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Cym: The Drowning of the Bottom Hundred
Introduction
Originating as I do, from the Llŷn Peninsula, I had a view out over Bae Ceredigion (Cardigan Bay) almost every day for the entirety of my remembered childhood. The bay where the land embraced the sea was simply there. It was an elongated C-shaped gap and on a clear day one could imagine seeing the entire length of it. But somehow it seemed as if something was missing there. That once something actually existed in that gap. Of course, almost every Welsh-speaking child knew something of the tale of Cantref Gwaelod, mostly due to the poem by JJ Williams 'Clychau Cantre'r Gwaelod' (The Bells of the Bottom Hundred) which is quoted below. Like most people for whom a tale is ubiquitous I thought I knew everything there was to know about the tale of Cantref Gwaelod.
It was only during my researches for this article that I found out how little I really knew and how little anyone seemed to know. Indeed, the tale of Cantref Gwaelod seems never to have been published in its entirety; not in any compendium of folklore and certainly not on the internet. As a result I began to gather all the information I could. Then of course, there were the various different and often incompatible versions of the tale which seem to have evolved over the centuries.
Surprisingly the tale actually starts at the end of the previous ice-age, ending some 10000 years ago. At this time the sea had receded from Cardigan Bay and the basin was dry and fertile land covered in stands of highland pine. This is known, because at low tide near the beach at Y Borth numerous tree stumps of Pinus sylvestris (see above) can be seen emerging from the waves. Other topological features associated with the ice age are a feature known as Sarn Badrig (St Patrick's Causeway) which runs south-west for about 17km from Mochras near Harlech. In reality this represents the remnant of a boulder-clay bank left over from the ice age. There is also a collection of large stones and boulders which, at low tide, is visible in the sea to the west of Aberystwyth.
In folklore all these features became associated with the famous ruler of West Wales during the early part of the fifth century, Gwyddno Garanhir (Gwyddno Longshanks). Cardigan Bay became a lost land, once the realm of Gwyddno himself, the mound of rocks to the west of Aberystwyth became Caer Wyddno (Gwyddno's Fortress) and Sarn Badrig became the remnants of the giant ramparts that once defended Gwyddno's realm (Maes Gwyddno) from the sea. The extant tale of the 'drowned land' was re-located to Cardigan Bay and evolved into a just-so story to explain the features described above. Thus was born the kernel of the tale of the drowning of Cantref Gwaelod (sometimes also known as the drowning of Gwyddno's Realm).
The earliest version we have of this tale originates in the Llyfr Du Caerfyrddin in a fragmentary poem known either as Seithennin or Boddi Maes Gwyddneu and it is this poem that forms the core of the tale related below. There is also a much earlier tale (which is the one I was most familiar with as a child) and that variant is given as the Mererid Version.
In the early days of the land of the Cymry there was a realm to the west of the Land of the Compatriots called Meirionydd which, unlike most of the neighbouring lands was flat and fertile. Lord of this realm was Gwyddno Garanhir, son of Gwrin Farfdrwch of Meirionydd. Gwyddno's main Llys (his chief court) was situated within the richest and most fertile part of his realm, a region to the far west. It so happened that this cantref was the most fertile in the entire realm with each acre being the equivalent of any four acres elsewhere. Unfortunately, however, the entire cantref lay beneath the level of the sea. Each year it seemed as if the ocean would threaten to inundate the land and a giant dyke known as Sarn Badrig was constructed to keep the waves at bay. However, so that the farmers could go out at low tide to collect seaweed as fertilizer two great doorways were build into the dyke: a northern and a southern entranceway. During low tide these became means of ingress and commerce but at high tide they were closed to keep the sea at bay.
The entire region prospered until Cantre'r Gwaelod numbered sixteen towns and numerous little hamlets within its confines. Gwyddno was a benevolent ruler and his people prospered. So much so that fame of Gwyddno's riches and the abundance of his realm spread far and wide.
As the sea crept closer year by year and at high tide it began to seep through the walls. A network of ditches were built to stop the salt-water from poisoning the land. However, these ditches had to be drained and sluice gates were built in the walls to alow the water to drain away at low tide. Though the great main doors were closed, the sluice gates had to be opened at low tide once a day. To protect his lands from flooding and salt-water poisoning Gwyddno appointed a single watchman to be in charge of the great sluices. This honour was given to Seithennin, who had served Gwyddno Garanhir well in his various campaigns in the north.
