Nigel Davies-Williams

North Wales Magazine Feature

Sat, 20 Dec 2025 16:47:58 GMT

Gerald's War Magazine Feature

Great to see Gerald's War featured in the December issue of North Wales Magazine .

Athens 2025

Wed, 05 Nov 2025 13:52:46 GMT

October 2025 - Athens

Out of the blue... and with about two weeks notice, an email from the British Embassy in Athens arrived in my inbox, inviting me to a commemorative ceremony at the Pallas Theatre, Athens on Thursday 16th October 2025 - the Embassy had been contacted by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission through the knowledge that my uncle, Pilot Officer Gerald Davies' final resting place was at the 'Phaleron' Allied War Cemetery in Piraeus, Athens.

The ceremony was being organised to honour the enduring bond between the RAF and Greece’s Hellenic Air Force, and, of course, those individuals who served courageously in the campaigns of Greece and North Africa—including the many lost souls of 211 Squadron and Pilot Officer Gerald Davies.

Representing my uncle, I spoke emotionally: “I am honoured and humbled to stand for my uncle, Pilot Officer Gerald Davies. He lost his life on Easter Sunday, 13 April 1941, defending Greece from invasion. I never met him, but my mother always remembered her tall, smart brother in his RAF uniform; she had been only nine when she last saw him. He is now part of both Greece and Britain — together — in Phaleron, where I placed a poppy on his grave to say ‘thank you for your service.’

We are deeply grateful to Greece: not only for the friendship shown during the war, but for continuing to care for the graves of our fallen. For that, we are eternally thankful.”

Nigel was presented with a beautiful award on the stage of the Theatre.

The inscription reads:

‘In remembrance of the commemorative event honouring the Hellenic & British Air Force Cooperation in the Second World War.’
The award depicts a Spitfire MH-IX Spade Grip - 1942 - 1945.

Read the story of Gerald's War here.

Life Without Coz

Tue, 16 Sep 2025 11:27:01 GMT

Me, My Twin & ‘Our Cancer’

It's been a tough year for our family and my own writing has had to take a back seat as September of 2024 saw the tragic loss of my daughter Corinne to cancer. She had so much to live for and one year on we are all devastated by her loss. She lives on through her children and also within our hearts. She will never be forgotten.

On the first anniversary of her untimely and tragic death, I'm proud to announce that her twin, my daughter Kay, has released 'Life Without Coz.' The book is a poignant, deeply moving, and unexpectedly humorous memoir chronicling the journey of my daughters after the sgock of a cancer diagnosis. 'Coz' as we knew her was a spirited Welsh dairy farmer and racehorse breeder living in the tranquil countryside of France whilst the author Kay is a dedicated retail manager rooted in the heart of Wales. Though separated by geography, their bond remained unbreakable — two souls, born together, living parallel lives, always intertwined.

A single devastating phone call shattered their world and set them on a path of unimaginable grief and unwavering love. The book witnesses the raw, unfiltered reality of coping with terminal illness — not just the pain, but the humour, the absurdity, and the fierce determination to hold onto each other through it all. Through laughter and tears, my daughters show what it means to be truly brave - not just in facing death but in living every moment that remains.

Both women are accomplished, resilient, and devoted to their families. Their journey is one of courage and connection, of facing the unthinkable with grace and grit. As the days unfold, they navigate the chaos of loss with a quiet strength, always wondering if love alone would be enough to rewrite the ending.

Life Without Coz is not just a story of illness — it’s a celebration of the twin bond, of shared spirit, and of the kind of love that endures even when everything else falls away.

"The two girls sat, riddled with grief, shoulders slumped with nothing left to give. Silence all around, with the exception of the animals grazing in the nearby field. There were no more words to be said. Everything had already been spoken. Hand in hand, they both exhaled sharply, not in surrender, but in shared sorrow, beaten by life and what it had thrown at them."

Read it here

French Writing Retreat

Mon, 19 Aug 2024 12:54:52 GMT

Author to author....

Returning from seeing my daughter in France the other day and waiting to catch my plane at Limoges airport when I got chatting to a very pleasant lady who intorduced herself as Michèle. It turned out that we had lots in common as Michèle and her husband David (Lambert) run a writing retreat at their home 'Le Verger' at Savignac-Lédrier in the Dordogne area of France, something they've been doing for the past 14 years.

I was fascinated to learn about her writing retreat which isn't that far from where I head several times a year. there was such a place in the area. Isn't life just one big coincidence sometimes. Michèle could have sat anywhere but sat next to me in the airport, so began the conversation... a writer meeting a writer!

Here a link to Le Verger . See for youself what a great place it is.

#writerslift #amwriting #writers

John Wynne Soughton Hall

Wed, 24 Jul 2024 09:02:22 GMT

Chancel at Northop Church Memorial Tombstone

Just a day or so ago I mentioned one of the 'old boys' of Northop Grammar School, one John Wynne who became Bishop of Bath and Wells and Bishop of the diocese of St. Asaph from 1715 - 1727; the first bishop to be appointed in the reign of King George I. Just prior to this, in 1712 he had become principal of Jesus College Oxford and remained in that position for eight years.

He was born in 1667 and lived to the age of 76, dying in 1743. It was John Wynne, who in 1732, bought the Soughton Hall Estate* which is now a prestigious wedding venue but then was one of the most grandiose homes In Wales.

Besides his religious duties, Wynne was a keen botanist and the famous line of lime trees which, to this day, adorn either side of the main driveway into the hall were planted at his direction.

He is a direct descendant of the Bankes Family from Soughton Hall and Mynachlog* - the Old Monastery in Northop.

Pictured is his memorial tombstone, which is the main feature of the chancel floor at Northop Church in Flintshire.

*Future posts to come about both Soughton Hall (and its occupants) and Mynachlog.

#SoughtonHall #Mynachlog #Monastery #Northop #NorthopChurch #Flintshire #History

Northop Grammar School

Mon, 22 Jul 2024 12:57:22 GMT

My first and last attempt at being an archaeologist...

The intention to establish a ‘free school’ in Northop was expressed in the Last Will and Testament (written on 31st January 1606) of the Reverend George Smith who died on 4 March 1608. The Will was proven on 13 April 1608 and by May 1608 the site on which the Old Grammar School now stands was bought.

Rev’d Smith’s Will stated:

“I am determined by the permission and sufferance of Almighty God, as much as in me lyeth, to erect and maintain a free school, to continue for ever, for the teaching and bringing up in learning of poor scholars and to give some maintenance and relief unto some fatherless children.”

The Will sold off the Rev’d Smith’s estate and £600.00 (a lot in those days) was invested with a group of trustees, one of whom included the Bishop of St.Asaph. From this investment £20 was to be used for paying a schoolmaster at Northop and £10 was allocated for the maintenance of five poor boys from the parishes of Northop, Flint, Whitford, Cwm and St. Asaph.

The selected scholars were to be orphans or fatherless, and to be between the ages of nine and fifteen. Each was to receive £2 for four years. The Bishop of St. Asaph was to have the right of nomination, appointment and dismissal of the schoolmaster, who was to be 'a discreet man, honest and sufficient, as well for his learning as his behaviour.’

The Old Grammar School in Northop is the oldest Grammar School in Wales and now lies unused and empty… what happened to Rev’d Smith’s wish that it be used ‘forever.’

Professor Peter Davey of Liverpool University conducted an archaeological dig at the school in 1975 in which I took part as a youngster with a real interest in taking up a career as an archaeologist, but alas in pre Time Team' days it was a career no one valued then.

What the 1975 dig ascertained by way of minor finds, was that the school had three phases of development over the centuries but the dig revealed little else about the school. We know little of those educated within the establishment over several hundred years except for one or two facts. John Wynne of Soughton Hall, later Bishop of St Asaph and Bath & Wells, was a pupil at the school and in 1832 t he school was educating 12 b oys .

If only those walls could speak!

#northop #flintshire #northopgrammarschool #archaeologicaldig #history

Owen Owens

Wed, 17 Jul 2024 08:16:20 GMT

Never Forget!

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about Rock Cottage in Flint Mountain where my ancestors the Owens family lived. I recall my dad telling me he spent most of his early years being brought up by his grandparents (John and Sarah Jane Williams) in 'The Mountain' and recalled those times as the halcyon days of his life. I also wrote about this when I talked of the Ellyllon of Pwll-Y-Wrach, which I mention in Esmeralda's Talisman .

Nain and Taid, as he knew them, were from a hard working family of coal miners. Flintshire, in the nineteenth and early part of the twentieth century was a huge coal mining area employing thousands in filthy and dangerous conditions. Dad had particular fond memories of his 'Nain' who was born Sarah Jane Owens (my Great Grandmother) and in her latter days, when most people nowadays would be retired on a pension, she was employed as a cleaner at the village church and school. Hard working until her last breath when she died in 1950 aged 78.

When I started researching my family tree, over thirty years ago, my dad's sister gave me a copy of Sarah-Jane's birth certificate and I was surprised to see that, she was born in 1872, not in Flintshire as I thought, but in Easington, County Durham. Further research showed the Owens family had moved there from Dyserth, Flintshire in 1869 to work in the mines around County Durham. This would be a fateful decision which would cost the family dearly, something I have only just discovered in the past few weeks.

Having seen that Sarah-Jane Owens was born in County Durham, I wondered why the family hadn't stayed up in the North East permanently. The 1881 census revealed the family were living at 29 Silver Street in East Murton. Sarah-Jane is recorded as a scholar, but her father William (41), her brothers Owen (16) and Thomas (15) were recorded as Coal Miners. This prompted me to look at the history of the mines and miners in the area and to my shock I found out that seventeen year-old Owen, just a few short months after the census of 1881, had tragically lost his life at Murton Colliery, killed when the ropes of a hauling engine had dragged him into the machinery.

Sadly, from reading the records of the deaths at this colliery and others in the area, this was not uncommon and thousands more lost their lives digging coal out of the ground to keep Britin's Industrial Revolution going. Take a look at the Durham Mining Museum site and the record of those who lost their lives at Murton Colliery alone. Owen Owens' name is now just a name on this list, but his name is not forgotten.

Worst of all, Owen's death didn't even make the newspapers as far as my research has shown and, as of today, I cannot even find a Coroner's report into his death. Certainly he would have received no compensation and his untimely demise seems to have been recorded as his own fault. This says much about the ethos at the time and how contemptible they treated their workers.

Following the tragedy, the family moved back to Flintshire and to Flint Mountain. It's a good job they did, as that's where Sarah-Jane met my Great-Grandfather John Williams, otherwise I certainly wouldn't be here to write this story today.

This was one story my dad never ever recounted to me. Did he know? He might have, as he spent his adult working life as a prominent member of the Shotton Steel Works union fighting for the rights of workers and ensuring their health and safety was secure in the dangerous environment they worked in.

#tradesunion #miners #murton #genealogy #ancestry #murtoncolliery #flintshire #history #flint #flintmountain #owensfamily

Esmeralda's Talisman

Tue, 02 Jul 2024 10:08:02 GMT

'An Epic Fantasy Adventure of Souls, Lost Souls, Bloodlines and Mythical Creatures'

It’s here! My latest book 'Esmeralda's Talisman - Resurrection of Sorcery' has just gone live on Amazon .

Part of the Souls of Excalibur Series exploring our hidden inner souls and consciousnesses which affects all our lives, exploring the life we have, the life we may have had and a life yet to come.

Which life are you in?

Much appreciation to @sanna.s.art for a great cover.

#newbook release #fantasy #myths&legends

Rock Cottage - Flint Mountain

Fri, 28 Jun 2024 07:26:25 GMT

Oh, how the world has altered...

I have mentioned several times before that my family, on the Williams side, hailed from Flint Mountain for many generations, so the scene in the image today will have been quite familiar to them.

This is Flint Mountain in the summer of 1905. The view has altered little in the intervening one hundred years plus, since this image was taken, apart from the heavy traffic which now clogs the road on a daily basis. The house on the right, known as Rock Cottage was the family home of my great-grandmother Sarah Jane Owens, although by the time of this image, they weren't living there any longer. Checking the 1911 census, it seems that the woman standing in the image is likely to be the then occupier of the house (in 1911 it had become a shop/post office) 23 year-old confectioner Isabella Bouch (born in Birkenhead) with her only son James. The man of the house, also James, is described as a 'war pensioner' and soldier who hailed from Blackpool. In 1911 he was 32 years-old.

Coming along the road from the direction of Flint is the London & North Western Railway ‘Milnes-Daimler Omnibus,’ on its way to Mold via Northop.

The service operated between Flint, Holywell and Mold and commenced in July 1905, using two 34-seater buses, so when this image was taken the ‘bus service’ was a very new addition to travel in Flintshire.

The Coach & Horses Pub, which still exists today, is on the hill just past the bus.

What a tranquil scene it is. There’s even a man walking in the road near the bus….you’d take your life in your hands doing this nowadays!

The village and some of its haunting locations are described vividly in my new book being launched on 2nd July next - 'Esmeralda's Talisman.'

#Flintshire #FlintMountain #FamilyHistory #Northop #EmeraldasTalisman #Flint

Norwich Taxation 1254

Mon, 24 Jun 2024 14:54:02 GMT

First mentions in history of Northop Church...

So, when in history do we first hear mention of what is now Northop Church?

Well, the church is first mentioned in the Norwich Taxation of 1254, then in the Lincoln Taxation of 1291 as 'Ecclesia de Llanewrgain cum Capella sua de Flynd taxatur' with a taxable valuation of £30 6s 8d. Again the church is mentioned in the Valor Ecclesiasticus of 1535 when, building of the Church Tower as we now see it was taking place, as mentioned in a post of a few days ago - this was probably the time the Church was rededicated to St. Peter from St.Eurgain but this is not certain.

Wouldn't you like to go back in time to see exactly what was going on!

#northop #taxation #history #flintshire

'The Red' in Northop

Wed, 08 May 2024 08:13:49 GMT

The Red Lion, Northop in 1905 and the Red Lion now...

Pictured is a London & North Western Railway Milnes-Daimler ‘omnibus’ waiting at the Red Lion Hotel at Northop. The LNWR commenced services between Flint, Holywell and Mold in July 1905, using two 34-seater buses.

Notice too the cottages on the end of the Red Lion which were pulled down in the 1970’s… sad to say I remember them!!

The Red Lion in Northop is a very ancient and historic public house. At the turn of the 19th century it was one of six public houses in the village – The Swan, The Boot (still there), The Feathers, The Yacht and The Bull, part of which can still be seen internally at The Old Police Station which was built against the remains of The Bull. Some rooms in the house are still the rooms of the old pub.

The ‘mail coach’ stopped at the Red Lion two hundred years ago and so The Red Lion at this time served as the official village Post Office and was also the place where the Petty Sessions met once a month. Therefore, anyone sentenced for a crime in Northop at this time would have to appear ‘at the pub’ to be dealt with.

In the image of 1905 the post office and village ‘paper shop’ was opposite the Red Lion and is now where the Antique Shop is.

And isn't Northop a busy place with people out in the street in 1905...no chance now , you'd get run over! Oh for a car free few days of the week!

#Northop #RedLion #NorthopPubs #Flintshire #History #LocalHistory

Tea... with the President of the United States

Sat, 04 May 2024 15:40:45 GMT

The Old Vicarage Northop Flintshire

Here's a photograph of The Old Vicarage in Church Road Northop... well one of the three old vicarages in Northop.

Whilst researching history about the place I came across a letter written from Virginia (USA) in 1763. The letter was from a former vicar of Northop, one Price Davies to the Reverend Conway of Soughton Hall - then the Vicar of Northop and Liverpool too.

It is fascinating that a vicar from Northop (he also officiated at Mold and Cilcain) took up a Parish in Virginia in the mid-1700's and made a success of it by all accounts. Sounds too, from the letter, that Virginia was the place to be, although Rev'd Price Davies, as you will read, was still worried about a debt he had left back home! Was it debt that made him make the journey to Virginia? ... we will never know. What we do know from papers is that Price Davies was also the headteacher at Northop Grammar School prior to leaving for the American Colonies.

The Rev Price Davies made it big in the colonies too. He became comfortably settled in his new country and married. He was well housed in a modern rectory and was given a salary of sixteen thousand pounds of tobacco - the normal stipend for a man of such standing in the colonies. His salary at Northop was £22 per annum.

No wonder he went to America and never looked back!

“York River, Virginia, June 3Oth, 1763

Dear Sir,

I arrived here on the 4th day of May last, having had a moderate and safe passage. When I came here several parishes were vacant. I offered myself for one of them, & was unanimously received. After I had given the people (as it is always required here) a specimen of my performance in the ministerial office. The parish is called Blisland, pleasantly situated near the seat of government with a good house, a large garden, with every other convenience, and about 200 acres of land belonging to it as a glebe.

The country is woody, or to speak in a more poetical manner, covered with sylvan shades, the plains are fruitful and pleasant, & well watered, the rivers are large and well teemed with fish of various sorts, corn and fruit in great abundance. Fowls both wild and tame in great plenty, and fine deer which the sportsmen hunt in the season the people are kind and hospitable; the ladies are neat in their dress, fair, genteel, and comely in their persons.

The people in general live in luxury. Their equipages here are many and grand, commonly drawn by six fine horses. The country Parsons roll either in chariots, or chairs. I am not so ambitious yet, but am contented to bestride a beast of a mean shape upon the back of which I can, with as much ease, draw up a hole in my breeches. I was obliged to contract a small debt, perhaps of ten or 12 pounds, this shall be discharged honestly very soon, whatever may be the opinion of some the other side of the water about it. I should be glad to know if Miss Parry has been paid her demand, and if the few things I left at Northop for that purpose have been sold.

To all friends please to give my compliment and please to accept of the same yourself. I have wrote to Davies my successor at Northop.

I am, with the greatest respect, Revd & dear Sir,

Your most obliged, a very humble servant

Price Davies”

As an interesting aside the Rev Price-Davies met George Washington too... George Washington's Diary entry of May 18th 1771 reads:

" Ride to Brickhouse after which went to Rev Mr Davies' house and drank tea."

So a famous boy of Northop had a cuppa with the First President of the USA.

After Rev Price Davies left Northop the new Vicar refused to live in the house describing it as "a wretched hovel of mud and sticks, not fit for human habitation" He decamped and lived in Hawarden prompting the church authorities eventually to build a new vicarage on the other side of the road (now called Lislea House) . The village tanner bought 'the Hovel,' rebuilt the dwelling and established workshops in the surrounding grounds - I believe the row of attached cottages now called "Caernarvon Terrace" were once tannery workshops/living quarters for the workers.

The Old Vicarage in Northop as it stands now has been much altered over the ensuing years making it a very intriguing place to live !!

Price Davies was Rector of Blisland from 1763 – 1792 – more here on Blisland .

#northop #uspresident #washington #flintshire #history #virginia #oldvicarage #vicarage #northopchurch

Moel-Y-Gaer and King Arthur

Wed, 01 May 2024 08:32:59 GMT

Walking In The Footsteps of King Arthur!

In 1849 the author Samuel Lewis wrote the book called ‘A Topographical Dictionary of Wales.’

The picture of Moel-y-Gaer, at Halkyn, taken from Northop is described in the book…

“In the hamlet of Caerfallwch, about two miles westward from the village (of Northop), are the remains of a very extensive camp, called Moel-y-Gaer, or "the fortified hill," occupying an eminence surrounded by a deep circular fosse, and having an entrance on the western side. Within the area, and near the northern extremity, is a small artificial mound, from the summit of which is one of the most extensive prospects in the principality. This camp, which is the most perfect British post in North Wales, commanded all the lines of stations on the Clwydian mountains, to the west: the view from it embraces the vales of Hope and Mold, as far as Wrexham, on the south; the estuaries of the Dee and the Mersey, with the port of Liverpool, on the north; and Chester, on the east. About 300 paces to the north-west of it is a large artificial mound, overlooking the pass of the mountain, and most probably intended as an outpost to the principal camp of Moel-y-Gaer.”

Do go for a walk to this area - you will recall, from my last post, that there is a great Arthurian connection to this camp. Several eminent authors believe Moel-y-Gaer to be the fabled ‘Avalon’ of Arthurian legend and there is lots of evidence to suggest that indeed King Arthur was here during the Dark Ages – particularly at the end of the 6th and to the mid-7th century. The King Arthur of reality was a "Dux Bellorum", a ‘leader of battles’ who, although important, was a battle hero and warlord of the Dark Ages – a King who rallied the peoples of the West against the invading Anglo-Saxons.

Moel-Y-Gaer is situated in the ancient community of 'Caerfallwch' - the 'Fort of Avalon' …the name Avalon originates from Afallach. So the next time you walk at Moel-Y-Gaer, remember you are walking in the footsteps of King Arthur!

