Pwll-Yr-Wrach - The Witch's Pool

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 on 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)”