Initially Seithennin performed his duties well. He had a regular rota of watchmen set upon the walls of the great dyke. The watchmen were to keep a look-out for breaches in the wall and warn the inhabitants. Eventually Seithennin had a special watchtower built that housed a great bell. If he saw a breach a watchman had only to run to the bell tower and ring the bell and the local inhabitants would all rush out to plug the breach. The only thing that Seithennin insisted upon was that he be present whenever the giant sluice-gates were opened and closed. After all the care of the cantref and its security from the sea was his responsibility.
Because of Seithennin's reforms and his diligent care of the dyke his stock at the Llys of Gwyddno rose and he was invited to more and more of the Llys' revelries. Over time, Seithennin succumbed to the pleasures of the court and slowly he gained a reputation as a carouser and a drunkard. After all, hadn't he done the hard work? Wasn't the Cantref and its encircling, protective, dyke secure? It certainly seemed that way to Seithennin and though he maintained his daily supervision of the opening and closing of the dyke it somehow seemed more and more like a ritual rather than something which had to be done for any real reason. Seithenin simply roused himself at the appointed hour, gave some orders to open the sluice gates. Then, the tide turned he would walk out once more and give fresh orders to close the sluice gates. As the months slowly passed the watchers along the wall noticed Seithennin grow more and more distant short-tempered in his task. He barked orders and stayed for as little time as he could. Though he was the man who had kept them safe for many a year and no-one said anything of this changing behaviour.
For his part, Seithennin spent more and more time in Gwyddno's Llys even joining it as it underwent its circuit of the seven cantrefs of Gwyddno's realm. Whilst at the Llys he spent as much time as he could partaking of the pleasures on offer: especially those of the wine cup and the mead horn.
The situation could not continue and matters came to a head one stormy spring evening. Gwyddno was having his spring feast at his second Llys in Aberystwyth (which lay near enough the center of his realm) and wishing little more than to join the revelries Seithennin saddled his best rowan stallion and vaulting onto its back he headed towards the dyke. It was already six and darkening, and though the sea was only an hour into its ebb and still lapping at the sea wall he shouted an order for the sluice gates to be opened. Still seeing the sea so close the watchman hesitated but Seithennin barked up at him to follow his orders. Turning his steed smartly on its heels Seithenin headed for the road to the east. Behind him he heard the grind of metal on metal as the sluice gates were opened. But he had already vanished into the gloom by the time a single surge of sea water rushed through the sluices before draining away to sea.
An hour and a half's hard riding later brought Seithennin to Gwyddno's court and seeing the lights and hearing the music emanating from Gwyddno's fortress he spurred his flagging horse onwards once again. After all the quicker he reached the great hall, the more time he would have to join the revelries and it would be a full six hours before he had to return to the dyke of Cantref Gwaelod. Entering the keep he leapt from his steed and throwing its reins to a stable-boy he strode through the main doorway and into the great hall. Grabbing a mead horn from a page he quaffed the drink and eased himself onto the long seat of a nearby bench.
But, as Seithennin sat drinking and carousing with his companions a storm slowly crept across the sea from Ireland. This brought with it row upon row of crashing waves which rolled and surged beneath the gleam of a full moon. A moon that was inducing a larger than usual spring tide. Seithennin, however, was fat too busy enjoying the mead and the company of the court's wenches that he did not hear the howling of the winds outside. He did not hear the rain and the hail as it battered against the shutters of the llys. He did not notice the great candle as it burned the hours away, so intent was he on the great torches flickering in their alcoves.
Far away, on the walls of the dyke, the watchers were getting worried as the storm passed overhead and the the wind-whipped waves drew closer and closer. But they had been trained well and without orders from Siethennin they dare not close the dyke. But Seithennin was drunk and somnolent safe within the Llys of Gwyddno as the hours burnt away. It was not until well past midnight that one of Seithennin's companions nudged him awake and with an arm, heavy with drink, pointed towards the clock-candle burning behind the high table. Seithennin roused himself drunkenly and focussed his eyes on the great candle's flickering flame. It was only slowly that he realized how little candle was left. It was almost one! This realization made adrenaline course through his frame and he jolted from his stupor. Finally the sounds of the storm and the rain impinged on his consciousness and casting his empty mead horn aside he jumped from the bench and began running towards the stable block. Grabbing his unsaddled steed he vaulted onto the animal's back and kicking at the stallion's flanks he urged the steed forwards, out of the Llys and into the teeth of the gale. Despite the driving wind and the stinging rain he rode like a man possessed. A man who somehow knew that fate rode upon his shoulders and that he followed the raven path. Cursing himself and his folly he spurred his steed onwards across the causeway and through the darkness.