#kingarthur #avalon #camelot #flintshire #moelygaer #hillfort #flintshire #history #darkages #excalibur #excaliburreborn #keystoavalon #clwydianrange #Wales

King Arthur in Flintshire

Wed, 24 Apr 2024 08:39:06 GMT

Clwydian Mountain Range

This morning's walk was to Moel-Y-Gaer at Rhosesmor or Caerfallwch - The Fort Of Avalon.

Yes, you read that correctly THE Avalon of King Arthur fame. Don't believe me, then do read ' The Keys To Avalon - The True Location Of Arthur's Kingdom Revealed ' by Steve Blake and Scott Lloyd. This is the book which gave me the inspiration to write my book Excalibur Reborn ... with its prequel in the pipeline and ready to be published in May.

Watch this space.

The ridge in the image foreground is the fortification wall of 'Caer Afallwch' and it runs in a complete circle around the top of Moel-Y-Gaer in Rhosesmor. It's a great place with great views and very atmospheric - you can almost feel yourself back in the days of King Arthur when you are there. According to several ancient accounts, it is the location of King Arthur's final days after he was mortally wounded at the Battle of Camlan.

Stood in the Hillfort at Moel Y Gaer there's a great panoramic view of the Clwydian Range of Hills, which I thought I'd name for you.

Incidentally, there's more than one Hillfort called Moel-Y-Gaer in the area - there's another nestling close to Foel Fenlli near Llanbedr DC, Ruthin.

Do take a look at his website which has more detail - Heather and Hillforts at Cadw.

Penycloddiau by the way is the largest Hillfort in the Clwydian Range and one of the largest in Wales. It was constructed almost 2,500 years ago.

The Offa's Dyke Path follows directly the line of the Clwydian Range of mountains and makes a great walk through these Hillforts.

#kingarthur #avalon #camelot #flintshire #moelygaer #hillfort #flintshire #history #darkages #excalibur #excaliburreborn #keystoavalon #clwydianrange #Wales

The Secret Window...

Fri, 05 Apr 2024 12:30:24 GMT

...walled up for eternity.

The churchyard of Northop Church is a great place to explore.

Besides having several ancestors of mine interred there, it has other hidden secrets. There's the Old Grammar School and Owen Jones' grave, which I'll blog about at a future date, but take a walk down past the old school building and around the corner towards the 'newer' part of the cemetery, where you'll find several hidden secrets.

You will recall in the last blog, I mentioned the extensive renovations carried out to the church in the 1840s. Well, they didn't discard every part of the old building or old gravestones. Many old gravestones became curb stones; you'll see their partial inscriptions almost hidden as they rise out of the ground along the walkway, but there's one definite large artefact you might miss if you're just looking ahead on your way through the church precincts and that's the old 12th century window which was taken out of the church almost two hundred years ago and now forms part of the boundary wall of the church.

Take a look too for the gravestone near to the front gate which has writing on both sides as if it's been reused at some later date. Fascinating!

#Northop #steurgaiandstpeters #Llaneurgain #Flintshire #Christianity

Pagan Roots of Northop

Tue, 02 Apr 2024 09:04:00 GMT

1839 Northop

Above is Northop Church, undergoing major repair and restoration, as sketched by artist Edward Falkener in August 1839. The image, depicting the commencement of major re-structuring is now held at the British Museum. The work wasn't formally completed until two years after this sketch was made.

At the beginning of the 19th century the main body of Northop Church had fallen into a dangerous state of repair, so much so that the church needed a rebuild. This commenced on 12th April 1839 and lasted until 4th November 1840. The church tower was in a good state of repair and was not part of the re-build. The tower remained as built in the reign of Henry VII (1485 - 1509)...he's the one who defeated Richard III...you know, the 'Body in the Car Park King!'

The picture shows the nave of the church being reconstructed under the supervision of local builder Mr Thomas Jones. The British Museum description states that the man in the foreground is kneeling on the ‘old ruins’ (it could even be Thomas Jones from some accounts), and there is certainly lots of activity taking place in and on the building. Some of the people in the image might even be your relatives if your ancestry, like mine, harks back to Northop in the distant past.

The image is a lithograph on beige printed background. Underneath the image it says: “Northop Church, Flints. As it appeared August 1839” "Day & Haghe Lithrs' to the Queen", "Lithd. by G. Hawkins from a sketch taken by Edwd. Falkener, Archt. 6 Arthur St. London"

The image is priced 3/6 (less than twenty pence today) on the left of the image - the Queen referred to above is Queen Victoria, newly on the throne since 1837.

Northop Church was formally re-opened on 6th October 1840 - the cost of repairs was £1,450.00.

Edward Falkener, (1814–1896)

A n architect and archaeologist, the son of Lyon Falkener (1777–1864), clerk of the ordnance department in the Tower of London. Falkener was articled to John Newman (1786–1859), an architect. He became a student of the Royal Academy in 1836, and in 1839 gained its gold medal for a design for a cathedral church….and later was involved with Northop Church restructuring and design. Northop should be quite proud of this connection.

Incidentally, the annex depicted on the side of the church now no longer exists and there is little indication on the church today that it ever was built. Did the planners change their minds part way through repairs? We will never know.

If you walk into the church grounds nowadays you will note that you walk up onto a raised area of ground and all indications are that the church is built over an ancient Celtic religious site; therefore it would originally have been a site of Pagan worship. There is much evidence across the UK to show that upon the arrival of Christianity, during the late Roman and Early Dark Ages period, these 'Pagan Sites' would have been ripe for 'take over' by early Christians to show the power of the early church over ancient paganism in Britain.

#Northop #steurgain&stpeters #Llaneurgain #Flintshire #Christianity #Pagansites #Celts

Cilcain Flintshire

Sat, 30 Mar 2024 14:36:46 GMT

Cilcain and St.Eurgain...

The church at Cilcain dates from the 14th century but a carved stone basin found on the site, thought to be the remains of a Norman font, suggests the existence of a much earlier structure. The roof, regarded as one of the finest of its type in the country, was not made originally for this building and is reputed to have been brought here from Basingwerk Abbey, near Holywell, after the dissolution of the monastery there.

Less well known is the fact that Cilcain Church has this great link with Northop Church through St. Eurgain.

As I've mentioned previously, it is recorded that Eurgain was the niece to Asaph, the second Bishop of the See, which, after his canonisation, during the latter part of the 6th century, dropped the name of Llan-Elwy and assumed that of St. Asaph.

Eurgain was brought up and educated by her uncle, Asaph, and during the general persecutions which at that time assailed the Christian religion, she retreated to the Flintshire area, firstly going to the vale under Moel Famau, where she built a cell and lived in solitude and devotion. For sure this location is Cilcain.

Eurgain reputedly established the church there; adjacent or close to her cell. Therefore the meaning of the village ‘Cil Cain’ is the Cell of Eurgain.

The final resting place of Eurgain is thought to be in Criccin, about a mile from the town of Rhuddlan where there is large tumulus and the medieval base of a stone cross which was excavated only as recently as 2000.

Pictured is Cilcain Church and inset is a page from the ‘Harleian Genealogies.’

This is where much of the information can be found on Eurgain - the old texts being a collection of Old Welsh genealogies preserved in the British Library.

#welshchurches #northop #history #cilcain #eurgain #flintshire #wales

More on The Well...

Fri, 29 Mar 2024 11:59:17 GMT

What's in a well?

Several years ago, whilst constructing a small extension at the rear of the premises, I uncovered two things: one was a deep-water well, which was filled with rubble. The well had been capped off sometime in the distant past with a rock weighing over two tons. The other thing I discovered was a wide sandstone wall foundation, which ran in exactly the same orientation as Northop Church, just over the road from the house.

The well is located alongside the ‘old wall foundation’ discovered, in the far corner of what looked liked the remains on a very big building which had stood on this site in the past. I also discovered the remains of foot-worn stone steps up one side of the well, indicating that it had been in regular use at one time and for many years.

I researched wells connected with ecclesiastical sites and found out that refectories for such sites, were built around a water source or well, so that water was readily available for drinking and cooking. Putting two and two together it is a reasonable conclusion that, with the knowledge Northop Church has been an important religious site in the area since the sixth century, there may well have been a refectory on this site for the monks of the Dark Ages and pilgrimage travellers to the area.

Later, I will tell you about a local house called Mynachlog. This house and its environs is the site of a Dark Ages Monastery and are situated about half a mile from Northop. I featured part of this story into my book Excalibur Reborn .

A former resident of Mynachlog, a Thomas Edwards (1779-1858), wrote on the history of the area and based some of his writings on conversations with the Jones Family who had occupied the site for two centuries previously. There would have been regular traffic between the two sites i.e. Northop Church and Mynachlog … and doubtless those pilgrims to the site too, requiring food and hence the need for a place to eat and make merry.

Thomas Edwards, whom I will tell you more about in the future, also wrote of a very Sacred and Holy well being half a mile to the East of Mynachlog, which essentially is the site of The Old Police Station. This leaves us asking the question, is the well at The Old Police Station the long lost Holy Well of the Chapel - as referred to in my last post. There is a good chance it is, but we will never know for sure. What I do know is that there is a very ancient well on this site, previously unrecorded on all maps and so, lost in time.

In the image of the well, when it was being excavated you can see one of the ancient stone steps leading into the well adjacent to the ladder. Descending the ladder into the bowels of the well wasn't a good place to go if you felt claustrophobic either! The well is now over 30 feet deep but due to safety considerations we failed to excavate right to the bottom of the well and further secrets are doubtless hidden there.

#ancientwell #northop #history #oldpolicestation #eurgain #mynachlog #secrethistory

The Well at The Old Police Station

Wed, 27 Mar 2024 09:11:13 GMT

‘St.Eurgain’s Holy Well?'

When renovating the house, I found an old well. 60 feet deep or more… now safely covered and sealed over with glass, guarded by two Bernese Mountain Dogs... they spend many hours here… what can they sense that we don't?

In times gone by, there was a great belief that all wells were sacred places and that special properties pertained to them. ‘Pre-Reformation,’ the Roman Catholic Church embraced many pagan practices and these practices were adopted into ‘Church belief.’ These beliefs remained unaltered post-Reformation and the church embraced the healing qualities of wells and so ‘wells’ morphed from Pagan Holy places to Christian Holy places. Wells associated with religion therefore continued to attract sufferers, in some cases until the present day – as is the case with St. Winifred's Well at Holywell which I've already described and which features in my latest book due for publication soon. It is no coincidence that the well at the rear of The Old Police Station in Northop lies within what would have been the old perimeter of St Eurgain and St. Peter’s Church in Northop.

Excluding the well at The Old Police Station, fifty-two wells have been identified in Flintshire. And of these twenty-seven bear the names of saints. Eight are dedicated to St. Mary and four to St. Michael. Two wells called Ffynnon Fihangel, one in Bodfari and the other in Caerwys parishes, were said to cure sore eyes and warts, whilst victims of rheumatism and nervous disorders resorted to Ffynnon Asa in Cwm near Dyserth.

A combination of Pagan and Christian were observed at Ffynnon Ddier in Bodfari. Here the poorest in the parish offered chickens - a cockerel for a boy and a pullet for a girl. After proceeding around the well nine times, children were then dipped in three corners of the well in order to prevent them from crying at night.

The Well at The Old Police Station has, for the first time in years, water that flows into it – from where is not known. However, the geology of Northop and surrounding areas is well known; the area being underlain by Carboniferous Sedimentary Rocks – Coal, Sandstone and Limestone, the latter of which is a very porous rock and indeed makes up the majority rock of Halkyn Mountain. This means that water in this area is quite likely to flow underground with ease and hence fill a well.

For sure the well here would have once been a holy well. Many years ago, I had an interesting conversation with local historian and writer Rowland Tennant who has researched Saint Eurgain, after whom the Church in Northop and indeed many other place names in the area are named.

More to come on this in the coming days.

#bernese #bernesemountaindogs #history #northop #flintshire #writerslife #writingcommunity

New Book ...coming soon...

PH996276 — Thu, 07 Mar 2024 13:45:20 GMT

Prequel to Excalibur Reborn

Apologies to everyone out there for the delay in getting around to writing my blog again. And, just a heads-up for the weeks and months to come when, due to ongoing circumstances, I might not be able to get around to writing my blog as often as I'd like. 2023 proved to be a difficult year, as has the start of 2024, with family members, living abroad falling ill... and thank goodness for Ryanair (particularly) and EasyJet whom I've used so so often over the past year or so.. I think I should be in Ryanair's frequent users club now.

Somehow with all of this on the go, I've managed to be diligently working on a prequel to Excalibur Reborn , and finally, I'm in the final stages of getting the book published... just a few last edits and sorting out the cover, and I'll be there... so stay tuned.

John or Thomas Roberts...

Sun, 03 Dec 2023 09:56:35 GMT

and the Welsh Ellylllon.

THere's more to tell you about just who did die in 1853 in Flint Mountain on this misty cold December morning and there's much more to tell you about the rather insignificant looking murky piece of water at Flint Mountain known as Pwll-yr-Wrach - The Witch's Pool (sometimes Pwll Y Wrach (The Witches Pool)) , which will always be locally associated with sorcery and enchantment. .

My dad grew up in and around Flint Mountain, living with his grandparents John and Sarah-Jane Williams (nee Owens) at their tiny cottage on Pentre Hill (‘the back hill’) but for generations prior to that the family lived at Waen-Y-Balls, a location just along from there.

Dad told me many tales about The Witch’s Pool – a place he was told to avoid as a child but which he nevertheless frequented, climbing the huge oak tree which overhangs the pond to this day and catching tadpoles and frogs… which he told me he always released back into the pool at the end of the day.

Of course, he was told not to go there because of the danger of drowning, but he also told me that locals spoke of the ethereal Ellyllon who frequented there. The old folk of the village would talk of otherworldly entities who gathered at the mystical Pwll-y-Wrach once the sun had set. Old wives’ tales or not, dad was told to beware of the pool as Welsh fairy apparitions and other odd happenings took place there… it was an eerie site where mortals should steer clear of.

The tale told by Melville Richards in his 1969 book ‘The Supernatural in Welsh Place Names’ told the tale of John Roberts who was purported to have died as a result of a visit there in 1853.

What makes this story intriguing is the fact that there is actual historical evidence of a ‘Thomas Roberts’ (not a John Roberts) who met his demise in May of 1853 tragically, aged 40 years, so this is likely to be the Roberts referred to by Melville Richards. Whether it was due to some shoddy wall construction or the mischievous intervention of a malevolent creature, the circumstances surrounding Thomas' untimely death are certainly very spooky.

By chance, the farmstead of Waen-Y-Balls in Flint Mountain, where Thomas Roberts resided, happens to be the very spot where my family then lived and farmed. It is quite certain that my ancestors must have worked alongside and been acquainted with Thomas Roberts. How eerie is that!

Melville Richards is known to have taken his story from an earlier account written around 1910 by one Gwilym Bellys which was part of a reading at Aberystwyth University.

There are a many other stories in the area as to why the pool gained its name and I'll tell you more about this in the coming weeks, especially as regards The Hanging Oak and The Ellyllon.

#sorcery #enchantment #witchcraft #ellyllon #flintmountain #The WitchesPool #Hangingoak #PwllYWrach

Pwll-Yr-Wrach - The Witch's Pool

Mon, 27 Nov 2023 10:04:41 GMT

a spooky tale from a spooky location in Flintshire...

I was completing some research for my latest book, (hopefully out within the next six months) when I came across a newspaper article published in the Chester Chronicle o n 14 ^th May 1999 by writer Richard Holland.

Now, anyone who knows the village of Flint Mountain, the village between Flint and Northop, will be aware of ‘Pwll-Yr-Wrach’ aka, The Witch’s Pool and they will know of the supernatural stories connected to the eerie and isolated location, which is just outside the village itself, on a narrow and windy lane heading in the direction of Coed-Y-Cra (‘Yew Trees’). Richard Holland’s ghostly story is the most notable of chilling occurrences recounted by locals about this haunting place which has a fascinating, yet sinister history. The pictured article is reproduced here for ease of reading and there’s more to come on the mysterious Pwll-Yr-Wrach in the coming days.

“Scary Fairy Tale Sounds Cuckoo

By Richard Holland

The word ‘fairy’ is not one likely to strike terror in many hearts - it suggests dainty cakes or little ladies flitting about on gossamer wings.

The latter are an invention of Victorian sentimentalists - but the fairies of folklore are another matter altogether.

The Fair Folk (Y Tylwyth Teg) of Wales demanded respect - a beggar in Wrexham last century claimed his blindness was caused by fairies who had caught him spying on them.

An especially sinister tribe of the Fair Folk was said to haunt Flint Mountain. Its base appeared to be under a pool of still water called Pwll-Yr-Wrach (The Witch’s Pool) in what is today still a surprisingly lonely spot.

These mysterious entities were given to declaring events destined to happen in the neighbourhood.

A farm labourer named John Roberts had a terrifying encounter with one of them during the winter of 1852.

One early morning, before the sun had risen, Roberts was just setting out for work when he was met by youth, quite unknown to him, who intentionally blocked his way. He put out a hand to push the boy away - and the next thing he knew he was flying through the air!

Roberts landed face down in the mood at Pwll-Yr-Wrach, his face held a few inches from the water. He struggled desperately but the force held him tight until dawn broke and a cock was heard to crow at a nearby farm.

Suddenly released, he found the youth or ellyll (Welsh for elf), standing astride him.

“When the cuckoo sings its first note at Flint Mountain, I shall come again to fetch you,” it told him.

The eerie climax to this strange story I quote from my Supernatural Clwyd:

‘John Roberts died the following May. He had been carrying out some building repairs at Pen-Y-Glyn on the mountain when a wall fell and crushed him. A young woman who had witnessed the accident said that it had happened just as she had noticed a cuckoo come to rest in a nearby tree.

Strangely, when the body was carried away to Roberts’ home, the cuckoo had followed, singing from tree to tree all the way to the front door.’

Source: The Supernatural in Welsh Place Names.

By Melville Richards (1969)”

Batty Occurence...

Sun, 26 Nov 2023 12:05:59 GMT

Good deed for the day...

It's a bit of a rubbish image I know, especially for someone who used to take photographs for a living at one time.

Anyway, here's the story from last night and how I came to take the image of this little Pipistrelle Bat in the darkness of my log store...

Last thing I do every night before heading to bed is to take my two Bernese Mountain Dogs ' Ioan and Argo ' out for a short walk. Outside we have water for them , which I always change before heading up the wooden hills. As I went to the water, I saw something in the dim light swimming, almost fish like. To my surprise it was a bat, d efinitely at the point of drowning - it had obviously been in the water for a good few minutes and was exhausted. It was so fortuitous I happened to go out at the time I did as, had I not, I imagine I would have found the creature dead the following morning. Without hesitation, I fished it out with a flat piece of wood and for a short time it lay almost motionless, but I could see the creature taking breaths, so knew it had a chance.

Looking online I saw it was a Pipistrelle Bat, one of Britain's most common bats, but all the same a protected animal.

I really hadn't a clue what to do, but I knew I had to do something, the bat's fur was sodden with cold water and it looked extremely cold. I quickly looked up information from the Bat Conservation Trust and even spoke to our on call vet on the phone. I was told not to touch the creature by 'unprotected hand,' which I hadn't... I sort of knew not to do that from things I 'd read in the past. It was suggested to take the animal to a place higher up, from where , if it recovered , it cold fly away. Due to the lateness of the hour, I was told to keep the bat overnight and if it was still alive in the morning I should take it to the vet surgery .

I took it to a covered area where we keep our logs for the fire and laid it down on the highest most log, but I just knew it wouldn't survive without some immediate support. What to do?

The course of action I decided to take was to get a hair drier on a low but warm setting and dry off the creature as it lay on the logs. As I dried it out, to my surprise it slowly began to recover and moved around on the log, eventually settling in a bat like hanging position, which is the point I decided to leave it alone in the darkness of the open log store.

I had a cup of tea indoors and waited for a good half hour before retuning to check whether it was still alive or not. To my surprise the bat had flown away, apparently recovered from its impromptu swim.

Good deed done!

#bats #pipistrellebat #pipistrelle #gooddeed

Old Brewery Northop

Fri, 24 Nov 2023 08:17:56 GMT

The Former Castle Hill Brewery

A famous brewery of note in this area, founded in 1844 by John Fox was the Castle Hill Brewery of Ewloe. The brewery supplied a number of public houses in Northop too. You may not know that ‘The Maltings’ at Swndwr Farm was part of Castle Hill Brewery. The Maltings is situated just off the Connah’s Quay Road and is now a Grade II listed building now used as private residences.

This building formed part of the Soughton Hall Estate. In 1878 it is recorded that John Scott Bankes of Soughton Hall further leased the building for 21 years to the Castle Hill Brewery for £235.00 a year. The building then contained a malt-kiln with sectioned malt-houses and storage areas for use by the Castle Hill Brewery.

The Maltings seen in the image here is one of the largest buildings in Northop and dates to the later 18th century. It was enlarged and raised by one storey in 1824.

