Mythical Beasts of wales

"Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony."

- Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Welcome to the beautiful, mysterious peaks and valleys of Wales. The land of King Arthur, Giants, Lake Maidens, and more dragons per square mile than anywhere else on the planet. You cannot move for the bloody things! Firstly, you've got to love anywhere with a dragon on their flag - "What you going for lads? A few panels of geometric colour with vague and stretched symbology, to represent some other abstract notion of your national identity?", "Well, no actually. We were thinking of a big f@%k off dragon". Aye, that'll do it.

When I made the initial "Mythical Beasts of the British and Irish Isles" map, I must confess I was a bit disappointed by Wales. I just couldn't seem to find much, especially anything that was tied to specific locations. Well, how wrong I was! Colour me ignorant, lazy, and naive; scratch a little bit deeper and, my word, Wales rewards. I apologise Wales, it was me, my bad.

I found so much! So much! A lot didn't make the final image because it battles for space with others. That is one of the biggest limitations of the maps, and sometimes you have to "kill your darlings". The page is a finite space, and I inevitably find far more stories than can possibly fit when conducting research. I plot them onto a map, and then I have the arduous task of cutting down to 30-40, keeping an eye out for variety and distribution. As such, I don't get to tell you about pure gold such as vampiric chairs. One day, I hope to share a lot more of these tales - I'm working on it.

Something to talk about is the language used. I have made the unusual choice of having a mix of English and Welsh, which I'm sure will irk both sides, and what can I say, your tears sustain the beasts we use to power the presses. Pit fiends need hydration too. My word hasn't it been hot lately? Anyway, these maps have always to me been intended as a jump-off point into the broader world of mythology and folklore; giving you the big hits and then digging into those rare B-sides and demo tapes. I tend to go with the most commonly used name, as I want people to be able to find the stories as simply as possible.

This is the last of the deeper dives into the lands explored in the first map, and it has been a pleasure - though I confess, I am ready to venture further afield again, change up the colour palette and be surprised by new tales. I hope you stick with us for the journey.

As usual, a huge, massive, gargantuan thank you to those supporting the project - without you we couldn't keep doing it. It is that simple.

If you would like to support the project, please pick up a map, buy us a coffee, share about us etc.

We appreciate you

Mwah x

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Update- I’m working on book proposals at the moment, so I’ve kept some stories offline to save them for the books (and to stop anyone pinching all the hard work before they’re published!). If you’d like to know when the books are ready, just pop your name on the mailing list.

In the meantime, here are a few of my favourite beasties and legends -

Afanc

We get to start our exploration with a Welsh classic, up there with Rarebit and Bara Brith. The wonderful Afanc is a good old-fashioned Frankenstein's monster of, well, a monster. In the same vein as the Cockatrice/Basilisk, or the equally preposterous but somehow real Platypus. The Afanc is described differently in various accounts, but all contain some mash-up of a beaver and a crocodile. They are lake monsters with the ability to cause plagues, chew up people silly enough to wander into their lakes, or cause floods. Described sometimes as a demon with magical powers and the ability to speak in Welsh, which is pretty magical in of itself - please never ask me to attempt the same feat, I fear I would do a gorgeous language an incredible disservice. So fair play to the Afanc, at least it's doing its bit to keep the culture alive.

Ceffyl Dŵr

Like a Kelpie with a bigger bag of tricks. Is this the most dangerous water horse? Probably! It has all the classic hallmarks of the deadly water horses, but what makes it more intense is it has found new and inventive ways to escape the constraints of the lakes and has developed ways to kill on both land and in the air. Clever girl.

The Ceffyl Dŵr can come onto land to trample people, or fly its victims into the air before turning into mist, leaving the rider free-falling down to a rocky death. My guess is the Ceffyl Dŵr enjoys its meat tenderised. This ability to turn to mist also allows it to shapeshift, and as usual, its prey is lusty men (easy pickings and a plentiful resource). It will transform into a beautiful maiden to entice them to their demise. Men, they never learn.

Cockatrice of castle Gwys

I found this one online, but finding any historic source was a deep dive. Eventually, I found it so I got to include a Cockatrice. I enjoy drawing them, they tend to have an extra pop of colour and this one even comes with the added bonus of being a bit "extra". Near castle Gwys (an area now known as Wiston) there was a Cockatrice, but with the lovely added detail of being covered with eyes.

The tale goes that the notable family of the region had declared that the estates shall belong to anyone who can gaze upon the cockatrice without it seeing them - I mean it seems a risky and pointless gamble but hey ho. Inevitably, someone figures it out; they secrete themselves in a barrel and roll themselves down the hill past the cockatrice, then when past it they peep through the bunghole *snigger* and declare, '"Ha, ha! Bold cockatrice, I can see you but you cannot see me!" To which I imagine the cockatrice simply thought, "And?" After all, their usual fate was to get all stabbed up by some shiny fellow, so I'm sure the cockatrice could not care less about local land ownership or being spied on by some daft dizzy git in a barrel.

At some point, I would like to look at how the land was acquired historically in the UK. I'm sure it would be a simultaneously depressing and hilarious document and provide a damn fine reason for land reform.

Gelert

Ok, ok, so first things first, we have to address the elephant in the room. Gelert is fake news; the story was made up by a pub landlord a couple of centuries ago to improve tourism and drive business to the bar. And well, I couldn't care less! The motif is a much older one and one of my favourites (it features in other European mythologies), I think the structure and tale are about perfect for a little bit of local lore, and it has been so deeply embraced and kept alive in Snowdonia that if it wasn't real, well, it is now. And for the folklore gatekeepers, let's be honest, when dealing with mythology/folklore/legends, we are dealing almost exclusively with tall tales - no chap ever really took down a cockatrice or dragon - but hey, it's a good way to be gifted some titles/lands. If we were to discount every myth that started from someone making something up in a pub, the well would run pretty dry, pretty quickly.

