The Bells of Capel Gwladus

Gwladus loved her little chapel, the sacred acre she shared with God, as much as life itself. And, to sanctify the first year of her wedded bliss, she charged a silversmith from Caerleon, the Fortress of the Legions, to cast a set of bells for the chapel.

The bells pealed their poetry onto the four winds, serenading the stars and making the dew dance. Everyone within their sound seemed to be blessed by Fortune’s sunny smile, harvests were bountiful, plague and pestilence were banished and all foes were confounded. It wasn’t surprising, then, that people from all over the place had a hankering for Gwladus’ bells.

One evening a scoundrel who posed as a pilgrim came to Capel Gwladus and according to its custom, slept the night within the saving grace of Gwladus’ walls.

The next morning after muttering a hurried matins, the shammer snaffled the bells and fled. But, no sooner had he started running than the bells began to ring like mad and their echoes were loud enough to be heard in the hereafter. All those who lived within earshot of the chapel hearkened the signal of distress and gathered together to follow in the thief’s footsteps.

Meanwhile, the bells being so heavy became a burden and the non-stop ringing shattered the vagabond’s brains as he was passing Pwll Cylla. He hurled the bells into the pond a second before stumbling down stone dead.

Gwladus’ beloved bells remained at the bottom of the pool for many a long year. But, about a hundred years later, there was a long hot summer, dry as a tippler’s tongue, and the waters of Pwll Cylla became no more than a puddle.

At that time, the parish priest of Bedwellty was returning home from Gelligaer when he noticed the bells napping on the bed of the dried up lake. He took the bells to his church, the one dedicated to the memory of Saint Sannan, where they were as pleased as punch to peal their poetry again.

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