There’s a great footpath which runs almost around the entire building and is great for a ramble in the Northop area.

In the background is the very historic and ancient place of Moel-Y-Gaer. More to come on this special place soon.

#Northop #FlintshireHistory #themaltings

Cornist Hall Flint

Tue, 21 Nov 2023 09:13:58 GMT

Who lived in a house like this...

Yesterday I briefly mentioned Cornist and its connection to Westminster Abbey and Lord Nelson. Here's more about this.

Pictured on this dull rainy morning is the rather sad and rather dilapidated Jacobean style Cornist Hall, built in brick and stone. It is the former home of the Summers’ Family who ran the iron and steel works business of John Summers and Sons in Shotton and who made extensive alterations to the house whilst they lived there.

In about 1884 the industrialist Richard Muspratt commissioned the Chester architect John Douglas, ( who was responsible for the architecture of the house I live in ), to re-model the house, but Muspratt died before this could be executed.

In 1953 the ownership of the house passed to the Local Authority who modified the interior for catering purposes. Many people from Flint and beyond will recall the place as a wedding reception venue until quite recently. More recently the hall has been the subject of a campaign to save it from further deterioration.

Since the 1960s, part of the left side of the hall became the home of Flint Golf Club, where I honed my (now non-existent) golfing skills as a child, but the main hall has been closed since 2012.

Here's more on the Westminster Abbey connection to Cornist Hall.

In the Chapel of St Andrew in Westminster Abbey is a memorial to Rear Admiral Thomas Totty – inset into the image of Cornist Hall. This shows a relief of a three-masted ship with flag at half-mast and firing minute guns. Sculptor John Bacon Jnr was commissioned to complete the monument.

The inscription reads: ' Sacred to the memory of THOMAS TOTTY, of Cornist in the county of Flint, Esquire, a Rear-Admiral in his Majesty's Navy: who, having on the 17th November 1801 been appointed Commander-in-Chief on the Leeward Island station, was soon after his arrival at Martinique, severely attacked by the malignant fever peculiar to that climate; and expired at sea, on the 2nd of June 1802 in the 57th year of his age. His remains were interred in the Garrison Chapel at Portsmouth, with military hono rs, on the 4th July following. Although it was not his proud lot to fall gloriously in the cause of his country, his merit, as a zealous, diligent and able officer, was well known and acknowledged: the esteem in which he was held, and the sorrow and concern of his relatives and friends, at the event of his death, are the best testimonies of his private worth. As a tribute of affection, in grateful remembrance of his fraternal and kind regard, his brother, WILLIAM TOTTY, has erected this monument.'

Totty was born in Flint and was baptised at Holywell Parish Church on 24 January 1746. He inherited his birthplace, Cornist Hall, from his mother's side. His father was an ironmonger and mine owner and had 21 other children - Thomas was one of 18 who survived infancy (another was his youngest brother Hugh, chaplain to George IV, who died aged 101).

Thomas Totty joined the navy about 1760 and was promoted to 1st Lieutenant on 30th April 1775 on board HMS Mercury serving during the American Revolutionary War. Totty was appointed Master and Commander on 17th February 1778.

He became Rear Admiral on 1st January 1801, becoming Port Admiral at Chatham Dockyard the following month. He then served on board HMS Invincible as third in command of the British Fleet with Horatio Nelson with whom he was a friend.

In November 1801 Totty caught yellow fever in Martinique and died of it at sea on 2nd June 1802. He was buried at Portsmouth Garrison Chapel.

Only here in Flintshire would we forget about such a son of the County – anywhere else there would be one of those blue plaques commemorating the house for posterity.

Incidentally, ‘Cornist’ is believed to come from an old welsh word for ‘fort’ and the remains of the fort formed part of the farm Cornist Canol which preceded the hall.

#Flint #Flintshire #Cornist #Historic #RoyalNavy #AdmiralTotty

Sidney Massie's Flint Sketch

Mon, 20 Nov 2023 10:35:57 GMT

Sidney Massie

British Artist

(1802-1891)

Today’s ‘image’ is a drawing of Flint Town completed in 1826 by Miss Sidney Massie, of Pulford near Chester. Sidney Massie was from an old Cheshire family who lived at Coddington, near Chester but who were connected by marriage with the Salisbury’s of Leadbrook, Oakenholt, Flint – whose names we still see in Flint place names today.

The illustration shows a long lost view of Castle Street and Church Street, Flint - as the town appeared before the Chester to Holyhead Railway passed through the town in 1848, severing it in two.

Sidney Massie draws her image from the entrance to the old Flintshire County Prison at the Castle, then known as Castle Terrace. The road leading to the entrance gates of ‘Flint Gaol’ passes over the old Flint Castle Moat, which formerly separated the Castle from the town itself. The stonework ruins on each side of this road are the remains of the Tower which in earlier times commanded the drawbridge of Flint Castle as shown in John Speed's Flint Town Plan which I posted here a short time ago. Incidentally, Flint has its own song called 'The Yard' (see some great images of Flint and listen to it here on You Tube - words below) which many believe may have been a nod to the yard of the old Flint Gaol where you would 'lodge' for any misdemeanours committed in the town.

Interestingly, the house on the high ground in the distance is Cornist Hall which, then as a farmhouse, had latterly had been the home of Lord Nelson’s Fleet Rear Admiral, Thomas Totty and the hills beyond are Halkyn Mountains and the ancient Hillfort at Moel Y Gaer which we have regularly posted about too.

THE YARD

There's a lodging house down Castle Street,

Where they have ham and eggs three times a week,

Oh! You should here them yell

When they hear that dinner bell.

In that old lodging house down Castle Street.

CHORUS:

The yard, the yard, the old old yard.

There is a lodging house down Castle Street

Down by the old coal yard.

CHORUS repeated

#Flint #TheYard #Flintshire #Flintcastle #Cornist #FlintGaol #RoyalNavy #AdmiralTotty

Flint Marsh - The Gallows

Sun, 19 Nov 2023 09:26:48 GMT

Gruesome History of a Picturesque Scene

You will have seen John Speed's map of Flint, including its depiction of the gallows on Flint Marsh which I published in the past few days. The map depicts a rather different world which our ancestors inhabited around 300 years ago. Today's image is of Flint Marsh, looking quite serene in the 21st Century, but in the 1740s it would have looked a rather more gruesome scene.

I was reading some articles about crime and punishment in the 18th century and found the case of Edward Ellis.

On 30th November 1741 Edward Ellis, who was a weaver in the area, was found guilty at Mold Assizes of murdering his wife Anne Ellis (born Price, but also known as Bellis) by poisoning her. Apparently he had 'persuaded' her to swallow 'Wheatflour Papes'. He was also indicted for poisoning his five-week-old daughter Jane Ellis.

The case was brought to court by Anne Ellis' parents Catherine and Ellis Price together with her brother Edward Price.

Edward Ellis pleaded 'Not Guilty' but the case was proven against him.

He was sentenced to death by hanging with the court decreeing his body to be hung in chains on Flint Marsh for all to see.

I've tried to ascertain what Wheatflour Papes are but have met with little success. However, it is likely that Edward Ellis knew of the effects of 'Ergots Poisoning.' I'm no micro-biologist but from reading many reports it seems that as wheat its waste products (papes?) ages, the fungus inherent within exponentially grows and so it becomes a real danger to consume.

Ergot poisoning happens when the fungus Claviceps purpurea grows on grains such as rye and wheat, producing toxic alkaloids. Ergot can affect the nervous system, digestive system, or cardiovascular system, constricting the blood vessels. This can lead to tissue death due to a lack of oxygen. Symptoms of ergot poisoning vary but include dizziness, convulsions, psychosis and other nasty outcomes, such as gangrene - and of course consumption of the most toxic elements may lead to death.

#flint #flintshire #wheat #hanging #historical

John Speed's Flint in 1610

Fri, 17 Nov 2023 09:11:40 GMT

and forty years later the castle and town lay in ruins...

The map of Flint above is taken from the map of Flintshire we showed the other day, as created by John Speed in 1610.

Flint town in many ways has not altered at its core, being laid out as a regular parallelogram and in those days being surrounded by a protective ditch which can still be traced - on the West in Earl Street and Evans Street, on the South in Coleshill Street and Chapel Street and on the East in Swan Street and Duke Street.

Some 'hidden' and interesting features on the map...

Note 'the gallows,' just below the compass where people were regularly executed for relatively minor misdemeanours - which I'll write something about in due course. John Speed hasn't drawn anyone hanging on the gallows, but we do know that Flint gallows were on the marshes and the bodies of 'criminals' were left to rot on the gallows for many weeks at a time.

The castle also has a building at its centre, which is not there any more. Oliver Cromwell may have had something to do with this as following the 1646 siege of Flint Castle during the 'English' Civil War, in 1647 parliament ordered the use of gunpowder to ensure the castle could never be used again. So the castle became the ruin we see today.

As John Taylor, in his tome Journey Around Wales put it in 1652, the castle was:

'now almost buried in its own ruins, and the town is so spoiled that it may truly be said of it, that they never had any market (in the memory of man): they have no saddler, tailor, weaver, brewer, baker, butcher, or button-maker; they have not so much as a sign of an alehouse, so that I was doubtful of a lodging'.

'Ye Olde Flynt Towne Hall' is depicted as a grand building in the town with the 'stocks and pillory' being directly opposite. The old St. Mary's Church is seen in the west-east orientation along Church Street.

Note too the scale of the map is in paces, so if you're ever in Church Street, Flint try and walk the distance from the Town Hall to the Church which is about 120 paces! I did and it's not that far out.

#flintcastle #flinttownhall #johnspeed #history #englishcivilwar

John Speed Mapmaker

Wed, 15 Nov 2023 14:35:20 GMT

John Speed's 1610 Map of Flintshire

A few days ago I published an article on maps, well here's a little more to come on this subject...

John Speed (1552 -1629)

John Speed, a renowned English cartographer and historian, left an indelible mark on the history of England and Wales, as its most celebrated mapmaker during the Stuart period. Born in the charming village of Farndon, just over the River Dee into Cheshire, Speed's humble beginnings were rooted in his father's prosperous tailoring business, where he initially found himself immersed. However, destiny had grander plans for young Speed, leading him on a remarkable journey that would shape the way generations perceived the world around them - including me. With an insatiable curiosity and an unwavering passion for cartography, Speed embarked on a path that would forever cement his name in the annals of English history.

The first time I saw John Speed's 1610 map of Flintshire was when I was a pupil at the Gwynedd CP School in Flint - Mr Peers taught us history and is still a local historian in the area - well in his nineties now. Since then, I have always been fascinated with this very early depiction of the county I grew up in. It has hidden little gems within, and the more you look at the map, the more you see.

When contemplating Mr. Peers, it becomes fascinating to consider the profound impact our former educators have on our lives. Undoubtedly, my esteemed history teachers, namely Mr. Alan Peers, Mr. Rupert Worral, and Mrs. Glenys Harrison (whose daughter Emma I had the honor of teaching long ago), played a pivotal role in shaping my journey towards becoming an author with a deep passion for history. My heartfelt gratitude goes out to each and every one of them.

to be continued...

Flintshire at the time of the 1832 Reform Act

Mon, 13 Nov 2023 08:35:34 GMT

Old (and new) Political Maps of Flintshire

We're back to old maps again today.

Maps tells us lots of things and maps are created for a purpose. This is the Boundary Commission Report Map for Flintshire dated 1832 – the year of The Great Reform Act. Those of you studying history at a higher level in school and college will know a bit about this and how important the act became to change the political landscape of Britain.

Flintshire was then a unique place in Britain, for the county was split into two parts – 'Flintshire Main County' and 'The Maelor Saesneg' part of Flintshire, centred on Bangor-on-Dee. Read more about the history of why here .

You will see from the map that in 1832 the population of Flintshire was 60,100 (of which only 1359 people had a vote - see more on Flint Boroughs here – the population is now well in excess of 160,000 ( with fortunately the majority of adults being franchised ), although boundary changes in the 1990s have seen the loss of towns such as Rhuddlan, Prestatyn, Rhyl, Bodelwyddan and St.Asaph from 'old Flintshire' to Denbighshire.

Notice too that the Principal Borough of the county is placed as Flint, with Mold (now the County Town) being a Contributory Borough. Talk to old Flintonians and they believe their town should still be the county town, as Mold is the young pretender to the county town of Flintshire.

Incidentally, Earl Grey (Leader of the Whigs), as in the tasty tea, won the election in 1832 and continued as Prime Minister.

So to modern times...

Below are the proposed alterations to boundaries for the area I live in, which come into effect from 2024, renamed as Clwyd East - for us North Walians, this means that the old 'nine constituencies' are slimmed down to seven - apparently to do with populations which are within 5% of an electoral quota mean of 73,393. This just shows how, through history, right up to modern times, maps have been used to carve up the land for whatever purpose the map maker deems necessary. Cynical old me, in times gone by, might have suspected some ulterior motive or gerrymandering of votes going on but, na, they wouldn't do that...

Full explanation of the changes in Wales here .

None of this alters currently alters 'Flintshire' as a county with its own County Council, although more and more, it is a county in name only - the next question being, when will Flintshire as a council area cease to exist! Time will tell.

#flintshire #reformact1832 #flint #parliament #boundarychanges #history

Pilot Officer Gerald Davies

Sun, 12 Nov 2023 11:01:18 GMT

and Robert McCallum Needham

Remembrance Sunday

Today in our thoughts are for members of the family who gave their lives in two world wars.

Pilot Officer Gerald Davies aged 23 of RAF 211 Squadron who was killed in action on 13th April 1941 in Greece. His remains are buried at Phaleron War Cemetery, a beautiful location in the port of Piraeus Athens. He is also commemorated on Shotton Cenotaph in Flintshire.

Also Robert McCallum Needham aged 21, of 12th Battalion East Yorkshire Regiment. Killed in action on 3rd May 1917 at Arras. He has no marked grave and is commemorated on the Arras Memorial and on Goole Centotaph . The 'death-penny' marking his service and death in the First World War is pride of place in this house.

#remembrance #WWI #WW2 #Phaleron #Goole #wewillrememberthem

Lest We Forget

Sat, 11 Nov 2023 10:35:11 GMT

The Unknown Warrior

It's the 105th anniversary of the armistice which ended the First World War. In my youth I spoke to many a man who'd gone through the horrors of the 1914 - 1918 war and like many of you out there, my family was not untouched by the tragedy of the war and other wars since which leave scars to this day.

Earlier this year, I paid a visit for the first time to Athens, to the grave of my mother’s brother Pilot Officer Gerald Davies who was killed in action on Easter Sunday 1941. His life was ended when his Blenheim Bomber was shot down, along with five planes carrying his comrades, on the border of Albania with Northern Greece. Gerald was defending Greece from a mass invasion of German troops, an invasion which, within a few short days, saw the complete capitulation of Greece to Nazi Germany. His tragic story is written in my book Gerald's War.

His death and the death of all killed in action in defence of our beautiful country, is represented by the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior at Westminster Abbey. So how did the Tomb of the Unknown arrior come to be?

On November 7th, 1920, with utmost secrecy, four unidentified British bodies were unearthed from temporary battlefield cemeteries at Ypres, Arras, the Asine, and the Somme, where my own Great Grandfather James Whitworth was invalided out from. The soldiers involved in the excavation were kept in the dark about the reasons behind it. Subsequently, the bodies were transported to General HQ at St-Pol-Sur-Ter Noise, accompanied by a field ambulance. Upon arrival, the bodies were respectfully adorned with the Union Jack, while sentries stood guard.

Brigadier-General Wyatt and Colonel Gell then randomly selected one body, while the remaining three were laid to rest again. A French Honour Guard was chosen and dutifully stood by the coffin throughout the night, honoring the selected soldier.

On the morning of the 8th November, a specially designed coffin made of oak from the grounds of Hampton Court arrived and the Unknown Warrior was placed inside. On top was placed a crusaders sword and a shield on which was inscribed:

"A British Warrior who fell in the GREAT WAR 1914-1918 for King and Country".

On 9th November, the Unknown Warrior was taken by horse-drawn carriage through Guards of Honour and the sound of tolling bells and bugle calls to the quayside. There, he was saluted by Marechal Foche and loaded onto HMS Vernon bound for Dover. The coffin stood on the deck covered in wreaths, surrounded by the French Honour Guard. Upon arrival at Dover, the Unknown Warrior was met with a nineteen gun salute - something that was normally only reserved for Field Marshals. A special train had been arranged and he was then conveyed to Victoria Station, London. He remained there overnight, and, on the morning of the 11th of November, he was finally taken to Westminster Abbey.

The concept of the unknown warrior originated from a clergyman named David Railton, who had firsthand experience on the front lines of the Great War. The Union Flag he had utilized as an altar cloth during his time at the front was the very same one draped over the coffin. Railton's intention was to provide solace to all the families of the 517,773 combatants whose bodies remained unidentified, allowing them to believe that the Unknown Warrior could potentially be their beloved husband, father, brother, or son.

This is precisely why we wear poppies.

It is not a means to glorify war, but rather a way to humbly remember the tremendous and ultimate sacrifices that have been made, not only in this war but in every conflict where our brave service personnel have fought. These sacrifices have ensured the liberty and freedoms that we now often take for granted.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.

#remembrance #geraldswar #unknownwarrior

Flint Boroughs

Fri, 10 Nov 2023 10:13:42 GMT

.... plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose

In my lifetime we've had a selection of MPs in Flintshire but all were either Conservative of Labour toeing the party dogma ... Eirene White (L), Barry Jones (L), Keith Raffan (C), David Hanson (L) and latterly Rob Roberts (C). I even gave it a go three times myself, being pretty miffed that no one seemed to be listening to what people were actually saying in the area, but all to no avail. The system is pretty loaded if you aren't in the 'jobs for the girls or boys club.' I suppose I did effect change in the end as the votes cast for me enabled a change of MP, although not the one I might have wished for.

So what's the history of MPs in Flintshire? Well, it was as murky then as it is now, only in a different way. Flint Boroughs was a parliamentary constituency, which returned one Member of Parliament to the House of Commons from 1542 until it was abolished for the 1918 general election.

From the Tudor period onwards the Members of Parliament for this area, Flint Boroughs, were a succession of country gents who were all related in one way or another. Full List Here.

Here's an example of the way things were...

The Conway’s of the Soughton Hall Estate and Davies’ of Gwysaney were at the core of this. A son-in-law of the Conway’s, Edward Morgan II (1576-1640) was MP of Flint Borough’s from 1597-1601. He was 21 when he became MP! Morgan lived at Golden Grove (Llanasa) and Wepre Hall. He was directly descended from Ednyfed Fychan, seneschal to Llywelyn the Great. As such he was directly related to the Tudors themselves.

Morgan was a lawyer by trade and a student of the Inner Temple in London. He was also High Sheriff of Flintshire from 1620-21

He travelled widely in Europe and Ireland, acquiring a competent knowledge of French and Italian, but a promising career was cut short when, on 21st April 1610, he killed John Egerton of Egerton, Cheshire, in a duel at Highgate in London. The two had been neighbours in North Wales for a time and Morgan was engaged in a legal battle with Egerton which had lasted for four years. Morgan had challenged the Egertons to meet him ‘in any place of Christendom’, describing Sir John as ‘a filthy black knight’ and his whole family as ‘vipers.’ Morgan was a man of temper and had already tried to stab Egerton and his son at a church service in Llanasa in 1608. Apparently an argument had ensued when Morgan refused to return a hawk belonging to the Egertons which had landed on his property. Morgan had abused the falconer with ‘reproachful speeches.’ John Egerton had issued his own challenge to a duel, only to be forbidden from taking the field by his father. On 19th April 1610 the two met again and the challenge to a duel was re-issued by Egerton. He lost the duel on the 21st April. Morgan was committed to Newgate prison after killing Egerton but later bribed his way out.

A very corrupt system for hundreds of years… is it much better now I ask?

#flintboroughs #MPs #DelynConstituency #Parliament #Flintshire

Joining Up

Thu, 09 Nov 2023 10:58:02 GMT

Letters from mum...

Those who will have read my blog before will know that I sometimes refer to my days in the police force... well that all seems a different life now, having since spent time as a teaching and afterwards working in the NHS.

As I came to do my blog today I realised it was one of those Red Letter Days in my life! Yes, it's the 9th November and it occurred to me that this date was the anniversary of me 'joining-up' as a British bobby many moons ago! So I headed to the cupboard, where I keep old photos and documents and I came across one tatty old file containing letters, photographs and a pile of old diaries from way back when. In my search through the papers there, I came across one of the first images taken of me as a North Wales Police officer, taken at what was then 'Police Training Centre Wales' situated at Cwmbran in South Wales - a facility which opened in July 1974, being the first purpose-built police training centre in the United Kingdom. However just 21 years later, in 2005, the centre was closed down, rendered obsolete in these ever changing modern days when perhaps the place didn't suit the political climate.

