Nooks And Corners Of Pembrokeshire Part 19

During the Civil Wars, Picton Castle was garrisoned and held for King Charles by Sir Richard Philipps, second baronet; but was eventually surrendered (as the story goes) under the following circ.u.mstances.

One day during the course of the siege, a servant-maid was standing at an open cas.e.m.e.nt in the eastern bastion with Sir Erasmus, the infant heir, upon her arm; when a Parliamentary trooper rode up with a flag of truce, and presented a letter at the window. No sooner had the maid reached forward to take the missive, than, raising himself in the saddle, the soldier s.n.a.t.c.hed the child from the nurse's arms, drew his sword, and threatened to slay the hope of Picton upon the spot, unless the castle were instantly surrendered.

Though much altered and extended in comparatively modern times, Picton Castle still presents an imposing and dignified appearance; especially when viewed from the south-east side, whence our sketch is taken.

The entrance front (which is by far the oldest portion of the structure) retains the deeply-recessed portal, the rounded arches, quaint, archaic corbel-heads and narrow windows, that mark the enduring handiwork of the original Norman builders. Above the ma.s.sive entrance porch rise the deep-set windows of the chapel; the handsome painted gla.s.s with which they are adorned, forming an appropriate memorial to a member of the family of Sir Charles and Lady Philipps, whose tragic death, in 1893, aroused the deep sympathy of the entire county.

Rounded bastions project at intervals from the main structure, which is of an oblong form, with a lofty wing flanking its western end. The moat, having no purpose to serve in these piping times of peace, has long since been filled up; and its place is now occupied by pleasant walks and _parterres_, varied by luxuriant shrubberies.

The interior of the castle contains numerous suites of apartments, disposed around a handsome and s.p.a.cious hall, from whose lofty walls historic family portraits of various styles and periods look down upon the beholder.

At one end of the hall is a gallery communicating with the private chapel above mentioned; and several quaint, old-fashioned chambers, whose solid circular walls are of enormous thickness. The panelled floors and ceilings of these apartments are worthy of notice, as are their white marble chimney-pieces, delicately wrought in the Italian manner. From the recesses of the deep-set windows, we command a lovely prospect over the rich rolling woodlands of the park, encircled by a silvery reach of the Cleddau towards Landshipping Ferry.

Pa.s.sing along the green alleys of the home-wood, we presently emerge upon a stretch of breezy downland, and forge ahead through whispering bracken and heather; while the sound of a woodcutter's axe and the distant bleating of sheep float lazily hitherward upon the calm, clear air.

Thence we plunge into a shadowy belt of greenwood that fringes the waterside; nor until we are nearing Slebech do these woodland glades roll back, and give place to the more open scenery of Baron de Rutzen's beautiful demesne.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SLEBECH CHURCH.]

The mansion and ruined church of Slebech occupy the site of a Commandery of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, who early in the twelfth century established a small community here, to collect funds for the purposes of that ancient fraternity. The creation of this Commandery appears to have been an event of considerable importance; and we find such names as Maurice de Prendergast, the invader of Ireland, and Fitzgerald, the notorious Bishop of St. Davids, enrolled amongst its earliest benefactors.

Dedicated to St. John the Baptist, the old ruined church of the Knights-Templars stands in a low, sheltered situation, half surrounded by the waters of the Cleddau; just one of those secluded spots that seem to have been congenial to the mediaeval temperament. The main walls and arches of the fabric still remain fairly intact, and, like the western tower, are smothered in ma.s.ses of rank, untended ivy.

A doorway in the northern face of the tower gives access, beneath a low-pitched, Gothic archway, to the interior of the church. This archway is surmounted by a decayed stone escutcheon, charged with certain armorial bearings which Fenton deciphered as 'arms quarterly, first and fourth a fesse dauncette, second and third a lion rampant.' A similar shield, at the apex of an upper window, displays the simple cross of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem.

The dismantled interior, carpeted with rank herbage and vaulted with the dome of heaven, looks picturesque in its decay. From the spot whence our sketch was taken, the old font is seen near at hand, overtopped by an arch giving access to a pretty side-chapel with traceried window, and a small piscina formed in the flank of the pillar. Through the open archway upon the right we gain a glimpse of the roofless, desecrated chancel. When Fenton was here, about the beginning of the present century, the latter was still covered with its wooden ceiling, fashioned into square compartments and ornamented at the crossings of the beams with floreated enrichments, conspicuous amidst which appeared the arms of the Barlow family.

At that time the Barlow monument occupied a prominent position against the south wall of the chancel, which may be easily identified by the ragged stonework whence the structure has been torn away. This act of vandalism is much to be deplored, for the monument appears to have been an unusually handsome one, the effigies of Barlow and his lady reposing beneath a sumptuous canopy, surmounted by a blank escutcheon.

