The short facts on Lord Byron.

To delve into this legend may lead to madness . For the man we relate to is that legend and was mad himself. That man is Lord Byron the poet and romantic lover of both sexes.

For he was as beguiling to men as he was to cap throwing women . His appetite for both as insatiable as it was dangerous

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Englands law would, if discovered,  have hanged him. His world of romantic poems hit the news and made him a super star in public eyes.Women swooned at his feet and men could not take their eyes of him.  In this fashion Byron lived. He even visited brothels in between lovers and became wanton in every thread of his being. His affair with his half sister was passionate and loving and after time Augusta talked her brother into finding love in a marriage to help him get over her.

He did not suffer pain from his foot which was not as historians say a club foot but the corpse was inspected having been preserved by Greeks and it was found that one foot although  perfect, was indeed smaller than his other foot. As a child in a Glasgow slum ,his father a drunk had brought the family down and his wife had to scrub steps of tradesmen to feed her son. A kind doctor paid for the boys shoe to be blocked and so allowed Byron a modicum of comfort in  walking.  He saw the boy as a clever thinker and so paid to send Byron to school.  It was then that his father died of drink and his grandfather in England soon after of age passed on. .This made young Byron a Lord by title and inheritor of Newstead Abbey in Nottinghamshire. He was entered into Cambridge university and soon after wrote his first published poem. Then came the Pilgrimage of Childe Harold. A book about a man who traveled Italy and was in fact Byrons persona.

 

His affair with Lady Caroline Lamb was torrid and one sided as she adored him and wanted only to have him. Byron soon tired of this and so she wrote,: ” Byron is mad, bad and dangerous to know. ” Probably only she saw him that way at the time for Byron was a mixed up man haunted by his past. He did not understand why he felt so half man and half female. His life became outrageous and public that he was forced to sell Newstead Abbey. Living above his means and so many creditors after him he fled to Switzerland and soon met Shelley the poet. The two men hit it off and wrote some amazing stuff from rebounding ideas. We know that Shelly had left his wife and was with a servant called Mary.

Did Byron give his idea to her who had just learned to write and had penned Doctor Frankenstein from nothing? I just can say but more than likely he helped her with it.

Shelley drank too much on a warm night and went swimming .Byron found him dead on the beach drowned at sea. He broke all laws of England ,but abroad not as he decided to give Shelley a Vikings burial and burned him on the beach in a big fire that burned bright as Shelly mind.

He left then to fight for the cause of Greece against the Turks. Although Byron was against violence and supported many lost causes and peoples this war was uppermost in his mind. He was 36 and miserable having left his wife and child and the loss of Shelley may have triggered this move.

He was in fact running guns to the Greeks in his ship. He spied for them against the Turks and then fell down with sea fever or something like it. After days of it he died .The Greeks had lost a great friend and they knew it. They embalmed the body well and sent Byron home to England in his ship maned by Greeks.

Lady Caroline Lamb was back with her husband saw the coffin pass her door had no idea it was her ex lover Byron until later the news hit her.

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Byron was taken to the family tomb in Hucknal Torkard church of Saint Mary Magdalene ,near Newstead Abbey. There he lay in his black coffin .Until  in the 1960s it was seen that his coffin had crushed his mothers coffin it was sat upon . Work began and the coffins repaired set on shelves and before the tomb was resealed Byrons coffin was opened to see his body in tact as if he was sleeping. It was here that measurements had to be  taken to find what was wrong with Byrons foot. Both feet looked the same but it was found some 3 inches smaller was one foot than the other. It was amazing just how beautiful Lord Byron looked even over 200 years dead thanks to Greek knowledge of preserving him forever.

I have spoken to some who went to see Byrons body as invited by the officers of council and the church . The facts as told I relate as fact.