Following closure, the site was left to go to rack and ruin, as can been seen from the images taken here .

In the subsequent years since closure, the whole site was levelled to the ground and was sold off for housing development. Now in excess of 500 houses occupy the site and you'd have no idea that the police facility was ever there.

I hear they call such planning moves 'progress,' but the centre, which had initially cost a fair old penny to construct, wasn't that old and was a great facility for Wales and the UK as a whole in terms of training police officers; something which apparently now take place at a 'force-level.' As a result of this 'in-house training' which favours the politically-correct academic 'policing-degree' bobby, with attached micro-management, we've lost the bobby on the street who was able to think for him/herself with some autonomy and therefore have some discretion over decision making when dealing with the public.

I hear people constantly asking why they never see a bobby on the beat any more and bemoaning the loss of traditional old policing values, such as turning up to the report of a crime on a timely basis.

Policing by consent... I wonder what happened? Such a shame.

Here's a reason given for the closure of such training centres .

To finish, here's a video of one of the passing out parades at Cwmbran (not mine, but from 1984) which brought back so many memories!

#policing #policetraining #britishbobby

House of Correction

Tue, 07 Nov 2023 09:18:54 GMT

An unusual place in Hawarden, Flintshire...

As an ex-cop I'm always interested how the authorities dealt with miscreants in times gone by, well one of the more unusual historical architectural anomalies in Flintshire is the ‘House of Correction’ in Hawarden. The building is essentially an ancient 'Criminal Lock-up' and is situated at the top of Crosstree Lane as it joins Glynne Way, Hawarden.

The stone lintel above the door actually states 'House of Correction.'

The building is on two levels, one of which is below ground. There is no exact date for its construction but it is known to date from the 1750’s or earlier and was built for use as an overnight place to accommodate local law breakers who would often be drunks and the like.

Adjacent to the right, were the village stocks and whipping-post. These were replaced by a stone water-pump which was in regular use until 1866 – the remains are just out of shot to the right of the large lime tree.

In ancient times, Hawarden had three ancient crosses along its thoroughfare but in 1641, at the time of the English Civil War, under a Parliamentary order, all street crosses were destroyed.

In 1742, the Parish Clerk, Thomas Fisher, planted trees to mark the sites and the lime tree on the right of the House of Correction is the only survivor and once had a seat around its base.

#Hawarden #Crime #explorenorthwales #discovernorthwales #history #Flintshire

William Ewart Gladstone

Mon, 06 Nov 2023 07:58:10 GMT

Gladstone (1809 -1898)

Flintshire has a great connectivity to William Ewart Gladstone the late 19th Century Prime Minister and whilst writing Gerald's War, I discovered so much more about him and what he did for our small county in North East Wales.

If you have ever visited the town of Hawarden, you may have missed Gladstone's Library which is another of the hidden gems of Flintshire. Even if you're not into books, it's a great place to visit, with a fantastic coffee shop. The library is unique amongst libraries in Britain - amongst other things, it has accommodation facilities and even holds writers' courses if, like me, you are a writerholic and want to hone your skills, or even just find out a little more about yourself and why you write. The Library is open seven days a week from 9am to 5pm.

You can find out more here: www.gladstoneslibrary.org

St Deiniol's Library was established in 1889 by the great man himself who apparently 'wheelbarrowed' a vast collection of his books from his residence at Hawarden Castle to the library to help get the place established. A statue of William Gladstone stands directly in front of the building - a great spectacle in its own right. The place is a must for a visit if you've never been before.

Gladstone (1809 -1898) is recognised as Britain's greatest statesman.

More to come on this in due course.

#GeraldsWar #Gladstone #Hawarden #StDeiniol #gladsoneslibrary #writers #writerslift #amwriting #readers

Winter is coming...

Sun, 05 Nov 2023 09:44:47 GMT

...well it had already arrived in 1911

Here's Northop Church in the winter of 1911, taken at 1.35pm according to the clock - how different Northop looks now - not a car in sight! Fast forward to today and gone are the cottages on the left to make way for road widening (in the late seventies), but the church remains as it was then, including the yew trees, which have hardly altered in over 100 years.

Note the cottage inhabitants at their doors participating in the image. I know some of my ancestors lived in Northop but not in these cottages. The 1911 Census suggests they might have had the surname Jones, Davies or Foulkes but we'll never know... unless anyone out there knows differently!

The Ford in Northop

Sat, 04 Nov 2023 08:30:24 GMT

Northop Ford - for intrepid travellers in a 4x4 only!

Following on from yesterday's blog about The Boot Inn at Northop....

Here's the aptly named Brook Street which runs down the right hand side of The Boot Inn. During the 18th century the road was in more use as the main route through the village and anyone travelling along this road then (and right to the present day) would have to negotiate the famous 'Northop Ford' - a place, where in my day as a youngster... new driving licence in hand at the wheel of my precious 'B reg' Goodwood Green Cortina Mk... I went back and to, through the ford making a big splash just for the sheer excitement of it!

Nowadays, it's rather too steep for most cars as attested by the many scapes on the concrete which now makes up the bed of Northop Brook at this point. Definitely one of those things done 'at your own risk' especially if you're not in some sort of off-road vehicle!

The Boot Inn Northop

Fri, 03 Nov 2023 07:53:46 GMT

My haunt as a teenager...

Prior to the year 828, Northop was known by its long associated title of Llan Eurgain: ‘The Holy Place of Eurgain.’ Eurgain is chronicled to have established Christianity in the area, firstly through the creation of a monastery at Mynachlog, Northop and then with the creation of the first Church at Northop in about the year 550 AD.

It is recorded that originally the village was called ‘North Hope’ (as I called the fictional village in Excalibur Reborn) and Hope, near Caergwrle was called East Hope which later became just ‘Hope.’

Northop (Llaneurgain) is the only village in the UK with that name - there are four villages in Lincolnshire with the old Anglo-Saxon derived name 'Northorpe' meaning the North Village or Farmstead. This is the likely derivation of the Northop village name, which has been shortened to the spelling as we see it today.

Modern Northop sits close to the A55 and is a village where most traffic just passes the village by or indeed is used as a village where car-sharing takes place, but no-one takes the time to take a look around the place. The iconic image with this blog is of the ancient Boot Inn at Northop, unusually without cars outside! Two hundred years ago the scene would have been packed with horses and coaches on their way either to Chester or Holyhead.

Incidentally, The Boot Inn was more than a coach house at one time and was used almost as a local tax office as well as being an ale house. Censuses record that Jonathan Astbury (1823-1890), during the 19th Century was the Northop Rate Collector and Inn proprietor. How life has changed.

The Boot Inn was also a favourite haunt of teenage me and my contemporaries, so it's always been a great pub. It was a great pub in the 70s and today, it has a great new menu and is well worth a visit if you are in the village.

#Northop #BootInnNorthop #BootInn #excaliburreborn #writerslife #britishpubs #pubs

Northop

Thu, 02 Nov 2023 09:36:39 GMT

Writing about my Home Village...

If bilingual road signs for our village of Northop/Llaneurgain had been used in ancient times, we would be able to date the time the first sign would have been put up to the year 828 AD.

I was reading a document describing itself as a ‘Historical Account of The Celts,’ - dated January 1 ^st 1832. In this document is stated that Northop derives its name from the Saxon language – North and Thorpe, with Thorpe meaning village, so we were the ‘North Village.’ The document asserts that our village was given the name in the year 828, after the surrender of Chester to Mercian King Egbert when the whole of Flintshire (Teigengl) was brought under the rule of the Saxons.

Chester (Caer in Welsh (meaning Fort)) was a ‘Welsh City’ in the Dark Ages – ‘Welsh City’ is probably the wrong term, as during this period all ‘Britons,’ not of Roman heritage, would be Celts and speaking Welsh of a kind. From 607AD, the Britons and the Saxons fought over Chester o n a number of occasions but, the final subjugation of the Britons in Chester, appears to have taken place between the years 828 and 830 when King Egbert overran the city and placed the whole of the area within the territory of the ‘Mercian Kingdom.’

As Chester was the ‘Capital City’ for our area of North Wales, that meant for the first time in history ‘Llan Eurgain’ came under Saxon rule. The Saxons altered the village name because it was a symbol of their subjugation of the people and the area…doubtless too, the invaders could not readily pronounce the Welsh name and so they altered it to a more pronounceable Saxon name: North Thorpe! The Saxons were here to stay, although in subsequent years the Welsh would re-conquer the area and indeed remained in control right up until the time of Edward I.

St. Eurgain

Tue, 31 Oct 2023 09:23:19 GMT

Llaneurgain - Northop in Flintshire

Whilst writing #Excalibur Reborn, I decided to base the main characters in the book right here in the village where I live, calling the village North Hope. Northop is a very old settlement in North Wales and its welsh name is Llaneurgain, meaning 'the Holy Place of Eurgain.'

The Church in Northop is named after Eurgain, its full title being 'The Church of St.Eurgain and St.Peter,' so where did the name Eurgain come from?

There is no definitive answer as to exactly who Eurgain was, but belief is that Eurgain was the niece of Asaph (as in the city of St. Asaph) and what is known of her has been passed down through the ages by word of mouth and very early written accounts such as De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae by sixth century monk Gildas Sapiens.

It appears that Eurgain was born around 510 AD and together with her brother Rhun, the two are reputed to have been the children of Maglocunus, otherwise known as ‘Maelgwyn’ who was King of Gwynedd during the 6th Century. Rhun succeeded Maelgwyn as king in the year 547 AD, but his succession was disputed because he was deemed to be the illegitimate child of Maelgwyn, so thereby he could not rightly succeed to the throne of Gwynedd.

Elidyr Mwyn-Fawr ‘the Courteous’ was the husband of Eurgain and he now claimed to be rightful King of Gwynedd and battle ensued to establish who was rightful king. During the ensuing battle which took place near Caernarvon, Elidyr Mwyn-Fawr was killed and never became king.

After this, Eurgain became even more devoted to her religion.

Legend has it that Eurgain was endowed with the power to create miracle s . There is one great story that prior t o Elidyr’s death, she is said to have given a flock of wild birds a candle to show her lover Elidyr the way , when he was lost on his great horse called ‘Du y Moroedd ‘ (the Black One of the Seas) and so he was able to safely find his way home.

As you've read previously in this blog, from the story of St. Winefride, l egends of this type were common in the Dark Ages and the truth of Eurgain will always be shrouded in mystery. What is know n is that Eurgain’s father Maelgwyn was responsible for a religious upsurgence in Dark Ages Wales and Eurgain carried on this tradition after his death . The Monastery at Mynachlog here in Northop is thought to have been dedicated to her and thereafter the church here in Northop - more to come on this in future posts .

A festival day commemorating St. Eurgain was historically held on 29th June each year, has been long forgotten in the village of Northop but the Feast of Eurgain (Gwyl Bedr ac Eurgain) was held in the village from at least the fifteenth century through to the nineteenth century as far as is recorded.

#Excalibur Reborn #welshhistory #Llaneurgain #Eurgain #Northop

Welsh Parliament First Birthday Postcard

Sun, 29 Oct 2023 10:59:59 GMT

Sent from Rhyl 22nd July 1908

I came across an old postcard dated 22nd July 1908, sent to a Master E.H. Fletcher of 73 Gainsborough Street, Oldham. The postcard was sent to wish 'Master Fletcher' a Happy First Birthday. It's a great postcard as it depicts the house on the corner of High Street and Parliament Street in Rhuddlan, as it looked in 1908 - yesterday's blog was about this house, which still stands there to this day. It is said to be the site of Edward I's Parliament building in which was passed the Statute of Rhuddlan in 1284.

The statute effectively meant that the people of Wales were governed by a 'foreign power' i.e. Edward I and his cohorts in London. This one piece of ancient legislation is regarded by some historians as the first ever 'colonial constitution,' while others view it as a charter which supposedly safeguard ed the rights and privileges of the Welsh people.

As a Welshman born and bred, I tend to believe the answer lies somewhere in the middle, for many Welsh barons at this time struck their own bargains with English royalty to bolster their own standing, with s cant regard for the indigenous people who worked the land for little or no reward . Additionally, history recounts that it was in Rhuddlan where King Edward, upon learning of his son's birth in Caernarfon, proclaimed the child as the 'Prince of Wales,' establishing a tradition within the British monarchy w hich endures to the present day with, since the death of Queen Elizabeth II, Prince William being announced to that position - without, I may add, any recourse to the people of Wales! It appears that n othing changed in 800 yea rs.

Anyway, back to the building in Rhuddlan. The inscription on the side of the Parliament Building reads:

‘This fragment is the remains of the building where Edward I held his parliament A.D. 1283, in which was passed the Statute of Rhuddlan, securing to the Principality of Wales its judicial rights and independence'

As regards the recipient of the postcard, I did some research about him and found that he was born Edward Holgate Fletcher, to Ada and Edward Fletcher on 22nd July 1907, so he was indeed one year old on this date. The postcard was sent by his mother's brother Will who must have been on holiday from Oldham in the Rhyl area at the time.

Edward Fletcher became a Slater and Tiler, following in the footsteps of his father who was also in the building trade in the Oldham area. During the Second World War he was an ARP Warden and an ambulance driver. He died in 1974 aged 67.

Unusually for the period Edward Fletcher was divorced, although he did have several children, so I assume some of his descendants are still around the Lancashire area today. Happy to pass the postcard on if anyone knows of a living relative!

#Rhuddlan #Oldham #oldpostcard #welshparliament #nigeldavieswilliams #history #writerslife

Wales' First Parliament

Fri, 27 Oct 2023 14:35:59 GMT

Welsh Artist John Ingleby (1749 - 1808)

This week I've been completing research into the First Welsh Parliament which was (and still is) situated not far from here in Rhuddlan, Denbighshire but formerly Flintshire.

It is believed that the Parliament House in Rhuddlan is where the Statute of Rhuddlan, as discussed yesterday, was first drafted. Thomas Pennant (1726–1798), an esteemed antiquarian and part of the Flintshire landed gentry remarks in 1778 about this building,

'A piece of antient building called the Parlement is still to be seen in Rhuddlan: probably where the king sat in council.’

Thomas Pennant commissioned renowned local artist John Ingleby to provide a watercolour of the building, which is depicted above. To this day, the building still stands in Parliament Street, Rhuddlan, although altered somewhat. Yet the building can still be seen with a late 13th-century doorway and a 14th-century cusped ogee door head.

John Ingleby (1749–1808)

Born in Halkyn, Flintshire, to Hugh Ingleby and Ann Davies who originally came from Derbyshire, John Ingleby spent the majority of his life in the same village which sits on the mountain about two miles away from my home in Northop village. Halkyn and surrounds is an area known over many centuries for lead-mining. I mentioned the other day about the Romans mining lead and silver from Halkyn to the River Dee at Pentre Ffwrndan, for onward transportation across their empire, and mining (now open cast) still goes on in the area to this day, as we can attest from the regular blasts we can hear from the current quarries on Halkyn Mountain.

John Ingleby was employed as a 'limner,' a respected craftsman - someone with the skill to illuminate manuscripts, or someone who painted ornamental decoration. Ingleby excelled in topographical art and creating exquisite miniature watercolours many commissioned for Thomas Pennant himself.

A collection of his paintings is held in the National Library of Wales in Aberystwyth.

More on the Rhuddlan Parliament tomorrow.

#parliament #Wales #Cymru #Pennant #Halkyn #Rhuddlan #writerscommunity #localhistory

Tegeingl

Thu, 26 Oct 2023 08:00:49 GMT

Edward I - Conquest of the Principality of Wales (1277 - 1283)

What’s in a name? Tegeingl or Flintshire or both!

The region's Welsh name Tegeignl is derived from name of the tribe. Tegeingl, the place the Saxons referred to as Engle field, existed as a cantref in the north-eastern region of Wales during the medieval era. As a consequence of Edward I conquering and subjugating the Welsh in the 13th century, Tegeingl became known as Flintshire, after the town of Flint, where Edward built one of his 'ring of steel' castles.

Consisting of the three hundreds ( an administrative subdivision ) of Rhuddlan, Prestatyn, and Coleshill, this territory was originally a part of the Kingdom of Gwynedd, however, in the late 8th century, it fell under the control of the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom of Mercia through conquest. This dominion continued for more than three centuries until Dafydd ab Owain Gwynedd regained control in the 12th century. During the 11th century, Edwin of Tegeingl (d.1073) was recognized as the "lord" or "prince" of Tegeingl, a title that will be further explored later. Following his reign, his son Owain became the Lord of Tegeingl and supported the Anglo-Normans' invasion of North Wales in the 1090s. The family retained their influence in North Wales until tragedy struck in 1125 when Owain's sons were slain by a son of Gruffudd ap Cynan, the Prince of Gwynedd.

It subsequently exchanged ownership multiple times between England and Gwynedd, until it was ultimately captured by Edward I in his conquest of the Principality of Wales from 1277 to 1283. As a result, it was integrated into the county of Flintshire through the enactment of the Statute of Rhuddlan, which provided the governing framework for the Principality of Wales from 1284 to 1536.

medievalbritain #wales #cymru #deceangli #flintshire #amwriting #writerscommunity #history #tegeingl

Roman Legion XX

Wed, 25 Oct 2023 15:17:38 GMT

Twentieth Victorious Valeria Legion

I have always had pretty tanned skin, dark hair, and deep brown eyes and frequently I receive comments suggesting I look Italian. Even when I was younger, my school friends would cheekily ask whether I was adopted or not, because I appeared to be 'from another country.' It was (and still is) at times quite frustrating. Added to this, at school I was called many an impolite (an understatement) name over the years and this even carried on after I’d finished school when I started work. I have been asked on more occasions than I can remember the question “where do you come from?” To me it was an odd thing to ask, especially when I’d grown up in Flintshire and knew nowhere else. My dad was of a similar complexion and told me he’d been put through the same sort of questions both as a child and an adult. I can remember being punched and kicked in Chester as a teenager for just looking different, so it’s no wonder that as an adult I started to investigate my ancestry to see exactly where I came from.

As I mentioned yesterday, when my DNA results came back, it even surprised me to see I was 100% from these isles, with over 3/4 from Wales, the rest from the North-West of England and a tiny percentage (2%) being Irish. So I’m for sure a Celt but part of me suspects, that when the Romans were in these parts, nearly 2000 years ago there could be a part of me, not showing up in my DNA , which is related to those times, after all they were in this area for hundreds of years. For sure my ancient Welsh ancestors would have come into contact with the Romans in this area, especially those of Roman Legion XX. Of course I’ll never know, but it’s an exciting thought to think an ancestor of mine might have had some connection with the twentieth Victorious Valeria Legion stationed at Deva Victrix (Chester), in the province of Britannia.

The map I showed yesterday detailed the Roman Empire in AD 125 (under Emperor Hadrian) and indicated that Legion XX Valeria Victrix were where the Deceangli tribe were. The Legion were stationed at Deva from AD 88 until at least the late 3rd century.

The 'Twentieth' were among the legions involved in the construction of Hadrian's Wall, and the discovery of stone altars commemorating their work in Caledonia suggests that they had some role in building the Antonine Wall too.

The Legion would have been in Chester at the time Roman Emperor Septimus Severus conducted several successful campaigns to conquer rebellious tribes in Britannia, before he died in York in the year 211.

One historical matter almost never discussed by historians and writers of Roman History is The Wall of Severus. This wall was constructed to keep us Welsh barbarians under control and if you read the 4th century ‘Scriptores Historia Augustae,’ there is mention of a ‘third wall and rampart’ in Britain, which ran for 132 miles from the Severn Estuary to the River Dee. Detailed research by the historians Steve Blake and Scott Lloyd in their book The Keys to Avalon (ISBN: 1-86204-735-9) has shown this to be precisely what historians generally now consider to be Offa’s Dyke, but this is for sure, likely the place the later King Offa (757-796) of Mercia did build his dyke, but seemingly he repaired and followed the line of the earlier Wall of Severus. It is such a fascinating bit of unknown history which I made sure I gave some recognition to in my book 'Excalibur Reborn.'

#romanbritain #romanwales #cymru #deceangli #flintshire #amwriting #writerscommunity #history

Flintshire... 2000 years ago

Tue, 24 Oct 2023 08:42:25 GMT

The Romans and The Deceangli Tribe

Upon receiving the results of my DNA analysis from Ancestry, I discovered that my Welsh roots constitute a significant three-fourths of my heritage, indicating that my ancestors have resided in Wales for countless generations. A well-founded certainty lies in the fact that my Williams lineage has called Flintshire home for a remarkable span of three to four centuries, and quite possibly even longer. It is highly probable that somewhere within my lineage, I am connected to the Deceangli tribe, a formidable Iron Age Celtic group that thrived in the region and has been historically documented since the 1st century BC.

Ptolemy’s 2 ^nd Century map of Britain – the part reproduced here mainly represents Wales and defines the Deceangli tribe still in the area with Roman Legion XX based at Deva – now Chester .

