This is the story of the sad fate that befell a sister of a British King who lived at Twr Bronwen, which stood where Harlech Castle now stands, and who married Matholwch, an Irish King, and sailed with him across the seas. Bronwen was her name, and they say that she was the most beautiful woman in all the land.
When Matholwch came across to Harlech to court her, he and Bronwen’s step-brother Evnyssien had a fierce quarrel, and so deeply insulted was the Irishman that the match was nearly broken off. However, Bronwen’s brother Bran, the King, managed to placate the angry suitor by giving him a staff of silver as tall as himself and a plate of purest gold as wide as his face, and presently the marriage was celebrated with greatest festivity, and the happy pair sailed away for Erin.
But though their King might forget this quarrel, wild subjects would not. They nursed a grievance against their new queen and stirred up so much trouble that at last Matholwch himself turned against his bride, putting slight after slight upon her, until in the end he degraded the beautiful princess to be cook in the palace where once she had reigned.
Bronwen tried to send word of her sad plight to her brother at Harlech, just across the Irish Sea, but the vengeful Irish circumvented all her efforts, destroyed her letters and killed her messengers.
At last, in despair, poor Bronwen hit upon a plan. A Welsh starling, blown across the sea by an easterly gale, fluttered into her kitchen one day, and the Princess fed it and tended it, hiding it in the great kneading trough where she was forced to make bread for the whole household. When the bird recovered she wrote a letter to Bran, tied it to the starling’s leg, and released it.
The bird flew straight back to Harlech, but finding that King Bran was away at Carnarvon, followed him there, and perched upon his shoulder as he sat at dinner, ruffling its feathers and whistling loudly. Bran put up his hand to seize the bird to discover the cause of its amazing behaviour, and so found Bronwen’s letter.
The King fell into a mighty rage and ordered out his fleet, then sailed across to Ireland to rescue his sister and wreak vengeance upon her cruel husband. A great battle took place and Bran and his forces were eventually driven back, although they managed to rescue Bronwen. But King Bran was fatally wounded by a poisoned dart and died soon after he reached his Welsh home. Before he died, he commanded that his dead body should be taken to London and buried on the White Mount—upon which later the Tower of London was erected. Poor Bronwen, broken-hearted, survived her brother but a short time. She was buried at Ynys Bronwen in Anglesea, where, only a few hundred years ago when the mound tomb was opened, an urn was found containing the ashes of the unhappy princess.
This is a sad little story to centre around so charming a place as Harlech, now dedicated, it seems, only to the happy laughter of contented holiday makers. Harlech stands upon the side of a castle-crowned hill, separated from the sea by those magnificent golf links famous throughout the world.
It is an ideal holiday resort in the midst of a district teeming with objects of natural beauty and antiquarian interest. From it, the railway line, which follows the greater part of the Cardigan Bay coast, gives easy access to such places as Barmouth, Aberystwyth, or northward to Criccieth and Pwllheli, while inland is a district of little lake-studded mountains and moorland, offering endless attractions to the walker, the artist, or the fisherman.
