Dolgellau

Visited the National Library yesterday in Aberystwyth and was overwhelmed by the monumental scale of Welsh culture – symbolised by the building, dwarfing any other Celtic culture because Welsh identity is so strongly linked to the language. Inside the library, Welsh was spoken, whispered, muttered in every corner. I looked at a facsimile copy of the Black Book of Carmarthen, the original sadly not available due to renovations being done at present. Outside afterwards, in front of the library, an expansive view over the town and the bay. English here is a distant, disdained second – a young, upstart, bastard tongue. My tongue, my culture, the victor’s culture: ignorant in our ascendancy, looking out to sea, unaware of the town at our feet.

The Mabinogion - Lady Charlotte Guest

This morning we walked to the Llynnau Greggennen lakes up the valley at the foot of Cadair Idris. Imposing hills but a fertile, intimate valley, a tumbling burn, gnarled, mossy beech forest, old, quiet stones. We walked with Darren from Manchester and his eight year old son Alex – simple, gentle, a lovely bond between them. The music festival later on in Barmouth turned out, disappointingly, to be a country music festival, complete with stars and stripes and line dancing in the town square. The Youth Hostel is full of thundering children chasing each other on the first floor. I heard them earlier singing Happy Birthday, first in English then in Welsh with great gusto.

Snows of Cadair Idris


Is there snow on the ridge of Cadair Idris?
Yes, there is snow.
Is there wind on the straits of Menai?
Yes, there is wind.
Is there water flowing in the fair valley of Rhaedr Ddu?
Yes, there is water flowing.
Are you all alone in your little stone house?
Yes, all alone.
Does your heart burn for me?


My heart does not burn for you,
for you are gone
and lie now with your glorious, foolish comrades
at the bottom of the Sea of Erin.
My heart is cold, as cold forever,
as the stones that stand
at Bryn Celli Ddu.

This place feels like The Shire, Welsh seems to resemble Elvish and even certain aspects of the mythology are reminiscent: The Welsh “Black Book of Carmarthen” and Tolkien’s “Red Book of Hergest”. But true Celtic mythology is not as clear about good and evil – every figure is Odysseus-like: ambiguous. Polytropos could have been the surname of almost every Celtic figure too – many twists and turns, honesty not usually considered all that important, deceit used as a tool, a weapon. Lord of the Rings appeals because the forces of evil are so much more powerful than those of good – it seems the same when I look at this world: good comes from time to time, unexpectedly, in spite of what everyone does.