In the years 51 and 52AD, the Roman Governor Publius Ostorius Scapula led a formidable force consisting of two legions (Legion XIV Gemina and Legion XX), into what is now known as modern Wales. Their mission was to confront Caratacus and his Ordovices allies in a decisive battle. The exact location of this significant clash between the Britons and the Romans remains a mystery, except that it occurred somewhere along the banks of the River Severn.

Roman tactics and equipment yield a tremendous advantage over the Britons. The wife and daughter of Caratacus are apprehended, and his brother yields. Caratacus takes flight towards the north, traversing the land of the Deceangli, in search of refuge with the Brigantes (located north of the River Mersey boundary). Meanwhile, it is likely that the Ordovices endure significant losses and remain subdued for a generation.

Of this defeat, the Roman historian Publius Cornelius Tacitus (56 - 120AD) wrote:

'By the Icenian defeat all who were wavering between war and peace were reduced to quietude, and the army was led against the Ceangi (Deceangli). The country was devastated, booty collected everywhere, while the enemy declined to risk a battle, or, if he made a stealthy attempt to harrass the marching columns, found his treachery punished. And now Ostorius was within measurable distance of the sea which looks towards Ireland, when an outbreak of sedition among the Brigantes recalled a leader who was firm in his resolution to attempt new conquests only when he had secured the old.'

Rhuddlanshire!

Sat, 21 Oct 2023 08:25:10 GMT

Statute of Wales 19th March 1284

As I mentioned yesterday, we have a great coastline here in Flintshire or should I say ‘Rhuddlanshire!‘....

I can't help mention a bit of little known Flintshire history here too. Flintshire almost never came into existence as a county. Flintshire was, as a ‘new shire’ constituted by the Statute of Wales on 19th March 1284 at Rhuddlan.

Clause II of the statute ordained that there b e:

“ A Sheriff of Flint, under whom shall be the Cantred of Englefield, the land of Maelor Saesneg, the land of Hope and all the land attached to our castle and town of Rhuddlan, as far as the town of Chester…”

In the British Museum exists the draft of the Statute of Wales document - written in an unmistakable thirteenth-century official hand. The rough draft is full of cancellations and alterations, as you’d expect in a draft document. There are several very interesting differences between this rough draft and the released Statute of Wales. One of the differences is that, whereas the statute speaks of a ‘Sheriff of Flint,’ the corresponding clause in the draft speaks of a ‘Sheriff of Rhuddlan.’ If the wording of the draft had stood, Flintshire would have been called Rhuddlanshire!

Flintshire as a county containing the town of Rhuddlan existed unaltered for hundreds of years modern boundary changes have seen the county alter several times and Rhuddlan is now in Denbighshire. The cynical part of me can't help but think of the word 'gerrymandering' here.

Within ‘the old boundaries’ of Flintshire there are over 1000 ancient monuments, historic sites and ancient places to see.

Many in my home village of Northop alone ... more to come on this.

#flintshire #localhistory #rhuddlan

Point of Ayr

Fri, 20 Oct 2023 10:03:05 GMT

Vikings in Flintshire?...

The name ‘Point of Ayr’ has a Viking origin - the Dee Estuary area has a rich Viking heritage that has not been explored greatly on the Welsh side of the river. Over the river on The Wirral, the Viking heritage is seen much stronger in the town names... names ending with 'by' are known Viking settlements, thus we have, Irby, Greasby, Raby, Pensby, West Kirby, etc,. The Wirral has one of the highest densities of 'by' place names in the UK 'By' settlement endings are the names of places where the Vikings settled first - coming from Old Norse 'býr' meaning town or village.

Viking raids began towards the end of the ninth century and the Norsemen began to settle along the banks of the River Dee and the coast of the Irish Sea. The Norse word ‘Eyrr’ means a gravelly beach or sandbank. There is also a Point of Ayre on the Isle of Man and by coincidence, the most Northerly point of the island. This place also has a famous lighthouse too! What a great place.

When we think of the fantastic county of Flintshire, many associate the iconic Talacre beach as the place to go in the county but the county is such a rich and diverse place with many more hidden secrets. In the past few years the new coastal path along the Dee Estuary was opened and you can almost ride your bike or walk unheeded from Chester to Talacre and beyond, taking in a wealth of landscapes and history.

Definitely a great place to take a walk with your dogs and definitely your camera with you.

#talacre #flintshire #history #localhistory #pointofayr #wirral

Sunset at Talacre

Thu, 19 Oct 2023 08:53:19 GMT

Another Gemstone of Flintshire...

The most northerly part of the Welsh mainland is in Flintshire – Point of Ayr. Point of Ayr gives its name to the 60ft high lighthouse there – we know it as Talacre Lighthouse.

The lighthouse was originally built from brick in 1776 through monies provided by the Chester business community after the loss of two ships, their crews and valuable cargoes in 1775. The lighthouse once had bi-directional lights. The main beam, at 63 feet, shone out to sea towards Llandudno and a second beam shone up the River Dee, towards the hamlet of Dawpool at Thurstaston, Wirral. The lighthouse was originally painted with red and white stripes, and had a red lantern housing.

In 1844 a newer metal-piled construction replaced the older lighthouse and this is the lighthouse we see today. This was superseded by ‘The Dee-Lightship’ in 1883 and so the lighthouse fell into disuse, indeed not too long ago the lighthouse together with two acres, was up for sale with a price tag of £100,000 and has apparently been sold to a local businessman.

A great place for an evening walk with the family and the dogs - even in the depths of winter.

#talacre #flintshire #history #localhistory #pointofayr

Old Flintshire meets New Flintshire

Tue, 17 Oct 2023 09:46:53 GMT

A tale of two times...

Flintshire undeniably stands as one of the prominent industrial hubs in Wales and holds the distinction of being the sole industrial powerhouse in North Wales. For numerous decades, the industrial landscape of Flintshire thrived on the foundations laid by the giants of steel, paper, and textiles. It was within these very industries that several of my family members devoted their lives, and it was the allure of such prospects that drew some of them to this region initially. I have delved into this captivating narrative in my book, 'Gerald's War.'

For perhaps the last one hundred years, the steel, paper and slightly later textile production ensured that large swathes of the area were gainfully employed and this is what saw the county transfer in the public consciousness from a tranquil corner of Wales to a busy place where the rich history of the county began to slumber in the shadow of the rising industrial heritage. This industrial heritage has a long history too with the Romans exporting metals from the county almost two thousand years ago – this mining heritage remained right through to almost the present day but changes in production techniques led to a decline in the mining industry due to poor quality production and increasing costs.

As the old industries declined, newer businesses and industries came to the county and diversified the work base making the area less vulnerable to mass redundancies such as was seen in the 60s, 70s and 80s. So today, Flintshire is a reasonably affluent county with one particularly world renowned and iconic industry which is Airbus, who have their huge facility at Broughton which is situated on the banks of the River Dee now far from Chester and it this river which defines the north-easterly coastline of Flintshire from Chester through to Talacre.

Airbus and other industries have made great use of the river over the years and to highlight this, whilst out on a cycle ride and crossing the majestic Flint Bridge, there in front of me down in the river was the mesmerizing sight of the Airbus 'Wing Barge' gracefully making its way up the River Dee to acquire a wing specifically designed for the huge Airbus 380. Once the wing is on board the barge, the extraordinary cargo is transported to Mostyn Docks, where a larger vessel eagerly awaits to carry it across the seas to its final destination: the enchanting city of Toulouse where I have spent many an hour as a teenager, lucky to be sent there from the high school in Flint on exchange trips.

The docks at Mostyn are themselves a very old place, first mentioned in the Doomsday Book of 1086.

In recent days I have mentioned Henry IV and he landed in Flintshire at the quay of Mostyn in 1399 when, as Henry Bolingbroke, he took the crown from Richard II at Flint castle. In the 1960s the three blocks of hideous high-rise flats which changed the skyline of the town forever were named in memory of this - Bolingbroke Heights, Richard Heights and Castle Heights. Shakespeare wrote about this in his play Richard II. In Act III Scene III, King Richard capitulates to Bolingbroke at Flint Castle. Richard's supporters are seen to defect from him him one by one and others are executed. It was 19th August 1399 when Richard surrendered and he promised to abdicate if his life was spared. On returning to London, Richard was imprisoned in the Tower and from all accounts it seems he then ended up a prisoner in Pontefract Castle where he died from starvation - so much for allowing him to live!

In 1485, Henry Tudor, later to be Henry VII, used Mostyn Hall to evade the clutches of Richard III and then escaped using the Quay at Mostyn. All this before he went on to defeat him at the Battle of Bosworth Field later in the year.

During the English Civil War in 1643 King Charles I Cavaliers landed at the quay in Mostyn to fight the roundheads who had besieged Flint Castle. It was after this that Cromwell decided to destroy the castle using gunpowder as he never wanted it to be used again against him. This is the reason today that the castle is in the ruined state it is in. More on this in a future blog.

Incidentally, the barge is named 'Afon Dyfyrdwy' - this is welsh for River Dee. 'Afon Dyfyrdwy' actually means Waters of the Goddess, a link back to ancient times when the River was revered as a very sacred waterway.

In the far distant background, the white buildings you might recognise as the front in Parkgate, where I was heading along the Burton Marsh Greenway, for an ice-cream at the world famous Nicholls on my bike. www.nichollsicecream.co.uk - yum!!

#amwriting #readerscommunity #historyofwales #Shakespeare #flintcastle #flint #HenryIV #RichardII

Flintshire - Gemstone of Wales

Mon, 16 Oct 2023 09:28:44 GMT

In the shadow of Chester? I think not!

I try my best to incorporate into any of my writing projects information about my home area 'Flintshire' (and sometimes slightly beyond), which I glean on the way.

The county of Flintshire is where I was born and where I have lived for the most part of my life, despite heading off to France pretty often to visit family... and of course Greece, where I have the best friends you might ever want to meet, as written in previous blogs.

I had grown up with history being talked about in the house, although more often than not, conversations surrounded social history as my dad was big in the Steel Union at the local steelworks in the 60s and 70s. My interest lay in a different kind of history though. Growing up in Oakenholt, the next village along from Flint, as you head to Chester along the A548, I found many an artefact just lying on the ground, especially on dog walks in ploughed fields. (Yes, I've always had dogs!) As a child I'd found many such things.... a George III coin, an old ceramic inkwell, some lead scoriae, pieces of broken Roman earthenware, etc, and it occurred to me quite early on that I was surrounded by history. It was in the architecture, in the faces of the people, in the old tales they told and on or under the ground I stood on.

Higher education beckoned and I did A-level history with a view to becoming an archaeologist, even once working on a dig at the oldest Grammar School in Wales, ironically situated almost opposite where I live in Northop nowadays. But it wasn't to be, as my poor old late dad had a bad accident and lost his ability to work, so I had no option but to work instead of study as there was barely enough money coming into the house to pay the bills and feed everyone. These were the days pre any meaningful benefits and assistance I am led to believe makes life easier nowadays.

Oakenholt has a rich Roman history which many who now live there on the big sprawling estates created in recent times, have no idea about. Lead from the mountains at Halkyn was brought to be smelted before heading off to distant lands of the Roman Empire to make pipes and even children's toys. Hence the reason the area is also known in Welsh as Pentre Ffwrndan - place of the furnace.

By the way... Oakenholt comes from Saxon Middle English and means 'wood of oak trees.' This wood still exists and is the valley which starts at the coast where the North Wales Papermill still exists (right on the A548 and goes back towards Northop along which the Leadbrook flows. Another reference to lead mining by the Romans in the area.

Many old byways in the area were created by the Romans and people now walking their dogs tread directly in the footsteps of the Romans who created them.

The long and short of it is that I had to content myself with reading about history. initially I visited the local archives office in Hawarden but with the advent of the internet the ball game changed as I could research all sorts of local history from the comfort of my own home... and of course this led me to writing fiction books into which I could incorporate my historical research.

Whilst researching Excalibur Reborn, I discovered that the area of North East Wales in which Flintshire neatly nestles, represents a forgotten piece of Britain. A piece of Britain steeped in both modern and very ancient history.

Many visit places like the Lake District, Yorkshire, the Cotswolds, Snowdonia, etc., because they are the places 'talked about' as the places we should visit but there are other treasures to be found across our green and pleasant land which no one talks about and no one suggests anyone should visit. Flintshire is one such place for sure, a secret of these isles waiting to be discovered. As people come into Wales in their swarms along the main arterial A55 trunk road, they mainly head right on through the county without paying any attention to what is here at all. Indeed, the last 150 years of industrialisation of the area has meant people see Flintshire as a county where there is nothing but dirty industry and they fail to see the Gemstone of Wales which is Flintshire.

There is so much history on display in this county that I would have to blog for many a year to get it all down on paper, but I'll do my best in-between writing about other subjects close to my heart.

In the coming days, I'll start by looking at my home village of Northop and slowly move out from there as and where my car, motorbike, pedal bike or walking my Bernese Mountain dogs takes me.

Prior to taking up writing as a full time career, I have had a number of other careers... I've been a police officer, a maths teacher, an NHS manager and a professional photographer, so on journeys around the county and beyond, I do my best to use my photography training to capture some great pics of the area. Some of these images are on my phone too, so please excuse the odd pic of lesser quality! Anyhow, hopefully you will see the beauty of Flintshire and North East Wales through my artistic eyes and next time you are on the A55 you will stop and take a look at this beautiful gemstone shining bright in Chester’s shadow.

Incidentally, the image with this blog is of the River Dee with Flintshire Bridge centre image... taken on my phone from Ryanair, on a journey to France.

#Flintshire #Northop #amwriting #writerscommunity #Romans #flintbridge

Royal Visitors...

Sun, 15 Oct 2023 10:36:06 GMT

Henry V - Queen Victoria - King Charles III ... and more

Last bit for now about St. Winefride and the history surrounding the shrine at Holywell.

A famous battle took place at Shrewsbury on 21st July 1403 - 'The Battle of Shrewsbury' - roughly located where the hamlet of Battlefield some 3 miles north of modern Shrewsbury now sits. You'll pass through it if you go on the train from Shrewsbury to Crewe, a journey I've made several times over the years.

St Winefride rose to prominence after this clash which saw Harry Hotspur (Henry Percy of Northumberland) defeated and killed at 39 years of age by Lancastrian King Henry IV - aka Henry Bolingbroke. There's a link to my home town of Flint here, but I'll write about that again. During the battle, the future Henry V had his jaw bone pieced by an arrow but, luckily for him, he had some good medieval surgeons around him who removed it successfully and prevented it from becoming septic - a miracle in those days. Contemporary reports say that the future king prayed to St. Winefride for a successful recovery and seems his prayers were answered, so on getting better, he developed a profound devotion to her.

Move on 12 years to the Battle of Agincourt - you've all seen Henry V played by Kenneth Branagh - and Henry V earnestly sought St. Winefride's intervention with prayers on the eve of the battle, which he believed helped his victory against overwhelming French odds - (some estimate 8000 English v 25000 French). After the 1415 battle Henry V embarked on a barefoot pilgrimage from Shrewsbury to Holywell to give thanks to St. Winefride.

She didn't help him in 1422 though, when he died at the young age of 35 succumbing to dysentery.

During the late fifteenth century, the Holywell chapel underwent a magnificent reconstruction thanks to Margaret Beaufort the mother of Henry VII, to give thanks for his victory over Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field (22nd August 1485). The Shrine of St. Winefride is just one of five churches, locally called 'The Five Sisters' sitiuuated in Gresford, Wrexham, Northop, Mold & Holywell (the Flintshire/Wrexham area) which Margaret Beaufort reconstructed to give thanks. This includes the beautiful church of St Eurgain & St Peter's Church in Northop my home village. All of these places have intricate stonework which beautifully showcases the motifs of both Henry VII and his faithful supporters, the Stanleys. More on this to come in future blogs.

Yesterday, I mentioned the bones of St. Winefride being taken to Shrewsbury Abbey from Holywell because of 'Religious Reforms' of Henry VIII, but this led to a devastating impact on Shrewsbury Abbey, resulting in the destruction of St. Winefride's shrine there and the removal of her remains, which led to most of them being lost in perpetuity.

The 'English' Civil War from 1642 - 1651 didn't help either and any remains which hd found their way back to the shrine at Holywell were further lost as the Holywell chapel suffered damage from the Puritans who cared not one iota for historical religious idolatry of this kind.

Over the centuries though, despite the immense obstacles encountered, Catholics unwaveringly persevered, defying persecution to surreptitiously immerse themselves in the sacred waters of St Winefride's pool. It wasn't until the abolishment of anti-Catholic laws in 1829 that they were finally able to openly observe their faith. St Winefride's Well, 'the Lourdes of Wales,' proudly boasts the title of the oldest pilgrimage destination in the British Isles, with an illustrious history spanning over 1300 years.

Some of the more famous visitors through history are...

1189 Richard I

Richard I, the Lionheart, made a pilgrimage to the Well.

1416 Henry V

Following his victory at Agincourt, Henry V paid a thanksgiving visit to the Well:

'The King, with great reverence, went on foot in pilgrimage from Shrewsbury to St Winefride's Well in North Wales' (Adam of Usk, "Chronicle".)

1461 Edward IV

According to the Welsh poet Tudor Aled, Edward IV came on pilgrimage, when he placed a pinch of earth taken from beside the Well upon his crown.

1686 James II and Queen Mary Beatrice

On 29th August 1686 James II and Queen Mary Beatrice came on pilgrimage to pray for an heir. According to Thomas Pennant of Whitford & Holywel in 1796) 'the Jesuits then in charge of the Well presented the King with a present of the very shift in which his Great Grand Mother Mary Stuart lost her head.'

1828 Princess Victoria and King Leopold of Belgium

Princess Victoria, staying in Holywell, with her uncle King Leopold of Belgium, visited the Well.

2005 Duchess of Gloucester

14 October: visit of HRH The Duchess of Gloucester to St Winefride's Well and the Museum.

2021 King Charles, then The Prince of Wales

#StWinefride #StWinefridesWell #Lourdes #LourdesofWales #amwriting #readerscommunity #historyofwales

A Nasty Sort Of People...

Sat, 14 Oct 2023 07:49:07 GMT

... according to Celia Fiennes in 1698

On 5th October I wrote about the travels of Celia Fiennes, the ancestor of the modern explorer Ranulph Fiennes.

After visiting Flint she made her way to St. Winefride’s Well and the town of Holywell in Flintshire – she makes some interesting and rather disparaging comments about Holywell people too…

‘At Holly Well they speake Welsh; the inhabitants go barefoote and bare leg'd - a nasty sort of people.’

I think she would have been lynched had she made these comments openly to the people themselves.

Her description of The Well and its contemporary ‘hangers-on’ making money from the numerous visitors is great too. Her 1698 commentary on St Winefride’s Well and Holywell reads…

‘St Winfreds Well is built over with stone on Pillars like a tryumphall arch or tower on ye gates of a Church, there is a pavement of stone with in-round 3 sides of ye well which is joyn'd on ye fourth side by a great arch of stone which lies over ye water yet runs of from ye well; its many springs which bubbles up very fast and lookes cleane in a compass which is 8 square walled in with stone.

In ye bottom which you see as clear as chrystall are 9 stones layd in an oval on which are dropps of red coullour some almost quite covering the top of ye stone, which is pretended to be ye blood of this holy saint whose head was struck off here and so where her body laid this spring burst forth and remaines till now a very rapid current, which runs off from this well under a barre by which there are stone stepps for ye persons to descend which will bathe themselves in the well, and so they walke along ye streame to the other end and then come out, but there is nothing to shelter them but are exposed to all the company that are walking about ye well and to ye little houses and part of ye streete which runs along by it but ye Religeuse are not to mind it, it seemes the saint they do honour to in this place must beare them out in all things.

They tell of many lameness's and aches and distempers which are cured by it, its a cold water and cleare and runs off very quick so yet it would be a pleasant refreshment in ye summer to washe ones self in it, but its shallow, not up to ye waste so its not easye to dive and washe in, but I thinke I could not have been persuaded to have gone in unless I might have had curtains to have drawn about some part of it to have shelter'd from ye streete, for ye wett garments are no covering to ye body; but there I saw abundance of ye devout papists on their knees all round a well.

Poor people are deluded into an jgnorant blind zeale and to be pity'd by us yet have the advantage of knowing better and ought to be better.

There is some stones of a Reddish Coullour in ye well said to be some of St Winifred's blood also, which ye poore people take out and bring to ye strangers for Curiosity and Relicts, and also moss about ye bancks full of great virtue for everything.

But its a certaine gaine to ye poore people - every one gives them something for bringing them moss and ye stones, but lest they should in length of tyme be quite gather'd up they take care to replenish it dayly from some mossy hill and so stick it along ye sides of ye well - there is good streames runs from it and by meanes of steepe descent runs down and turns mills.

They come also to drinke of ye water which they take up in ye first square which is walled round and where the springs rise and they say its of wonder full operation.

