked him about the Agency of this Spirit which was at his father's house, he owned the substance of what was reported: he said that the cause of the Spirit coming there, was owing to his brother Harry making use of some Magic Spells,— yet without a design of bringing the Spirit there, but for some other idle purpose."

This early account has much in common with modern poltergeist stories. The spirit makes knocking sounds, throws stones, and is capable of communicating with people. Additionally, the spirit was said to have been summoned by Harry Job's 'Magic Spells', just as innumerable poltergeists are said to have been enabled by séances or sessions with the ouija board.

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For contrast, here is what American writer Wirt Sikes had to say about the Trwyn Pwcca in his 1880 book, British Goblins: Welsh Folk-Lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditions:

A servant girl who attended to the cattle on the Trwyn farm, near Abergwyddon, used to take food to 'Master Pwca,' as she called the elf. A bowl of fresh milk and a slice of white bread were the component parts of the goblin's repast, and were placed on a certain spot where he got them. One night the girl, moved by the spirit of mischief, drank the milk and ate most of the bread, leaving for Master Pwca only water and crusts. Next morning she found that the fastidious fairy had left the food untouched. Not long after, as the girl was passing the lonely spot, where she had hitherto left Pwca his food, she was seized under the arm pits by fleshly hands (which, however, she could not see), and subjected to a castigation of a most mortifying character. Simultaneously there fell upon her ear in good set Welsh a warning not to repeat her offence on peril of still worse treatment. This story 'is thoroughly believed in there to this day.'

I visited the scene of the story, a farm near Abergwyddon (now called Abercarne), and heard a great deal more of the exploits of that particular Pwca, to which I will refer again. The most singular fact of the matter is that although at least a century has elapsed, and some say several centuries, since the exploits in question, you cannot find a Welsh peasant in the parish but knows all about Pwca 'r Trwyn.

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The famous Pwca of the Trwyn Farm, in Mynyddyslwyn parish, came there from his first abode, at Pantygasseg, in a jug of barm. One of the farm-servants brought the jug to Pantygasseg, and as she was being served with the barm in the jug, the Pwca was heard to say, 'The Pwca is going away now in this jug of barm, and he'll never come back;' and he was never heard at Pantygasseg again. Another story tells that a servant let fall a ball of yarn, over the ledge of the hill whose base is washed by the two fishponds between Hafod-yr-Ynys and Pontypool, and the Pwca said, 'I am going in this ball, and I'll go to the Trwyn, and never come back,' — and directly the ball was seen to roll down the hill-side, and across the valley, ascending the hill on the other side, and trundling along briskly across the mountain top to its new abode.

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The so-called Pwca'r Trwyn, which haunted the farm-house in the parish of Mynyddyslwyn, is sometimes cited as another case in which a fairy was probably a being of flesh and blood; and if this be true, it of course proves nothing but the adoption of an ancient superstition by a proscribed Welsh nobleman. There is a tradition that this fairy had a name, and that this name was 'yr Arglwydd Hywel' which is in English 'Lord Howell.' And it is argued that this Lord, in a contest with the forces of the English king, was utterly worsted, and driven into hiding; that his tenants at Panty- gasseg and the Trwyn Farm, loving their Lord, helped to hide him, and to disseminate the belief that he was a household fairy, or Bwbach. It is related that he generally spoke from his own room in this farm-house, in a gentle voice which came down between the boards into the common room beneath. One day the servants were comparing their hands, as to size and whiteness, when the fairy was heard to say, 'The Pwca's hand is the fairest and smallest.' The servants asked if the fairy would show its hand, and immediately a plank overhead was moved and a hand appeared, small, fair and beautifully formed, with a large gold ring on the little finger.

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Innumerable are the Welsh stories of familiar spirits. Sometimes these are spectres of the sort whose antics we have just been observing. More often they are confessedly demons, things of evil. In numberless cases it is no less a personage than the diawl himself who makes his appearance in the guise of a familiar spirit. The familiar spirit which takes up its abode in the household is, as we have seen, a pranksome goblin. Its personal appearance — or rather its invisibility — is the saving circumstance which prevents it from being deemed a fairy.

The familiar spirit which haunted the house of Job John Harry, at the Trwyn Farm, in the parish of Mynyddyslwyn, was a stone-thrower, a stroker of persons, etc., but could not be seen. It is famous in Wales under the cognomen of Pwca 'r Trwyn, and is referred to in my account of the Ellylldan. The tenants at present residing on the Trwyn Farm are strangers who have recently invaded the home of this ancestral spook, but I was able to glean abundant information concerning it from people thereabout. It made a home of Mr. Harrys house some time in the last century, for a period beginning some days before Christmas, and ending with Easter Wednesday, on which day it departed.

During this time it spoke, and did many remarkable things, but was always invisible. It began at first to make its presence known by knocking at the outer door in the night; but when persons went to open the door there was no one there. This continued for some time, much to the perplexity of the door-openers. At last one night it spoke to the one who opened the door, and the family were in consequence much terrified. Some of the neighbours, hearing these tales, came to watch with the family; and Thomas Evans foolishly brought a gun with him, to shoot the spirit,' as he said. But as Job John Harry was coming home that night from a journey, the familiar spirit met him in the lane and said, 'There is a man come to your house to shoot me, but thou shalt see how I will beat him.' So Job went on to the house, and immediately stones were thrown at the unbelieving Thomas who had brought the gun, stones from which he received severe blows. The company tried to defend him from the stones, which did strike and hurt him, and no other perso; but their efforts were in vain. The result was, that Thomas Evans took his gun and ran home as fast as his legs would carry him, and never again engaged in an enterprise of that sort.

As this familiar spirit got better acquainted with its quarters, it became more talkative, and used often to speak from out of an oven by the hearth's side. It also took to making music o' nights with Job's fiddle. One night as Job was going to bed, the familiar spirit gave him a gentle stroke on the toe. 'Thou art curious in smiting,' said Job. 'I can smite thee where I please,' replied the spirit. As time passed on the family became accustomed to their ghostly visitor, and seeing it never did them any harm, but on the contrary was a source of recreation to them, they used to boldly speak to it, and indulge in entertaining conversation.

One old man, a neighbour, more bold than wise, hearing the spirit just by his side, but being unable to see it, threatened to stick it with his knife. 'Thou fool,' quoth the spirit, 'how canst thou stick what thou canst not see with thine eyes?' When questioned about its antecedents, the spirit said, 'I came from Pwll y Gasseg' (Mare's Pit, a place in the adjacent mountain), 'and I knew ye all before I came hither.' The wife of Morris Roberts desired one of the family to ask the spirit who it was that killed William Reilly the Scotchman; which being done, the spirit said, 'It was Blanch y Byd who bade thee ask that question;' and Blanch y Byd (Worldly Blanche) was Morris Roberts' wife ever after called. On Easter Wednesday the spirit departed, saying, 'Dos yn iach, Job,' (fare thee well. Job,) and Job asked the spirit, 'Where goest thou?' The reply was, 'Where God pleases.'

There are other accounts of this Trwyn sprite which credit it to a time long anterior to last century; but all are consistent in this, that the goblin is always invisible. The sole exception to this rule is the legend about its having once shown a white hand to some girls in the kitchen, thrusting it through the floor of its room overhead for that purpose. Now invisibility is a violation of fairy traditions, while ghosts are very often invisible — these rapping and stone-throwing ghosts, always. It might be urged that this spirit was a Bwbach, if a fairy at all, seeing that it kept pretty closely to the house; but on the whole I choose to class it among the inhabitants of the spirit-world; and really, the student of folk-lore must classify his materials distinctly in some understandable fashion, or go daft.

