The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr (7 page)

13

There had been a
long silence.

‘Cards on the table?' Caradog asked.

‘Cards on the table,' Trevor agreed.

Caradog raised his eyes to the ceiling, and took several deep breaths.

‘I'm speaking to you, not only as a Welsh man, but also as my brother-in-law,' he began. ‘And I hope, as a friend.'

‘Of course.'

‘You know where I stand on questions about Wales. I resent everything England has done to us since Edward I. But I am a realist. I know that after so many centuries of living as one country, after so many centuries of inter-marriage, of business and social connections, we can't just turn the clock back. So I have never insisted on political independence. I have no hatred for the English people, though I despise their imported Saxon Monarchy, and I don't like the way their politicians and military leaders still act as though they own most of the world.'

Dai Bach laughed. ‘All those pink places on the map. I remember from being a boy at school. “We own all of this,” my teacher used to say. Imagine!'

‘Yes. But now we participate in government ourselves, and we have the opportunity to influence the law and the Government's policies. If Plaid Cymru
wins a few more seats, we may be within reach of a substantial measure of self-government, which will look and feel almost like independence. What we have to do in the meanwhile is preserve our language and our culture intact.'

‘That's what you've been saying ever since I've known you,' Trevor said.

‘Yes,' Caradog agreed. ‘But now I say more.'

‘You mean you have changed your mind about something?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why? Because of the Investiture? The Queen announced that she was going to make Charles Prince of Wales over ten years ago. She announced the date at least one year ago. And it's not as though it's the first time. George V made the Duke of Windsor Prince of Wales in this very castle, here in Caernarfon, in 1911. None of this is exactly new, Caradog.'

‘No, but there is Tryweryn too,' Dai Bach said.

‘Tryweryn was four years ago,' Trevor said.

‘Does that mean we should just forget about it?' Caradog asked.

‘No. Of course not. Look… what I'm trying to say…'

‘Trevor, listen to me. It was Tryweryn that led to the only serious armed resistance we've ever had. It wasn't the Investiture of the Duke of Windsor, or anything else. It was Tryweryn that gave birth to the
Mudiad Amddiffyn Cymru
, the Movement for the Defence of Wales.'

‘There's some serious people for you,' Dai Bach said, shaking his head.

‘They are very serious people, and in their day they did some serious things. Emyr Llewelyn Jones detonated a bomb near a transformer at the site of the dam. That was five or six years ago now. He was convicted and sent down for twelve months. On the very same day Emyr was convicted, Owain Williams and John Jones blew up a pylon, and then they were both convicted too. John Jenkins took over, and he is suspected of being responsible for the bomb at the Clywedog dam three years ago. But because of all that they have a track record. Tell me, Trevor, where does that leave the
Mudiad
today?'

‘With the police keeping a careful eye on them.'

‘Exactly. They know that the
Mudiad
has not forgiven them, and never will forgive them, for Tryweryn, for Capel Celyn.'

‘That would explain why the
Mudiad
might pay a call on me,' Trevor suggested. ‘It might explain why they are interested in what Madog had stashed away in the basement.'

He looked up.

‘Is that why you want the materials? So that you can pass them on to the
Mudiad
?'

‘No,' Caradog replied. ‘I don't see how they can function now. They would like to do something to mark the 1
st
of July, I'm sure. But the Government will be watching them like hawks between now and then. They may even have infiltrated an agent. If there is going to be an effective response to the 1
st
of July, it will have to come from someone else.'

Trevor snorted. ‘I can't think who that would be, unless you count the
Cymdeithas
, or perhaps some mavericks on the fringes of Plaid Cymru. I'm not counting the FWA.'

‘Neither am I,' Caradog replied. ‘With the level of surveillance there is going to be from now on, I think we can rule out anyone who is already on the Government's radar. The only possible hope of a response on the scale the
Mudiad
would have in mind is a group whose members are not on the radar – a group composed of men there is no reason whatsoever to suspect.'

‘A group that is small and well-disciplined,' Dai Bach added. ‘Like a well-coached rugby team.'