Ye taste to me was but like good spring water which with wine and sugar and lemons might make a pleasant draught after walking amongst those shady trees of which there is a great many and some straight and tall like a grove but not very uniforme.‘

Celia Fiennes (1662 - 1741)

Born in 1662 in Newton Toney, Salisbury, Celia Fiennes was the daughter of a Colonel (Nathaniel Fiennes) in Cromwell’s army. What sets her apart is her remarkable journeys across nearly every county in England and Wales, accompanied only by two servants, riding side-saddle. While her primary motivation was to improve her health, she also sought personal adventure. Her detailed accounts of her travels were written after her expeditions had mostly concluded, around 1702. In her writings, she vividly depicted the grandeur of the houses she visited and the emerging industries of the time.

#StWinefride #StWinefridesWell #Lourdes #LourdesofWales #amwriting #readerscommunity #legend

Celia Fiennes ... Flint in Flintshire

Fri, 13 Oct 2023 07:34:53 GMT

Celia Fiennes (1662 – 1741)

Have you ever come across the name Celia Fiennes? It's quite unlikely. Allow me to introduce her as the equivalent of a "Trip Advisor" from the late 17th Century!

Celia Fiennes was an avid traveler who ventured across various regions of Britain, diligently documenting her experiences along the way. I recently stumbled upon one of her remarkable reports from 1698, where she recounts her visit to Flintshire. Starting her journey from Chester, she settled at a relative's place in Hawarden, which she intriguingly refers to as Harding.

In her own words:

“In a tarresse walke in my relations garden I could very plainly see Chester and ye River Dee with all its washes over the marsh ground which looked very finely.

Here are sands which makes it very difficult for strangers to passe without a guide. From hence my relation carry'd me to Holly Well and we pass'd thro' Flint town which is the Shire Town 5 mile from Harding.”

She goes on to describe Flint:

“ it’s a very ragged place; many villages in England are better, ye houses all thatched and stone walls, but so decay'd that in many places ready are to tumble down. There was a Town Hall such a one as it was; it was at a Session Tyme when I was there, which shew'd it at its prime. There is a Castle which still remaines with its towers built of stone, its down to ye water side. From thence to Holy Well is 3 mile mostly by ye water side which is reckon'd the sea. Here I went just in sight of High Lake where were many shipps rideing along that harbour.”

Although the language may seem outdated, Celia Fiennes offers a captivating and insightful portrayal of Flint Town in 1698! Imagine the thrill of being able to journey back in time and witness her experiences firsthand!

Today's image showcases a depiction of 'Ye Olde Town Hall' in Flint, which was unfortunately torn down in 1839. However, it was replaced with an even more magnificent structure that remains standing to this day.

#flint #flintshire #history #local history #blogwriter #amwriting

Legend of St. Winefride and The Well

Fri, 06 Oct 2023 10:05:30 GMT

The spring gushed forth where Winefride's head fell.

Continued from previous blog...

There have been doubts regarding the existence of St. Winefride, as written accounts about her didn't emerge until long after the supposed time of her life in the 7th century. However, historical evidence from the 8th century has recently surfaced, revealing the presence of her reliquary - a structure containing some of her remains. This discovery confirms that she was revered as a saint soon after her death and that a church dedicated to her memory was established, housing these sacred relics - the shrine at Holywell we talked about yesterday.

Her tale is a sorrowful one. She is described in history as a devout Christian, guided and educated by her uncle, Beuno, who took care of her as if she were his own daughter. Eventually, she made the decision to dedicate her life as a nun.

The earliest written records recounting the life of Saint Winefride date back to the 12th century. She is believed to have been the daughter and only child of Tyfid ap Eiludd, a Welsh nobleman who led a community residing in what is now the border region between England and Wales, specifically Flintshire. Her mother, Wenlo, was the sister of St. Beuno and also belonged to an influential Welsh family.

Unfortunately for Winefride, she encountered Prince Caradoc who was out riding. He had one motive, to approach her under the pretence of asking for water but his true intention was to force her to marry him. Winefride was herself of nobility and Prince Caradoc wanted to forge alliances with other noble families in the vicinity to enhance his power and authority. (What's changed in society!!)

According to legend, he approached her, demanding that she submit to him. Despite her refusal, he disregarded her words. Winefride desperately tried to escape to the sanctuary of the nearbychurch, but Caradoc pursued her on horseback and effortlessly captured her. Despite Prince Caradoc's threats of death, Winefride fiercely resisted his advances. She remained resolute in her decision, unwavering and uncompromising. Although she must have been terrified by the impending attack, Winefride proclaimed that she would rather choose death than surrender. Caradoc, feeling rejected, swiftly beheaded Winefride with his sword. It is said that where her head fell, a spring of water gushed forth from the earth - the very spring that still nourishes the sacred shrine in Holywell.

It is said that the first on the scene was St. Beuno. He cursed Caradoc, who met an immediate demise and was swallowed up by the earth. Witnessing this horrifying event, Beuno called upon the gathering crowd to join him in prayer. As their prayers echoed, Beuno miraculously placed Winefride's severed head back onto her body, at the very spot it had been severed, where the spring of water now freely flowed. The tale tells of the wondrous revival of Winefride, giving birth to the legend of the miraculous healing powers of St. Winefride's Well. The only visible mark of the incident was a redness, resembling a crimson silk thread, serving as a poignant reminder of her martyrdom.

In more recent times, as I previously mentioned, this sacred site has come to be known as the Lourdes of Wales.

Whether or not you choose to believe in the extraordinary nature of this place, one thing is undeniable: throughout the years, countless individuals, including notable figures, have journeyed here and professed to have experienced remarkable healing.

#StWinefride #StWinefridesWell #Lourdes #LourdesofWales #amwriting #readerscommunity #legend

St. Winefride's Well (Ffynnon Gwenffrewi)

Thu, 05 Oct 2023 08:43:47 GMT

The Lourdes of Wales

I am currently incorporating a section on St. Winefride’s Well ( Welsh: Ffynnon Gwenffrewi ) into my latest book.

Not many of you may have marked June 22nd as St. Winefride's Day on your calendars and why would you? You've probably never heard of the place. Located just a short distance from my home in North Wales, the town of Holywell is home to St. Winefride's Well. As you descend the steep hill out of Holywell heading in the direction of Greenfield, the place looks all rather untidy and most ordinary, then to the left you come across a remarkable location... a Christian shrine which holds the distinction of being the only one in Britain with a recorded history of pilgrimage spanning over 1300 years.

In recent years, there has been a notable resurgence of interest in pilgrimage to holy sites, reminiscent of the dark ages and medieval Christianity. People are drawn to these places associated with holy individuals, relics, and places of healing. Not all of these sites were monasteries or churches; many were originally pre-Christian locations such as wells, ancient burial mounds, and groves of trees. Over time, these locations transformed from pagan holiness to recognised holy places and shrines were often constructed upon or near them.

Nowadays in North East Wales there is only one remaining ‘Holy Well” – that of St. Winefride – made more important, as it is officially recognised as a place of healing by Rome. Hence the reason that it is known as the Lourdes of Wales.

The ancient ‘pilgrimage industry' was swept away by Henry VIII and relics and roods destroyed. Following Tudor times, churches in Wales generally fell into decline with little money being spent on them. So by the 19th century many churches in Wales were in poor condition and a programme of rebuilding, restoration and general renovation took place. This ‘Gothic Revival' obliterated genuine medieval remnants and holy sites in the Flintshire area lost many important historic artefacts in the process, but St. Winefride's survived more or less in tact.

Pilgrimage to ‘Holy Sites’ and ‘Ancient Pagan Sites’ is now in a period of re-birth but nowadays, in the main, the pilgrims visit these Holy Sites for the peace and serenity they exude as opposed to their need to visit a site to be healed of some affliction as they might have done so many hundreds of years ago.

Do become a modern day pilgrim and come visit St. Winefride's Well!

Official site and information here: http://www.stwinefrideswell.org.uk

More on this story in the coming days...

#StWinefride #StWinefridesWell #Lourdes #LourdesofWales #amwriting #readerscommunity #historyofwales

Writing Your Book and the Cover...

Wed, 04 Oct 2023 08:42:18 GMT

A great cover image makes all the difference...

I'm extremely delighted to share that this month, the captivating image on the cover of Excalibur Reborn has been selected by 'All Author' as a contender for Cover of the Month.

More here...

https://allauthor.com/cover-of-the-month/16474/

A book is not solely defined by the words written within its pages, but also by the cover that catches the reader's eye and entices them to explore the marvelous writing inside.

Therefore, when presenting your book to the world, take a moment to consider the art of cover design. Even the most renowned authors don't always get it right. I don't claim to have mastered it either, but I do make an effort to carefully contemplate how the cover will appear.

To assist you in achieving the desired look for your cover and to ensure it complements your exceptional writing within, here are some helpful tips..

Imagine a cover image as the driving force which compels someone to purchase your book.
Consider a cover as a visual narrative that speaks volumes.
Envision a cover as a gateway which transports readers on a captivating journey, even before they delve into the book's contents.
Picture a cover as a work of art that would seamlessly grace the walls of prestigious galleries, attracting visitors with its allure.
Regard the cover as the culminating element of your writing adventure - its significance rivals that of the very words within the book's pages.

Master the art of selecting the perfect cover image, and your book will shine like a radiant rose amidst a field of ordinary dandelions.

#amwriting #writerscommunity #readers

Angles-sur-l'Anglin

Mon, 02 Oct 2023 07:39:22 GMT

Michael Crichton's Timeline could have been set here...

I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have relatives residing in the enchanting region of Nouvelle Aquitaine in France. This proximity allows me to visit frequently and immerse myself in the wonders this beautiful country has to offer. Today, as I sit before my keyboard, diligently crafting the pages of my latest literary work, my thoughts are consumed by the captivating village of Angles-sur-l'Anglin.

Allow me to divulge the tale...

Not too long ago, I stumbled upon the charming village of Angles-sur-l'Anglin quite by chance as I was en-route to another destination. Stepping into this picturesque locale felt akin to traversing through time, transporting me back to the captivating era of the Middle Ages. Have you ever read Michael Crichton's book, Timeline? It recounts the adventures of a group of history students who find themselves catapulted to the year 1357, ultimately arriving in the village of La Roque* and the majestic fortress of Castelgard. I can't help but imagine that Crichton drew inspiration from the splendid village of Angles-sur-l'Anglin.

This delightful commune, nestled within the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region in western France, has rightfully earned acclaim as one of the country's most exquisite destinations, and it's not difficult to comprehend why.

Cradled on a rocky outcrop in the charming village, the magnificent Château d'Angles-sur-l'Anglin is a historic castle that boasts a rich heritage dating back to the 11th century. Originally commissioned for the Bishop of Poitiers, this castle now stands as a captivating ruin, immersing visitors in the enchanting atmosphere of a bygone era, reminiscent of the vivid descriptions found in Timeline.

Within the castle walls, the remnants of the previous motte still remain, with historical records tracing the existence of a castle on this site as far back as 1025. The keep and vault, as they stand today, were constructed in the 12th century, while subsequent modifications were carried out in the 15th century by Bishop Hugues de Combarel and his successor, Guillaume de Charpagne.

The Château and the surrounding village of Angles-sur-l'Anglin exude an irresistible charm, with a captivating beauty that is truly unique.

*La Roque based on La Roque-Gageac sat on the picturesque Dordogne River. Both La Roque-Gageac and Angles-sur-l'Anglin are members of 'Les Plus Beaux Villages de France' association.

I can't wait to write more about this place in my book.

#france #Angles-sur-l'Anglin #amwriting #Nouvelle-Aquitaine #writerscommunity

Going Solo!

Tue, 26 Sep 2023 09:04:54 GMT

Roald Dahl... you're lucky he survived!

My journey into researching my Uncle Gerald and his contribution to the war effort began in earnest when I read 'Going Solo' the autobiography of Roald Dahl's early life and war service. Going Solo contains a thoroughly fascinating and absorbing account of the author's life as a wartime RAF pilot both in North Africa and Greece. (Penguin. ISBN 978-405-93753-5)

Of course, as I read the book, I already knew Uncle Gerald had been in these theatre's of conflict and indeed, there is a good evidence their paths crossed several times. Both were stationed in Egypt and Greece in 1940 & 1941, both were stationed at RAF Ismailia near the Suez Canal and both were treated at the Anglo-Swiss Hospital in Alexandria at the same time. 211 Squadron, the Blenheim Squadron my uncle was in, were supported in their efforts by Gloster Gladiators of 84 Squadron and Hurricane fighters of 80 Squadron flown by Dahl, firstly in North Africa and then in Greece.

A week to the day after Pilot Officer Gerald Davies lost his life, on Easter Sunday 13th April 1941, the Germans were battling for the city of Athens itself and British forces were pouring out of the country by any means possible. Dog fights between the dwindling force of RAF Hawker Hurricanes of 80 Squadron and the overwhelming forces of the Luftwaffe were watched by the citizens of the city in terror. Athenians watched in horror as four Hurricanes swiftly met their end over the city, including the Hurricane flown by the South African Pat Pattle a famous pilot and renowned war hero.

In Going Solo, Roald Dahl mentions he was only one of five pilots to make it out of Greece alive and days later one of only two pilots to make it out of Crete alive. These were dangerous times when the lives of pilots were marked in days and weeks not years.

At 6pm on St. George’s Day, Wednesday 23 April 1941, ten days after the tragic Easter Sunday raid by 211 Squadron, the Greek government unconditionally surrendered to the Germans and Greece fell under the occupation of the Nazis.

On 15th May 1941 Roald Dahl wrote in a letter to his mother...

"Dear Mama,

Well, I don't know what news I can give you. We really had a hell of a time in Greece. It wasn't much fun taking on half the German Airforce with literally a handful of fighters. My machine was shot up quite a bit but I always managed to get back. The difficulty was to choose a time to land when the German fighters weren't ground staffing our aerodrome. Later on we hopped from place to place trying to cover the evacuation - hiding our planes in olive groves and covering them with olive branches in a fairly fruitless endeavour to prevent them from being spotted by one or other of the swarms of aircraft overhead. Anyway, I don't think anything as bad as this will happen again... "

Pilot Officer Roald Dahl says he was thankful his Hurricane avoided any 'gremlins' taking hold of his plane that day and so after the war, which he was fortunate to survive he became the famous author everyone now knows him to be.

In my short time teaching - I spent 5 years as a teacher to both secondary and primary age children - I would often read Roald Dahl stories, which the children loved. When asked to take a whole school assembly for Remembrance Day I told the tale of the heroic Roald Dahl and the Battle of Athens on 20th April 1941, as a reminder to a longer generation of the gratitude they owed to the people killed in war so they could be free today. Moreover I would highlight how fortunate we were that some very famous people survived, so their work could be enjoyed by future generations.

The message I wanted to give the children was….had it been Roald Dahl and not my uncle who lost his life in April 1941, we would not have his wonderful stories to enjoy today but I would still have had an uncle.

The value of the contribution of these brave men even to this day cannot be understated.

Lest We Forget

#RoaldDahl #GoingSolo #Courage #WarHero #Writerslife #GeraldsWar

Eighty years and more since the crash-landing...

Sun, 24 Sep 2023 09:44:56 GMT

Getting 'The Compass' Back Home...

Prior to embarking upon my journey back to Wales, I’d spoken to the airline about bringing the compass from my uncle’s downed Blenheim Bomber on board in my hand luggage. The compass is a large heavy object with some sharp edges and contains radioactive material which makes it glow in the dark. As a result, the airline didn’t seem overkeen to have it in the cabin and suggested that, if I had to bring it with me it must go into the hold with all of the other holidaymakers’ luggage. You can imagine my disdain… as I perceived it, the compass would be chucked in unceremoniously with all of the other baggage heading back to Manchester. That just didn’t seem an option at all, especially because with every other piece of luggage there was a chance it might get damaged or its glass covering might get broken.

To me the compass wasn’t just any old baggage anyway. The compass was a rare artefact from the Second World War and it was a unique artefact which deserved better treatment to ensure it stayed safe and intact on the journey back to Britain. The compass was British made and, over eighty years previously, it had been in Blenheim Bomber L8511, thundering down the runway of RAF Northolt in Greater London, heading to Egypt to support the troops on the ground in the North African Campaign of 1940.

By November of 1940 the Greco-Italian War was in full swing and Gerald and others from 211 Squadron of the RAF were pulled away from Egypt to help the Greek army in their fight against a large invading Italian force coming in through various Albanian ports. The very first mission in Greece for L8511 had been to bomb the Italians loading and unloading supplies at the Albanian port of Durazzo (now called Durrës) on 24 ^th November 1940. This was to be a mission from which the plane would never return, as it was severely damaged by Italian fighters following a successful unloading of its deadly cargo. The plane limped as far as Lefkimmi in Corfu with thick black smoke pouring from its port engine but when the engine completely fell away into the Ionian Sea, they had no option but to ditch the plane into the shallows there.

Luckily all three crew survived and that story is told in Gerald’s War.

The compass was stripped from the stricken plane by locals and secreted away on Corfu until it was shown to me by Papa Spiro at the rear of the Church of St. Procopius in Kavos all those years later.

So, the compass was the first object I had held which my Uncle Gerald would have also touched and through this compass, I had contact with my mother’s brother whom I’d never met, but who had been revered so much within my family.

“It has to go in my hand luggage!” I said to Kostas. “There’s just nowhere else I would want it to be. It’s such a precious thing.”

“No problem Mr. Nigel. Leave it with me my friend. It will be sorted.”

And that was how it was left for a few hours until Kostas rang me back.

“It is sorted… ” he began, “… you go to the security and you show them the compass, which you take from your bag. It gets looked at and then you place it back in your bag. That is how it will happen. There is nothing to worry about.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I needn’t have been worried. Hours later, I turned up for my evening flight back to Manchester from Corfu Airport. As it came to my turn to be searched, I duly removed the compass from my bag and showed it to the three uniformed officers in front of me. They nonchalantly shrugged their shoulders as one and ushered me forward without another word. They didn’t even ask what the item was or where it came from, they just ushered me through like some VIP.

I placed the compass back in my hand luggage and headed on through and that’s the tale of how the remarkable compass ended up back in the hands of the Davies-Williams family from North East Wales.

What Kostas had said and who he had spoken with I had no idea but it was a fait accompli as regards getting the compass back home to where it rightly belongs.

#Corfu #GeraldsWar #EmotionalJourney #HistoricalFiction #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #HiddenTruths #WartimeSaga

Paragliding in Corfu

Mon, 18 Sep 2023 12:14:00 GMT

Papa Spiro - The Pilot

Down a dirt track which led from the port we headed. We ended up in a very secluded place with nothing but a bar/restaurant. Only on Corfu.

I took coffee with Kostas and we waited for Papa Spiro whom I'd been told was a a paraglider pilot... besides his job as an priest in the Greek Orthodox Church.

Soon the he came along with several others and they set up their paragliding equipment.

What a way to view Gerald's crash site at the far end of Lefkimmi!

#Lefkimmi #paragliding #corfu

Friends Through Time

Sun, 17 Sep 2023 10:01:44 GMT

...and a family meal by the river in Lefkimmi

The very first morning on which Kostas came to greet me at Amelia's Garden, he arrived on his moped and, after initial greetings, he chortled 'follow me!' Doing a roaring 45mph, pretty slick for a pedal powered Yamaha 50cc, we headed out of Kavos towards Lefkimmi. We ended up heading turning right before heading into Lefkimmi itself and we entered a huge car park with the sea and ships in front of us.

This was the port of Lefkimmi, where two large car and lorry ferries were loading up ready to head for Igoumenitsa on the Greek mainland .

Kostas rolled his bike right up to the seating area of an open cafe just opposite the ships and strolled over to where I was just getting out of the car.

"Coffee Mr. Nigel?"

"That would be a lovely start to the day." I replied. "My shout!"

Now I don't think the word 'shout' was conveyed into Greek that well as Kostas ordered and paid for the coffees before I could get another word in.

"It is my pleasure my dear friend to get you coffee. You are my guest!"

And that was sort of how the whole trip went when I was with Kostas. I had to insist to pay or make sure I ordered in advance if I met Kostas again at a cafe or restaurant and we did meet at the port several times over the few days I was there

So, from the start we got on so well, considering before this first day on Corfu, I'd never met Kostas, although I'd had many telephone conversations with him about my uncle. Indeed, to my shame I can admit that Kostas first made contact with me over 20 years before, but circumstances had meant I just couldn't make it to Corfu and we had lost contact. And worse still with that missed time, I missed out on so much research and speaking to people who, unfortunately I could no longer speak to as they had passed away.

All the same, here I now was chatting with Kostas face to face. What a gentleman.

Soon I had been introduced to his family and we ate with them at the restaurant down by the river which flows directly through the centre of Lefkimmi. I was treated like royalty by all and will forever be grateful to the people I had so far met on this beautiful island.