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William Jenkyn Thomas wrote his own account in 1907, for The Welsh Fairy Book, which leans much more into typical fairylore:

A PRANKSOME goblin once took up his abode at the Trwyn Farm, in the parish of Mynyddislwyn, and became known throughout the country as Pwca'r Trwyn, or the Pwca of the Trwyn. How he got there is not known. One story says that he once lived at Pant y gaseg. Moses, one of farm servants, of the Trwyn, came to Pant y gaseg for a jug of barm, and the Pwca was heard to say,' "The Pwca is going away now in this jug of barm, and he'll never come back," and he never was heard of at Pant y gaseg again. Another story tells that a servant of Pant y gaseg let fall a ball of yarn, and the Pwca said, "I am going in this ball, and I'll go to the Trwyn and never come back." Directly after this the ball was seen to roll down the hill-side and across the valley, ascending the hill on the other side and trundling along briskly across the mountain top of this new abode.

Anyhow, the Pwca came to the Trwyn, and though he remained invisible he became very friendly with Moses. He did all his work for him with great ease. For instance, he threshed a whole barnful of corn in a single night. Once, indeed, he gave him a good beating for doubting his word, but apart from that the two remained on the best possible terms for a long time. Moses went away, however, with David Morgan, the Jacobite, to join the Young Pretender, and never came back again.

After this the Pwca transferred his affections to Blodwen, one of the servant-girls, and very useful he proved to her. He did everything for her, washing, ironing, spinning and twisting wool--at the spinning wheel he was remarkably handy. No one was allowed to catch a sight of him, but he became very talkative, and often used to speak from out of an oven by the side of the hearth. He told Blodwen that it was very mean of her not to provide him with food and drink for helping her so much, and after this she used, with her master Job John Harri's permission, to place a bowl of fresh milk and a slice of white bread (the latter was a great luxury at that time) on the hearth every night for him before going to bed. By the morning the bread was eaten and the bowl empty. This fare made the Pwca light-hearted, and he used to make music o' nights with Job John Harri's fiddle, and very merry rollicking music it was.

One evening he revealed part of himself. The servant-girls were comparing their hands as to size and whiteness, when a voice from the ceiling was heard to say, "The Pwca's hand is the fairest and smallest." "Show it, then," said Blodwen, who used to speak quite freely to him. Immediately a hand appeared from the ceiling, small, fair, and beautifully formed, with a large gold ring on the little finger.

It was Blodwen's fault that the Pwca became troublesome. One night, in a spirit of mischief, she drank the milk and ate the bread that were usually provided for him, leaving him some stale crusts of barley bread and a bowlful of dirty water. It would have been better for her not to have done it. When she got up next morning he suddenly sprang from some corner, and, seizing her by the neck, began to beat her and kick her from one end of the house to the other, until she screamed for mercy.

After this the Pwca became freakish, and played all sorts of pranks. He began his games by knocking at the door, but when it was opened there was no one to be seen. Then he did all sorts of mischief about the house, and in the cowhouses and stable. He harassed the oxen when they ploughed and drew them after him everywhere, plough and all, nor could anyone prevent them.

The neighbours came to hear about these goings on, and one of them, Thomas Evans by name, said he would take a gun and shoot the Pwca. As Job John Harri was coming home one night from a journey the Pwca met him in the lane and said, "There is a man come to your house to shoot me, but you shall see how I will beat him." So Job went on to the house and found Thomas Evans there with his gun, breathing all manner of dire threats against the wicked sprite. Suddenly stones flew from all directions at Thomas and hurt him badly. The members of the household of the Trwyn got round him, thinking to protect him, but the stones still struck him. The curious part of the whole thing was that they never touched anyone else. At last Thomas Evans took his gun and ran home as fast as his legs could carry him, and never again did he talk of shooting the Pwca.

Job John Harri went to a fair, and night overtook him on the mountain as he was returning home. Somehow or other, though the path was quite familiar to him, he lost his way. Whether it was owing to the darkness or from some other cause (there are influences at fairs which cause many to stray from the right path) is uncertain; at any rate he wandered onwards in different directions over the mountain in much doubt and perplexity. At last he was brought to a full stop against a stone wall. As he was rubbing his forehead, which had got the worst of the collision with the wall, and considering the situation, a light suddenly arose upon the waste at a short distance to his right. "There is some one with a lantern," he said to himself, and he determined to follow in his wake.

As he walked on he, noticed that there were two very remarkable things about the light. One was that however fast or however slow he walked, the light kept at just the same distance from him. Again, it kept so near the ground that the arm which bore it must have belonged to a person of exceptionally short stature. Job concluded that it was a child carrying a lantern. He followed the light for several miles, when it suddenly stopped. Job had by this time come well nigh up to it, and was about to hail its bearer when the sound of a foaming torrent arose to his ears. Just then the bearer of the light took a flying leap and landed some thirty yards away. The light blazed forth brilliantly, and Job found himself on the brink of a frightful precipice. On the other side of the yawning chasm was a tiny little man, as naked as a new-born babe, with long hair and pointed ears, and a maliciously ugly expression on his face, peering down into the gorge (it was afterwards called Cwm Pwca). When he saw that Job had not fallen into the trap towards which he had led him, he uttered a loud shrill laugh and douted the light. Job was afraid to move, and remained on the spot, stiff with terror, until daylight appeared, when he made his way home. After that the Pwca was never heard or seen at the Trwyn.

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In 1726 the Manor of Abercarn's rent book lists David Job as the tennant at Yr Trwyn, paying £1 6s 8d a year for the privilege. Presumably this was the same David Edmund Jones spoke to about the story, the son of Job John Harry, which would date the events surrounding the pwcca to the late seventeenth century.

On the 1841 census the Williams family were listed as resident at Trwyn.



In 1851 the Williams' were still there:



By the time of the 1861 census Lewis Williams and his sister Sarah were living in Crumlin. In 1871 Trwyn was occupied by Benjamin Williams and his family:



By 1881 the Williams' had already moved on to Cydlowedd and Trwyn was occupied by James and Margaret Griffiths and their children. Hailing from Brecknockshire, the Griffiths' were likely the "strangers" to the area Wirt Sikes met with when he visited the farm to research his 1880 book.



By 1891 the Davies family had moved into the farm, relocating from Hafod Owen.



The Davies' would remain at Trwyn until they moved to Crumlin Farm in 1916. Here they are on the 1911 census:



In 2012 Rob Southall wrote an article for Twmbarlwm News on the history of Hafod Owen farm, which features Trwyn incidentally on a number of occasions - and includes a picture of John Senior, the patriarch of the Davies family.




The Forestry Commission proceeded to put three cottages on the site in 1928. Eva Boobyer, then resident at one of the bungalows on the old Hafod Owen site, recalled walking to school with Mary Lewis from one of the Trwyn cottages in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Ben Jones (d. 1937) and his daughter Sadie occupied the farmhouse itself between 1923 and c. 1940. The last electoral register listing for the site is Trwyn Cottage in May 1945, when it was home to Thomas H. and Muriel M. Stephens - they were living at Gnoll Cottage in 1946. The farmhouse was destroyed but the barn remained until the Forestry Commission tore it down in the 1980s.

Today there are only ruins left at the site. Rob Southall posted this photo of the remains of the farmhouse to The Lost Farmsteads of Twmbarlwm & Mynydd Maen Facebook group in 2021:

Mary Thomas, the fasting woman of Tan-yr-allt. Sketched by James Ward (1769-1859) in 1807.

'Fasting girls' were relatively common oddities of the past, and Wales produced more than its fair share. Mary Thomas was different in that her fasting wasn't a temporary wonder or, seemingly, a hindrance to her longevity. After falling deathly ill in her late teens, Mary survived but was confined to bed for the next 70 years where she became something of a tourist attraction as a breathing skeleton.

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Mary was born around 1724 and was presumably a normal child until she fell ill at around the age of seven with "some eruptions like the measles." Although she improved, the illness struck again each year in the sping and fall, during which time she was confined to bed. In her mid to late teens - accounts vary as to her exact age - she was struck by a violent relapse of this illness and was almost given up for dead.

Her Mother supposedly prayed for God to let her live, no matter what, and when Mary finally overcame the fever she was left weakened and bedbound. In her twenties there was some improvement; she could walk, at times, and once travelled to Holywell in hope of a cure. But another relapse at around 27 left her entirely insensible for two and half years.

