5th December 2022
Christmas at Cefnllys in the year of our Lord 1468 – A Play Written and Produced by Derek Turner


Hear Ye, Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
Thou Good and Faithful Servants,
Peasants and Serfs From
The Township of Cefnllys Castle in
The Year of our Lord 1468
We have a Tortuous Tale to Tell, But Tarry
Awhile, Forsooth, I Place Securely For Whom
the Bell Tolls in my Trusty Baldrick
But Hark, Who Goes There? A Crowd
Comes Hither, Maid Marion a Jester and
Father Hugh , the Chaplain.
Mother Superior and Two Novice Nuns
From the Silent Order of Cistercian Nuns
From Llanllugan Priory.
5 Pilgrims Wishing to Partake in the Revelry
Of the Christmas Banquet, And Another Nun
No Doubt who will Ensure Nothing Goes Amiss,
Sir Stephen Cox, Knight Hospitalier
And Mine Host, Iuean ap Phylip, Constable
Appointed By Richard, Duke of York, His Two
Armed Guards and his
Guest, Lewis Glyn Cothi, The Famous Welsh
Bard Who Will Delight Us With His Poem.
Attend Good People To Our Tale, What
Derring Do and Secrets May Be Revealed
God Save The King!
Words of the Herald by Janet Swindale seen below with our esteemed Chaplin, Geraint

Ieuan opens proceedings:

As your Constable, Ieuan ap Phylip, I welcome you all
To come join with me, and my friends, here in Cefnllys Hall
I am a proud Welshman, descendent of Elystan Glodrydd,
The great King of Rhwng Gwy a Hafren, including Maelienydd
For Richard, Duke of York, I act as Receiver
And for King Edward IV, I am no deceiver
But Lewys Glyn Cothi, has come to recite
A poem he has written for us, and our delight
In the Welsh language, his words are a blessing
In our plain English tongue, they remain very pleasing
Jester leaps to his/her feet cutting Ieuan off

Lewys Glyn Cothi, our celebrated Bard
Who finds nothing in rhyme, to be very hard
He will captivate you now, as you sit in this Hall
By his eloquent words, about this building so tall
You will find, that there isn’t, a word out of place
But if you are looking for rhyme, it may lack a certain grace
Lewys Glyn Cothi’s Poem
“Pa wal gystal am gastell
Ar wal bur Caergloyew bell
Caer with ochr uchr uwch cwrt Ieithawn”
“What wall as fine around a castle
As this pure white wall like the wall of fair Gloucester?
A white castle above the full white pool,
An eight-sided fort above the banks of Ieithon
A Greek fort in twelve encircling bands
The family name of the place is Cefnllys
The name of that fortress shall be found
In the great chronicles of the Mortimers
It is the largest fortress of their family
Ieuan remembered by all as the son of Phylip
All in velvet. He claims this
He caused with stones a wall to be made
And with lead work made a palace
A high healthy place
The mountain larks in May
Towards the sky they turn
And the eagle way at the beginning of summer
Seeks for the highest place
So Ieuan in his zeal
Like a sturdy stag on a high bank
The famous man on this island
In the Parish of Cefnllys
A hundred lofts above one hall
With his castle court at the edge of the bank
This pile shines brightly; Light shines from Ieuan’s church
From this hall he distributes rents
To all who come
He is good, giving alms to the weak
God is Ieuan’s keeper and defender
Translation by: G Caffell in a Transactions article in Vol 42 (1972) p 19

Jester acknowledging the applause and adulation of the crowd
What did I tell you, Lewys’s words are sublime
Eagles and stags, he can charm, with his rhyme
He is not quite so sure, of the King in his tower
Jasper and Henry, he would see gaining power
But now for something different, from our Chaplain so gay
With music to celebrate, our Christmas today
The Monks from the Abbey, will sing songs from Cwmhir
So, join in if you can, and bring some good cheer
Chaplin with songs from the Abbey
Songs
Jester
You will never believe, what we have for you next
Five Pilgrims are here, on some amazing pretext
Chaucer had many, we have but a few
But they each have a story, they will tell to you
So, listen carefully my children, there may be something to learn