Were it not for the wind and the driving rain he would have heard it sooner, but even with the roar of the gale, as he reached the mod-point of his journey (on the outskirts of Caer Genedr he heard the a sound the likes of which he had never heard before. There was a rushing and whooshing noise, like the sound of blood rushing through the head but magnified many thousand times. Within this overwhelming noise there was a susurration as of waves clawing at shingles on a beach. But Siethennin was so intent on his purpose that the unusual sound did not register. Not until the clouds parted for an instant and Seithennin saw himself faced with an advancing wall of water higher than any building he had seen in his life. Petrified, Seithennin halted his steed with a quick tug of the reins but as he horse halted and pranced in its own terror Seithennin could only sit and stare uncomprehendingly at the scene before him. Finally, terrible realization dawned and with a cry of anguish Seithennin wheeled the head of his steed around and began riding back the way he had come. But that terrible wall or water with its roaring advance was faster than him and Seithennin was lost within its inexorable advance. Warrior and soldier sucked in and swept away, just as the land that Seithenin had promised to protect was swept away by his own negligence.
Half an hour earlier and the advancing seas, whipped by the gale had reached the walls of Cantre'r Gwaelod. Finally realizing what was happening to them the watchers on the dyke walls sought desperately to close the sluices but it was too late. The combination of the high tide and the storm brought the water up to and through the sluices. Wave upon pounding wave tossed against the dyke walls and now that there was a breach at the sluice-gates the see inexorably broke through the dyke. A single massive wave, accelerated by the downward slope of the land advanced across the entire country, drowning all the land and the sixteen towns of Cantref Gwaelod.
Inexorably the wave rolled onwards across the entire cantref, drowning Seithennin in its wake and though the ground sloped upwards towards Aberystwyth, still the wave rolled on, bearing down on the Llys of Gwyddno. Finally the wave broke, crashing down on the Llys and drowning most of the inhabitants. Only Gwyddno and a few of his men survived. Managing, somehow, to drag themselves to high ground. But they had lost, forever, the best of their men. Gwyddno himself reached land near what is today, Pwllheli in Llŷn, at a place that is now Called Penychain but which was originally called Pen-ochain after the sigh Gwyddno uttered upon the loss of his lands and peoples. From that day Gwyddno and the remnants of his peoples were forced to scratch a living in the remote fastnesses of Gwynedd. No more could they dwell in the fertile lowlands. Even today people say that on a quiet moonlit night they can hear the bells of Cantref Gwaelod pealing beneath the surf.
A Variant Version
There is also a second well-known version of this tale that paints Seithennin in a slightly better light and tallies a little more closely with the events as related in the poem, Seithennin. In this version of the tale it is the maiden, Mererid who was in charge of the sluice gates. Seithenin was the prince of Caer Rhiog, a region neighbouring Cantref Gwaelod.
Seithennin often came to Cantre'r Gwaelod to pay homage to Gwyddno Garanhir and it was on one of these trips that he first saw Mererid. Instantly smitten with the beautiful sluice-keeper Seithennin decided to woo her. But on every occasion he was rebuffed. That is, until Gwyddno Garanhir sent out invitations to all the local chieftains that they might attend a spring feast at his chief court in Cantre'r gwaelod.
As soon as the messenger delivered Gwyddno's invitation to Seithennin he knew that he finally had his opportunity to enter into Mererid's good graces. For, as keeper of the sluice-gates she was not invited to Gwyddno's festivities. However, she had always wished to attend a gathering gin Gwyddno's great hall. As an honoured and invited guest Seithennin was allowed to bring his own retinue and to invite his own guests. He was determined to bring Mererid with him.
