Bute-ified

Serendipity flourishes in a downpour, these days.  Our impulse trip to the Dyfi Osprey Project was, literally, a shoo-in as we dodged rain showers, ran into the visitor centre and bought tickets without a thought to advance booking.   

A day later, the sun shone and the situation was very different.  No matter how earnestly the Cadw staff at Caerphilly Castle studied their daily booking list, whichever way they looked at it, they were fully booked.  We were pleased for them and not really disappointed for us, as a do-it-yourself tour around the outside also looked like a very attractive option.

There are plenty of websites detailing the history, construction and development of Caerphilly Castle.  It’s an interesting read, but for now we will just record a few key facts selected according to the Terroir view of the world.  The castle is of course a significant player in Welsh/English border history, built in the 13th century by Marcher lord Gilbert de Clare (a good Norman name) to protect his domain from Llywelyn ap Gruffudd (a good Welsh name, and self-proclaimed Prince of Wales) who was marching steadily southwards from his North Wales stronghold. 

According to various histories, including https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Llywelyn_ap_Gruffudd and John Davies’ ‘A History of Wales’  Llywelyn routed Roger Mortimer’s army in 1266, took control of a largish chunk of South Wales, opened negotiations with Henry III and, via the Treaty of Montgomery, became formally recognised as Prince of Wales, for a cost of 25,000 marks (5,000 marks extra if he wanted the homage of Maredudd ap Rhys of Deheubarth) in 1267. 

Understandably, de Clare was somewhat rattled by developments and started building Caerphilly Castle in 1268.  Davies comments, ‘one of the most remarkable buildings of the Middle Ages was constructed in order to frustrate [Llywelyn’s ambition]. That building was Caerphilly Castle, a symbol of the pride of the house of Clare and an abiding reminder of the strength of Llywelyn’s appeal to the Welsh of northern Glamorgan.’ Negotiations and armed attack on the castle failed, however, both with de Clare at Caerphilly and elsewhere in south Wales.  Llywelyn had peaked and his tide of success was on the ebb.  He defaulted on his annual tribute payments, his family turned on him, and, after a messy decade of fighting and feuding, Llywelyn finally met his end in December 1277.  Caerphilly Castle was promptly transformed into a massive mansion with hunting lodge.

In 2021, it is still outstanding (literally) for both its size and its waterscapes, and skirting all of this pleasurably extends our walk.  In terms of size, it is one of the largest castles in Britain, second only to Windsor Castle.  Sorry Wales!  There is a cunning little Cadw CGI video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNIvZl_K45M) which gives a curious raven’s eye view of the castle’s construction.  The number of gates, portcullises and draw bridges is positively dizzying, presumably a reaction which was shared by the 13th century Welsh. 

Caerphilly Castle doesn’t just have a moat, it has massive ‘water defences’, which seem to have been extended in peace time with the addition of a northern lake.  Mown grass and large bodies of water are goose heaven, of course, and a huge flock of Canada geese mingles with a smaller gathering of greylags.  There is a great gaggle of adolescent goslings piled up on a grassy slope like a teenage duvet which has come loose from its covering.   

Follow the goose footprints around the castle and over a bridge (why swim when you can walk?) and you come to Canada goose suburbia, on the edge of the northern lake. Not a greylag in site but some of those fanciful Indian runner duck/mallard crosses are sprinting up a nearby slope. Should we be calling them delta runner ducks, these days…?

You can see why geese become so unpopular in many parks.  Lush and varied grass/wildflower areas can go from this (below left) to this (below centre), when a hungry colony of Canada geese move in.  With few predators, control can be tricky and unpopular with the human community.  An integrated management system is often used including licensed control of adult numbers and eggs, fencing of banks and grazing areas (below right), and bank barrier planting.   We assume this is what is happening here.

Turning a corner, a public walk opened up before us, sandwiched between walls of disproportionate heights - one to keep us out (on our left) and one to keep us in, or rather on, dry land (to our right). The view of the Castle was spectacular and duly appreciated, but the real eye catcher was the wall-and-mortar habitat which accompanied us all the way down our stony promenade.

This apparently inhospitable environment is home to an array of tenacious plants which can thrive in man-made structures like stone and brick walls. Drought resistence, a love of lime (mortar is lime based, of course) and a natural habitat in rocky areas are, understandably, an advantage, writes Terroir’s botanist. At this time of year, ivy-leaved toadflax (Cymbalaria muralis) is a real scene stealer (left) but the clumps of Pellitory of the Wall (Parietaria judaica), with their spikes of tiny flowers (right), are also putting on a brave show. For audacity, however, it’s hard to beat maidenhair spleenwort (Asplenium trichomanes) (centre). It was years before one member of Team Terroir realised this was a real fern, after receiving a sprig of it attached to a childhood Easter egg. Looking back, we hope it was a clever imitation but, regretably, we doubt it.

My favourite, navelwort (Umbilicus rupestris) aka pennywort, penny-pies or wall pennywort for obvious reasons, grows prolifically on the tall, shady, castle wall to our left.

Many of the other plants we encounter are less obviously linked with rocky or wall habitats, but are well known for their invasive qualities, able to gain a foothold at the base of the wall, where something akin to soil is starting to accumulate, and away from the destructive pressure of passing feet.

From left to right: a generous growth of ragwort (potentially poisonous to live stock which is not an issue in this location)

herb robert (Geranium robertianum), hunkered down with a dock and some pellitory of the wall

spear leaved willow herb (Epilobium lanceolatum)

and a sow thistle (Sonchus sp)

Grasses include, from left to right:

Yorkshire fog grass (Holcus lanatus), Smooth Meadow Grass (Filipendula ulmaria) and a rather blurry picture of sweet vernal grass (anthoxanthum odoratum), an important contributor to the equally sweet scent of hay

Llywelyn didn’t manage to do much damage to Caerphilly Castle but anno domini did.  Enter the Marquesses of Bute: Marquess 1 bought the ruins in 1776, complete with leaning tower and, no doubt, plenty of dodgy masonry.  Marquesses 3 and 4 were passionate about architecture and heritage and had also acquired an immense fortune from the south Wales coalfield.  No. 3 set about clearing the urban sprawl which was encroaching on the site (Terroir has yet to find out what the inhabitants thought of this) but No. 4 may have become Caerphhilly’s hero with a massive restoration project from 1928 (Great Depression time) to the start of WWII, employing significant numbers of locals in both skilled and labouring activities.  The perceived wisdom at the time was ‘keep as found’, but that was a mantra which the Butes had no intention of following!  Finally, Marquess No. 5 gave the Castle to the State and further conservation work was carried out by the public purse in the 1950s and 60s.  Now, Cadw has stepped into the shoes of some pretty impressive former owners.    Thanks to Wikipedia and Cadw for help with this section. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caerphilly_Castle and https://cadw.gov.wales/more-about-caerphilly-castle)

Finally, we are pleased to report that Cadw and Caerphilly have a sense of style, and a sense of humour.  Here are:

Artist Rubin Eynon’s story telling gates (we were allowed to sneak in to get a better view of these functional, flowing, metal and glass structures)

Sculptor John Merrill’s figure of the fourth Marquess of Bute, propping up the leaning tower

and medieval fire power - as street furniture and as a rather dark health warning - and an easily recognisable local hero.

Tan y tro nesaf/Until next time.