During the time I was over in Corfu Kostas and myself talked many times about my long quest to find more out about my Uncle Gerald and his untimely death in Greece in 1941. Kostas repeated many times that fate had brought us into this friendship and his favourite quote was 'We Are Friends Through Time.'

I shall never forget this.

#writerslife #writerslift #corfu #lefkimmi

Another Plane Crash-Lands at Lefkimmi

Fri, 15 Sep 2023 14:45:32 GMT

A tale of Americans escaping German occupied Corfu in 1943...

It's now November 1943...

Corfu is under German Occupation, following occupation by Italian forces.

It's almost three years to the day since Gerald and his crew crashed into the shallows of the Ionian Sea at Lefkimmi, when another plane, with a crew of ten crashes just half a mile from where Gerald's Blenheim crash-landed.

Papa Spiro and Kostas tell me that the crew of the USAF B17 'Flying Fortress' Bomber all survived and were taken into Lefkimmi and secreted away from the Germans, who were combing the island looking for the survivors from the stricken aircraft. The very courageous locals risked their own lives to do this. Many had already suffered at the hands of the Germans on Corfu but yet they gave the crewmen civilian clothing, fed and watered them... then under the cover of darkness, just as they had with Gerald and his crew they spirited the ten men away from the island and back into the hands of the allies across the Mediterranean.

The monument...

... is situated on a similar route from Lefkimmi town that you'd go on to get to where I discovered Gerald's plane crash-landed. Once again, it's down that a pot-holed and stone ridden track leading to a crossroads where locals now take their recycling stuff to be placed into large wheelie receptacles at the side of the road. Unfortunately, 'the bins' are constantly overflowing, so the place is a sort of litter magnet, with all sorts of rubbish blowing around in the sea breeze. However, on the day I was at the monument, the beautiful Corfu sunshine highlighted the granite and white-marble of the monument which stands as a beacon and great tribute to the USAF airmen and the people of Corfu.

Through Kostas, I found out that Papa Spiro had on several occasions met a number of these brave American airmen who returned to Corfu after the war to thank the people of the island for their kindness and generosity. The museum behind the Church of St. Procopius at Kavos contains many artefacts from the B17 Bomber plus several letter of gratitude and photographs of the airmen who came.

We have no idea today what it must have been like to have been under the occupation of a foreign power and to take actions which might result in imminent arrest and even death.

It was a Thursday morning, the 18th November 1943 when the B17 Flying Fortress came to grief at Lefkimmi in Corfu. the crew, on their 32nd bombing mission, had just delivered twelve 500-pound bombs on the now German-occupied Eleusis Airfield, near Athens. By coincidence this is where Gerald and 211 Squadron had been based when they first arrived in Greece in November of 1940. There’s a full description of this in ‘Gerald's War.’

The routine mission was to go pear-shaped when the B17 was hit by flak, causing two of the engines of the bomber to be out of action through fire and damage. The crew were heading for Brindisi in Italy and as the plane headed back west, another engine failed, leaving the crippled bomber flying on just one engine over the Ionian Sea. Luckily for the crew, as was the case for my uncle, Corfu could be seen below, and the pilot Captain Dick Flournoy headed for the island as best he could.

The crew prepared for the worst as the plane went down near the shoreline at Lefkimmi, but the experienced pilot Dick Flournoy managed to pancake the plane down on the salt-flats and the ten-crew survived. The first thing the crew did was, as procedure dictated (both for allies and the Germans), to attempt to destroy the plane, to ensure no equipment and nothing sensitive fell into the hands of the Germans.

As with Gerald's crash landing, locals were on the scene within minutes to help the crew escape. The crew were warned that Germans would soon be swarming all over the area and the crew quickly abandoned their efforts to destroy the plane. As forecast, the Germans arrived on the scene within fifteen minutes but were unable to find any of the plane’s crew. They were thwarted by the Lefkimmi Corfiots who, within this time had given the crew civilian clothing and had led them away to safety within minutes, so no US airman was captured.

Captain Dick Flournoy was led to a tool shed in an olive grove by a child and spent the next two days in hiding there. Gunner Fred Glor was taken to a nearby field by a young woman who had been hoeing there and hid for the next night in a nearby shepherd's hut. The remainder of the ten-man crew were similarly hid away. All the Germans saw when they arrived were locals busy stripping the plane.

Co-Pilot, Joe Cotton arrived in Lefkimmi town before the others on the actual afternoon of the crash and pretended to work pressing olives with mules as two Germans arrived at the land searching for survivors. The Germans saw Cotton but ignored him completely, so his luck evading capture held out. He then spent his first night hidden away in a church with four other crew members. These fortunate crewmen were then housed with a Corfiot called Harry Pappas who had lived in the USA before the war. Unknown to the men Harry Pappas was leader of the local resistance at the time.

Other crew were hidden by Corfiots in a variety of places, all at great risk to themselves. Crewman Gunner Fred Glor had the best accommodation, being housed in Lefkimmi's only hotel at the time. Bombardier Ernie Skorheim's stayed with wheelwright Josephus Montezago at his home.

When questioned by the Germans, the locals claimed the 'five-man' crew had run away from the scene, stealing a boat in the process, and heading out to sea. Added to this, the Germans were later told, in a 'bogus report,' that the airmen had been spotted in the north of Corfu where they then concentrated their search. This meant that the airmen could, in the short term, be kept safely in Lefkimmi without fear that the Germans would return to search for them, well at least in the short term

Food rations for all were slim, you will recall in a previous blog, Kostas saying that the Germans stole nearly all the locals' food and so locals were starving even before the arrival of the airmen but all the same took it upon themselves to feed the crew and keep them safe. Bombardier Ernie Skorheim said that he was fed by Josephus' wife Tina with an ample diet of bean soup and coarse wheat-and-corn bread dipped in olive oil. Added to this, the people of Lefkimmi (and so too the crewmen) were able to survive more adequately than other Corfiot folk, as their proximity to the sea meant they also had a diet of fresh fish, caught in the waters surrounding the island.

Some crewmen, including Skorheim caught malaria from the mosquito bites suffered whilst sleeping rough in the marshes on the first night. Skorheim learned that Josephus Montezago's son had died of malaria, so considered himself fortunate not to have succumb too seriously to the illness himself. This was probably due to the fact that a local pharmacist was able to give him quinine to stave off many of the worst symptoms of the disease. The pharmacist assisted others too; they were also treated with leeches over the next month or so whilst they were on Corfu and in hiding. All recovered well during this time, but they were still not out of danger as the Germans carried out constant searches of the area and its population.

Worse was to come for the airmen, with the arrest of Captain Dick Flournoy's Corfiot host by the Germans for 'smuggling' on 18th December 1943. On being questioned, he blurted out, no doubt to save himself from too harsh questioning or a worse punishment, that the airmen were still hiding in plain sight in the area. Luckily, the interpreter at the interview was a member of the resistance and gave advanced notice to the airmen and their hosts that they should flee to the hills above Lefkimmi to avoid capture. So it was that, on 19th December 1943, the Germans surrounded Lefkimmi and conducted house to house searches, but they found nothing. Thanks to the interpreter, the Americans had vanished.

The one added benefit to the 'smuggling incident' prior to Christmas 1943 was that all the crew of the B17 were together again for the first time since the crash landing, although this time, they were all residents of a lowly hut in the hills. The crew foraged for food, ensuring they kept out of sight of German patrols, but once again were supported in their survival efforts by Corfiots who brought them a share of the little food they had for themselves. The crew even celebrated Christmas, risking a lit fire on which they roasted onions and fish. Together with olives, tangerines, and olive oil saturated bread, they kept reasonably satiated.

On 31st December 1943 the crew were informed by Corfiot resistance members that they should prepare to move out, the plan being to get them to the northern half of Corfu, where, in places there were only two miles between the island and the mainland of Albania. This operation would be fraught with difficulty as the Germans had an airbase and encampment full of troops on the roads between and of course, there was Corfu Town in the middle which would not be an easy place to get through without being spotted.

So, New Year's Day of 1944 became a day of emotional goodbyes between the crew and their Corfiot hosts. The ten crew began their hazardous journey well before dawn in donkey carts loaded with olive oil. The crew, who had been told to keep quiet for fear of being found out, set off in twos at set intervals in five oil carts, all posing as Greek workers. The roads heading towards Corfu Town were poorly made up and hilly along the coast, so progress was very slow, especially when one of the carts was stopped by Germans who were clearing a fallen tree from the road. A close call, but on this occasion the Germans didn't speak to the men. There was another incident that could have been a near-miss too, as Co-Pilot Joe Cotton, fell asleep on his cart and his service revolver was exposed for some time until he was told to cover it up before it was noticed by the enemy.

As the afternoon of a cold and yet sunny 1st January began, the olive-oil wagons had reached the outskirts of Corfu Town, but there they had to stop and from then onwards they had to set out on foot, once again in small groups with their accompanying Corfiot minders. At this point of their journey, the fleeing Americans had no option but to pass right through the middle of the German army base at Corfu Town which straddled the road on either side. Pilot, Captain Dick Flournoy, was a very tall fellow and was worried that his grand height of 6'4" looked properly out of place amongst smaller statured men, but luckily, because it was the very first day of the year there were many others out strolling, including on and off-duty Germans just enjoying the sunshine, so all had to use their best recently acquired Greek for hello (Γειά σου) and good-afternoon (καλό απόγευμα)!

Once they had passed by the German troop encampment, they came to the German airbase where B17 Co-Pilot, Joe Cotton, seeing several planes to the side of the runway, in the manner of Indiana Jones, thought about stealing one of them until talked out of it.

With Corfu Town and many Germans now behind them, they walked on towards their goal, the village of Kontokali, about another four miles on. German trucks carrying supplies and troops would pass by on the roads but a well-rehearsed shout from the Corfiot resistance accompanying them would see them all jump into the ditches and undergrowth so as not to be detected.

Night had fallen before they reached Kontokali and all were completely exhausted. The crew were shown to a large three-floored house on the outskirts of the village and once again their hosts treated them well, serving them with a meal of chickpea soup, spaghetti and bread dipped in copious amounts of olive oil. All washed down with plenty of wine to help them forget the ordeal they were going through. New Year's Eve night and into 2nd January 1943 was a stormy night but all slept well, ably assisted by the wine.

The crew had a chance to rest on the second day as they were told the next leg of their journey would not begin until darkness had fallen. This is when they were taken to a deserted beach on the Ionian coastline. Such were the dangers of the time that all of the crew were piggybacked across the beach by locals to two waiting fishing boats, which avoided them leaving footprints for German patrols to find.

Crossing the short distance to Albania was not easy either, as the whole area was now under German control, and this included the waters of the Ionian Sea which were regularly patrolled by the German naval vessels. All would be shot if caught! The Corfiot fishermen rowed on tirelessly through the night for twelve or more hours, and by first light they had the shores of Albania in front of them. As they landed on unfamiliar shores once again, the Kontokali fishermen bade their farewells, placing the American crew into the hands of the Greek mainland resistance, with whom they remained for almost three months, so their ordeal was far from over.

An amusing incident surrounding their time with the Greek resistance was recounted by Pil ot Captain Dick Flournoy and Gunner Fred Glor. They were talking about how their life might be after the war with a local shepherd. They chatted about their intention to make lots of money whereupon the shepherd headed off into the snow, returning shortly afterwards with a local young woman in uniform. The woman brought with her a bottle of ouzo, and she started being all amorous around the two airmen. Dick Flournoy and Fred Glor, puzzled at the behaviour, asked what was going on, only to have it explained to them that the word money in English sounded like the Greek word for prostitute.... so, the shepherd had been doing his best to accommodate what he thought was their needs!

The months passed and the crew of the B17 were walked from resistance camp to resistance camp to avoid the Germans who occupied the whole of Greece at this time. The airmen were poorly dressed for the Greek winter, and several became sick or lame. Contact, with a view to evacuating the crew back to their home base, fell through time after time which resulted in the crew spending more time in deteriorating conditions in Greece. With great relief, on 15th March 1943, together with the seven-man crew of a British Lancaster bomber who had been with them since mid-January, the B17 crew were placed aboard an Italian submarine motor launch which was there to deliver supplies to the Greek resistance.

The motor-launch arrived in Italy on the morning of Tuesday 16th March and the B17 crew were taken to the American base at Bari in an army truck. To a ma n, the crew reve r ed the exploits of the Corfiots and Greeks who had helped them survive.

Quote: ' They were ready to do whatever was needed to see to it that we survived. '

As you have seen from the museum at the rear of St. Procopius Church in Kavos, several of the crew have kept in touch with the people of Corfu and many of the crew members have visited and revisited Corfu, particularly during the 1980s and 1990s. They met and were photographed with Lefkimmi people who helped them. As an example, Gunner Fred Glor came back to Lefkimmi for the first time in 1988 and visited the scene of the crash of his B17 Flying Fortress. Astonishingly, there he saw a woman hoeing the ground and tending to her allotment. When he went over to talk with her, with his interpreter, he found out that she was the same woman who, forty-five years earlier, had been hoeing the same field and had helped him escape.

Lest We Forget!

The plight of the crewmen of the B17 is described in the book:

Aircraft Down! Evading capture in WWII Europe

by Philip D. Caine.

ISBN 1-57488-234-1

#Lefkimmi #corfu #GeraldsWar #EmotionalJourney #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #Hi ddenTruths #WartimeSaga #USAF

An Idyllic Place...

Thu, 14 Sep 2023 10:23:05 GMT

Greeted Like Heroes

continued...

We laughed together as we surveyed the beautiful scene before us. It was so idyllic but all of this beauty hid a darker past. Kostas spoke of his father, whilst standing on this very same shore during the Second World War, watching a ship being bombed and sunk in the straits between us and the mainland. How could such a beautiful place have seen so much tragedy.

Papa Spiro then beckoned us toward the seashore.

“It is here they crash.” He pointed to the narrowest of beaches I had ever seen.

I looked down the line of the shore with the mountains of northern Greece and far off Albania in the distance. It was Albania to the North from where they had come after their bombing raid on Durazzo.

“Here!”

“Yes, here.”

Kostas spoke Greek again with Papa Spiro.

“The area was used to make salt at the time of the war, so was flatter and more open. They would have seen this from the air, but there were ditches to drain the water away which they had to avoid, so the beach was the only option. Lots of people would have been working in the fields, and more people would surely come to see. No wonder they said there were hundreds of people to greet them.”

We wandered more down the beach and I looked at the achievement of safely bringing down a plane without wrecking it completely.

“These were exceptional people” I said to Kostas and Papa Spiro. “None of us know what they went through in these days. None of us. If I didn’t think my uncle and all those men were heroes before, then I do now!”

“The people of this island are so grateful to the British and Americans who helped to save our island. The servicemen who crashed here, yes there were others, were greeted like heroes… once Fokion had put his gun down of course.”

#Kavos #corfu #GeraldsWar #EmotionalJourney #HistoricalFiction #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #HiddenTruths #WartimeSaga

Spiro Amerikanos!

Wed, 13 Sep 2023 09:37:06 GMT

No Kavos Drunks Here!

continued from yesterday...

“So, as I was saying, we hold your uncle up at gunpoint.” Kostas laughed. “We couldn’t be too careful. The Italians crashed here too, you know.”

“What was the name of the man who held him at gunpoint?” I asked curiously.

“His name was Fokion Halikiopoulos. His brother was Spiro Amerikanos, the man with the big car on Corfu. They called him to come and get them to take them to Corfu Town. It was a big event. Lots of Corfiots came to see. They had seen the crippled aircraft coming to crash lands. They party after you know.”

“So I heard.”

“Yes, we likes the British. They do so much to help us during the war. Not so much the drunks in Kavos though sometimes.”

So here I was, stood on the seashore adjacent to the Church of St. Mary, one of the remotest churches I’d ever been to in my life, staring out over the beautiful Ionian Sea, at a point my uncle had crash landed decades before, being told that he had been held at gunpoint by the brother of a man now made famous in a British television drama 'The Durrells' which I’d not long watched myself.

This was so surreal.

Of course, none of the British ‘drunks’ as Kostas referred to them as, would ever have been to this place even though it was just a short car ride to Kavos centre, but all owed their freedom to party to the likes of my uncle who gave their lives in the name of that freedom.

Crazy world!

#Corfu #GeraldsWar #EmotionalJourney #HistoricalFiction #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #HiddenTruths #WartimeSaga

A Visit To The Crash Site

Tue, 12 Sep 2023 14:06:09 GMT

Church of St. Mary, Lefkimmi, Corfu

Papa Spiro, the priest at Kavos told me he knew more about Uncle Gerald’s crash landing on Corfu and told me he knew the exact location of the crash-landing site, situated on the seashore at Lefkimmi next to the isolated and remote Church of St. Mary.

I headed back to my Citroen C1 Hertz hire car, holding securely the compass from my uncle’s Blenheim Bomber in my hands and placed in carefully on the front passenger seat. I was still in awe that this object near to me was the very compass that Uncle Gerald had used so often in his life. I had no time to dwell on this as Kostas sat astride his ancient Yamaha 50cc moped and kick started it into life. He turned the bike around and started following Papa Spiro who had already driving at some pace down the drive of St. Procopius Church in Kavos towards the main Kavos to Lefkimmi road. Papa Spiro’s Citroen C3 with its red barred roof rack headed out of Kavos and we headed back past Amelia’s Garden where I was staying and on into Meliki, Kostas’s home village. We were soon into the tiny streets of Lefkimmi, where Kostas abandoned his moped on a street corner in favour of the front passenger seat of Papa Spiro’s car. I was soon to find out why!

The two set off again at a pace through the narrow streets of the old unspoiled town. I couldn’t help thinking as we drove through that my uncle would have passed these exact same buildings at some stage after his Blenheim Bomber crashed somewhere nearby on 24 ^th November 1940.

At a point towards what to me looked like the ‘top-end’ of Lefkimmi, Papa Spiro indicated right made though even narrower back streets. I followed him as closely as possible worried I might get separated and lost. We headed on until the old buildings came to an abrupt halt and were replaced by an overgrown scrubland of interspersed with ancient olive trees, bamboo, willow and various other apparently out of control vegetation, which encroached on the ever-narrowing road. Well, road wasn’t the word really, the tarmac of the town had been superseded some time back by a bumpy and rock-strewn dirt track. I could now hear the vegetation crying out as it slid down either side of my precious hire-car and all I could think of at this stage was the excess I might have to pay if the motor was scratched which, seemed very likely to be happening.

Some considerable distance beyond the fringes of Lefkimmi town and in what seemed one of the remotest parts of the beautiful island of Corfu, the tiny track came to an end in a tiny clearing with nothing but the azure blue of the Ionian Sea in front of us. To my right I saw a single storey building with a low angled pitch roof of red tiles. Its walls were plain and thew white-washed walls looked like they were overdue a paint job. Two tiny deeply recessed square windows, at adult head height, were on the side of the building, as were two sets of mahogany doors. The doors to the left were double doors and were adorned with two wooden crosses painted in a brassy hue. A tiled veranda jutted itself out for half the length of the building and sat against the side of the outer walls were six wooden benches, some of which were in the shade under the veranda. At either end of the roof apex sat two plain wooden crosses reaching up a couple of feet into the cloudless sky. This was a church of a sort but who would come to such a place in the middle of nowhere?

There was hardly room to turn the cars around but between the building and the sea there was a circle of tyre tracks which led around a gnarled old olive tree where people turned around.

Papa Spiro drove directly into a free space near the seashore and I parked similarly, facing the northern Greek mainland and Albania some twenty odd miles across the turquoise mill pond stretching out in front of me. Two Corfiot fishermen sallied forth from a small bright red and white caique*, which they’d dragged onto the dried seaweed strewn shore. The crackle of their footsteps on the dry vegetation must have been a sound Uncle Gerald would have heard as he waded ashore on that fateful Sunday back in November 1940.

The fisherman, with their small catch obviously knew Papa Spiro and they exchanged a few sentences in Greek, with wide smiles before they headed to their car and drove away, leaving just myself Kostas and Papa Spiro in the sunshine of a fabulously hot day by the seashore.

“Welcome to special place in Corfu for you!” Papa Spiro said in broken English and then proceeded on in Greek with Kostas ably translating.

“It is here.” Papa Spiro said. “Right here.”

He pointed to the building off to the right.

Kostas spoke. “This is the Church of St. Mary. It is only opened once a year for a service on the 23 August. The feast of St. Mary, but Papa Spiro tell me that during the war it was a different place. This is where the man with the gun who held your uncle at gunpoint was staying. He was guard to this area for the Corfiots to stop any invasion. What one man could do with a gun… yes, we don’t know, but here he was.”

#EmotionalJourney #InspiringRead #writerslife #GeraldsWar #Readersoftwitter

'A Big Memory of Your Uncle'

Mon, 11 Sep 2023 12:32:50 GMT

Pictures and Artefacts from a Bygone Era

I felt compelled to show Kostas and Papa Spiro images I had on my phone which I had scanned of my uncle Gerald.