On the night of the feast he had his best charger saddled and rode as swiftly as possible towards the southern walls of Cantref Gwaelod. There he entered through the main portal and taking the northern causeway he soon headed westwards towards the great dyke and its sluicegates. He arrived just as Mererid was ordering the sluices to be opened. Alighting from his steed, Seithennin walked slowly towards the beautiful red-haired maiden. Extending his arm, Seithennin took Mererid's hand in his own and asked whether she would accompany him to the evening's festivities at Gwyddno's Llys. Mererid initially hesitated, casting a fretful glance at the open sluice-gates. Seithennin persisted in his offer and gradually he wore-down Mererid's defences. Finally she agreed to accompany him, but only if he promised that she would be returned by the time the sluice-gates needed closing about six hours hence. Seithennin agreed that as soon as Mererid said the time had come he would return her to Cantref Gwaelod.
Mounting his charger, Seithennin reached down and easily swung Mererid onto the pommel of his horse. Seithennin turned the head of his seed and drove the powerful animal along the causeway towards the Llys of Gwyddno Garanhir. As soon as they arrived and entered the great hall Mererid became instantly smitten with the place. Seithennin was the perfect host, showing Mererid all the best that Gwyddno's halls had to offer. So caught up was she with her escort and the atmosphere of the place that she failed to hear the rise of the howling wind outside and the hours somehow slipped away from her.
For his part, Seithennin was too caught-up with his companion to notice anything but her and the night vanished with dancing, drinking and merriment. So content were they that nothing could impinge upon their happiness. Nothing that is, save a roaring from outside that seemed to grow and expand in intensity; like the instance of a thousand coincident thunderstorms. All activity in the great hall ceased and that was when the great wave broke upon them, sweeping all away in its wake.
Again, Gwyddno and some of his people survive to eke-out an existence in Gwynedd, with landfall being made in Ardudwy. In this instance of the tale it is the maiden, Mererid, who is to blame for not looking after the sluice gates and this version of the story can be viewed as an intermediate between the earliest version of the story (as below) and the latest version, above.
This is by far the oldest version of the tale and represents the story chronicled in the Llyfr Du Caerfyrddin as the poem Seithennin or Boddi Maes Gwyddneu recorded circa 1250 though the poem itself probably represents an far older folkloric tale. Though this poem does mention the character of Seithennin, it is upon Mererid that the blame for the inundation of Cantref Gwaelod is placed. Even the means by which the inundation is brought about suggests that a far older strain of myth lies within the tale and that Mererid represents the survival of a well goddess into the Christian age. The tale also has parallels to the Breton legend of Ker-Ys and may hint at the existence of a parent tale once common to both.
Many years ago there was a wonderful and fertile land known as Maes Gwyddno for the ruler of that realm. Though this lost realm is now known as Cantref Gwaelod. So fertile was this realm that an acre of Gwyddno's realm was equivalent to four acres of land anywhere else. As the lord and protector of the realm, however, Gwyddno had two sacred duties to perform. He had to protect the realm from invaders and this task was assigned to his battle-chief, Seithennin. He also had to tend to the sacred well, the well that was itself the spirit of his lands. This task was assigned to his daughter, Mererid.
It was Mererid's task, each evening before dusk, and each morning after dawn, to take three buckets of water from the well and pour these into the irrigation channels just outside the keep of Gwyddno's main Llys. During her youth, Mererid served her duties well. But as the daughter of the realm's ruler she also saw the workings of the Llys and in the guise of the rulers and princes who came calling she encountered a little of the world outside her father's realm. With age came the desire to see those lands. A desire that was only fuelled further by her own frustration at being the maiden of the well. Tied as she was to her task of emptying the well every morning and every evening. A sacred but seemingly thankless and futile task to which she was tied and could not escape.
As the years drew on, and Mererid grew into full womanhood she hatched a plan. At the various feasts and gatherings in her father's Llys she began to work on the neighbouring rulers whispering in their ears about the riches of her father's lands. Telling them how wealthy and how ill-protected the land of Cantref Gwaelod was and offering her own hand in marriage if only one would come to free her from her servitude to the well.
Eventually, Mererid's words wormed their way into the hearts of the neighbouring princes and they amassed an army to march upon Cantref Gwaelod. Messengers soon reached Gwyddno with the news that a force was marching upon his realms. Mererid feigned shock at the news, even as Gwyddno sent for Seithennin. Within moments the battle-leader was standing before his lord and protector, his penteulu, and just as rapidly he was dispatched to meet the foe. Along the way Seithennin gathered to him his most trusted men and they were sent far and wide to gather to them the trained warriors of the sixteen hamlets of the cantref.
