Carreg Cennen

This is my take on some local history, and like most histories not all of it is true, but it should be!

The hill on which Carreg Cennen sits falls vertically a dizzying 325ft to the south, and a little less steeply down to a farm on the north western side and dominates the surrounding countryside. The discovery of the skeletal remains of four Iron Age people and a hoard of Roman coins show it has been a site of some importance for thousands of years.
At some time during the Dark Ages the Lord of Iskennen, one Urien Rheged and his son Owain, built a fort on the hill but, being of wooden construction, no trace of this edifice exist.
In the late 12th century the first stone castle was built, probably by Lord Rhys, Prince of Deheubarth. Rhys Fychan inherited the castle but his mother, Matilda de Braeos, a most unnatural woman and a Norman to boot, so hated her son that she treacherously handed the castle to the English. However, Rhys managed to win it back only to have it snatched away again by his uncle, Maredudd ap Rhys Gryg. Maredudd came by his just deserts when the castle was seized by Edward I, never to be owned by the Welsh again.
In the late 13th century the castle was demolished and rebuilt by one John Giffard. Subsequent owners included John of Gaunt and Henry of Bolingbroke. When Bolingbroke was crowned Henry IV the castle became Crown property. Around the year 1403 it was unsuccessfully besieged, but considerably damaged, by Owain Glendwr.
The owner during the War of the Roses declared for Lancaster and after the Yorkist victory, Carreg Cennen was ordered to be demolished, being judged too much of a threat to the Monarchy to ever again fall into enemy hands. Enough structure remains to show how impregnable it was and how daunting a prospect it must have been to any attackers.
The hill itself is riddled with caves and it is thought that these were inhabited as early as the Stone Age. One could speculate perhaps that the hill could have been the site of religious ceremonies, possibly including human sacrifice, which would explain the skeletons found there. Another legend tells of a sleeping warrior, maybe King Arthur himself, who only waits for the call to come to the aid of the Welsh.
There is speculation too on the naming of the castle. Carreg means ‘stone’ in Welsh, and although the hill is comprised of limestone rocks, it seems a bit weak to think the castle was named for its hill. Nor is it likely to have been named after the building material as the name predates the first stone structure.
One theory, recently proposed, is that when Urien Rheged decided to build his fortress he took his builder to the site to get an estimate. Having surveyed the area and seen how difficult it was going to be to transport the materials up the steep slope, and how dangerous it would be to construct the eastern wall on the edge of the precipice, he turned to his Lord and, scratching his head, said, with pursed lips, “Stone me, Iskennen, you must be joking!” Obviously spoken in Welsh, the phrase has been corrupted through the ages and eventually evolved to its present form of Carreg Cennen.

For more information and pictures of this spectacular castle go to http://www.greatcastlesofwales.co.uk/carreg.htm

Arctic convoys

During the last war we shipped thousands of tons of guns, ammuniton and food to Russia via the Arctic Circle. These convoys were very vulnerable, being in range of German U-boats and submarines. The conditions were abominable even in the summer. The ships needed to be kept ice free at all times so they wouldn't become top heavy, turn turtle and sink. If a man fell into the water his life expectancy was virtually nil. Although hundreds of ships were lost on these convoys, many got through. After the war a grateful Russian Government wanted to present a medal to all the sailors involved, but the British Government would not allow this. Neither did they issue a medal themselves. Their view was that the crews had got the Atlantic medal and that was good enough.To distinguish themselves the surviving sailors, both Merchant and RN, adopted a white beret to represent the ice and cold they'd battled against.
A continuing campagne has been waged to get these men the special recognition they deserved, but it wasn't until a few months ago that the British Government backed down. After 60 years they issued an addition - the size of a button - to the Atlantic medal.
I watched some of these survivors, now in their 80s, parade past the Cenotaph and wondered how any had lived through such conditions.

WHITE CAPS

Within the shipyard dark and bleak
Stand gantries craned towards the North
Where convoy ships, their cargo held
In value more than men are worth,

Towards the Arctic Circle speed.
Their mercy missions must not fail,
‘Spite foe, ‘spite cruel winter sea,
‘Spite flesh burnt off by glacial rail.

Then come the bombs, the pounding guns,
The sinking into creaking ice.
Plump corpses swell the churning waves,
No longer flinch from cold’s sharp vice

But float secure in velvet Death.
Forgotten now, heroic men
Who gave their all for country’s needs.
Who care’s now what happened then?

Years later round a cenotaph
Old men in bleak remembrance stand,
Grieve for the shipmates who were lost
Wipe rheumy tears with palsied hand.

No special medal on their breasts,
We do not honour as we ought.
To shared award we kindly add
A button as an afterthought.

It's own-back time

I'm so worried about the way we are damaging the planet and feel quite impotent about doing anything much to reverse the ruin we are creating. I wrote the following last year, after we had had that terrible sunami, the hurricanes and floods and other natural disasters. I imagined that the Earth was getting her own back - and more power to her elbow, I say.

REVENGE
Turn again, turn again, turn Mother Earth.
Planet of loveliness gone down the drain.
Soon - world of pestilence, mutated birth,
Strontium 90 and foul acid rain.
No ozone layer - the pastures will burn,
No birds will fly or fish swim in the sea,
The forests and woods will die in their turn;
Mankind has gone on a merciless spree.
We’ve played with genetics, 'meaning no harm',
We’ve poisoned the oceans with all our waste.
No flowers, no crops, no bees in a swarm,
We’ve ruined it all in our ravenous haste.
Get rid of our greed which holds you in thrall.
Turn again Gaia, get rid of us all.