On recovering her senses, Mary said she thought only a single night had passed. From then until her death in her 80s, Mary was bed-ridden and relied on the charity of friends, neighbours, and visitors who came to look upon her as a curiosity. She went days at a time without any food or drink, and when she did partake it was only in tiny quantities.

For all her problems, and the constant pain she suffered, she remained quick witted and devoutly religious until her death in 1813.

Thomas Pennant (1726-1798), the Welsh travel writer and antiquarian, visited Mary at Tyddyn Bach farm in 1770:

In a former visit (July 18th, 1770) to this place [Barmouth], my curiosity was excited to examine into the truth of a surprising relation of a woman in the parish of Celynin [Llangelynin], who had fasted a most supernatural length of time. I took boat, had a most pleasant passage up the harbour, charmed with the beauty of the shores, intermixed with woods, verdant pastures, and corn fields.

I landed, and, after a short walk, found, in a farm called Tyddyn Bach, the object of my excursion, Mary Thomas, who was boarded here, and kept with great humanity and neatness. She was of the age of forty-seven, of a good countenance, very pale, thin, but not so much emaciated as might be expected, from the strangeness of the circumstances I am going to relate; her eyes weak, her voice low, deprived of the use of her lower extremities, and quite bed-ridden; her pulse rather strong, her intellects clear and sensible.

On examining her, she informed me, that at the age of seven, she had some eruptions like the measles, which grew confluent and universal; and she became so sore, that she could not bear the left touch: she received some ease by the application of a sheep’s skin, just taken from the animal. After this, she was seized, at spring and fall, with swellings and inflammations, during which time she was confined to her bed; but in the intervals could walk about; and once went to Holywell, in hopes of cure.

When she was about twenty-seven years of age, she was attacked with the same complaint, but in a more violent manner; and during two years and a half, remained insensible, and took no manner of nourishment, notwithstanding her friends forced open her mouth with a spoon, to get something down; but the moment the spoon was taken away, her teeth met, and closed with vast snapping and violence: during that time, she flung up vast quantities of blood.

She well remembers the return of her senses, and her knowledge of every body about her. She thought she had slept but a night, and asked her mother whether she had given her any thing the day before, for she found herself very hungry. Meat was brought to her; but so far from being able to take any thing solid, she could scarcely swallow a spoonful of thin whey. From this, she continued seven years and a half without any food or liquid, excepting sufficient of the latter to moisten her lips.

At the end of this period, she again fancied herself hungry, and desired an egg; of which she got down the quantity of a nut kernel. About this time, she requested to receive the sacrament; which she did, by having a crum of bread steeped in the wine. After this, she takes for her daily subsistence a bit of bread, weighing about two penny-weights seven grains, and drinks a wine glass of water: sometimes a spoonful of wine, but frequently abstains whole days from food and liquids.

She sleeps very indifferently: the ordinary functions of nature are very small, and very seldom performed. Her attendant told me, that her disposition of mind was mild; her temper even; that she was very religious, and very fervent in prayer: the natural effect of the state of her body, long unembarrassed with the grossness of food, and a constant alienation of thought from all worldly affairs.

Pennant noted a decade later: "She was living in 1780 and in the same state." And in 1786: "She, at this time (1786), continues in the same situation, and observes the same regimen." For the 1810 edition of his Journey through Wales, Pennant's editor noted: "Mary Thomas is still (Dec. 1809) living, but for some time has taken as much nourishment as could be expected at the advanced age of eighty five years, sixty-five of which she has been confined to her bed. Her intellects are perfectly clear. In 1806 she remembered and spoke with pleasure of Mr Pennant’s visit to Celynin."

This portrait was included with some editions of Pennant's Tour, done by Moses Griffith in 1805.



The Early Tourists in Wales blog has some manuscript quotes from other people who visited Mary.

Walter Davies (aka Gwallter Mechain, 1761-1849), for example, wrote in his journal for July 1804:

"Visited Mary Thomas, mentioned by Mr Pennant in his tour. She says she is in her 80th year. She says she was affected by a paralytic disorder – which confined her for a long time. At 17 she became continually bed ridden – at 22 a slight symptom of restored nature appeared – but soon after a relapse took place – was supported for years by suction (through) from a goose quill, and ever since she has borne the appearance of a mere skeleton, perfectly helpless."

Similarly, Joseph Hawker wrote of Mary during his tour through north Wales with his wife, Elizabeth, in 1812:

"About 2 miles from Barmouth lives an old woman who has been in bed for about 65 years. She took to it when 20 years old being much afflicted with the rheumatism, for the last five years she has subsisted on a glass of water and a thin small slice of bread each week, her knees are drawn almost up to her chin and her hands so thin and transparent that a candle may be seen through them. It is supposed that she does not weight more than 15 pounds."

Welsh artist Edward Pugh (1763-1813) also visited Mary around this time. His painting and account of the visit was published posthumously in 1816 in his book, Cambria Depicta: A Tour Through North Wales.

Leaving Abermaw, or Barmouth, I crossed the ferry, and went to a cottage of David Roberts’s, called, Tan yr Allt, in Llangelynin parish, to visit a very extraordinary old woman, whose name is Mary Thomas. Mr. Pennant mentions her so far back as the year 1770: but as forty years have been added to her lingering existence, she now may be considered as an infinitely greater curiosity.

Her history is precisely this: when at the age of seven or eight years, an eruption, similar to the measles, broke out upon her, which continued to affect her, more or less, at the spring and fall of the year: during this time she kept her bed, and walked out alternately. I questioned her very closely; nevertheless, I perceive that Mr. Pennant’s account of her differs a little from mine, respecting the period of her finally taking to her bed: but this is immaterial, as it might have risen from the circumstance of her frequent confinement.

At one time, relates Mr. Pennant, “she continued more than seven years without any sustenance of any kind, excepting a little liquid, to moisten her mouth.” At the age of fifteen, her complaint returned, with the addition, as it was supposed, of a severe cold, which affected her legs so power fully, as totally to deprive her of their use: consequently she has been bed-ridden from the commencement of the attack. She is now eighty-six years of age, so that seventy-one out of that number have witnessed her pitiable condition.

Once a day she is removed to another bed in the same room, while her own is making. The tendons of the legs are so permanently fixed and contracted, as to bring the os calcis nearly in contact with the os-sacrum, thus debarring her, at once, of the possibility of extending her limbs, as well as of the power of walking. Having passed so many years, suffering under the influence of the greatest pains, which have baffled the skill and the experience of the faculty in the country, added to the want of such indulgencies as soften the asperities of life, she is reduced to a mere skeleton.

The colour of her countenance is pale brown, and her eyes a deep jet, as is also her hair. Her food is bread and milk, of which she takes but a few penny-weights in quantity, and that but once a day. It has been observed, lately, that she eats more than she used to do, but this has not occasioned, as we might be led to suppose, a renovation of health: the reverse is her experience; for she seldom feels a cessation from sickness, and her sleep is uneasy and disturbed. Mary has lately lost the use of one eye, though its decay was not observable to me.

Her recollection is exquisitely strong, and her hearing so quick, that she can hear an out-of-door conversation a considerable distance off. She is so susceptible of cold, that it has been judged necessary to put fire in an iron pot, which is placed in bed with her, but so well secured, as to prevent the least danger by accident, or at all prove a molestation to her.

Until very lately she had for many years habituated herself to the singular practice of kneading and baking her own bread. A large dish was placed on the bed by her side, upon which she contrived to knead and form her paste: this was replaced by a tripod wooden stool reversed, which received an iron kettle, full of fire; upon this was also placed an iron pan or plate with the shapened dough; and thus, in due time, she would produce an excellent loaf.

Her singular history brings a number of visitors from all parts to see her, particularly the English nobility and gentry, when on their excursions through this country. I am concerned to state that my efforts to learn the name of a nobleman, whose benevolence has made him highly respected here, have proved abortive. He saw this poor object, felt for her, and with a munificence that will do his lordship everlasting honour, sent her necessaries of different descriptions, to the value of fifty pounds.

