Last Friday a medieval home called Sycharth made an appearance on a programme called ‘Britain’s Secret Homes’. The five part series is looking at 50 (as the title reveals) of the lesser known, but very important houses in Britain.
Sycharth was number 37 https://www.itv.com/itvplayer/britain-s-secret-homes/series-1/episode-2 and I’m really pleased with the finished result. Probably the most satisfying feeling was that this was all about Owain Glyn Dŵr’s property, and not about the fight for freedom which usually clouds the issue when discussing his legacy.
Also important is that we were able to tell the story to an English language audience and have the poem written about the house spoken in its original language. Reaching an audience of millions with this is an amazing experience and importantly this is just one house from one point in the medieval period and the wider landscape and all the archaeological potential was only lightly touched upon.
Something which was cut from the segment was a specially commissioned ‘cywydd’ (a form of poem) by the poet Tudur Dylan Jones. Tudur is a multiple Eisteddfod winning poet, so you know you are going to get quality when you commission a cywydd from him. http://vimeo.com/68401196
Below you’ll find the original poem in Welsh, and a recent English translation. Even if you are unable to read the Welsh, you should be able to discern the beautiful rhythm of the original.
Llys Owain Glyn Dŵr yn Sycharth
Addewais yt hyn ddwywaith,
Addewid teg, addo taith;.
Taled bawb, tal hyd y bo,
Ei addewid a addawo.
Pererindawd, ffawd ffyddlawn,
Perwyl mor annwyl mawr iawn,
Myned, eidduned oddain,
Lles yw, tua llys Owain.
Yn oddain yno ydd af,
Nid drwg, yno y trigaf
I gymryd i’m bywyd barch
Gydag ef o gydgyfarch;
Fo all fy naf, uchaf ach,
Eurben clear, erbyn cleiriach;
Clod bod, cyd boed alusen,
Ddiwarth hwyl, yn dda wrth hen.
I’w lys ar ddyfrys ydd af,
O’r deucant odidocaf;.
Llys barwn, lle syberwyd,
Lle daw beirdd aml, lle da byd.
Gwawr Bowys fawr, beues Faig,
Gofuned gwiw ofynaig.
Llyna’r modd a’r llun y mae:
Mewn eurgylch dwfr mewn argae.
(Pand da’r llys?) pont ar y llyn,
Ac unporth lle’r ai ganpyn;
Cyplau sydd, gwaith cwplws ynt,
Cwpledig pob cwpl ydynt.
Clochdy Padrig, Ffrengig ffrwyth,
Clostr Wesmustr, clostir emswyth;
Cynglynrhwym pob congl unrhyw,
Cangell aur, cygan oll yw.
Cynglynion yn y fronfron fry,
Dordor megis daeardy,
A phob un fal llun llyngwlm
Sydd yn ei gilydd yn gwlm.
Tai nawplad fold deunawplas,
Tai pren glan mewn top bryn glas;
Ar bedwar piler eres
Mae’i lys ef i nef yn nes.
Ar ben pob piler pren praff,
Llofft ar dalgrofft adeilgraff,
A’r pedair llofft, o hoffter,
Yn gydgwplws lle cwag cler.
Aeth y pedair disgleirlofft,
Nyth lwyth teg iawn, yn wyth lofft;
To teils ar bob ty talwg,
A simnai lle magai’r mwg.
Naw neuadd gyfladd gyflun,
A naw gwardrob ar bob un.
Siopau glan, glwys cynnwys cain,
Siop lawndeg fal Siep Lundain.
Croes eglwys gylchlwys galchliw,
Capelau a gwydrau gwiw;
Popty llawn poptu I’r llys,
Perllan, gwinllan, ger gwenllys,
Melin deg ar ddifreg ddwr;
A’i glomendy gloyw maendwr.
Pysgodlyn, cudduglyn cau,
A fo rhaid i fwrw heyday
Amlaf lle, nid er ymliw,
Penhwyaid a gwyniaid gwiw.
A’I dir bwrdd a’i adar byw,
Peunod, crehyrod hoywryw,
Dolydd glan gwyran a gwair,
Ydau mewn caeau cywair,
Parc cwning ein por cenedl,
Erydr a meirch hydr, mawr chwedl;
Gerllaw’r llys, gorlliwio’r llall,
Y pawr ceirw mewn parc arall;
Ei gaith a wna pob gwaith gwiw,
Cyfreidiau cyfair ydiw,
Dwyn blaendrwyth cwrw Amwythig,
Gwirodau, bragodau brig,
Pob llyn, bara gwyn a gwin,
A’I gig, a’i dan i’w gegin;
Pebyll y beirdd pawb lle bo,
Pe beunydd caiff pawb yno;
Tecaf llys bren, pen heb bai,
O‘r deyrnas, nawdd Duw arnai;.