As, in coming from Strata Florida, they each take a turn
Five Pilgrims in turn tell their stories
Cefnllys Tales

- Hope
Starting my Pilgrimage, I had no one to travel with
But I met an old lady, in the village of Cwmystwyth
Her tale, she would tell me, as we walked along
And it gave me great hope, so I have written this song
She had a lovely daughter, whose name was Elenor
Elenor married Deiwyn, and it seemed like a prayer
They hoped to have a child, indeed children, and many
But try as they did, they could not have any
Elenor loved children, and soon she found plenty
Her neighbours and friends, were glad of a ‘nanny’
She played with these children, and taught them new skills
And even looked after them, with their childhood ills
She was happy and fulfilled, but Deiwyn was not
He was ready to throw his toys, right out of the cot
Deiwyn wanted Elenor, for himself alone
These children, were not his, for him to atone
He was cross, he was angry, and Elenor was caught
But before they fell out, someone else was distraught
The parents of poor Pedrog, one of her children
Both killed in an accident, when their cart hit a chicken
Pedrog himself, was injured as well
His legs would not hold him, I am sorry to tell
When no one came forward, with Pedrog in mind
Elenor said, I love Pedrog, Deiwyn be kind
Deiwyn said no, he is not our concern
It is time for his family, to now take their turn
Then build him a cart, so he can once again, get-about
And teach him to use it, so that he can go in and out
Deiwen said he would, but then he must go
To someone in his family, who might teach him to sew
Deiwen started to build it, and Pedrog was near
Pedrog had shed, not a single tear
He held many of the tools, for Deiwen to use
And soon he was helping to build, the cart that would cruise
A friendship was building, even quicker than the cart
Their love for each other grew, and this was only the start.
I am Deiwen and this my story
From despair to hope is my Pilgrimage journey
- Connection
A parhelion is rare, three suns in the sky
The Earl of March senses, a Yorkist victory is nigh
Jasper Tudor is cold, and his men are not ready
At Mortimer’s Cross, the ground is quite heavy
Many will fall before sunset, and his father will be executed
The Lancastrian cause, will need to be resurrected
Lewys Glyn Cothi, one day, will put it to song
And to hear it yourself, you won’t have to wait long
One of the fallen, a close friend of mine
Lived in Rhayader with Cristin, his wife at the time
Her grief was unending, as she cried and she wailed
A life all alone, was what this entailed
Friends could not help, as she rejected them all
And I was just one, who happened to call
A year has gone by, and here I am again
Trying to see, if I, can assuage her pain
She is not in, at this time, the time of my passing
Where can she be, where she does all this crying
Waiting is not easy, as I remember her distress
Then she approaches me quietly, in a very pretty dress
She smiles and she tells me, that things have quite changed
Thanks to a woman called Morfydd, and others she engaged
Morfydd’s story is strange, but also quite thrilling
At Mortimer’s Cross, her Yorkist husband lay dying
She became aware of my plight, and was unsure how to help
Till she knocked on my door, it was a first step
Hearing the knock, then hearing it again and again and again
I did not want to answer it, surely it would only, exacerbate my pain
I opened the door, to a person so persistent
It was a woman I had known, to some little extent
It was her loss I remembered, was the same as my own
Her husband, a Yorkist, died at the Cross all alone
Why had she come, at my door to stand
She did not say anything, she just took my hand
Into my house she led me, and we just sat in silence
I don’t know what happened, it hardly made any sense
Holding each other’s hands, we made a connection
A connection so meaningful, there was no fear of rejection
She introduced me to others, who had lost someone they loved
And we all found a way forward; our grief was transcended.
