A Secret Revolution

How the A4212 circumnavigates some of Cymru's most fascinating recent history.

North West Wales is an area of the United Kingdom steeped in beauty and awe and is stereotypically known as a land of secrets, myths and legends. King Arthur is considered to have roamed the mountainous majesty of the peaks of Yr Wyddfa, Beddgelert is so named after Prince Llewelyn's brave and loyal dog, whilst Owain Glyndwr's factual and fierce campaign against the English has been shrouded in mystery due to his ghost-like disappearance from the history books in the early 15th Century. South east of this region of legend is an an area of Cymru that is less explored than the coast and mountains, save for the crunching and crushing cacophony that is the influx of visitors to Bala Lake in the summer months, and yet if you were to not follow the herd there is a nearby road that leads the intrepid traveller to a lesser known triumvirate of history that is just as rewarding as any of the sites mentioned on the tourist tick list.

Secret Number 1 - Hedd Wyn

The A4212 is an 18 mile stretch that ends in Trawsfynydd, the village from where World War One poet Hedd Wyn hailed. His house is now a museum and well worth a visit as it is a living, breathing example of how people lived at the turn of the 20th Century and it contains his collection of bardic chairs including the quite wonderful and famous black chair, awarded posthumously to Ellis Evans (his real name) at the Eisteddfod in 1917, he having been killed weeks earlier at The Battle of Passchendaele.

Hedd Wyn's Rhyfel is quite astonishing and if it doesn't move you then check your pulse, you must already be dead:

Original Welsh poem by Hedd Wyn

Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng, A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell; O’i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng, Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.

Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd; Mae sŵn yr ymladd ar ein clyw, A’i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd.

Mae’r hen delynau genid gynt, Ynghrog ar gangau’r helyg draw, A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt, A’u gwaed yn gymysg efo’r glaw.

English translation by Gillian Clarke

Bitter to live in times like these. While God declines beyond the seas; Instead, man, king or peasantry, Raises his gross authority.

When he thinks God has gone away Man takes up his sword to slay His brother; we can hear death’s roar. It shadows the hovels of the poor.

Like the old songs they left behind, We hung our harps in the willows again. Ballads of boys blow on the wind,

Their blood is mingled with the rain.

Secret Number 2 - Tryweryn

Working back towards Bala the traveller finds themselves skirting what appears to be a huge lake which is in fact the man-made reservoir named Tryweryn. In the summer of 2022 the heatwave, like those before it, saw the reservoir levels drop and once more exposed the savage violence that was done to this beautiful land in 1965, including the destruction of the Welsh-speaking community of Capel Celyn. Parts of the village have subsequently emerged providing ghostly reminders of how the English Government (they call themselves the UK Government but they only really serve the interests of the largest of the four countries) has treated, and continues to treat Wales. Fossils of village life are scattered along the newly exposed land; a child's wooden wheelbarrow, a stray shoe, a clay pipe, and brickwork that evidence where buildings once stood. There was protest at the time but like the village of Celyn, angry Welsh voices were drowned out.

Meic Stevens, one of the great legendary Welsh songwriters of the 20th Century (he is still with us) summed up the sadness of the place thus:

Mae'r blodau yn yr ardd yn hardd

Y rhosyn ger y drws yn dlws

Ond nid yw'r blodau'n tyfu nawr

Mewn tŷ o dan y creigiau mawr.

Dŵr oer sy'n cysgu yn Nhryweryn

Dŵr oer sy'n cysgu yn Nhryweryn

Mae'r dŵr uwchben fy nhŷ yn ddu

Y pysgod yn y llyn yn wyn

Ond nid yw'r blodau'n tyfu nawr

Mewn tŷ o dan y creigiau mawr.

Dŵr oer sy'n cysgu yn Nhryweryn

Dŵr oer sy'n cysgu yn Nhryweryn

Wel mae'r blodau'n tyfu nawr

A ma'r dail yn cwympo lawr

Mae'r bobol wedi mynd

Mae'r blode ar y llawr.

Dŵr oer sy'n cysgu yn Nhryweryn

Dŵr oer sy'n cysgu yn Nhryweryn

The flowers in the garden are beautiful The rose near the door is pretty But the flowers don't grow now In a house under the big rocks. Cold water sleeps in Tryweryn The water above my house is black The fish in the water are white But the flowers don't grow now In a house under the big rocks. Cold water sleeps in Tryweryn Cold water sleeps in Tryweryn Well, the flowers grow now And the leaves fall down The people have gone The flowers are on the ground. Cold water sleeps in Tryweryn Cold water sleeps in Tryweryn

Secret Number 3 - Frongoch

The third and final piece of history that the A4212 presides over is perhaps the most fascinating and astonishing because it is testimony to the presence of a voice that could not be drowned out (and by God the UK Government wished it had been), only this voice was not Welsh it was Irish and the tiny village of Frongoch, quite amazingly, was the the land upon which the seeds of the I.R.A. were sown. You heard correctly, the Irish Republican Army was founded on the eastern side of the Irish Sea and the voice that could not be silenced belonged to one Mícheál Ó Coileáin, affectionally known as 'The Big Fella' and more popularly remembered as Michael Collins.