So the legend of this great poet lives on in his work but the man himself was a very disturbed lost soul .A womaniser a homosexual now called bi sexual who became a gun runner  and a writer after breaking the hearts of many and leaving this earth a young man at 36. He was bordering on madness which medical proof says it ran deep in his family.

Having spent much time in my youth studying Lord Byron I found him too hot to handle and left him well alone. His poetry excellent but in his words are hidden thoughts to shock the reader. Then in my travels I found myself at his tomb. There for all to see but locked and bared. A picture gallery lines the church walls for our edification and reward which shows us the coffins and the crypt as it is for all time repaired .What it does not show is Byrons remains. For that a trace of who was there and soon had my friend in 1982 show me his picture taken of Byrons face. It is as it was hair and features as if he lived shocked me as to traveling back in time to being in his company I found unreal.

So we go no more a roaming so late into the night . Is a parting poem sent to his half sister Augusta Byron as the end of their love affair . Byron perhaps never got over her.

A few weeks after Bryons burial his so called friends had been sent from Greece Byrons own history in his view of himself. Which would have been good to read as fact not legend the deed of burning the manuscript caused to be the case. They read it and all came to agree it was so bad in deed that it would ruin Byron reputation as a man ,Then he was dead and in fact history has been robbed not only of Byrons image of himself but historic fact. As bad as he may have seen his life we would have needed to see it. Idiots who wanted to protect the image of a man all knew was guilty of many things . What then became of Byron was left to tall tellers and the legend was born. But then Byron was a man who would speak up for many good causes like the poor laws and Catholics being bashed. He spoke up against violence and heavy drinking. He was a man of the peoples too.

He was all these things and perhaps more but only scandal is his legacy .I see him as a tortured lost soul who burned brighter than the stars but the candle expired as he just knew it would In Greece the weeks leading up to his death he knew of it. He spoke of it too.

That poem for you now.

So we go no more a roving So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breath,

And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving. And the day returns too soon,

Yet we,ll go no more a roving.

By the light of the moon.

Make of it what one will. For Lord Byron knew its meaning so too his Augusta that half sister that understood him well . Mad, or bordering on it, I think was his problem all thought his adult life. Then his mighty talent should be his legacy to to us not his life of woe. The last breath he took ensured that no one will forget him.

Thank you for your reading  into my historic facts.

Yours always Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin James Parr Bt 2019.

 

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The Autumn harvest.

The sunlit path led ably unto the leaded door,which in turn led into the most beautiful garden that this young man had ever seen. The red and yellow hues of oaks donning winter gowns lined the hedged walls but inside that garden; all was still in summer passions and high design. He advanced behind her, his senses filled with the scents of blooms. and his ears of gentle bird song. His desire to know how this was done gave him questions but as he came to the house door his guide of such beauty slowly advanced taking his hand, they both arrived in an old room.

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Books lined the walls wood panels and leaded windows told him that he was inside a gentlemans home. She, smiling led him deeper into the darkness of corridors and there at a great ball legged table sat a man in sort of robe around his shoulders. He  became aware that the girl had left him standing before her father but before he could think the next step a cold blade ran him through from behind. The sense of pain and the sharp taste that drained his life blood gave him no will to speak for he knew his life was over.

Many more poor gentlemen ,young and virile walked that same path to that said same door. Over time the authorities in the area of Rabat came to inspect the loss of sons and families gathered in the square in Saint Pauls bay to talk and decide to act.

The wind flew in the open window as the Minister sat at his paper piled desk cursing his wives love of fresh air. The window he jumped at soon closed shut. His duty was to the people to find the killer but all roads ended at the sea. Malta, an island, surround by seas what caused bodies of the islands young men to float  into the bays was beyond him. The public meeting had ended and all hands to the boats to check for signs of murder had brought in nothing of value in the case.

The winter was gathering out at sea the ocean raged and the port of the Gut gates fully closed giving Valletta town a plethora of foreign sailors access to the many eating houses and tavern drinking holes that still adorn that part of town.