Some time since, his Royal Highness Prince William Henry of Gloucester honoured her with a visit: she seemed highly pleased with the idea of having beheld the King’s nephew, and that the royal visitor should have condescended to enter her humble habitation; and she spoke of the prince with a heart fraught with gratitude.

No one having ever published her portrait, she readily permitted me to take her likeness; and I have been so successful, that the accuracy of it may be depended upon.

It has been asserted by some people, that Mary Thomas is an artful woman; that her illness has been feigned, to deceive the charitable stranger; and that her abstinence by day, is compensated by her voluptuous appetite being amply satisfied at night; and this was even told me by a gentleman in the neighbourhood. Is it not surprising, that people will so far suffer prejudice to get the better of their understanding, as to deny the truth of an extraordinary operation of Providence, for no other reason than that it appears unaccountable to them?

Is it likely, or can it be believed for a moment, that a gay, young, and sprightly girl, at the artless age of fifteen, could have the courage to adopt an austere, rigid way of life: a mode of existence so shocking, that the very soul would naturally revolt from it?—that she would abandon her companions, and those innocent pastimes and pleasures, so congenial to youthful constitutions; and that she would, without premeditation, instantly forego the vast gradation of delights which youth are so apt to picture to themselves, as flowing through life, for the bitter potion of a perpetual imprisonment, and exclusion from all the happiness and comforts attached to liberty and ease? Such a supposition is an egregious absurdity, broached by ignorant and unfeeling minds, without the slightest foundation of truth or probability.

The day I saw this woman, these insinuations were fully and satisfactorily refuted by Mrs. Thomas of Llanegrin, who, twenty-five years ago, lived in the same house with her, when a similar report was in circulation: but which Mrs. T. declares to have been utterly void of truth; as such a circumstance as that of her getting up at night for refreshment, or of any such being conveyed to her, must infallibly have been attended with discovery, which never took place.

Peter Roberts (1760-1819), author of the 1815 book Cambrian Antiquities, was unable to visit Mary himself so enlisted the help of a friend. He wrote:

MARY THOMAS, THE FASTING WOMAN, NEAR DOLGELLEY.

Of the various affections of the physical system of the human body, there is, perhaps, no one which excites more curiosity, or more difficult to explain, than that by which life is continued for many years, without the degree of sustenance upon which, except in a very few instances, the continuation of life is known to depend. That it should appear supernatural to the ignorant is not surprising, when to the most learned and ingenious it presents a phenomenon, the possibiliy of which has frequently been doubted; and as to which, so much investigation has been thought necessary to ascertain the fact.

In cases of such rare occurrence, it is of importance to the natural history of man, and may be so to medical science, to collect as many particulars as can be obtained; and, therefore, though the present instance has been noticed by Mr. Pennant long ago, it will not be useless to describe the state of the same person now after so long an interval. [Pennant's Account]

Not having been able to see this wo-man myself, I requested a friend who had the opportunity of calling upon her to do so, and transmit an account of her to me. This he very obligingly has done as follows : —

Dear Sir, August 31, 1812.

I had not much difficulty in finding out the subject of your inquiry, as she is lodged in a cottage on the road between Dolgelley and Ynysfaig. Her name is Mary Thomas, and she is eighty-seven years of age, since Epiphany last (in Welsh Ystwyll), a favourite date of our countrymen.

Her first appearance was, to me, frightful enough, as her features are peculiarly large, and the skin of her face is lank or leathery, and pallid. The ears, eyebrows, and mouth, are all prominent; indeed, the head altogether seems larger than that of any other I ever noticed, at that time of life. Her mental powers are tolerably good, and particularly so at her age. She says, that she was born free from any natural defect, and continued until ten years old in good health, when she had a very dangerous fever, which left her afflicted in her limbs.

About her twentieth year she was taken by her parents to Holywell, for the recovery of her health; but returned without any benefit. She was about forty years of age, I believe, when she commenced her fasting life, and for ten years, she says, she took no nourish- ment; but had her lips occasionally wetted with sugar and water. This state of her life was called by the country people, Gweledigaeth, or 'Trance'; but I did not find that she remembered any thing particular during its continuance. The first solid morsel she ate upon her restoration, she remembers receiving from the hands of Mr. Lloyd, the clergyman of the parish. Since her return from Holywell she has ever been bed-ridden; though frequently removed from one house to another.

Her present sustenance is a shilling loaf of the finest bread per week, taken in ale, of which also she has a shilling's worth weekly. She is nearly double in bed, and her arms are nothing but skin and bone. She has been for these many long years supported by the parish of Cylynin, at the rate of two shillings per week. Besides this, however, she has received a good deal from her curious visitors, particularly in the summer season. The family of Arthog, which is close by, is also very charitable to her.

I do not find that she belongs to any particular religious sect, but many good neighbours often read religious books to her, with which she is much pleased. I must not omit a report of the neighbours, that, during the early fever of which I spoke above, she was, at one time, supposed to be dead, at which time her mother earnestly exclaimed, in a wish to God, to have her any how restored to her, and in this condition she has remained. I remarked, that she has a strong desire to represent herself as a wonder. The people of the house know not when, or how much at a time, she eats, as she helps herself at pleasure from a box within her reach.

To this account I have only to add, that this woman died last year, viz. 1813.

The North Wales Gazette of February 4th 1813 reported on her death:



Mary was buried on the 7th January 1813, with a note in the parish burial register that she had been confined to her bed for upwards of 65 years.

Peter Roberts (1760 - 1819) was born in Denbighshire, raised in Wrexham, then studied at the University of Dublin. Roberts later became a private tutor and a prolific writer on antiquarian subjects. His 1815 work, Cambrian Popular Antiquities, alongside thoughts on Druids, Holy wells and King Arthur, included sections on various superstitions and folkloric beliefs, along with the inevitable translations of Gerald of Wales.

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CANWYLL Y CORPH; OR CORPSE-CANDLE

In many parts of Wales it is frequently asserted, that either previous to, or nearly at, the time of the decease of some persons, a light somewhat like that of a candle, is seen in or near the house, and that it sometimes is observed to go from thence to the churchyard. As this appearance is supposed to be supernatural; it is to some too much* an object of terror, and to others too much that of ridicule, to suffer them to pay any particular attention to the cause; which, in all probability, might, however, be discovered to be simple and natural, and of the same kind with that of the Jack-a-lantern, or Will-o'-the-wisp.

The latter is known to arise from a peculiar gas, or mixture of gasses which proceed from the earth, mostly where coal abounds, and are phosphoretic, and kindled by the atmospheric air or the breath. In the latter case, the Will-o'-the-wisp appears to go on before the person, being sustained by the breath. The corpse-candle appears to be precisely in the same way kindled and directed in its course, and probably arises from the effluvia of a body already in an incipient state of putrescence. It would, therefore, be worthy of philosophic observation, whether it is not always, when it does appear, to be traced to a body in such a state.

In cases of cancer, a halo has, in more than one instance, been seen around the head of the patient when at the point of death, which is justly to be attributed to such a cause; and, in like manner, other phenomena peculiar to such a time, may be rationally accounted for; such as the birds of prey flapping their wings against the windows, they being attracted by the effluvia; and the ringing of bells in the house, probably occasioned by the extrication of some electric principle after death, when putrescence commences.

In South Wales another appearance is generally affirmed to take place before the death of some noted person, viz., a coffin and burial train are seen to go from the neighbourhood of the house, in the dead of night, towards the churchyard. Sometimes a hearse and mourning-coaches form the cavalcade, and move in gloomy silence in such a direction; not a footstep is heard, as they proceed along the public roads, and even through the towns, and the terrors of the few who happen to see them are spread over the whole neighbourhood.

Of these appearances, the causes are, probably, artificial; and Lear's idea, of shoeing a troop of horse with felt, may be, in these instances, more than imaginary. They seem to be a remainder of those means by which the persecuted Druids performed their rites, transacted business, and eluded observation, under covert of superstitious fears excited in all around them. The investigation of the causes do not, therefore, come within the inquiries of the philosopher; they may, probably, with propriety, be referred to those of the revenue officers, as best able to give a satisfactory explanation and dispel all the apprehensions concerning them.