A awraig orau o’r garaged
Gwyn fy myd o’i gwin a’i medd!
Merch eglur llin marchoglyw,
Urddol hael anianol yw;.
A’i blant a ddeuant bob ddau,
Nythaid teg o beneathiaid.
Anfynych iawn fu yno
Weled na chlicied na chlo,
Na phorthoriaeth ni wnaeth neb,
Ni bydd eisiau budd oseb,
Na gwall, na newyn, na gwarth,
Na syched fyth yn Sycharth.
Gorau Cymro, tro trylew
Piau’r wlad, lin Pywer Lew,
Gwr meingryf, gorau mangre,
A phial’r llys; hoff yw’r lle.
Court of Owain Glyn Dŵr in Sycharth
I have promised twice before now,
fair promise, promising a journey;
let everyone fulfil, as much as is due,
his promise which he promises.
A very great pilgrimage,
certain prosperity, such a dear destination,
is going, swift promise,
It is beneficial, towards Owain’s court;
swiftly will I go there,
not bad, there will I dwell
to bring honour into my life
by exchanging greetings with him;
my leige can, highest lineage,
bright golden head, receive an old codger;
it is praiseworthy, though it is but alms,
Course without shame, to be kind to the old.
I will go to his court in haste,
The most splendid of the two hundred;
a baron’s court, place of refinement,
Where many poets come, place of the good life;
queen of great Powys, Maig’s land,
promise of good hope.
This is its manner and its form
In the bright circle of water within an embankment:
(isn’t the court fine?) a bridge on the lake,
and one gate through which would go a hundred loads;
there are couples, they are couple work,
every couple is coupled together;
Patrick’s bell house, French fruit,
the cloister of Westminster, comfortable enclosure;
each corner is bound together in the same way,
golden chancel, it is entirely symmetrical,
bonds side by side above,
cheek-to-cheek like an earth house,
and every one looking like a tight knot
Is tied fast to the next one,
nine-plated buildings on the scale of eighteen mansions,
fair wooden buildings on top of a green hill;
on four wonderful pillars
his court is nearer to heaven;
on top of each stout wooden pillar
a loft built firmly on the summit of a croft,
and the four lofts of loveliness
coupled together where poets sleep;
the four bright lofts turned,
a very fair nest load, into eight lofts;
a tiled roof on every house with frowning forehead,
And a chimney from which the smoke would grow;
nine symmetrical identical halls,
and nine wardrobes by each one,
bright fair shops with fine contents,
a lovely full shop like London’s Cheapside;
a cross-shaped church with a fair chalk-coloured exterior
chapels with splendid glass windows;
a full bakehouse on every side of the court,
an orchard, a vineyard by a white court;
a lovely mill on flowing water,
and his dovecot with bright stone tower;
a fishpond, hollow enclosure,
what is needed to cast nets;
place most abounding, not for dispute;
In pike and fine sewin,
and his bord-land and his live birds,
peacocks, splendid herons;
bright meadows of grass and hay,
corn in well-kept fields,
the rabbit park of our patriarch,
ploughs and sturdy horses, great words;
by the court, outshining the other,
stags graze in another park;
his serfs perform all fitting tasks,
those are the necessities of an estate,
bringing the best brew of beer from Shrewsbury,
liquors of foaming bragget,
every drink, white bread and wine,
and his meat and his fire for his kitchen;
shelter of poets, everyone wherever he be,
were it daily, he will have everyone there,
loveliest wooden court, chief without fault,
of the kingdom, may god protect it,
and the best woman of all women,
blessed am I by her wine and her mead!
Fair girl from the line of a knightly ruler,
she is dignified and noble by nature;
and his children come in pairs,
a fine nestful of chieftains.
Very rarely was bolt or lock
to be seen there,
nor did anyone act as porter;
there will be no want, beneficial gift,
nor lack not hunger nor shame,
Nor ever thirst in Sycharth.
The best Welshman, valorous feat,
owns the country, of Pywer Lew’s line,
slender strong man, best spot,
and owns the court, splendid is the place.