The port was in truth over expanded. The Minister had a big job on, as soon many more young men would float back in to the resurgence of the harbour.  The high sea unable to name them and the clues vanished in the power of Neptunes snare.

Who ever was the killer was on land. The search for the murderer brought them to a withered gardens, dead oak trees and a house not lived in for a century.  No sign of life and so they moved on to other mansions and gathered groups of houses. Nothing gave up clues but the dead men stopped floating in and the new year of 1900 came in with no repeat cases.

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Sir Simone De Malifont and his daughter Morgania  had taken rooms in the Italian country side near Sorrento on the beautiful Amalfi Coast. Sir Simone was a silent young man with dark mysterious eyes who left all business to his beautiful young daughter. The room looked out from a cliff to the bluest of seas of Naples Bay.

Soon after the remains, and I must call them as such as the corpse was in two halves, was the subject of much discussion by the police. 1935 had been a slow year but this murder brought in so called experts from Rome. The dead male was the grandson of  Duke Debaldi Lombard a well known Law maker with Government in Romes house of members.

Soon after the body count built up .Some 34 young men found floating in the rock wall depths of water. Like flotsam and jetsam they hugged the shore line all along the lower dock of Sorrento town which overhanging the sea with balcony of rock gave up no clues.

 

Then all stopped.  After a summer, not another did come to light. The corpse count had

ended .

The rooms of rent had been vacated when the officers arrived Sir Simone and his daughter gone. The case without a single clue failed to solve the deaths of 36 poor souls, all young men of 19 to 25 in age.

The ship across to England also lost two young travelers both young men of 17 and 19 sons of an Italian tailor in London who had sent for them. The verdict was drowning but no body was  ever found in the sea and nothing of a clue on the ship. The Captain said that a beautiful young girl had befriended both men at dinner on that evening prior to the men vanishing off ship. The girl too had vanished.

As the ship docked in London port a deputation of police interviewed Sir Simone and his daughter but both told of the young men as just at diner table with them. No idea about them save than Italian and brothers. Police could not bring a case. Deep investigations led to the young men committing suicide as Sir Simone had not known either of them no link to murder was found.

On a painting in the Royal Art wing of the Tate art Galley hangs a painting of a Knight Templar Captain who led an attack on  the Coral Island castle of Saladin the Muslim leader against European Kings and Richard the Lionheart King of England. It is that of Sir Simon de Malifont. Could it really be that same man?

A letter found in the house in Jerusalem in 1998, where Sir Simon had lived and signed by him says this.

“Beauty is the highest wards of the occult influenced by power through my quality of ever lasting appearance and my senses awakened spiritually emotion in the mind of man who feeds me. Their souls do make me live.”

This was addressed to a monk in London England but was never delivered as it was captured in the mail bags of courier by Arab army In Lebanon. Somehow it was to appear back in Jerusalem after Sir Simons departure to England after the Crusade was over.

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What ever happened to make this happen we can only say fact is stranger than fiction. Sir Simon de Malifont vanished with his lovely daughter In London England outside the site that once stood the Templar church. Two policemen came near to tell the man and young lady not to stand so close to traffic on the corner but reports claimed that both backed into the tree line thicket hedge and searches did not find them. When asked what description an elderly male around 60 with a grey suit and a well dressed young lady.

No sightings of them since 2013. The painting was found in one of the murder houses in 2002 where a young doctor had been killed by a sword or long knife through his liver. no evidence of any sort but two people, that his man may have known, did the murder.One at his front occupying him while the other from behind ran him through with a blade at least 3 feet long. A wide entrance cut similar to that of an old fashion sword blade.

Thank you all dear readers ,Sir Kevin.

Short fictional story part with of my own garden in  focus to illustrate the story for you.