There is little to signpost the historical significance of Frongoch to the casual passer-by. They might raise a quizzical eyebrow at the Irish 'Fáilte' which competes with the Welsh 'Croeso' on the village's 'Welcome' sign, or be curious at the presence of an Irish tricolour as they exit the village, but unless they stopped they likely would consider it a twinning of Frongoch with an Irish town. The more curious visitor however is rewarded with a mind boggling secret history that attests to the presence of the aforementioned Collins and another 1800 Irishmen here in Frongoch just over a century ago. Following the Easter Rising in Dublin in 1916, the British Government in their wisdom, decided to round up those involved in the Rising (those they didn't execute) and ship them over to the mainland. Frongoch, a former whisky distillery in what then must have seemed like the middle of nowhere to the prisoners (though strangely reminiscent of home to some) was chosen as their destination. As such 1800 rebellious Irishmen from all parts of their native country were deposited in one place, a place where they were free to swap ideas, plot, and plan ways to ensure that their over-riding aims that had seen them sent to Frongoch would come to fruition on their return home. As a result, Frongoch has been described as the 'University of Revolution' and for Michael Collins in particular it set him on course to becoming one of the most brilliant revolutionary organisers and tacticians, as well as a national hero that has seen the centenary of his death on August 22nd this year awash with tributes in the Irish media.

So what today remains of the significant historical site of Frongoch Internment Camp? The truth is not too much physical but plenty spiritual. As you enter the village and head to the bottom of the road you will see the site upon which the prisoners, whose first stop was in England, arrived in Cymru. The Old Station is exactly that, the train station of Frongoch where Collins and his comrades would have disembarked.

Now a private house the back garden has a ledge running through it that is quite obviously the station platform and the house itself appears to have changed little since 1916. From here the prisoners were divided into two camps, North and South which is easily discernible as they were placed either side of the main road down to the old station. Looking back up the road towards the A4212 the North Camp would have been on the left and the South Camp (where Collins spent most of his time) on the right on the site of what is now Frongoch Primary School. Until recently the layout of the Camp would have been difficult to imagine but this is where retired farmer Alwyn Jones comes in. His house is also situated on the site of the former South Camp and he is a font of knowledge about the site, so much so that he has now erected a small museum to the Camp which at this early stage in its development is quite impressive. The fact that he has done so with no local council assistance is indicative of Alwyn's passion for the place. Inside is an original bench from the Camp along with facsimiles of letters sent from Frongoch to the outside world from Collins and others. Photographs and artist impressions of the Camp indicate the size, scale and layout of Frongoch and it enables the visitor to picture exactly where everything was from the remaining features still dotted about the village. There are some case histories concerning some of the inmates on display, including the sad story of William Thomas Halpin who ended up in the 'Lunatic Asylum' in Denbigh.

The conditions at Frongoch, both through exposure to the natural elements and the standard of food and care were atrocious, in fact, so bad were they that they were commented upon in the House of Commons so it is not surprising that the stress of being in such an environment may have troubled the minds of some of the inmates. Conversely, there also seemed to have been a real camaraderie amongst the prisoners which was fostered especially on 'Croke Park', the neighbouring field where the prisoners took part in sporting events, including quite incredibly, the All Ireland Gaelic Football Final of 1916.

Given that there were a number of celebrated Gaelic footballers at Frongoch it was decided that the Wolf Tone Final would be played there, especially since the captains of the two teams that prior to the Easter Rising had qualified for the Final were interned there, Louth's Tom Burke and even more impressively Dick Fitzgerald who had captained Kerry to five All-Ireland titles. The field still looks magnificent and the Final must have been quite a spectacle with a viewing crowd numbering 1800. Other areas of the Camp remain, such as the Commandant's House which today is visible from the museum and on a photograph of the prisoners crossing the bridge to 'Croke Park'.

There is much more to the history of Frongoch both tragic and celebratory. The river that thunders fantastically between The Old Station and 'Croke Park' bears a sad secret about the camp doctor, meanwhile Richard Mulachy, later I.R.A. Chief of Staff and Leader of Fine Gael was an inmate, as was Arthur Shields who headed over to Hollywood and starred in How Green Was My Valley, National Velvet and alongside John Wayne in The Quiet Man.

It is quite astonishing to consider that these stories, this history and these people existed in the quiet and contemplative village that is Frongoch today.

Further reading is available from Siop Awen Meirion in Bala

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Thanks to Alwyn Jones for both his hospitality and for caring about this amazing piece of history.