By some lucky chance these figures have escaped destruction, and are now safely stowed away in the vaults of Slebech new church. They are excellently carved in alabaster, that of the knight being of great size; his head with its long curling locks rests upon a helmet, while the collar and order of the Golden Fleece is suspended around his shoulders.

Hence it is supposed that this figure represents a certain Roger Barlow, who in the reign of Henry VIII. travelled into Spain, and was employed by the Spanish monarch in his South American ventures.

The lady, whose effigy is apparently of somewhat earlier date than that of the male figure, is arrayed in a handsome robe, over which is drawn a gracefully flowing mantle; while her long, smooth hair, bound with a chaplet around the brows, falls upon either side about her sloping shoulders.

Foundations of ancient buildings are said to have been traced in the grounds, between the church and the neighbouring mansion; but nothing worthy of note has as yet seen the light of day.

Slebech House appears to have been erected at a period when architecture had fallen to about its lowest ebb; its yellow plastered walls being pierced with rows of featureless windows, and surmounted by meagre, meaningless battlements. Nevertheless, the s.p.a.cious chambers command such charming vistas of woodland and shimmering waters, as to go far towards making amends for architectural shortcomings. The mansion has superseded a structure of no mean antiquity, but of its history, which was presumably quiet and uneventful, few records have survived to our times.

Some three miles to the northward of Slebech lies the obscure hamlet of Wiston; a place so small and insignificant, that it is by no means easy to picture it as the erstwhile head of the barony of Daugleddau, a borough town, and the home of the powerful Wogans.

Wiston, we are told, derives its name from a certain Wiz, or Wyzo, a Flemish immigrant of considerable influence, who built a castle here to protect the infant settlement; of this castle a portion of the keep or donjon-tower, and a ruined gateway, still remain in tolerable repair.

After having been more than once beleaguered and destroyed, the place was dismantled and deserted at an early period; so that Wiston Castle plays but a minor part in the records of border warfare.

Of the Wogan family, who for many generations made Wiston their home, the most famous scion was Sir John of that ilk, who was Lord Chief Justice of England in the reign of Edward I. This Sir John, it may be noted _en pa.s.sant_, took to himself the style and t.i.tle of 'Lord of Pyketown.'

So much, then, for Wiston. We now set forth from Slebech, and jaunt along beside the Eastern Cleddau, with the broad umbrageous woods of Minwear combing down to the water's edge, upon the farther bank of the stream. Ere long the Vale of Cleddau begins to widen out, forming a comely, verdant strath, through which the highroad winds like a narrow ribbon as it takes its way towards Narberth. For the present, however, we give this road the go-by, and turn near Canaston bridge into a ruddy lane, which climbs by a gentle ascent to the crest of the ridgeway.

Down in the vale below, at a place bearing the name of St. Kennox, lived good Rees Pritchard, the famous Welsh divine, sometime Chancellor of St.

Davids Cathedral, and author of a celebrated book ent.i.tled 'Canwyll y Cymro,' or the Welshman's Candle. Such was the fame of Pritchard's oratory, that the vast congregations who flocked to hear him preach overflowed the limits of the cathedral walls, and cl.u.s.tered thick as hiving bees in the great south porch, and around the precincts of the sacred building.

In about another mile, our lane suddenly debouches upon the broad, triangular gra.s.s-plot, that forms the village-green of time-honoured Llawhaden. Grouped around the green rise a number of old substantial homesteads--true 'homes of ancient peace'--whose low-browed lattice-windows look out upon a vasty duck-pond, overshadowed by clumps of gnarled and weather-beaten firs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LLAWHADEN CASTLE AND BRIDGE.]

Turning to the right at the foot of the green, we fare along the village street until it terminates abruptly in a sort of _cul-de-sac_, where the majestic ruins of Llawhaden Castle seem to forbid our further progress.

The great Gatehouse, with its lofty drum towers flanking the boldly-arched portcullis, indicates the n.o.ble scale upon which the fortress was conceived. The eastern tower is still in a fair state of preservation, retaining the strong stone floors of its successive stages, though its fellow has been shorn of more than half its bulk.

These towers are pierced with small but well-proportioned lancet-windows, apparently of Edwardian date, and the corbelled battlements are carried forward above the gateway, to form a _couloir_ for pouring down molten lead upon the foe.

On pa.s.sing beneath the lofty entrance archway, we are confronted by a well-proportioned Gothic doorway, with one small pointed window, little more than a loophole, in the wall beside it; these are the sole relics of the northern front, of which all else has fallen to decay. Near at hand rises a slender square tower, whose trefoil-headed windows and finely-worked mouldings point to a later period than that of the main structure. From its position and certain accessories, there is reason to suppose this tower contained the chapel of the castle, erected by Bishop Vaughan, who enlarged and beautified St. Davids Cathedral.