My Pilgrimage was off, to a very good start
Connections will help me begin to take part
- Discovery
My Pilgrimage is looming, and before setting out
I will visit the Abbott, and discover, what it’s all about
The story he told me, I will now reveal to you
And you may find, as I did, that it is very true
All sorts of people, come and visit the Abbey
With all sorts of reasons, that have left them at sea
Some want forgiveness, others spiritual enlightenment
Then there are those that need, some food, as a supplement
But then there was one man, who we could not atone
His name was Arthen, and he lived by himself, all alone
The voices he heard, frightened other people away
And it is true, that he did not, want them to stay
When he came to the Abbey, he just banged on the door
Again and again, till his hands were really quite sore
When we let him into the Abbey, he could not explain
The reason for his visit, or the source of his pain
Time and time again, Arthen would come, and abuse us
Leaving us fraught and bewildered, with no sense of purpose
He claimed to be Jesus, and threatened us with damnation
He shouted and screamed, we were the source of his persecution
Becoming threatening and violent, he tested our patience
Till we removed him from the Abbey, and then, prayed in silence
A trainee Monk, Cadwaladr, saw him the very next time
And did something naughty, that turned out quite fine
You’ll never believe it, but he shouted at Arthen
“Go and learn about your voices, and only come back when
You have discovered, how you, can begin to manage them
And treat other people, with some respect and decorum”
You’ll never believe it, but with help from Cadwaladr
He went to the tavern, where he caused quite a stir
A group had assembled, who thought voice hearing a ‘gift’
And when they welcomed Arthen, it gave him quite a lift
They learned from each other, what helped and what hindered
What voices were helpful, and what voices, better rejected
My name is Arthen, and my voices are still many
But thanks to Cadwaladr, my options are plenty
I have learned to discover, how to work with my friends
To find new ways to manage, and even make amends
As I set off, on my Pilgrimage Journey
It is a journey from alienation to personal discovery
- Resilience
My Pilgrimage I knew, would bring me close to Cefnllys
But it was at Rhyd-y-Cleifion, where I would find Generys
Generys is a woman, whose life story I would tell
Though she herself thinks, that it is nothing special
All her life she has lived, where the River Ithon meanders
A River just a trickle, but quite different when the rain pours
It can sweep away trees, and flood across the terrain
It has taken people with it, who have never been seen again
Generys loved the river, with its salmon and trout
The otters playing in the water, made you want to be out
Swydd Common was also, an important attraction
She would go over the top, to find pools she could swim in
Her house was nearby, built by her father
Put up in a day, she would never need to go further
Then something happened, that made her so sad
A man attacked her, he was clearly very bad
Even worse was to follow, when her tummy did swell
He had left her with something, that made her feel quite unwell
She needed to stop it, and stop it quite soon
Or her wedding to Meurig, would be the talk of the town
There was a woman in Rhayader, who would know what to do
She did it, she stopped her, and Generys was even more blue
She was bad, she was very bad, and she deserved punishment too
In her own mind only, she knew this to be true
Her marriage to Meurig went ahead with no hitch
And children they came, one two three, four five six
A boy, then another, and they all came the same
No girl Meurig wanted, it was a terrible shame
Generys was convinced, the punishment was real
No girl would she have, it was all quite surreal
She was bad, she was very bad, and she deserved punishment too
In her own mind only, she knew this to be true
Then the wounded started coming, from Battles all over
The Roses were at war, and there was blood on the clover
Generys responded, with love and compassion
She strived day and night, to the point of exhaustion
Her goodness was heralded, in Cefnllys and beyond
And her badness receded, allowing her to carry on
Her family supported her, and in turn she took a stance
She had found her resilience in her love and endurance
I am Meurig, Generys is my wife
My journey is from self-doubt to resilience in overcoming strife
- Taking Control
My name is Aaron, I am as scatty as they come
I will ask the Abbott for guidance, before I leave home
He told me to go to Eluned, and listen to her story
And she is a lady, who happens, to live in Llandovery
I found her at home, and she welcomed me in
It was clean, it was warm, and she gave me biscuits from a tin
I thought to myself, this is all very nice
But what can she tell me, in the way of advice
She smiled, and she laughed, before she started to tell
You will find that things, were not always this well
After a good start, my parents were loving
They both died of a fever, when no one was looking
To my grandparents I went, all sad and dejected
For a year it got better, but then Grannie departed
Leaving Grandpa old, and unable to cope
With an hysterical 4 year old, all alone with no hope
Begging and stealing, and trying to live off my wits
An Uncle and Aunt found me, all covered in nits
They could not have me, they had children needing feeding
To Strata Florida they took me, kicking and screaming
The Abbott did not want me, in an Abbey full of men
It would have been better, if I were a goat or a hen
The Abbott relented, he would take me in
I would have to live in this place, a place with no sin
I was frightened, I was angry, I screamed and I spat
I even bit one of them, for being such a prat
The Abbott he told me, they would not let me go
Until I knew all, that I needed to know
I was very unhappy, but I did what they asked
I cleaned, and I cooked, sewed and mended, however tasked
Years went by, in this cold austere place
I felt very alone, and always in disgrace
Then out of the blue, Cenydd, a trainee Monk came
He brought something different; things were never the same
He started by asking, “What would you like to do?”