 

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019

 

The light of knowledge

It was summer in the gardens and both sisters ran to the lake to see the fish. But only Alice cam scuttling back alone. When asked by mother who was baking cakes in the kitchen, where her sister was that it became an alert. Down the garden at a pace ran mother and Mrs Potter from next door. The girl was found laying in the meadow  grass asleep. Panic over they took her home and that was that. Or so Mrs Olive James thought.

The James had bought the cottage in 1986 and then had twin girls on second year of Olives marriage to her learned Doctor husband Nolan James.

The cottage lay next to what was once the Great Hall now a farm house belonging to the Potters who had no children.Mrs Hillary Potter was now in her late 60s and her husband was too.

Olive had married Nolan after six years his nurse on the hospital ward 10 of the Middlesex Hospital London. They loved the cottage at first sight and the lovely gardens with access to a vast lake that had been the fish pond that had feed the Carp to the manor house. Nolan had built a fence when the babies could toddle in fear they could be danger with water and kids.

It was a normal family atmosphere and a normal sunny afternoon but Alice and Amanda whispered all the time together but when mother broke in silence was the story. Three

times that day until Olive put her foot down.

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Alice begged Amanda to tell mother what she had seen at the lakeside. Amanda was livid and for a long time kept her own council. Olive tried hard to get the story out of her but only when Nolan arrived home did he draw the whole tale out of his girls.

It was a dull day over the other side of the lake but even so both girls had seen hooded men singing in line no faces to be seen. It was only Amanda that had seen the face in the water and it scared her. She had run fast away and slept in the flower filled long grass meadow.

When cross  questioned she had told on a young girl a bit older than her who was under the water but her face looked into Amanda face and it had smiled toothless and then dived down back into the blackness of the lake.

They had been so terrified so the Doctor gave they kindness and understanding and stopped his dear wife from asking more questions. They went to bed a little happier.

Nolan came back down father reading fairy tales to his children. Nothing more was said and both parents watched what happened next morning. After a good breakfast they did not wish to play in the garden even though the sun was warm outside. Olive played parlor games with them until afternoon. Then Amanda went out and vanished. Mother went searching for her but soon found her gazing into the black waters of the lake.

Time went bay as it will at want and no more was told. Some ten years both girls now training in medical school but only Alice was the problem as she had started a romance with a fellow student and her studies had suffered. As for Amanda she followed her father into medicine and qualified aged 25 as a surgeon.

It was a crash team case in 2011 that brought both sisters back together. Amanda the Surgeon and Alice the witness to the crash that killed both driver and front seat passenger. Able to save the back seat passengers both on shock but soon recovered after operations to insides. When police arrived and interviewed the living as to what went on it gave time for both sisters to talk.

Alice had run off and married her student lover who was a General Practice doctor on Surrey .She had had two children and had made contact with her parents only a day prior to this meeting.  She told her tale and watched her sisters face. It seems her husband was related to the Potters by marriage only . He had told her that they had a child called Norma who at age of 10 had drown in that lake and her body never found. Monks had come to pray for the girls soul and what they had seen was connected to what happened save for the face in the water that Amanda had witnessed.

in visions for years Amanda admitted having in her sleep.  Always the same thing .That face that haunted her had now a name.

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BBC television news 2nd May 2012. A lake gave up its dead after 60 years. Divers today drained alake that had once belonged to Fountains Abbey monks as fish ponds during 12th century. The bones of a young female thought to be from that time is now thought to be the missing Nora Potter that vanished in 1959. Doctor Amanda  James of Middlesex Hospital who did the first tests on the bones says it is the case that the girl had been caught in weeds at bottom of lake and  died with little fight but the weeds would around her for so long the Carp feed of her leaving clean bones.  The bones then went off to the lab. Amanda had no more visions and no more bad dreams but she knew beyond it all that she had seen her ghost that day as a child herself.

 

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So another short story for you. I promise to start back on amazing mystery soon but I have been so busy with building my workshops that have not had time to justify research. Rather than let anyone down I made this up for you to read. It is my hope it will satisfy my readers. Variety being the spice of life ,one hopes

Thank you all for being with me if just for the time it takes to read.

