The Welsh language controversy
In 1766, Dr Thomas Bowles was appointed as rector of St Beuno’s, Trefdraeth, along with the chapelry of Llangwyfan, with the tidal island church of St Cwyfan. An indolent and opportunistic schoolteacher in his 70s, Bowles was also an Englishman, educated at Winchester College and Oxford, and he spoke no Welsh. Through family connections, he had been appointed headmaster of Beaumaris Grammar School a few years previously. Here, he would have been in the society of English speakers, but in this remote part of Anglesey, virtually no one spoke anything but Welsh, and, naturally, his parishioners expected their services to be conducted in their own language. They resented the imposition of a foreign invader’s language and quickly vowed to drive out ‘the spotted Englishman to his native country’. A campaign to oust him raised more than £250 from the Anglesey gentry. A lawyer asserted that it was not only the law, but also the natural right to hear sermons in Welsh: Bowles was clearly unable to perform his clerical or pastoral duties. By now, the whole of Anglesey was scandalised by the behaviour of the rector, who had tricked two Welsh-speaking churchwardens into signing their names on a letter of support. The case was eventually heard at an ecclesiastical court in 1772, when, despite a powerful testimony against Bowles, the judge found in his favour. He attested that, as an Englishman, Bowles should not have been appointed, but as he was there, he could not be deposed. However, it was a Pyrrhic victory for Bowles. He had already left the parish, detested by his flock, and he died the following year.
can make the rocks slippery. Once across, a short flight of steps leads up to the simple church. It is made of rough-hewn local stone, now whitewashed, with a bench at either end. Services are still held a few times a year in the summer, when tide tables are carefully consulted before the time of the service is decided. A battery-operated organ and a small bell are among the items listed as being carried across the causeway for services.
The rest of the time, the church is locked, but the old wooden pews can be seen through the windows, with room for perhaps several dozen worshippers. Weddings are also held here, though brides surely risk getting dresses and veils wet and would be advised not to attempt the uneven causeway in high heels.
Several lichen-covered graves surround the church. Some of these belong to victims of drowning, but this is a beautiful place to rest in peace. The bench at the near end of the church looks back onto the mainland, where solitary cottages and small farmsteads cling on at the ends of small lanes winding down to the sea. The bench at the far end looks out onto a slate-coloured sea, where a lone surfer braves the icy waters of St Cwyfan’s Bay on this chilly day.
Coastal path
Returning along the beach and past the lane entrance, the next section of the walk follows the Isle of Anglesey Coastal Path. Snowdon is once again in view as this wellworn route winds round the rocky headlands and small coves; sometimes hugging the low cliffs, sometimes picking a way across the stony shore. Among the slippy stones and bladderwrack, shells and
crab husks litter the beach. At the water’s edge, the rocks are so deeply scored they look like carved wood. Some of the rocks look dark green and oily because they contain the mineral chlorite.
The coastline here is deeply indented, as if nibbled by an Irish giant. A rusted piece of winding gear hints at long-gone, perhaps clandestine, industry. Could the long, narrow gullies and clefts below have been smugglers’ coves; hidden as they are from prying eyes?
Out to sea, wind-buffeted gulls eye shoals of fish below. Seals are a common sight along this coastline, and where birds hover, they can also be found, chasing dinner and playing hide and seek.
Rounding the corner to face Snowdon once more, the old lighthouse on the also tidal Llanddwyn Island is clearly visible, marking the south-west corner of Anglesey and the entrance to the Menai Straits. After a while, a grassy path leads up steps to another kissing gate and continues amid grassy tussocks. Thorny gorse, weirdly sculpted by the wind, lines the path. It is a little too early for the burst of spring flowers that will bring the hedges and headlands to life and colour.
Bronze age relics
Above the estuary is a small headland to the right of the path called Trwyn Du. Near the cliff edge sits what remains of a bronze age burial cairn that was smothered by windblown sand as long ago as medieval times. The ancient stones of the cairn can just be made out in the grass, pushing through the earth. A stone seat offers restful views across Caernarfon Bay and out to the Irish Sea, and time to ponder on all the marauding tribes that have coveted this corner of the Isle of Anglesey. Earlier flints from the Stone Age have also been found here. The cairn once looked like a watchtower, but it was several miles from the sea when it was built.
The clouds are now as dark as haematite, and the jagged silhouettes of Snowdon and the peaks of the Llyn Peninsula are fading into the gloaming. It is time to take the path back upriver towards the village and the bridge, leaving behind this quiet and mysterious corner of a quiet and mysterious island.