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POPULAR TRADITIONS

Not far from Dolgellau upon the road to Machynlleth are three large stones called the three pebbles. The tradition concerning these is, that the giant Idris, whose residence was on Cadair Idris, finding them troublesome in his shoe as he was walking, threw them down there. In Mr. Theophilus Jones's entertaining and useful History of Brecknockshire, there is this account of a similar circumstance,

"Under the corrupted name of Moll Walbee, we have her castles on every eminence, and her feats are traditionally narrated in every parish. She built, (say the gossips) the castle of Hay in one night; the stones for which she carried in her apron. While she was thus employed, a small pebble, of about nine feet long, and one thick, dropped into her shoe: this she did not at first regard; but, in a short time, finding it troublesome, threw it over the Wye into Llowes churchyard, in Radnoreshire (about three miles off), where it remains to this day, precisely in the position it fell; a stubborn memorial of the historical fact, to the utter confusion of all sceptics and unbelievers."

This Moll Walbee is, by the gossips of Brecknockshire, supposed to have been the same as Maud of St. Waverley, or Maud de Haia, who built Hay-castle, and, as Maud was detested by the Welsh, they may have given her the title of a fury; but the part of the tradition relative to the pebble, and building castles, must be of much higher antiquity, as in many places of North Wales, where there are heaps of rude stones, a witch is said to have carried them thither in her apron; and, as these stones generally have formed parts af enclosures, the original name was, perhaps, Mulaen y Walfa, or The Fury of the Enclosure, as the ignorant frequently attribute structures, which have any thing formidable and astonishing in their appearance, to the work of evil spirits.

ROLLDRITCH. The popular traditions as to monuments of very remote antiquity, are frequently amusing, and even the apparent absurdity becomes occasionally a key to the truth. As in the preceding instance, a fury, or witch, had the credit of displaying her wonderful powers, so also, at Rolldritch, upon inquiry, I found the popular tradition to be, that a witch, in revenge for some offence, had turned the offenders into the stones which form the circle there. Rhiwyldrech would signify, the Circle of Superiority, or Victory, and hence, if captives were sacrificed to Malaen, when they were brought into the circle, the stones might be considered as forming the fatal circle of her power; and as they were the monuments of destruction, the idea of the transformation of the captives might arise from some ambiguous expression.

Another tradition relative to the circle at Rolldritch is, that the number of stones in the circle cannot be reckoned truly, for that in reckoning them a second time, the number will be found different from that of the first; a tradition which intimates; that the place was once used for rites of an awful superstition wich confounded the senses.

CADAIR IDRIS. Idris, or Edris, is recorded in the Triads, as one of the three great astronomers of antiquity, and, as of remote times, and conspicuous celebrity, is dignified by the name of Cawr, that is, the Hero, or, as applied to him, more properly the Re- nowned. Whether it were, that elevated mountains, as affording an extensive horizon, and a station of apparent proximity to the heavens, induced the multitude to imagine they must be the best adapted to astronomical pursuits to transfer the names of celebrated astronomers to the mountains may be questionable.

A more probable reason is, that, as in order to discover the first appearance of the new moon, which was a point of great importance to the due celebration of festivals as well as to the formation of a calendar, that appearance was looked for from the highest elevations, such were on these occasions resorted to by the astronomers. And, for this purpose, Cadair Idris is most admirably appropriate. The commanding view, and magnificent extent of horizon, which the summit, easily attainable, affords, would be equally advantageous and interesting. On this summit a roadish enclosure of stone walling marks what is called, the Cadair, or Chair, to which tradition assigns a power of affecting the imagination at night, far beyond what all the romantic and sublime scenery which the day illumines, can aspire to.

He who sleeps upon this summit for one might, will, it is said, be endowed with a poetic genius; and the late Rev. Evan Evans, author of the Dissertatio de Bardis, did, as I have been assured by one who was well acquainted with him, once try the experiment. But poor Evans did not want genius. Could he have been endowed with a more patient sufferance and a calmer mind, the gift would have been a blessing. The experiment itself was one of those symptomatic whims, which like the flickering of an expiring fame, mark the morbid state, and sometimes presage the total loss of the powers of the understanding. The latter he happily escaped, but to the former, I believe, he was, in no small degree subject, for many of the last years of his life. His genius soon gave him reputation, and, as it is but too common, his hopes were at first two much raised, and, not being aware, perhaps, that estimation, and the encouragement he looked to are seldom closely allied, though the latter may follow in time; his disappointment, which should have urged him to prudent industry, preyed upon his mind till he fell into negligence of himself; though his favourite pursuits of poetry and Welsh researches were continued till he died with an ardour deserving of a better fate.

When the astronomer Idris was celebrated as an ancient cawr, the term in its popular signification being a giant, the tales of the neighbourhood did not fail to amplify his size to the proper imaginary dimensions, or to give an idea of it, not, indeed, as the Greeks, by an ex pede Herculem, but by the three pebbles, which, being rather troublesome in his shoe as he was walking, he threw out of it nearly to the place where they now lie, on the road to Machynlleth. Very troublesome they are not to be supposed to have been to the giant, as they would only weigh a few tons. They are, however, large enough for a nursery computation of the giant's stature.

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OMENS AND PREDICTIONS

In common with every other nation, a regard for omens and predictions, has been very prevalent amongst the Welsh; but that for omens is now almost forgotten, except in a few retired situations; and the omens themselves, when attended to, differed little from those of their neighbours, and, therefore, need no particular description. With respect to predictions, it is far otherwise; as it might be expected in a nation which, for so many years, was encouraged to maintain the contest for its rights, by the predictions handed down from age to age, as those of infallible prophets, some of whom, probably, were Druids.

After the happy termination of that contest, the attention to the ancient prophecies, no longer of importance than as subjects of curiosity, has been suspended; or rather diverted to other predictions which have nothing but the confidence of imposture to recommend them. A fortune-teller, or astrologer, is resorted to by the ignorant; when anxiety as to the future, is excited whether by hopes or fears, to learn what may be gained, or to recover what has been lost; and the power the impostors have over some minds, is sometimes prodigious.

It cannot, however, be thought very strange, that they should find such credit in Wales, when, even in the metropolis of the kingdom, pretences of a similar kind, have not long ago drawn crowds of visitors, solicitous as to their destiny. Whatever may be the degree of information attributed to the age, this is no favourable symptom as to its religious state, for a belief in fatalism is too frequently the consequence of a dereliction of the hope and dependence which religion inspires.

Death premonitions come in all shapes and sizes - here is a particularly tragic one from 1879...

The Monmouthshire Merlin for 24th January 1879 reported:

CAERPHILLY, AN ICE ACCIDENT

On Saturday morning the little town of Carphilly was in a state of excitement with the sad news that a young lad, about 14 years of age, named Daniel Desmond, was missing from home all Friday night.

A boy found his cap at Pen Capel Pond, just above the town, and it was found that the lad had fallen through the ice. The body was got out about half-past mine o'clock on Saturday morning.

What makes poor Daniel's death was weird was the extra information reported in the Pontypool Free Press and Herald of the Hills of 25th January 1879:

CAERPHILLY ICE ACCIDENT.

Last Friday, a good looking Irish Catholic lad named Daniel Desmond, 14 years of age, left home about mid-day, and as he did not return in the evening, his parents became alarmed, and a search was at once made for the missing boy. It was known that he had gone to slide on a small, but rather deep pond near Pen-Capel-Farm.

Unfortunately there seems to have been no one there except himself, when some newly formed ice on to which he had got (judging from the marks) gave way, and he was drowned. The body was not recovered until Saturday morning, although the lad's cap was found the same evening.

An inquest was held on Monday by Mr E. B. Reece, when the jury' returned a verdict of "Accidental death through drowning." The jurymen, on the suggestion of Mr Wright, their foreman, very considerately gave the fees to the poor lad's sorrowing parents, who are in rather straightened circumstances.