Yours with best wishes Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019 Nov.

The lady in black

The train felt out of place as it set off with me at the window. Oxford rail Station looked so fresh after the night of rains. My roses  for you in my hand ready to meet my James again.

The ticket collector came by to clip my ticket but ignored me huddled in the corner ,at the window all flew by and he was more interested in the gentleman who was in the wrong carriage and must have forgotten me.

The express steamed on .Cows in fields and towns flew past me we went so fast. It was then that I noticed I was already for my James even though half hour ago it was not so in my mind. No, I had rushed myself to be in this train its speed far faster than I recall of other journeys made. Metal carriages raced past me leaving me feeling out of place. That clickety clack over rails still there as it was.

The time slowly ebbing my mind racing forward to London rail station. He must be there.

Then I arrived and found the steps had been replaced by a slope that children now used as a slide. funny little wheels on their feet that sang as they sailed by me. Faster than the very wind. I moved on.

At the clock, now waiting .Then I came to my senses .How many times have I been here ,waiting, waiting for Jim . Here will be the only place to find him. The big round clock above me strikes the hour as for me the wait is over again I am called back . James in the mud fields of France  and I only wanted just to find him again. Not this time it seems, my grave I have left with my rotten body. I now recall why I left it. Always that same repeat but it is my duty as his wife.

Jim .Jim ,Jim- dear Jim can you hear me dear. You promised to meet me in 1918 I have been here so often on this date, September 11th. They may not let me come again .Jim come to me please Jim. I am cold and sad and cannot find the door back.

Im fading again, yes, as normal it happens always like this.  Jim. Oh! Jim its cold without you. You .you,yo y ———————————.

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Short story by Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019 October

The Ghostly event at Chipping Hall.

The Inspector gazed long and hard at the painting. True it was a valuable oil by a brand name. What lay behind it was the safe of Lady Davinia Maria Dawlish.  That safe contained her mothers jewels. Six Indian Emeralds that sparkled in the lighted room. He had had them checked and the things real not taken not replaced with dudes.

On the floor at Inspector Harry Oldfields feet lay the safe cracking tools of one Soapy Joey Wade. A master in that trade and well known to the police. Oldfield was at at a lossand he knew it.

Lady Dawlish had no answer to why she had escaped the robbers call. Nor what had happened for him to leave without taking her valuables from the open safe .Nor why in fact his set of tools lay where he had left them.

The Hall, built by her ancestors from its beginning in the age of the first Elizabeth, was her inheritance when her father Lord Croft died from natural causes just four years prior to Soapy Joes call.

Oldfield was stumped .The cost of this set of tools was Joeys pride and joy. No safe cracker was any good without them. He ,like the rest of the pack nearly took them with him to bed. Yet here they lay in the lounge room of a wood paneled room in the peaceful county of Kent.

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Lady Dawlish  had been out all evening playing Bridge in a friends house some miles off.

She had returned to find the tools laying in the rolled out pouches and then the open save. Panicked but was amazed to find nothing had been taken.

Oldfield team had discovered the way Soapy had scarpered out of the place leaving a  trail of damage to the window he had entered by. Nothing added up.

Inspector Oldfield was just bidding Lady Dawlish good night when suddenly the rattling of chains came from the curtains and startled him. He looked into her eyes for some sort of explanation but Lady Dawlish had not heard it.

Asked candidly if the old Hall was haunted Lady D had no knowledge of any visits from the otherside. Then there it was again a faint rattle of chains. He looked again at her and she smiled. It was her own pet monkey Chirups . He liked to sleep high up and his way up,or down was the curtain pull cord.

Oldfield had solved his case the monkey had saved her and sad soapy Joe was safely locked up in the jail cell. Still raving about a ghost. Oldfield did not bother telling Joe a thing. He had now seen the face of the thief he had chased for four years .Always just behind his robberies. Joy of joys ,he went home to bed a happy man.