Kostas and Papa Spiro stood off to the side and talked with each other whilst I continued looking at the compass and took a few photographs of it. I wondered if I would ever see the compass again once I left Corfu but then Papa Spiro and Kostas approached.

Kostas spoke first.

“Papa Spiro wants you to have the compass. It is yours. A big memory of your uncle.”

I looked across to Papa Spiro with tears in my eyes.

Papa Spiro nodded. “You take it with you.”

I was speechless and at the same time full of warmth for Papa Spiro, Kostas and the people of Corfu for the way they had looked after this artefact for such a long time after it had come into their hands.

I shook hands with Papa Spiro and Kostas, thanking them profusely for their kindness.

#WarHeroes #Courage #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #HiddenTruths #WartimeSaga

The Compass

Sat, 02 Sep 2023 08:49:15 GMT

Through time, looking at what Gerald would have looked at...

Whilst here with Papa Spiro, he told me he had a surprise he wanted me to see and took me over to a nearby glass covered display desk full of what looked like junk and some old papers. He removed an item and brought it to me. Papa Spiro had in his hands what looked like an old aircraft compass, still contained in its original brass binnacle.

“Is the original compass from your uncle’s crashed Blenheim plane,” he said in broken English, ably assisted with some words by Kostas speaking fantastic English.

“What, from the plane which crashed at Lefkimmi in November of 1940?”

“Yes, of course.” Replied Papa Spiro. “It is the very one. The Blenheim!”

Papa Spiro pointed to other nearby artefacts. “These pieces are from the plane also.”

Before me I saw a heavy looking propeller hub with twisted and mangled blades together with other various unrecognisable electronic and metal pieces.

“We pull these from the sea after the plane was crashed in the water.”

So, there I was standing at the rear of St. Procopius Church in Kavos, looking at objects Uncle Gerald would have known intimately, particularly the compass.

“You hold the compass.” Papa Spiro said, giving it to me.

I took the heavy brass object and held it in my hands. Very likely the last person to have peered into this when it was being used, was Uncle Gerald way back in 1940. I was proper choked up looking at the compass.

“Take it outside and look at it in the better light there.” Suggested Kostas.

All three of us went into the church courtyard where I surveyed the object with incredulity.

#Corfu #Lefkimmi #Greece #GeraldsWar #EmotionalJourney #InspiringRead

Papa Spiro

Fri, 01 Sep 2023 10:00:32 GMT

The museum at St. Procopius Church, Kavos

Here we are, once again at the museum behind the church at Kavos with Kostas and Papa Spiro.

The museum, well it's more like a cluttered storehouse of old artefacts mainly from the Second World War with other artefacts and militaria from other periods there too. There's an armoury of old guns from the Corfiot militia (their Home Guard). Several Italian and German planes were shot down or crash landed on the island during the Second World War and there are bits and pieces from those aircraft scattered around in an ad-hoc manner.

The pictures on the wall are from servicemen who visited the island after the war and there's several images of the crew of an American Flying Fortress who crashed at Lefkimmi during the island's German occupation from 1943 onwards. The crew, who all survived, were spirited away from the island dressed in civilian clothing and kept away from the Germans who would have executed them all had they found them. Original letters at the museum from the crew members show how eternally grateful they all were to the people of Corfu who kept them safe and out of the hands of the enemy.

The people of Corfu still recall this period well and remember the harsh treatment they suffered at the hands of the Germans who left no food for locals and looted and pillaged wherever they went. Kostas, a local historian and aircraft enthusiast in his own right, told me the Germans killed many many people on the island during the occupation, including women and children - he went into some detail about the manner of the cold-blooded killings, but that's not for this post. What he said will remain in my head forever though. Per head of population, he told me that statistically the Germans killed more Greeks than any other country they occupied.

Prior to 1943 the island had been occupied by the Italians, but after the German occupation, Kostas tells me that the Italians left on the island were left to the mercy of the Germans who executed them summarily wherever they found them.

Kostas' elderly father recalled these horrendous times in much detail and Kostas tells of one tale he was told, where a group of captured British Servicemen were being walked at gunpoint on the island through the town and, as the Germans passed a local woman, one of them hit and punched her to the ground, whereupon one of the British Serviceman jumped out and floored the soldier to the ground, calling him all the names under the sun for his outrageous behaviour. The serviceman was hit with the butt of a rifle in retaliation and was marched on to whatever fate awaited him. Who he was and what happened to him we shall never know, but what a brave soul he was. Well done that man.

Lest we forget!

#Corfu #Lefkimmi #Second WorldWar #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #TrueStory #LivingHistory

Lefkimmi Harbour

Thu, 31 Aug 2023 10:46:32 GMT

Coffee anyone?

Having that splendid coffee down at Lefkimmi Harbour with Kostas. The people of this beautiful island are some of the nicest people I have ever met in my entire life.

In the background you can see the offices of the ferry companies where you can buy tickets to take you over to Igoumenitsa

on the Greek mainland, which is the man port of the region called Epirus. It's not far from there to Paramythia where my uncle, Pilot Officer Gerald Davies flew his last mission from in April 1941.

What a great day.

#Corfu #Lefkimmi #Igoumenitsa #Greece #GeraldsWar

My Family and Other Animals

Wed, 30 Aug 2023 09:30:19 GMT

Spiro Amerikanos...

As a child I'd watched various documentaries about the naturalist, zookeeper and conservationist Gerald Durrell and his love of animals. I didn't know then of his connection with Corfu, a place where he'd lived before the Second World War until I read his book 'My Family and Other Animals.' Many of you will not have read the book but, no doubt you may have seen the comedy-drama about his family's early days on Corfu broadcast on British TV 2016 onwards. The book I a classic read and the TV series is a must watch by the way.

To remind me of the story, I brought a copy of Gerald Durrell's book with me to read whilst away and whilst talking with Kostas here on Corfu, I mentioned the book and the great character in it called Spiro Amerikanos. Kostas knew the story well and told me that Spiro and Fokion, yes, the very militia man who'd held my Uncle Gerald at gunpoint, after the crash-landing on the beach at Lefkimmi, were brothers. Astonishing!

Whilst we were sitting having a splendid coffee in the café at Lefkimmi Harbour, Kostas explained that this was the reason Fokion was able to speak English, as he and Spiro had lived in New York and Chicago, where many Greeks went before the war to work, as living on Corfu at that stage meant being poor. America was a big draw for immigrants, especially Greeks Kostas tells me, as it was the land of opportunity and dreams... and of course the land where good money could be made. Spiro, a tall burly Corfiot, with a larger than life character, had returned from the USA with a huge American Dodge car and for that reason became known as ‘Spiro Amerikanos’ to everyone.

What a great coincidence this was turning out to be...

I'd already written in my notes that Uncle Gerald and the other crew were taken by car to Corfu Town and now I knew who it was who'd taken them... the only man on the island with such a car and he had been called because he was the brother of the man (Fokion) who'd been there and witnessed the crash into the shallows of the Ionian Sea on 24th November 1940.

So here I am now, coincidentally sitting with a clowder of feral cats (or should I call them a glaring of cats – they seem to be all over Corfu) as I write about Gerald and his time here on Corfu in 1940.

#EmotionalJourney #InspiringRead #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #HiddenTruths #WartimeSaga

Hidden Kavos...

Tue, 29 Aug 2023 09:35:50 GMT

The museum at the church!

There are beautiful parts of Corfu you just don't see unless you get taken there by someone who knows... my someone who knows is Kostas Kavaddias, the man who first told me more about my uncle Gerald's crash-landing at Lefkimmi in November of 1940.

But, oh yes, Kavos is better known nowadays to the partying young (and sometimes the not so young like me) as the 'shots and tattoo capital of Corfu.' Sadly, many who venture there never see the beauty of the place beyond the walls of their hotel, its bar and the beach in front of it... plus one or two tattoo parlours, which often they regret visiting at a future date when its too late to remove the unwanted drunken tattoo of some holiday fling now embossed securely on their nether region! You only have to watch an episode of #KavosWeekender to see that

Not a few yards from the hustle and bustle of the narrow main Street of Kavos village, where quad bikes, scooters and drunken revellers mass, there is the beautiful St. Procopius Church, with its kindly and friendly priest Papa Spiro. There's more to the priest than meets the eye as Papa Spiro is a qualified pilot and a former Athens tram driver... plus a whole lot more.

My friend Kostas introduced me to Papa Spiro as both have an interest in aviation. Indeed, there's more to the carefully manicured grounds of St. Procopius Church, for at the side of the church Papa Spiro keeps a tiny museum and here are stored many old relics from the war, including (astonishingly) parts of my uncle’s downed aircraft Blenheim Bomber.

More to come on this...

As an aside... Kostas is a fantastic artist and has much published work on aircraft which I'll link here in a future post.

#WarTale #WWII #Aviation #WarHeroes #Courage #kavosweekender

Crash Landing then held at gunpoint...

Mon, 28 Aug 2023 07:58:39 GMT

Great friendships often begin at odd moments...

I was amazed when I found this illustration made by Squadron Leader James Gordon-Finlayson .

Gerald and his crew had been lucky to survive on this occasion, but their luck had held out and no one was injured in the crash on the seashore at Lefkimmi in Corfu, although the local resistance fighter called Fokion Monasiedis held him at gunpoint until Gerald called out in English - then he knew he was a friend.

There's more to come on this story in the future, when I met Fokion's son who still lives on Corfu.

#Corfu #Bravery #LoveAndWar #TrueStory #TrueStory #LivingHistory

Kavos!

Mon, 28 Aug 2023 07:47:29 GMT

Ernest Hemingway moment...

Found myself a great place to stay just on the road into Kavos called Amelia’s Garden. The owner 'George' is a lovely chap and so helpful.

Felt like Ernest Hemingway sitting writing my notes in the sunshine.

Next I'm off to find my friend Kostas who has told me many things about my Uncle's crash at Lefkimmi on 24th November 1940. #Writer #writinglife #writing

The Newspaper Cutting from 1940...

Sat, 26 Aug 2023 09:56:14 GMT

Tragedy was never far away in the Second World War...

Mum ke pt an old newspaper story from 1940 about a proposal of marriage which Gerald made to a girl called Susan Hall via a national newspaper, after he went missing, having crash-landed on a beach at Lefkimmi in Corfu.

#Corfu #Bravery #LoveAndWar #HistoricalFiction #TrueStory #LivingHistory

Off to Corfu

Fri, 25 Aug 2023 08:38:28 GMT

From Foggy Manchester to Kerkyra

A foggy start of the emotional journey to Corfu, to research the story of what happened to my uncle Gerald when he crash-landed in Corfu in 1940.

#Corfu #GeraldsWar #EmotionalJourney #HistoricalFiction #WarTale #HistoricalNovel #HiddenTruths #WartimeSaga

How it all began...

Fri, 25 Aug 2023 07:42:01 GMT

The Photo On The Wall

When I grew up in the sixties and visited my grandparents’ home, there was a photo on the wall - Pilot Officer Uncle Gerald who went missing over Greece in 1941. I alway s wanted to know what had happened to him… #HistoricalNovel #FamilySecrets #HistoricalFiction #WarHeroes #Courage #GeraldsWar

Excalibur Reborn

Mon, 10 Apr 2023 13:26:15 GMT

Nigel Davies-Williams' second book has now been released...

Since he can remember, young Jack Dore has had the strangest of dreams. Another world and another life! He can’t escape when he’s awake either, being followed every moment by his ‘shadows.’ Jack believes it is only he who can see his shadows until he meets a mysterious old lady. Following an incident at the local swimming pool, where he nearly drowns, he finds himself transported in his unconscious state to the Celtic Otherworld ‘Annwn,’ where he meets Queen Eigyr. He is told he is the only one who can save the world from Armageddon.

Jack, best friend Maddie and Truffle, the Bernese Mountain Dog embark upon a fantastic journey through The Tunnel of No Dream back to Annwn, where they find themselves in a life and death struggle against The Empress of Deep and her evil cohorts Sorbus and Salix, as they search for the legendary Caliburnis - ‘The Rod’ - broken in half and hidden by Jack in a different life. Jack will need to reach into his innermost soul to help him fight evil. Can he find his King Arthur within?

Jack cannot do this alone. He needs Maddie who has her own inner secret. A soul within no one ever expected to see least of all Maddie.

A book full of legendary creatures and characters from the darkest of ages in British history, Hengist, Horsa, Morganis, Eigyr, Ronixen, Vortigern and Myrddin. What is the connection between the Welsh Dragon and the legendary sword Excalibur? Will the Dragon Hunters, The Ropen and Palug and his enormous cat, stop Jack in his tracks, as he fights to save the Realm of Queen Eigyr from destruction?

An action-packed adventure, which will constantly have you on the edge of your seat with excitement.

Fantasy Fiction, YA, Arthurian Legend, Magic Fantasy Fiction, Paranormal Fantasy Fiction, Science Fiction, Fantasy Romance, Young Adult Fiction, Fantasy Arthurian Legend Books, King Arthur Legend of the Sword, King Arthur the young warlord, Excalibur, Epic Excalibur, Lost Excalibur Rising, Time Travel, Time Travel Historical Fiction, Time Travel Kids, Time Travel Children, Time Travel novels, Time Travel tales, Time Travel books, Time Travel thrillers, Fantasy Mystery Fantasy Story, Past Lives, After Life, Afterlife, King Arthur Books, King Arthur Tales, King Arthur Stories, King Arthur Kids, Shapeshifter Books, Shapeshifter Tales, Shapeshifter thriller, Knights of the Round Table, Avalon, Camelot, Angels, Devils & Demons, Dragons Ghosts & Spirits, Souls, Gods & Goddesses, Deities, gods, pantheon Psychics, Merlin, Telepathic, Witches & Wizards, witch, wizard, warlock, druid, shaman Science Fiction & Fantasy Mystery, Science Fiction, Fantasy/Thriller, Arthurian, Welsh King Arthur, King Arthur in Wales, Coming of Age, metaphysical, visionary, theology, spiritual arthurian,

Gerald's War image from Imperial War Museum

Tue, 01 Feb 2022 12:02:25 GMT

Gerald and friends with captured regimental emblem from the Italians in Greece 1941

My good friend and researcher of 211 Squadron history, Ian Carter, sent this image through yesterday. It shows Gerald (far left) and others from 211 Squadron holding a captured shield from the Italian Army 8th Infantry Corps who were at Terpelene in January and February of 1941... and before, when they were part of the invasion of Albania forces from November of 1940, at the start of the Greco-Italian war. Hence the involvement of 211 Squadron who were sent to Greece in November of 1940 to repel tis invasion. Originally I thought the shield looked like a captured German army emblem, due to the double headed eagle, but looking closer, I saw the 'Fasces' symbols either side of the eagle, which made it undoubtedly Italian - this was indeed the symbol of Fascism as created by Mussolini. More detail on this regiment here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VIII_Army_Corps_(Italy)

How this group of RAF reprobates came into possession of the shield is anyone’s guess but it’s a great propaganda photograph. Well done this lads!

Amazon Best Seller Placing for Gerald's War

Tue, 11 Jan 2022 08:49:48 GMT

Gerald's War Best Seller

During a recent promotion, Gerald's War reached number 2 in Biographical Literary Fiction ... in good company with F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Getting the story of Gerald out there to the world has been a real labour of love, so thank you to every one who grabbed a copy during the last promotion. Heads up: Next promotion coming up on 28th and 29th January.

If you enjoyed the book, please leave a review here .

Gerald's War - Now Featured on Joel's Books

Tue, 21 Dec 2021 15:32:39 GMT

Feature Article

Click the image to visit site.

Gerald's War Published

Wed, 15 Dec 2021 10:35:33 GMT

Gerald's War Published on Amazon

It's 12th December 2021, Covid has a new variant out there called Omicrom but to heck with it, my book Gerald's War has finally been published after years of hard work and research.

It's available in three forms:

Kindle Paperback and Hardback

Go to Amazon here.

Shotton Cenotaph

Tue, 27 Apr 2021 12:51:32 GMT

'Gerald's War'

Gerald Davies is commemorated on the cenotaph at Shotton in Flintshire. There's a unique story behind every one of the 83 names on this plaque. Gerald's War is the true story of just one name on the cenotaph - G. Davies - Gerald Davies of Ash Grove in Shotton. (18-3-1918 - 13-4-1941)

Gerald's War - being published soon...

80 Years today

Tue, 13 Apr 2021 08:51:04 GMT

Easter Sunday 1941

So, it's the 13th April 2021. A day which shall live in infamy for my family. It's 80 years to the very day since my uncle Gerald Davies was killed in action - he's the one standing in this photograph, taken at Paramythia in Greece in the weeks before he was killed.

He'd be 103 now would Gerald Davies, had he survived the fateful Easter Sunday raid made by 211 Squadron on that day. Not impossible... my grandmother was 102 when she died. Even if he'd have lived until his seventies or eighties, I would have known him. As it was, at the young age of 23, he died in northern Greece along with the men of six other Blenheim aircraft sent to stop the Germans invading Greece.

Pictured above are two crew Gerald flew with; Squadron LeaderJames Gordon-Finlayson (left) and Pilot Officer Arthur Geary. 'The Bish' as Sqn Leader Gordon-Finlayson was known, had been promoted to Wing Commander and survived the war, but Arthur Geary died in the same aircraft as my uncle. He was 31 and one of the oldest in the squadron.

When you are taking your freedoms for granted, think on of the men who lost their lives during this great time to ensure you can go about your business as you do.

Lest we forget.

The full story coming soon in 'Gerald's War.'

Nigel's First Blog Post

websitebuilder-hub@names.co.uk — Fri, 05 Apr 2019 08:32:19 GMT

Read on... it might get interesting as time goes on.

Well, here it is, my new author blog and, to start, here's a great view of Flintshire as seen from the Wirral Peninsular.

I'm not good at this lark, I mean, writing a blog - most blogs go unread or have two visitors a year, so it'll be like a bit of a diary for me and my work as an author if nothing else.

I took photographs for a living once ... amongst other things, as you can read in my bio, so I'll try and incorporate a few photographs too from time to time.

I write anbout what I know, where I've been and the experiences I've had. Anyone who's read either Excalibur Reborn or Gerald's War, will now that these books include much about my home area of North Wales, particularly Flintshire.

If you've never visited F lintshire that's a must for your bucket list. The area is steeped in history, much of which is untold , so there's much to learn as you travel around the county.

Nigel Davies-Williams

North Wales Magazine Feature

Gerald's War Magazine Feature

Athens 2025

October 2025 - Athens

Life Without Coz

Me, My Twin & ‘Our Cancer’

French Writing Retreat

Author to author....

John Wynne Soughton Hall

Chancel at Northop Church Memorial Tombstone

Northop Grammar School

My first and last attempt at being an archaeologist...

Owen Owens

Never Forget!

Esmeralda's Talisman

Rock Cottage - Flint Mountain

Oh, how the world has altered...

Norwich Taxation 1254

First mentions in history of Northop Church...

'The Red' in Northop

The Red Lion, Northop in 1905 and the Red Lion now...

Tea... with the President of the United States

The Old Vicarage Northop Flintshire

Moel-Y-Gaer and King Arthur

Walking In The Footsteps of King Arthur!

King Arthur in Flintshire

Clwydian Mountain Range

The Secret Window...

...walled up for eternity.

Pagan Roots of Northop

1839 Northop

Cilcain Flintshire

Cilcain and St.Eurgain...

More on The Well...

What's in a well?

The Well at The Old Police Station

New Book ...coming soon...

Prequel to Excalibur Reborn

John or Thomas Roberts...

and the Welsh Ellylllon.

Pwll-Yr-Wrach - The Witch's Pool

a spooky tale from a spooky location in Flintshire...

Batty Occurence...

Good deed for the day...

Old Brewery Northop

The Former Castle Hill Brewery

Cornist Hall Flint

Who lived in a house like this...

Sidney Massie's Flint Sketch

Sidney Massie

British Artist

﻿ (1802-1891)

Flint Marsh - The Gallows

Gruesome History of a Picturesque Scene

John Speed's Flint in 1610

and forty years later the castle and town lay in ruins...

John Speed Mapmaker

John Speed's 1610 Map of Flintshire

Flintshire at the time of the 1832 Reform Act

Old (and new) Political Maps of Flintshire

Pilot Officer Gerald Davies

and Robert McCallum Needham

Lest We Forget

The Unknown Warrior

Flint Boroughs

.... plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose

Joining Up

Letters from mum...

House of Correction

An unusual place in Hawarden, Flintshire...

William Ewart Gladstone

Gladstone (1809 -1898)

Winter is coming...

...well it had already arrived in 1911

The Ford in Northop

Northop Ford - for intrepid travellers in a 4x4 only!

The Boot Inn Northop

My haunt as a teenager...

Northop

(1802-1891)