Trevor felt his stomach churning. He waited a few moments before he spoke.

‘I still don't understand what has changed for you, Caradog', he said quietly. ‘I am married to your sister, you are my friend, we see each other every other day. In God's name, why haven't you said something before?'

‘I don't like to express my thoughts until they are fully formed.'

‘So, now that they are fully formed, explain them to me. Because I'm not sure I like where this is going.'

Caradog was silent for some time.

‘Trevor, the Government tried to portray Tryweryn as nothing more than a planning decision, an engineering project. By going through the motions of debates and public inquiries, they made it all seem so normal. It was a technical problem, no more than that. The English city of Liverpool needed a huge new reservoir to provide for its water supply. What was the solution to this technical problem? Simple. The solution was to flood an entire Welsh valley, to destroy a living Welsh village, Capel Celyn. No matter that they had to remove the village's inhabitants by force. No matter that they had to destroy their family homes. No matter that they had to destroy the valley's entire history. Who cares? It's only a few Welsh people, after all. Who are they compared to the English population of Liverpool?'

‘We protested at the time,' Trevor said. ‘We all did. We were at the rallies; you two, Arianwen, me. We supported Plaid Cymru. We campaigned for them and we got our first Plaid MP, as a result.'

‘Yes, and Gwynfor is a good man. But he is one voice out of more than 600 at Westminster, and if they decide to flood another valley tomorrow, there will be nothing he can do about it.'

He paused.

‘Tryweryn was not just another event; it was not just a political question.'

‘What was it, then?'

‘It was an act of rape…'

‘Come on, Caradog…'

‘No. That's what it was. It wasn't just another annexation of our land for the benefit of England. That would have been bad enough. But this… this was an assault on our people and our culture. More than that, it was an assault on our soul, our sense of self-worth, our identity. This was England saying: “You're ours, and we can do what we like with you, and there is nothing you can do about it”. It was about our right to survive as a people.'

He paused again.

‘And now, the English are sending their Saxon Queen to foist yet another false Prince on us – another act of rape against our culture. Perhaps either of those things individually, in isolation… perhaps we could look the other way, even though it would make us sick to our stomachs. But, taken together… they cross the line.'

‘The line? Whose line?'

‘Anyone's line who has any sense of national pride.'

‘Anyone's line who has any sense of decency, man,' Dai Bach added.

‘And… the line having been crossed…?' Trevor asked.

‘The line having been crossed,' Caradog replied, ‘the situation calls for a response. I can't rely on the
Mudiad
to make that response for me, not any more, and in any case, I have no right to rely on them. It is something every Welsh man has to decide for himself, but I see myself as having no choice. I have to do something.'

‘But we are four years on since Tryweryn, Caradog,' Trevor pointed out. ‘Why this sudden change of heart now?'

‘It's personal,' Caradog replied quietly. ‘I'm not sure you will understand.'

14

‘Try me,' Trevor said.

Caradog hesitated.

‘Trevor, Capel Celyn was our home, our family home. The family had lived there for at least two hundred years. My great-grandparents had a house there. And do you know what happened?'

‘Of course I know what happened. You had family who lost their home. I have met them.'

‘“Lost their home?” No. That's the journalist's way of putting it. That's the sanitised way of putting it, so that no one sees the reality of it, because the reality of it is too disturbing, and it might offend someone's conscience if they actually stopped to picture it, if they actually had to think about it.'

‘Caradog…'

‘They treated Capel Celyn as if it were just a collection of buildings. It wasn't just a collection of buildings. It was a living community where people lived and worked, and worshipped, and celebrated. And when you talk of people losing their homes, what you mean is that some English civil servant turns up at your door one day and offers you money, and says “We need your home. We are going to flood it, flood the whole village, flood the whole bloody valley, come to that. It's in the name of progress, except it's not your progress, but never mind that, because we are offering you money, so how could any reasonable person possibly object?”'

Trevor nodded.