A short story again for you. Hope it is to your liking. Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019. October.

The Rose Garden. Short story.

Fred Hollins had always loved his garden.  His rose arches welded in his own shed served as strong hold for snow covered climbers and old faithful roses as large as his house. Fred was in love with the whole idea of what a garden can look like with hard work.

Freds wife was not so sure as her thought was she was no more than a second best to Madame Lousie  Odier and Gloria Stracken. Names of roses but in her mind rivals for her time with him.

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Fred worked hard in his retirement too and Alice plans to travel had long left by the window as Freds new greenhouse was being erected by a three man team.

The many who called to see for themselves the results of his labour stood open mouthed at such a marvel.  Alice was more and more reduced to rank of kitchen porter.

Years flew by nothing changed only more pruning and seed tray washing. He only came in to sleep and was back in his greenhouses when Alice awoke next morning.  She drove to shop alone and felt rejected so much she spoke to no one. The way they lived had a bad effect on the relationship but she had had good times before he found his hobby now his life. Madly in love with old roses if not with his Alice, they had drifted apart.

It was the annual flower show at the open gardens near by. Fred was approached as best garden in town winner to be presented with a cup by the local Council Officer Dan Pringle. He himself a champion rose grower. Fred dressed smart and for once she helped him with ironing his shirt ,this pleased her as he looked so good in a good suit.

Alice was not asked to attend. She head in hands at the kitchen table came up with a plan to bring him nearer to her. What if she fixed the ladders he used for high rose pruning . A slight fall may do the trick. She could be his nurse she thought. Six weeks in bed broken leg.Helping hand as he started walking that should do the trick. For an hour she mulled it over in her troubled mind. Yes it was to be. She slipped out with the hack saw from the garage and sawed half through one step near the top. The ladders laying on the neatly clipped lawns the cut was made so thin at the joint it was undetectable. Placing the ladders back on the hooks she replaced his saw and went out for a drive.

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All was set in place.  Weeks turned into months and Alice waited smiling for the first time in years. His way in his garden left her in no doubt she was not a thought in his head. They hardly talked unless it was rose cuttings or run to store for bags of seed soils or manure in bags. She yawned and as she looked up to see what he was up to the ladders up against the wall told her D,day was here at last.

Fred tied on his tool pouch with his set of pruning tools and mounted the ladder. Alice gasped as he trod on the step and for an age it held. She watched with wider eyes. Her knuckles white as she gripped the sink taps waiting .Then down he came so fast it shocked her made her jump. He came down through the glass roof of his greenhouse and hot the stone flagged floor like a lump of strawberry jam.

She blinked in disbelief as the noise filled her ears and as the sound died , so did Fred.

She tip toed up the garden path and there he was with a glass fragment in his neck .Blood bath all around and blood still pumping from him.  Sprays up the wall of brick behind him. She started to cry hot tears staining her blouse.

Alice howled loudly and for a while felt helpless her idea to bring them closer had ended her marriage and claimed her beloved husbands life.

Then she saw the ladders and the step handing down. Given thought she now turned the ladders around and with pliers removed  the bottom step. Inside her home she rang police and ambulance.

The body covered over she walked alongside as the ambulance team took him inside the vehicle. The police had few questions but she said she heard only the noise. No inquest was called for the fall was not his death but the greenhouse glass had cut his main blood arteiry  right through and killed him.

Alice spread Freds ashes over his rose beds  and thought that the best way for him. Plenty of Fred in the soils, she sold the house and left for better days.

It was as she packed her bags she became suddenly aware of someone behind her. A voice in her head told her Fred was with her still. Her hair stood on end, as the policeman held her arm and handcuffed her tightly. Her prints on saw and ladders and a note from an anonymous writer had pointed at murder.