I carried on cleaning and washing, as they had wanted me to
But it all seemed quite different, than it was before
I no longer stressed, about escaping, through the big black door
Cenydd then helped me, to look after the goats and the sheep
But it was the chickens, that grabbed me, and I wanted to keep
Monk Griffi was quite happy, for me to lend a hand
Even though once, I had bitten him, just to make a stand
It was then that I asked Cenydd, if I could go through the door
“It is you that must decide”, I could not have asked for more
But a fear welled up inside me, it had just arisen
If I made a mistake, I could end up back in prison
Cenydd said do not worry, “If you make a mistake
Mistakes are the beginning, of new roads you can take.”
Eluned had shown me how to take control
I am now ready go on my Pilgrimage stroll
Jester
My friends, have our Pilgrims, told you anything new
I know they have left me, in a bit of a stew
But my foot is quite sore, and my head has a pain
So, my Pilgrimage will only, allow me to complain
It is now time, to celebrate Christmas again
The Chaplain is ready, with a musical refrain
This time, I am told, you cannot join in
For the choir might make a bit of a din
Chaplain introduces the ‘Silent Order of Monks’

Jester
Now that has left you thinking, what might come next
I would tell you if I could, if I only had the text
There is a lady who has, and who may know how to tell it
But I am really not sure, of her very strange habit.
The Prioress’s Tale – told by a Nun
You have probably been over, to a town called Presteigne
And the place of a Battle, you may not have seen
The Battle of Pilleth, or to some Bryn Glas
Where so many Englishmen, would soon breath their last
Owain Glyndwr’s Army, were at the top of the Hill
Their position an advantage, if they kept very still
Reigning down arrows, on Sir Edmund Mortimer’s men
There was nowhere to hide, not even a pen
Owain was Triumphant, while Edmund was captured
However, it was Edmund, who soon became enraptured
Owain’s daughter Catrin, had captured his heart
They married soon after, and made a new start
The battlefield however, was the scene of much carnage
As the women of Wales, reaped their terrible revenge
The bodies of Englishmen, were being ripped apart
Even before Red Kites, could make their hungry start
Sitting in the field, where the cowslips once grew
Was a young woman, who was unsure what to do
She had travelled all day, from the Priory at Llanllugan
To do a good deed, as an aspiring young Nun
It was hard to believe, the scene that she saw
So many dead and wounded, it was the last straw
Till she saw all these women, with their axes and knives
It was so awful, it brought tears to her eyes
She spoke to these women, quite softly at first
Tis the wounded that need healing, she said clenching her fist
It really does not matter, whether they are English or Welsh
Indeed, it was hard to tell, which one was which
The women put down their knives, and their axes
Even though they were, so fed-up paying taxes
They took to their task, helping the men who were wounded
While our Nun took charge, of the ones who were tormented
The work of this novice, from the Priory at Llanllugan
Changed the lives of the men, and also the women
Some 54 years later, we remember her story
While she is now Mother Superior, still in the Priory
Jestor
With the Mother Superior, back in her stall
It is time for music again, one and all
Chaplain – More Christmas Music
Jestor
Hopefully by now, you will know what is to come
A tale that will show you, that we can overcome
The might of those English, the source of our woes
And how we in Wales, can look after our foes
You will not be surprised, If I tell you, there is even more
A Knight has come tramping, across mountains and moor
Sir Stephen Cox has journeyed, from Pembrokeshire
To tell us his story, and give us good cheer
The Knight’s Tale
The Commandery at Slebach, have sent me this way
But Ieuan has diverted me, to come and have my say
It is a pleasure to be here, in these beautiful surrounds
To celebrate Christmas, in one of St. Michael’s compounds
Michael has a duty, to protect the last Dragon from harm
While he sleeps contentedly, amongst the sheep on a farm
I am a Knight of the Order, of St John of Jerusalem