‘You say no, at first, but they make it clear that they will turn you out, whether you say no or not, and: “If you resist too much,” the civil servant says, “maybe the money will go down or even go away altogether, but don't quote me, because I'm not supposed to say that”. And one day, they give the chapel one last chance to marry somebody, or bury them, to have their last service. They give you one chance to take a last look at the home your family has occupied for two hundred years. Take a few pictures as a keepsake, to show the grandchildren, they suggest. Then walk away. Go wherever you can, but don't come back here.'

He shook his head.

‘It's like bringing a condemned man his last meal. It's a planned, staged execution, and you have no choice but to play the part of the condemned, and you have to pretend you are happy with their money, which you would like to take and stuff up the Government's collective arse, if you had the chance to do it.'

He was silent for a moment.

‘And then you go and live wherever you can until you die of a broken heart. But the Government won't care about that, because Liverpool has its water, and all's right with the world. And who gives a damn if a few Welsh people have their lives torn apart for it?'

‘I do understand, Caradog,' Trevor said. ‘But you need to think carefully about taking serious decisions for personal reasons.'

‘Personal or not, I don't reach such decisions lightly,' Caradog replied. He raised his voice for the first time. ‘For God's sake, Trevor, you have known me long enough. Who do you think I am? Do you think I am a violent man by nature? I tell you, I have a horror of violence. I would much prefer to remain in my ivory tower, looking down on the majority of the world that doesn't speak Welsh, glorying in the unique culture of my nation. But when the enemies of my nation are so determined to destroy it, to commit cultural genocide without any remorse at all, it is my responsibility to stand up and say: “No. Enough.”'

‘Just like Owain Glyndŵr,' Trevor said. ‘You would prefer the quiet life, but you feel yourself compelled to lead.'

‘He
is
Owain Glyndŵr, man,' Dai Bach said. ‘Well, his heir, anyway. Taking up his legacy, putting on his mantle, so to speak.'

‘I think that those of us who stand up for Wales have the right to call ourselves the heirs of Owain Glyndŵr,' Caradog said. His outburst was over now, and he was speaking again in his usual moderate voice. ‘We are the
Etifeddion Owain Glyndŵr
. It's not just a name. It is who we are, or who we have been forced to become.'

Trevor looked at Dai Bach, who was smiling happily.

‘And you're a part of this, Dai, are you? You are one of the heirs of Owain Glyndŵr?'

Dai Bach stood and straightened himself to his full height.

‘Aye,' he replied, ‘bloody right I am. And this time we will give the Queen of England a black eye, boyo, I'm telling you.'

Trevor exploded.

‘For God's sake, Dai!' he shouted. ‘Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into? This isn't a game. You're not at bloody Cardiff Arms Park watching Barry John beat England on the rugby field. You're talking about causing an explosion that might endanger the Royal Family. Do you have the faintest bloody idea what you will be up against if that happens? Do you have the faintest bloody idea what will happen to you if you get caught even thinking about something like causing explosions which could endanger the Royal Family?'

Dai Bach shrank back down a little, but still tried to look defiant.

‘I understand the risks,' he protested.

‘Do you indeed?'

‘Causing explosions, Trevor?' Caradog said calmly. ‘I don't remember saying anything about causing explosions.'

Trevor pointed a finger.

‘No. Don't give me that bloody nonsense. What do you take me for, Caradog, an idiot? You come here asking about plans for making explosive devices, you tell me you're taking up where Owain Glyndŵr left off, and you don't think I can work out what the two of you are up to?'

Caradog smiled.

‘No, I certainly don't take you for an idiot, Trevor. But I do take you for a Welsh man. And I don't believe for a moment that you feel any less strongly about Tryweryn, and about the 1
st
of July, than I do.'

Trevor rounded on him.

‘Perhaps I do feel those things. But that doesn't mean I want to go around planting bombs.'

‘I think you want to make a response,' Caradog replied. ‘Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation.'

‘A response is one thing. What makes you think I would want to get mixed up in something like this?'

‘Well, you kept the materials in the cabinet, didn't you?' Caradog replied gently. ‘Have you ever honestly asked yourself why?'