Singularly enough Daniel had dreamt the night before that he was drowning in this. pond, and had related the dream to his parents all breakfast time.

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Daniel was born in 1864 to Julia (b. 1831) and James Desmond (b. 1819). They emigrated to Wales from Ireland some time before 1857 and on the 1861 census were living at Graig, Whitchurch, with three children: Bridget (b. 1857), Mary (b. 1859), and Joseph (b. 1861).

On the 1871 census the family were living at Dwyar Anwyl in Whitchurch. In addition to Julia and James, who was working as a labourer, there was: Mary Jane (b. 1859), Joseph (b. 1861), Julia (b. 1862), Daniel (b. 1864), James (b. 1866), and John (b. 1868).

The press reports of Daniel's inquest said the family were in "straightened circumstances" and, following his death, the situation only went from bad to worse. I think Joseph also died in late 1879, Julia at the beginning of 1880, and James Senior definitely at some point before the 1881 census.

On the 1881 census the family were listed as living at Eglwysilan on Caerphilly Mountain. In addition to the widowed Julia, living at home were: Mary, James, plus grandchildren George (b. 1876) and Margaret (b. 1879). (There may actually have been more but the census page is damaged...)

The Cardiff Times of July 29th 1882 reported on a meeting of the Pontypridd Rural Sanitary Authority, at which the family were mentioned:

Mr John Evans, surveyor, reported that a Mrs Desmond, a widow, relief-recipient, her children, &c., occupied an old cottage on the side of Caerphilly Mountain, which was in so delapidated a condition that he would consider it crueity to animals to allow pigs to be kept there. The property belonged to the Marquis of Bute. - The authority directed Mr Spickett, the clerk, to communicate with Mr Corbett, Lord Bute's agent, on the subject.

Later that year local newspapers reported that James Desmond was fined 5s at the late November petty sessions for throwing fireworks in the streets at Caerphilly on November 4th. I think James died in 1886.

I also found this piece in the Cardiff Times for February 2nd 1884 which is possibly referring to George Desmond, Daniel's nephew:

CAERPHILLY. On Tuesday at the police court - before Mr Henry Williams (chairman) and Dr. John Llewellyn - a young man named Thomas England was charged with assaulting a boy named George Desmond, on the 10th of December, and was fined 2s 6d including costs.

On the 1891 census the remaining Desmonds were still living at Eglwysilan - Julia, George (now a 14-year-old coal miner), and their lodger Ellen Murmail (b. 1812). I think THIS might be the correct Mary, working as a charwoman and lodging at 7 Rodney Street in Cardiff.

In 1901 Julia and Mary, listed as a charwoman, were living together at Appartments House, 1 Mill Road, Caerphilly.

From Thomas Crofton Croker's 'Fairy Legends of Wales', included in his third volume of Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, first published in 1828...

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In one of the most secluded parts of the principality may be seen the ruins of an ancient fortress, called Castell Owen Lawgoch, from the name of the chieftain, Owen Lawgoch, or Owen of the Bloody Hand, by whom it was once occupied, and who is believed to be at this moment, together with all his warriors, in a state of enchanted sleep in the vaults under the castle*; and in confirmation of this belief, the following story was related by Thomas ap Rhys as having occurred not many years ago:

It happened that as a Welshman was one day sauntering among the ruins of Castle Owen Lawgoch, he discovered an opening which seemed to lead to some subterraneous passage. Having removed the obstructions caused by the ivy and the rubbish about the entrance, he managed to creep in. To his surprise he found that this passage led to others of considerable length, and curiosity induced him to explore further, until he suddenly came into a vaulted hall of vast extent, in which he beheld an immense multitude of warriors clad in armour, lying upon their arms fast asleep.

This unexpected sight completely checked his curiosity; and, quite satisfied that he had proceeded far enough, he hastened to return before his intrusion should be discovered: but as he turned himself round to depart rather incautiously, he unfortunately struck his foot against something which he did not perceive in the dim light, but which seemed to consist of arms piled up together, and they fell with a tremendous clang; whereupon all the warriors started up from their sleep, and grasping their arms, exclaimed, "A ydyw hi'n ddydd? a ydyw hi'n ddydd?" (Is it day? Is it day?)

But the intruder, with the most admirable presence of mind, answered, "Nagyw, nagyw, cysgwch etto," (No, no, sleep again;) when they all immediately laid themselves down, and fell fast asleep as before, where they still are, waiting the signal which is to awaken them.

Another legend says, that it is in a cavern under a hill that the chieftain, Owen Lawgoch, with his thousand warriors, lie in a state of enchanted sleep, waiting for the time to arrive when they are to be awakened in order to oppose a hostile army which they shall meet at the ford of Rhyd goch arddy faych, and at Llyn pent y Weyrd; and that the destinies of Britain depend on the valour and success of the awakened warriors.

This hill is said to be the scene of a very extraordinary appearance, concerning which, an old man of the neighbourhood related the following story: Whoever stands at the distance of a mile or two from the hill may perceive upon its summit a fine large yew tree; but should you attempt to approach the spot, you will find that the yew tree has vanished. If you retreat again to a short distance, you will plainly see the tree as before.

It happened that a shepherd lad being one day upon this hill, wanted a walking-stick, and perceiving a hazle tree near him, he cut it for that purpose. In a short time afterwards he became tired of his pastoral occupation, and he resolved upon leaving home, and seeking his fortune in some other line of life. He set out accordingly, and as he was journeying on he met a stranger of noble appearance, who looked very earnestly at him, and at the hazle stick which he had in his hand. At length he spoke to him and said,

"Young man, where did you get that stick? Can you show me the very spot?"

"I can, sir," replied the poor Welsh boy.

"And will you?" inquired the stranger in an earnest manner.

"Most readily would I," said the boy, "if I was near it."

The stranger then offered to pay all the expenses of the journey, and to reward him for his trouble. The boy agreed to the proposal, and they accordingly set off together and arrived at the very root of the tree. The boy then stopped and said, "This, sir, is the root of the hazle stick which I hold in my hand." The stranger then desired him to look under it, and that he would find a trap-door which would admit him into a vaulted passage; that this passage would lead him into an apartment in which numbers of armed warriors lay asleep, and that at its entrance he would find a rope conducting him to it.

"But," said he, "press gently on this rope, for it is attached to a bell, which, if rung, will arouse the warriors and their chieftain; who, if he be wakened, will ask, 'Is it day?' Should this be the case, mind and answer quickly 'No!' In this apartment," he continued, 'there is a vast quantity of gold, concealed under a pile of arms; and this gold I want you to bring away. Be cautious, and remember what I have told you."

The lad, after some little hesitation, obeyed: he found the trap-door, descended, and arrived at the apartment described by his companion. There he beheld the warriors lying on their arms asleep; and near the chieftain was the pile of arms which concealed the heap of gold. The intrepid lad approached to seize it, and was in the very act, when down fell the arms with a fearful clang, and up started Owen Lawgoch, who stretched out his hand, which was as large as a shield, and cried out with a voice that pealed like thunder, "A ydyw hi'n ddydd? A ydyw hi'n ddydd?" (Is it day? Is it day?); whereupon all the armed men were aroused, and reiterated the same question.

The young Welshman with great coolness replied, "Nagyw, nagyw, cysgwch etto" (No, no, sleep again); when they all composed themselves to sleep again. The lad then secured as much gold as he could carry, and returned with it to the entrance of the cavern, where he delivered it to the stranger, who desired him to descend again and bring up the remainder, promising him a handsome share of it. Upon this second attempt, he found neither rope nor hall, nor warriors nor treasure and after much toil and fear, he found his way back to the trap-door; but his companion had fled for ever, and he never even heard of him afterwards.

The cavern, like the yew tree on the mountain, has ever since been in a state of Dygel (invisibility), and no one from that time has disturbed the enchanted sleep of Owen Lawgoch and his steel-clad warriors.