There is no need for me to retell the tale as it is written on Gelerts Grave, a place you can visit. Get your hankies ready.

"In the 13th century, Llywelyn, prince of North Wales, had a palace at Beddgelert. One day he went hunting without Gelert "the faithful hound" who was unaccountably absent. On Llywelyn's return, the truant stained and smeared with blood joyfully sprang to meet his master. The prince alarmed hastened to find his son and saw the infant's cot empty, the bedclothes and floor covered with blood. The frantic father plunged the sword into the hound's side thinking it had killed his heir. The dog's dying yell was answered by a child's cry. Llywelyn searched and discovered his boy unharmed but nearby lay the body of a mighty wolf which Gelert had slain. The prince filled with remorse is said never to have smiled again. He buried Gelert here. The spot is called Beddgelert." - Text from Gelert's grave

I'm not crying, you're crying!...... Shut up!

Gwrach Y Rhibyn

The Gwrach Y Rhibyn is kind of like the Welsh Banshee with some notable and grim differences. Like her Irish sister from another mister, the Gwrach Y Rhibyn will wail and shriek on the impending death of someone, but will handily give a clue as to who this will be. She will cry out things like "My husband! My husband!" or "My baby! My poor little baby!" which - though useful in Ye Olde Welsh Village for knowing what size coffins to stock up on - is pretty vague, and a bit redundant for any built-up modern/urban conurbation.

She is however more threatening than your run-of-the-mill harbinger as she enjoys drinking the blood of the vulnerable, namely the young and elderly. She is not keen on a fair fight as it is possible to fend her off with some good old-fashioned brute force. Her appearance is also a bit grim; pale and gangly, with long arms, leathery wings, dark matted hair and a mouth of overgrown teeth stained black from old blood, or one long hollow tooth which she will use as straw or proboscis for the slurping of blood. One star - would absolutely not recommend to a friend.

Pembrokeshire Mermaids

The Pembrokeshire coast is absolutely brimming with mermaid mythology, so if you are a fan of mermaid folklore, do check out this region - nigh on every cove has its own tale to tell. Wales has a huge variety of mermaid folklore from the Asrai to more traditional mermaids, to Morgens. I thought for sure I would be using Mermaids under the name of Morgens for the Wales map, however, it isn't as simple as I believed it would be. Morgens are a bit more complex - they are associated with drowning men at sea in both Welsh and Breton folklore - but, on looking into it, the accounts I found associated them with Somerset. The folklore I found used the term "mermaid" and not "morgen" - there is a linguistic link to the Arthurian Morgen Le Fay and I wonder if it is one of those terms that has become popular due to its gothy/witchy vibe, rather than having much historical pedigree. I could be utterly wrong, but I swerved it as it seemed vague, as much as I would have really, really enjoyed illustrating a gothy mermaid. In the words of the Rolling Stones, "You can't always get what you want".

Y Ddraig Goch

Well going out on a high note, we get to The Red Dragon. It is the national symbol of Wales, appearing on their flag, and well just about everything else you could stick a dragon on. I doth my cap. The Dragon symbol has been associated with Wales for centuries, though not always a red one - there have been times when a gold dragon, more akin to a Wyvern was used. There are ties to Arthurian legend, the Romans and the subsequent power struggles between Wales and England. In fact, there was a white dragon that did battle with the Red Dragon, 0 points for figuring out this thinly veiled metaphor. They were subdued at Dimas Emrys when a pit was dug and filled with booze, they fought and drank there until they eventually fell asleep and were covered up with earth.

If you've been on the streets of any major UK city at 2 am on a Saturday night, you will have noticed this scenario being reenacted faithfully by men drinking gallons of beer before a scrap outside a kebab shop, later to be incarcerated and covered with a blanket. The "lads" are keeping the traditions alive, "We were just reenacting Arthurian legends officer". A likely story.

The story picks up at a later date when Vortigern wishes to build a fortress at Dimas Emrys. Well, he built it but things kept falling down, paintings askew on walls, ripples in the cup of mead and so forth. He asked Merlin why this was happening and he told him about the dragons, which is a fine example of why you shouldn't scrimp on the survey before committing to building a castle.

*Sucks teeth* "You've got dragons mate. Yeah riddled it is, lousy with the things."

"Can you sort it?"

"Not gonna be cheap mate, I'll be honest with you. Gonna have to contract in, need specific machinery, gonna take time, risk assessments... Did the guy who sold you the place not tell you about them?"

"Nah, mate."

"Cowboys, bloody cowboys."

Through tradies or other means, the dragons were released, and they promptly went back to kicking the seven bells out of each other until the red one was victorious. A nation is born. Fascinatingly enough, when excavations were undertaken at Dimas Emrys, they found signs of an underground lake and a ruined fortress dating back to the time of Vortigern. Maybe there's more to these myths than meets the eye.

Also featured on the map:

Angelystor

Asrai

Barmouth Sea Serpent

Blodeuwedd

Bwbach

Canwyll Corph

Cath Palug

Coblynau

Cŵn Annwn

Ellyllon

Fad Felen

Grassi

Gwiber

Gwyllion

Maelor Gawr

Mallt Y Nos

Nelferch

Priseli Dragon

Pwca

Radnor Dragon

Roaring Bull of Bagbury

The Great Giant of Henllys

Three sisters of Plynlimon

Twrch Trwyth

Wrexham Wolf