These are the ruins of a Cistercian abbey in north Wales, near Llangollen. It was built in an ancient town called Glas, or Glasynfre or maybe Glaestingaburh that had been there since before Roman times. There’s a bit of mystery about this 13th Century abbey, which was named Valle Crucis (valley of the cross) as was the area, after Croes Elisedd (Eliseg’s Pillar) , a 9th century stone cross nearby. The Croes Elisedd was a monument erected by a king of Powys to honor his great-grandfather. It contained one of the longest surviving inscriptions from pre-Viking Wales. You can hardly read any of it now, but the linguist Edward Lhuyd copied and translated it in 1696. It listed members of a family whose names match ones in the legends of King Arthur, such as Vortigern, a king who was (in the story) slain by Arthur’s father Uther Pendragon.
Like other boys who were small but had big imaginations, I liked reading about myths and legends. I did not particularly revel in the tales of great battles and feats of physical strength. My preference was for stories of miraculous things. So I gravitated more toward King Arthur than Hercules or Beowulf. In the stories Arthur wasn’t so powerful physically, but he still pulled a magic sword from a stone because he was born to be king by divine appointment. I was interested in the implied equality of the round table, and in the mysteries of the grail quests undertaken by Arthur’s knights. I didn’t assume that it was historical, but I did wonder if it had been based on real people. If you ever go to Wales, you’ll find the locals don’t wonder about that. They are sure the people lived, and lived in their land, not in England. Did Arthur really live? Beats me. If he didn’t it’s still a good story, one that was popular enough even back in the Middle Ages to lead directly to:
THE GREAT GLASTONBURY PILGRIMAGE SCAM
In 1191, 600 years after Arthur is assumed to have lived, monks at Glastonbury Abbey in Somerset claimed to have found the graves of Arthur and Guinevere to the south of the Lady Chapel of the Abbey church. The remains were later moved, and disappeared. Most scholars believe that this discovery was a forgery crafted to benefit Glastonbury’s foundation, and increase its fame. The monastery was short of funds, and staged the “discovery” to increase pilgrimage. After the discovery, the abbey became wealthy from the alms of travelers who came to see the relics of the famous king and queen of legend. Though the abbey was dissolved by Henry VIII, as was the one at Valle Crucis, the ruins are now a tourist attraction for people seeking connection to Arthur’s legend, or to Joseph of Arimathea who might have even brought the grail there (wink-wink, nudge-nudge, say no more).
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I love the Welsh. I love their culture, their language and their natural musicality. Welsh people are more like the Irish in temperament than the English. They are passionate and demonstrative, and very protective of “Welshness”. They aren’t very organized. That’s more an English and German trait. If you can appreciate their history of resistance to being taken over or absorbed by outsiders, you’ll get along well.
Besides the wonderful hymns sung in Welsh by performing choirs, they also like to sing songs that allow them to express their deep understanding of nostalgia and sentiment. Though I was only there for a week, it seemed like every choir in Wales sings an arrangement of “Dixie”. I grew up during the Civil Rights era, in a northern state. In my upbringing, singing “Dixie” was a kind of code that you were racist or supported white-supremacy agendas. It just wasn’t done by polite people. The Welsh let me see the song through their eyes. To them, all that mattered was the authentic expression of regret and longing to return to a place that had once sheltered you. When they sang, “Look away, look away…” everyone in the audience got choked up, and I was no exception.
When I stood among the stone ruins of Valle Crucis abbey, in a place of prayer and meditation that had stood for four times as long as the nation I live in, I could feel the sadness. It was beautiful and still. I could see the nuns leaving the home they had been banished from. I imagined them taking one, last sad look back as they walked. And in the wind, I heard the notes of “Dixie”. Some say they have no regrets in life. I think if you don’t understand the value of regret, then you haven’t really lived.
Interesting note…my heritage is Welsh, Irish, Scottish. Quite a combo don’t ya think
And I’m proud of it!
Theresa Jane
…as anyone with those heritages should be, I agree.
When I saw the photo and the word “Wales” I thought it was Tintern abbey which is also a Cistercian Abbey in Wales in a beautiful location (though most Cistercian Abbeys appear to be). Being a Yorkshireman, I’ll have to vote for Fountains though
Sadly I don’t think we’ll ever know about Arthur. I strongly suspect that even if he existed, he wasn’t anything like the legends, though there must have have been warrior leaders at that time as the period was pretty violent. However, that’s not the only reason it is my favourite period of history!
The more I read about the period, the more fascinating it becomes and you realise that the Welsh, Irish, Scottish and English tend to interpret it to match what they want to believe (which changes as time passes). Archaeology is just starting to get to grips with it and asking as many questions as it answers. I think it is this sense of roots and sense of mysteriousness that attracts me to the period.
Ayup, Andy! Before Wales, we spent a week as choristers in the Minster at York. Maybe I’ll write about that trip. I love the North in general. I knew Robin Hood (or the many “hoods” in those woods) were Yorkshiremen, but I had only seen a bit of it in the old Richard Greene TV show, which sometimes used locations near Tintern. My desire to go really ramped up when I started watching “Last of the Summer Wine”, and saw how beautiful the green hills and vales of Yorkshire are!
Nice post. I too share a fascination with Welsh culture, as well as other cultures that had a component of what is termed Celtic Christianity. As I understand it, each culture gave it their own flavor. But there was also much common ground that is finding a renewed interest by some of us who are less than satisfied with the stuffiness of the institutional church. As one site says, “Celts love mysteries, story-telling, poetry, folk-music and dancing… They have tended to be exuberant worshippers, free-thinkers, and dissenters.” No wonder I’m drawn to them!
I would love to visit Wales, as would my sister. I’d probably be able to spend a lifetime there, poking around and soaking in the history, arts and stories.
I’m English of Jewish descent and came to live in Wales several years ago. I feel much more at home here than I ever did in England even though I was born there. The Welsh have a temperament much closer to my own – emotional and they respond to nature in a… dare I say it… natural way. They are also great storytellers. I like your post.
I’m glad you enjoyed it. I love the Welsh for exactly those same reasons, though I also love Northerners in Yorkshire and Londoners, for other reasons.