From Thomas Crofton Croker's 'Fairy Legends of Wales', included in his third volume of Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, first published in 1828. The story was collected by a female correspondent in Glamorganshire, who heard the tale from Davidd Shone. It concerns Rhys ap Morgan, a farm servant from Llwyn a Ffynon, who was enticed away to a fairy dance for a year. After his rescue he soon sickened and died...

About seventy years ago, there were two farmer's servants living at Llwyn y Ffynon: I knew them both well. They were returning from their work one fine evening at twilight, and driving their little mountain ponies before them, weary with having toiled all day, carrying lime for their master's use. When they came down into a smooth plain, one of the men, named Rhys ap Morgan, suddenly halted.

"Stop," said he to his companion, Llewellyn, "do stop, and listen to that enchanting music; that's a tune I've danced to a hundred times. I cannot resist it now. Go, follow the horses ; I must find out the musicians, and have my dance; and if I don't overtake you before you reach home, take the panniers off the horses. I'll be with you presently."

"Music in such a spot," replied Llewellyn, "in such a lonely place! What can you be dreaming of? I hear no music; and how should you? Come, come, no nonsense; come home with me."

He might have spared himself the trouble of this remonstrance, for away went Rhys ap Morgan, leaving Llewellyn to pursue his homeward journey alone. He arrived safely, untacked the little horses, completed his day's work by despatching an ample supper, and was retiring to rest without any anxiety about his companion, Rhys, who, he supposed in his own mind, had made this music a pretence to go to the alehouse, which was five miles off. For, reasoned Llewellyn to himself, how could there be the sound of music in that lonely spot, remote from any dwelling?

The next morning, when he found that Rhys was still missing, he reluctantly told their master that he must have assistance to attend the horses, for that Rhys was not yet returned. This alarmed the farmer and his family, for Rhys was a very steady fellow, and had never before played the truant, although he was notoriously fond of dancing. Llewellyn was questioned and cross-examined as to where he had parted from him, and how, and why, and all about it; but to no one could he give what was considered to be a satisfactory answer. He said that music had allured him, and that he had left him to join the dancers.

"Did you hear the music?" inquired his master.

Llewellyn replied that he had not; whereupon it was resolved that the alehouse should be searched, and that he should be sought for everywhere. But it was all to no purpose; no information was received of him; there had been no dance in the whole country round; not a sound of music had met the ear of any one; and, in fine, not the slightest trace of the lost servant could be made out.

At length, after a strict but fruitless inquiry, suspicion fell on Llewellyn. It was supposed by some that he must have quarrelled with Rhys on their way home, and perhaps had murdered him. Llewellyn thus accused, was taken up and confined on suspicion. He vehemently protested his innocence, although he could give no clear account of the affair; and things remained thus for a year, when a farmer in the neighbourhood, who had some experience in fairy customs, shrewdly suspected how the matter stood, and suggested, that he and several others should accompany Llewellyn Walter to the very spot, and at the very same time where he said that he had parted from Rhys ap Morgan. This proposition was agreed to, and when they arrived at the spot, which was green as the mountain-ash (Cerdin), Llewellyn stopped.

"This is the very spot," said he, "and, hush! I hear music; melodious harps I hear."

We all listened, for I was one of them; but we heard nothing.

"Put your foot on mine, Davidd," said Llewellyn, whose foot was at that moment upon the outward edge of the fairy circle. I did so, and all the party did the same in succession, and we all instantly heard the sound of many harps in full concert, and saw, within a circle of twenty feet in diameter, countless numbers of little figures, the size of children of three or four years old, enjoying themselves vastly. They were going round and round the ring with hands joined. I did not perceive any varied figures in their dance; but as they were going round, we saw Rhys ap Morgan among them. Llewellyn at once seized hold of his smock frock, and twitched him out of the circle, taking great care himself not to overstep the edge of their ring; for once you are inside it, you lose all power over yourself, and become their property.

"Where are the horses? Where are the horses?" said Rhys impatiently.

"Where are the horses, indeed," said Llewellyn, "where have you been? Come, answer for yourself, and account for your conduct. Clear my character, which your absence has cast the reproach of murder upon."

"What stuff you talk, Llewellyn! go, follow the horses, my good fellow, while I finish my dance; for I have not yet been above five minutes dancing. I never enjoyed a dance like this; oh let me return to the dance," said Rhys.

"Five minutes!" repeated the enraged Llewellyn. "You must explain the cause of your absence for this whole year. This foolish talk of yours about five minutes won't answer for me; so, come you must."

He took him by main force. To all our questions he could say nothing, but that he had only been absent from the horses five minutes, and that he was dancing very pleasantly; but of the people with whom he was he could give no account whatever; they were strangers to him, he said. He could answer no questions as to what he had eaten, or where he had slept, or who had clothed him; for he was in the same dress as when he disappeared, and he seemed in a very desponding way; he became, 'sad, sullen, and silent,' and soon took to his bed, when he died.

"And," continued the narrator of the tale," the morning after we had found Rhys, we went to examine the scene of this extraordinary adventure, and we found the edge of the ring quite red, as if trodden down, and I could see the marks of little heels, the size of my thumb-nails." He repeatedly compared the size of the heels to his thumb nail.

(Croker used an asterisk to note: It is almost needless to point out the similarity between this and the Scotch tradition, related from Stewart, in the Brother Grimm's Essay, at p. 16 of this volume. There is an ancient Welsh ballad called "The Old Man of the Wood," in which like The Adventures of Porsenna, alluded to in the first volume of this work, at p. 303, second edition, years roll away as moments.)

---

There's a Llwyn y Ffynon farm in Gwynedd but, given the collator's location, it's probably more likely it was in or around Glamorganshire. Google brought up a farm in Glyncorrwg that is now better known as Willow Springs, for example. Anyway, if David's story were true, the events would have taken place c. 1755. No obvious candidates abound...

---

David Shone then related another event he had been involved with:

"I lived as a servant in a farm-house in Ystrad-fellta, where a young woman, named Polly Shone Rhys Shone, was in the habit of coming to sew. She was employed in the neighbourhood as a sempstress. Well, it happened that I was coming home one night with William Watkin, a fellow-servant, and we perceived a light coming to meet us, which we soon discovered to be a corpse-candle.

I cautioned my companion not to stand in its way (knowing the danger of such temerity), but, said I, "follow my instructions; station yourself here with me;" and we placed ourselves upon a bridge over a brook, through which the road passed, and we lay down and turned our faces towards the water, and there we clearly saw the reflection of Polly Shone Rhys Shone, bearing the corpse-candle upon the ring-finger of her right hand, and the other hand over the light, as if to protect it from the wind.

We remained motionless in this position until the reflection vanished, and then we walked home sad and sorrowful; although we could not believe that it was Polly; for what should she do in that church-yard? That was not her burying-place. But, however, sad thoughts we had, although we said nothing on our return, though repeatedly questioned why we looked so mournful. In a week after we heard that poor Polly had been suddenly taken off, and her corpse passed that very road, to be buried in that same church-yard."

(Croker noted: The Welsh, like the Irish, are singularly attached to the burial-place of their family, and adhere to the spot where their forefathers were laid with an extraordinary tenacity. A labourer will request to be carried to the grave of his ancestors, though his death-bed may be fifty miles distant. Every Easter, Whitsuntide, and Christmas the relatives of the departed are busy white-washing the head and foot-stones, and planting flowers on the graves: they also listen at the church-door in the dark, when they sometimes fancy they hear the names called over in church of those who are destined shortly to join their lost relatives in the tomb.)

---

Finally, David related a story that had been passed down by his mother, who had been told it by some unknown third party:

My mother, once upon a time, was in the habit of receiving money from the fairies; and near our house there was a well, and near it a green spot, celebrated for being the scene of many fairy exploits. Whenever my mother went to the well, she would find upon the stone, above the water- spout, a new half guinea. Once I was bargaining about a pig, and my mother, to prevent farther contention, brought her little bag of gold forward, and gave me a new half guinea. I was frightened when I saw a poor woman like my mother possessed of so much money, and I entreated she would tell me how she came by it.