Within scant hours Seithennin headed his forces on the counter-attack. Battle was joined on the border-lands of the Cantref and with the realm's animating spirit behind them Gwyddno's forces, under Seithennin's leadership were victorious. Within the hour of the surrender messengers were sent back to Gwyddno's Llys. Hearing the glorious news, Gwyddno ordered a great feast to be prepared and all the nobles of his realm were invited.
Knowing that her plan had failed, Mererid feared that her part in the attack would be discovered. Pride would not allow her to flee, nor would it allow her to confess her crimes. Her secret must be maintained.
That evening, Mererid went down to the well and went through the motions of pouring the water from the well. But each time she raised the bucket it was empty. Better that the entire realm be destroyed than her secret be found out.
This task done, Mererid returned to the Llys and prepared herself for the feast. To allay her fears she spent the evening drinking, carousing and dancing and before dawn she chose the prettiest young man in the great hall and took him to her bed chamber. Around dawn Mererid was awakened by gurgling, whooshing sound, as of water raising from the ground. Fear gripped Mererid's heart as she threw on a robe and dashed to the fortress' ramparts. As the dawn sun clambered in the sky behind her Mererid looked outwards and cried in horror as she saw water gushing as a great fountain from the well down below her. So powerful was the geyser that spray spattered her skin and face and this tasted salty and dead. Shouting a warning and realizing the true consequence of her actions Mererid dashed for the stables. There she saddled her favourite auburn steed and wheeling it about she dashed for the well. But the flow of water was so great that she could not approach.
Shame overtook her and she turned her steed's head and headed away from the well. But the rising waters were too rapid for her and both she and her steed were caught in an under-tow and drowned. Because of her pride and her negligence Mererid was drowned and her father's realm vanished beneath the salty waters along with her. Even Siethennin, far away on the cantref's borders at Caer Genedr succumbed to the rising waves.
Few survived that day, save Gwyddno, his sons and a small number of his peoples. No longer wold the fertile lands be theirs and from that day their descendants were forced to live amongst the crags and valleys of Gwynedd.
The following is a famous modern poem/song about Cantre'r Gwaelod:
Clychau Cantre'r Gwaelod
Mae llawer dinas dlos,
Fu'n gwrando ar y clychau
Yn canu gyda'r nos.
Trwy ofer esgeulustod
Y gwiliwr ar y tŵr
Aeth clychau Cantre'r Gwaelod
O'r golwg dan y dŵr.
Pan fyddo'r môr yn berwi
A'r corwynt ar y don,
A'r wylan wen yn methu
Cael disgyn ar ei bron,
Pan dyr y don ar dywod
A tharan yn ei stŵr,
Mae clychau Cantre'r Gwaelod
Yn ddistaw dan y dŵr.
Ond pan mae'r môr heb awel
Ar don heb ewyn gwyn,
Ar dydd yn marw'n dawel
Dros ysgwydd bell y bryn;
Mae nodau pêr yn dyfod,
A gwn yn ddigon siwr
Fod clychau Cantre'r Gwaelod
I'w clywed dan y dŵr.
O! cenwch glych fy mebyd
Ar waelod llaith y lli,
Daw oriau bore bywyd
Yn sŵn y gân i mi:
Hyd fedd mi gofia'r tywod
Ar lawer nos ddi-stŵr,
A chlychau Cantre'r Gwaelod
Yn canu dan y dŵr.
The Bells of Cantre'r Gwaelod
Are many pretty towns
That hearkened to the bell-rings
Set pealing through the night
Through negligent abandon
By a watcher on the wall
The bells of Cantre'r Gwaelod
Submerged beneath the wave
When the sea was surging
with gales upon the wave
The gull, so pale, was failing
to settle on their crest
When waves crashed on the sea-shore
with thunder in its wake
The bells of Cantre'r Gwaelod
are silent 'neath the wave
But when the sea is quiet
with waves that aren't foam-flecked
and day is gently slipping
behind the far-hill's slope
sweet tones are heard a-rising
and this I know as truth
The bells of Cantre'r Gwaelod
are sounding 'neath the wave
O! ring-out bells of childhood
on ocean's salty floor
for early strains of living
sound in their song for me
Whilst live the shore I'll think of
on many quiet nights
and bells of Cantre'r Gwaelod
still ringing 'neath the wave