Her court date was set and her lawyer took her story as fact.  In the dock she was put through serious difficulty explaining her love for Fred and then killing him.

Her lawyer fought hard and she was released with probation order only.  The press who had waited for over an hour for the verdict now gathered like bees around a jam pot and photo after photo flashed had Alice blinking hard.

Next day she sat reading the newspapers and suddenly she stopped in supence.

In the photo of her in a crowded court doorway was another face  between her head and her lawyers head there was her dead husband face, Fred Hollins, as clear as day smiling back at her.

 

The Mabinogion.

I  first became aware that these ancient tales go back really only to the early days of 1900. Yes it may be true that medieval story lines run through that pages of this said book but in essence what we come to read is the work of a coal mine owner wife who lived to be rich against all odds ,times and people and who died to be buried inside concreted and thick lead so none could disturb or dig them up. In Abergavenny a town in Monmouthside once England now owing to Government changes Wales. Here , just a few miles from the Welsh coal fields on the valleys a man decided to win no matter what .Cruel cheat who bought mines grew rich and paid out little to his workforce. Typical villain of a man indeed.  His wife who decided to write all she could of old tales which had in part been handed down by mouth from old to young in families over centuries .

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They say trained story tellers told the tales in centuries past before the advent of television. Tales of magic and four stories of peoples from all over Britain in Welsh legends. As Welsh was banned from being spoken or practiced over some 1000 years from Norman invasion to 1020s it died out .They say it survived underground behind bolted doors but no real proof exits. What is Welsh but ancient Briton and renewed bit by bit.Even the political side was placed in by Llloyd George and Sir Winston Churchill in 1912 as Lloyd George pretended to be Welsh inorder to get in a Parliament seat. He was in fact born in Cheshire England. Words added to Welsh was his passion. We look at Microwave in English but in Welsh is Ping Ping. Very short language dictionary but many Welsh will tell you different.

 

An Aristocratic lady from near London came to live in the town of Myther a valley head population of Welsh  miners .This was in Victorian times when a womans duties were to devote her time to looking after her husbands wishes. She became so occupied with ancient tales that she penned as much down as possible and gave us the Mabinogy as its called locally to that area. The Lady, Charlotte Bertie Guest,  was the writer or translator of 14th century tales The tales in eleven parts in four sections  bound in lovely golden details on brown leather hide. No qualifications did she have to attempt this only she was a daughter to an Earl who helped her be published. It is this book that all who know of the Mabinogion ever read.

 

The mystery is how historically correct are the facts we read. Being passed down by a few related families is hardly a good starting place for fact to to come to the top like so much cream in the milk.  What we have is names and places and wizards and flying horses and a story wrapped around some ancient Celtish Lords, with a Goddess of the winds.

Talk with the few who are devoted to this work and anger exits on anything said over authentic fact. So many different authors and who is who is a dream only.

I read as much as I could then placed the book back in my library uninterested having paid a lot of cash out to have it I found it well illustrated and lovely bound but stories and magic not my scene made me suspicious of fact that did it come down the ages in tact .Or is it more likely the mind of a Victorian lady in general?

I found that main character really a God named by Celtic warriors and reused in tales within the many pages of this book.  I doubt the tale had legs to travel so far as 1860s without some intervention to make it work. Celts were in themselves mysteriously silent on fact .We know they worked for Roman army in battles as crazed fighters scared of nothing and handy to have if you were Consort or General. Not much is known of these peoples in history yet they can leave us tales from the past?  I am a historian but can find no fact here. Are they tales unchanged word for word or meaning down the many 1000s of years from the days of Rome and Celts. I cant really say i think so but there we are another great mystery we have here.

Without finding the old manuscripts of these said stories one cannot swear that any go back that far in time as 2000 years if we are talking Celts.

just a topic that I researched some 40 years ago for winning a BBC radio cup for a poem.

Gods speed, Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin James Parr Bt