"Honestly," said she; "I remember the very word."

"Oh, mother," said I, "tell me where you got it; to whom would you trust your secret, if you do not confide in your only son?"

"Well, if I must, I must," said my mother. She then told me, and most unfortune, poor woman, for her was the disclosure; for from that moment the donation ceased. Often did she attend the well; but, alas! in vain. Not a farthing did she find from that time."

---

David got another mention in the section on Cwn Annwn (hellhounds): "I interrogated Davidd Shone," says the lady from whose inquiries the compiler has derived so much assistance, "respecting the various signs he had witnessed preceding death. He seems to be quite experienced in them, and well acquainted with every description; he has himself heard and seen more than most people. He has heard the Kyhirraeth (groans) and the Cwn Annwn (little dogs that howl in the air with a wild sort of lamentation): one of them, he says, fell on a tombstone once, but no one ever found him. He has also heard a little bird called Aderin y Corff which chirps at the door of the person who is to die, and makes a noise that resembles in Welsh the word come, come.' Who ever is thus called must attend the summons."

From Thomas Crofton Croker's 'Fairy Legends of Wales', included in his third volume of Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, first published in 1828. The story was collected by a female correspondent in Glamorganshire, who heard the tale from Shone Tomos Shone Rhytherch, aka John Jones, aka 'Cobbler Jig' of Aberpergwm. First comes the tale of young Gitto, a boy who was abducted for two years by the fairies, though he believed he had been with them only a single night. Then Jones relates his own fairy sightings, and those of his friend, Morgan Gwillim...



"Don't talk to me, you silly young things — don't provoke an old man, now upwards of ninety years of age, by saying there were no fairies in Wales. If your great grandfather was alive, he would confirm every word of what I say. 'Tis of what I saw, I speak, and will speak, while I have breath. I tell you that fairies were to be seen in the days of my youth by the thousand, and I have seen them myself a hundred times. Indeed, when I was a boy, it was dangerous to leave children in their cradles, without some one to watch them; so common was it for the fairies to steal them away.

There was poor Howel, Merodydd Shone Morgan's family; what trouble they had when they lived on the Rhos, in the Creinant, when Gitto Bach was stolen away. Gitto was a fine boy, and would often ramble alone to the top of the mountain to look at his father's sheep; and when he returned, he would show his brothers and sisters a number of pieces, the size of crowns, with letters stamped upon them, and resembling them exactly, only that they were made of a peculiarly white paper. When asked where he had found them, he would say, 'The little children with whom I play on the mountain give them me:' he always called them the little children.

At length, one day, poor little Gitto was missing. The whole neighbourhood was in a commotion. Search was made; but no little Gitto was heard of: two years elapsed, and the still desponding mother received no other intelligence, than in fresh cause of alarm for the safety of her other children. For they took to wandering on the mountains, and from one or two excursions they had returned with coins resembling those which had been given to Gitto previous to his disappearance; whereupon the family became doubly vigilant in watching these children, and the cottage-door was cautiously secured with bars and bolts.

One morning, as the mother opened the door, what should she see but little Gitto sitting on the threshold, with a bundle under his arm? He was the very same size, and apparently the same age, and dressed in the same little ragged dress, as on the day of his departure from the Rhos.

"My child!" said the astonished and delighted mother, "where have you been this long, long while?"

"Mother," said Gitto, "I have not been long away; it was but yesterday that I was with you. Look what pretty clothes I have in this bundle, given to me yesterday by the little children on the mountain, for dancing with them while they played on their harps."

The mother opened the bundle; it contained a dress of very white paper, without seam or sewing. She very prudently burnt it immediately, having ascertained that it was given him by the fairies.

"This extraordinary occurrence," continued the narrator, interested me much, and made me more anxious than ever to see the fairies; and as I was walking one evening with my companion Davidd Rhys, near Pant Owns, above the Dinas Rock, we met a gipsy, and conversed with her. I expressed to her my great desire to see the fairies."

"Ah, Shone," said she, "it is not to every one it is given to see the good people; but I have the power, and can dispense it to you, if you follow my directions. Go and find a clover with four leaves (meillionen pedair ddalen), and bring nine grains of wheat, and put them on this leaf, in this book;" handing me a book which she took out of her pocket. I did as the gipsy told me.

"Now," said she, "Shone, meet me by moonlight tomorrow night on the top of Craig y Dinas."



I did so. She took a phial, and washed my eyes with its contents; and as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw at a short distance thousands of little people all in white, dancing in a circle to the sound of at least a score of harps. After dancing for some time, they left the circle, and formed a line on the brow of the hill; the one next the precipice squatted down, clasped her hands under her knees, and tumbled, tumbled, tumbled, head-over-heels, head-over-heels, all the way down the hill; the rest all following her example, until they were lost in the dark wood of the valley beneath.

After this adventure, I was in the habit of seeing them continually. And you, Morgan Gwillim (Morgan was sitting in an arm-chair opposite the narrator), in your younger days, you saw the fairies as well as I.

"Oh, that I'll swear to, although I never took an oath in my life," replied Morgan. "I have seen them on the Varteg (Kil Hepsta), and by Cylepsta Waterfall, and by Sewyd yr Rhyd, in Cwm Pergwm; and I once saw them, and I never saw them to such perfection, as when I stood between the cascade and the rock, over which it fell; I could at that moment see them distinctly glittering in all the colours of the rainbow, and hear their music softly blending with the murmur of the waterfall. After enjoying themselves here for some time, they all proceeded into a small cave, which they had made in the rock, where they seemed to be exceedingly amused, laughing, and having a great deal of merriment: then they ascended the rock, and frisked away; the sound of their melodious harps dying away among the mountains, whither the had fled; and the last strain I heard sounded something like this:



but the falling cadence I could not catch for the life of me, it was so faint."

Morgan added, that his wife, Shone, had often seen them with their white mantles, and sometimes they were to be seen bearing each other's trains. Indeed she saw them so often, that she at last took no notice of them.

---

On the subject of John Jones, the storyteller, Croker said:

The lady to whom the compiler is indebted for the following collection of oral tales, in a letter dated 1st March, 1827, writes thus: I have cut out from the Cambrian newspaper the death of Shone Tomos Shone Rhytherch, alias John Jones, alias 'Cobbler Jig,' as he was commonly called by the country-people here, which was a great affront to him. I never saw the poor old man after he related to me his stories: he was one of the most entertaining persons I ever met with, and to those who understood Welsh, he was certainly a great treat.

"On Wednesday, the 31st ult. at Ty-yn-y-Craig, near Aberpergwm, in the vale of Neath, John Jones, better known by the name of 'Cobler Jig,' at the advanced age of 91. He was a native of Llewel, in Breconshire, and when a young man lived as servant at Ynis-y-gerwn, and was distantly related to the late Mrs. Gwyn, of Pant-y-Corrid, in that county. For the last twenty years he has resided in the vale of Neath, and has chiefly supported himself by cobbling, and occasionally gardening. The eccentricity of his character, and his jocular disposition, together with his advanced age, had rendered him a great favourite among the respectable families in the neighbourhood; and what is remarkable, although daily working at his trade of mending shoes, his eye-sight was so good that he never wore spectacles. At his request, his remains were taken to Croynant Chapel for interment, where his wife was buried about twenty years ago. Rees Williams, Esq. of Aberpergwm, very kindly sent a number of his workmen to assist in carrying his remains to their last home, a distance of seven miles."

I duly went looking for the news report and found it exactly where Croker said I would - in the death notices of the Cambrian (10th February 1827).



Bouyed by that I went looking for John Jones in the records, quickly finding him in the parish burial register for 1827.



The only Morgan Gwillim I really came across was the proprieter of the Lion Inn in Builth. Age wise, he is a possible fit - 1766 to December 1836 - and Jones was originally a Breconshire boy so they could have known each other... But then again, it's more likely Gwillim was buried under the anglicised 'Williams' and so 100x more difficult to find. As for young Gitto himself, there are just too many variables in terms of dates and potential names to get very far without much more time and effort.