A group of flourishing ash-trees, which have sprung up wheresoever they listed, cast their chequered shade athwart the neglected courtyard; whilst pigs and poultry, from the adjacent farmstead, roam untended amidst the ma.s.ses of fallen masonry, that c.u.mber the ground in every direction.

Although perched on the brink of a steep declivity, the castle was protected by a moat which still remains intact, though sadly choked with tangled undergrowth and _debris_. This moat was supplied with water from a stream, which forms the large pond at the foot of the village.

Thomas Beck, Bishop of St. Davids, is said to have erected Llawhaden Castle, towards the close of the thirteenth century; but it is more than probable his building merely superseded a structure of earlier date.

This worthy prelate also founded, 'in his Villa de Llewhadyn, a little _Hospitium_, which he dedicated to the poor and needy;' devoting to its maintenance the revenues derived from his own lands. Thus Bishop Beck became the first Welsh patron of pilgrims, and supporter of the aged and infirm.

Of this very interesting foundation, all that has survived is a small building with vaulted roof, doorway, windows and a piscina, situated in a field on the outskirts of the village. This little edifice was in all probability the chapel of Beck's _hospitium_. A certain Friar William was entrusted with the charge of the establishment, both he and his brethren wearing a habit distinctive of their calling.

By the time of Owen Glyndwr, the castle appears already to have fallen into disrepair; as we read that the King gave orders for Llawhaden to be put into a state of defence, victualled, and furnished with a garrison.

Under the disastrous _regime_ of Bishop Barlow, that rapacious prelate caused the lead to be stripped from off the castle roofs, even as he had done at the beautiful old palace of St. Davids. Thenceforth the stately fabric, exposed to the disintegrating forces of Nature, gradually succ.u.mbed to its misfortunes, and sank into the condition of an uninhabitable ruin.

At their castle of Llawhaden, the Bishops of St. Davids lived in true baronial style; the fortress const.i.tuting the _Caput Baroniae_, by virtue of which they were ent.i.tled to representation in the Parliament of the realm.

Before taking leave of Llawhaden Castle, we secure the accompanying sketch of the great Gatehouse, whose h.o.a.ry lichen-clad masonry, wreathed in clinging ivy, rises with bold and striking effect against the dark foliage of a neighbouring coppice.

Descending by a steep, hollow lane to the banks of Cleddau, we linger long about the old bridge and castle-mill to enjoy the placid beauty of the landscape, whose rich, subdued tints are enhanced by the radiance of a mellow autumn afternoon.

Looking upstream, the church forms the central feature of a pleasant, restful prospect; its picturesque tower reflected in the clear waters of the Cleddau, which rushes onward to tumble with refreshing roar over a weir close at hand. Amidst the hanging woodlands which clothe the castle hill, we catch a glimpse of that ancient fortalice; while the lowing of kine comes pleasantly to the ear from the deep water-meadows down the vale.

We now bend our steps towards the parish church, noticing a simple wooden cross beside the wicket-gate, whereon is hung a lantern to guide the footsteps of the benighted flock, during the long, dark evenings of winter.

Llawhaden Church stands somewhat remote from the village, in a sequestered nook where the castle hill and the Cleddau leave scarce sufficient room for the little church to stand; insomuch that its chancel gable well-nigh overhangs the stream. Dedicated to St. Hugo, the sacred edifice contains the mutilated effigy of an ecclesiastic, commonly supposed to represent the patron saint, but more probably intended for Adam Houghton, Bishop of St. Davids, and co-founder with John o' Gaunt of St. Mary's College in that 'city.'

Houghton distinguished himself by enacting a statute to regulate the scale of wages, and the price of beer, on behalf of his faithful 'subjects;' while tradition avers that, having been excommunicated by the Pope for some misdemeanour or other, this intrepid prelate retaliated by excommunicating the Holy Father himself!

Inside the church we notice several curiously-sculptured corbels; besides a two-three quaint epitaphs reciting, in rather questionable English, the virtues and graces of certain local worthies.

The semi-detached tower presents a picturesque appearance, having, attached to its southern face, a square-shaped turret which, curiously enough, looks older than the tower itself. The internal construction of this tower is somewhat peculiar, and its belfry contains a triplet of sweet-toned bells.

It is, perhaps, worthy of note that Llawhaden is supposed to derive its name from St. Aeddan, a Pembrokeshire man by birth, and a disciple of St. David himself.

Having inspected an ancient cross, built into the eastern gable of the church, we now retrace our footsteps to the bridge, where, after searching for some time in vain owing to intervening foliage, we at last pitch upon a suitable spot for a sketch of that time-worn structure.

This done, we reluctantly turn our backs upon pretty Llawhaden, and fare away in the direction of Narberth, playing hide-and-seek with our shadows as they lengthen under the westering sun. Groups of lads and little la.s.ses, homeward bound from school, linger in twos and threes by the rough laneside, where the bramble brakes are thickest; purple lips and stained pocket-handkerchiefs showing the blackberry season is now in full swing.