Protecting Pilgrims, and David’s passage, under the elm
I am here to collect Tythes, from Michael’s estate
At Llanfihangel Nant Melan, I will soon learn my fate
But you may have forgotten this story, the story I will tell
About a battle that happened, on this Cefnllys hill
Another Mortimer was involved, but this time it was Roger
He came face to face with the Prince, the Prince who would conquer
Llywelyn ap Gruffydd the Great Prince of Wales
Would tear down the castle, it was just one of those tales
Of course, you will know this, know it already
But this you may not know, I will tell you the story
Of how the Knights of St John, would come in a hurry
They came to a field, on the edge of the Ithon
The name of it you will know, as Rhyd-y-Cleifion
And there they would tend, the men who were wounded
In this place by a ford, where peace was resurrected
It is 200 hundred years since, and my Knights of St John
Are still ready and waiting, at every new dawn
Who knows in the future, what will come to pass
In a world that is uncertain, but still covered in grass
My Knights of St John, will continue to be
There for the wounded, wherever they may be
It is time for me to go now, to Llantfiangel Nant Melan
Sure, in the knowledge my Knight’s will always, do what they can
Jester
Well, there you have it, if you are not asleep already
There is just time, for one more Christmas ditty
The Chaplain will lead you, in a round of merriment
Then out into the cold, you will all be sent
A very merry Christmas, to you one and all
And Ieuan will, I am sure, be around to call
Discussion:
There were many people to thank after production.
Geriant was the inspiration behind the idea of producing something that had some authenticity with the 1468AD. He pointed Derek towards Chaucer and the rest followed. Geraint then played the part of the Chaplin and managed the music for the occasion. He even had to fill in for the snow-bound Abbeycwmhir monks who could not join us for the performance.
Derek wrote 5 Pilgrim Tales, a Prioresses Tale, and a Knight’s Tale but that is where the association with Chaucer ended. The Pilgrim’s Tales have since been labelled ‘Cefnllys Tales’ and are based on the mental health work that he did working alongside Helen Glover from Australia. Helen has analysed the stories of people who were told there was ‘no hope’ for them because of their Mental Health challenges. Helen’s story and the other stories she looked at highlighted 5 themes that recurred in the stories of people who refused to believe there was no hope. The Cefnllys Tales represent each of these 5 themes. Some of the stories are amalgamations of different experiences and two of them are almost the same as the experience of two people known to Derek. They are stories of hope and recovery. The two other stories grew out of the Tales and the history of the time.
Janet wrote and played the part of the Herald and was the inspiration behind many of the costumes.
The Pilgrims were ‘recruited’ from a pilgrimage that took place recently to celebrate and look forward to a ‘new’ future for the Pales, with Addoldai Cymru. The walk was from Cae Bach to the Pales. It got halted at the Thomas Shop where Derek took advantage of their situation. Their experience and performances really did add something special to the occasion.
The other parts were played by members of the History Group. Jill carried the part of Lewys Glyn Cothi brilliantly giving more authenticity to the role by introducing the poem in Welsh. Dr Marion played the Fool/Jester to perfection and held the whole performance together. As well as performing the Nun and Knight Christine and Steve helped with the production in so many different ways.
Then, never to be forgotten, were the Silent Order of Nuns, Mary, Anne and Humph, who gave the whole proceedings much need jollity for this Christmas celebration.
As with so many things in Penybont, Shirley toiled away with the scenery and generally helping to make the Play a success. She had many other helpers, who know who they are, but have not mentioned in person.
Thank-you all.
There will be no Local History Group Meeting in January but we hope to see you all on 6th February when the talk will be on Penybont Police Station by Michelle Jackson.