Cyfarthfa Castle – Page 4 – The Melting Pot

Rose Mary Crawshay – part 1

by Irene Janes

Most of my life (67 years of it) the surname Crawshay has sent shivers down my spine and an innate hatred of the dynasty of Iron Masters of Cyfarthfa.

A few years ago, I came across a woman with intelligence, foresight, determination and inspiration, Rose Mary Yates, also known to us as, Mrs Robert Crawshay. True she is not a native of Merthyr Tydfil or Wales but her efforts transcend boundaries and time.

As is the case of many wealthy, bored and unemployed women, charity work is often the ‘hobby’ of choice. With Rose Mary, this may have been true in the beginning. However having completed my little bit of research I see a different woman.

It could have been one evening, sitting in her home, with its turrets and three hundred and sixty five windows, she sat in front of yellow leaping flames throwing its heat from the coal dug out from one of her husband’s mines. Her silk dress with layers of frilly petticoats may have rustled as she turned the pages to find one of her favourite poems by Lord Byron. With daylight fading perhaps, her attention wondered beyond the parklands walls to other yellow leaping fires of her husband’s family iron works in Cyfarthfa. Her life to those women and men labourers could not have been more different. Her home fire kept her warm, the works fires killed and maimed. Rooms she had many but in the town families were squashed into windowless, two roomed cellars with damp running down the walls. Children of all and any ages sent out to work, steal or beg, it didn’t matter which as long it was to help with their families’ survival.

If she was, a charity hobbyist this soon changed to philanthropist.

She organised soup kitchens and instructed them to be open three days a week. With the bodies of the needy and poor being fed, Rose Mary turned her attention to their overall well-being. She set up classes to encourage women to make clothes and make the patterns from old newspapers.

Books were given to her husband’s workers. Nevertheless, this was not enough for this particular Mrs Crawshay who knew the importance of education. In total, she opened seven libraries.

The citadel for working class males were the Workmen’s Institutes. Apart from socialising and drinking of beer it was here, the men could access text books and newspapers for knowledge or pleasure. Quite rightly, Rose Mary saw the inequality of it all. To counterbalance this she ensured her libraries opened on a Sunday too so women had the same opportunities.

Still recalled today, Abercanaid, February 1862 forty-nine men and boys were killed either from suffocation or burns in the Gethin Pit explosion. The pit had been sunk by William Crawshay II to provide coal for the Cyfarthfa works. Rose Mary visited every family who had lost some one in the disaster. Indeed, here is a woman who knew her own mind and no Iron master was going to stop her.

Was it Murder at Cyfarthfa Castle?

By William Griffiths
Transcribed by Carl Llewellyn

Cyfarthfa Castle was built according to the plans of William Crawshay in 1825. He was an iron-master of the Cyfarthfa Ironworks; rich, with a strong will, unassuming yet energetic. While waiting for his Castle to be built, he lived with family at Gwaelodygarth House.

His influence and energy had such an effect on the builders that the Castle was completed in 12 months at a cost of £30,000. Situated in the area of a park, of meadows and woods, it was so placed that a full view of the Iron Works could be seen from its windows. The workers could likewise look upon the edifice and after the affluence of their iron-master up on its elevated ground. At night the blast furnaces illuminated the surrounding country-side, particularly the stone walls of Cyfarthfa Castle its windows reflecting the red and yellow glow of light, in an unusual pattern of colour. The Master had installed his castle with many servants, fit for the magnate he was. His gardeners had changed the grounds into a beautiful park. His gamekeepers patrolled it night and day, against poachers and marauders so prevalent in those days. One of the gamekeepers was named John Lloyd and he lived with his wife at Pontsarn, on the borders of the Cyfarthfa Estate. They were always quarrelling and the servants at the Castle said they were not happy together. Their home at Pontsarn was a lonely place in a beautiful spot: almost at the base of the ancient Morlais Castle, adjacent to the historic site of Vaynor Old Church, where monks had once chanted their prayers and buried the dead of past wars.

Then someone remarked: “John Lloyd’s wife had not been seen for a number of weeks. Is she ill? Has she gone away?” The servants of the Castle began asking questions. But John gave them no answers. The questions became persistent, to be told angrily that she had gone away to Llangyfelach Fair. More weeks passed with no sign of Mrs Lloyd. Meanwhile John carried on at his work in the Castle grounds.

The disappearance could not continue without Mr Crawshay getting to know of it. Eventually he sent for John to question him on the subject: for at that time an employer had far greater power over an employee’s personal affairs than exists today. The Master was waiting for him in one of the living rooms of the Castle, as John gave an extra rub on his boots, before being shown in by a servant. As he entered the magnificently furnished room Mr Crawshay was walking away from him towards the large fireplace. John stood waiting for the Master to turn around but did not, he stood with his back to him, addressing him in a firm tone.

“Well Lloyd – what have you to say about your missing wife? Now understand man: I want the truth.” He turned quickly, raising the tone of his voice on the last sentence. John Lloyd, not a good looking man held his head down making incoherent and confused replies. He pulled at his smock with his left hand, not knowing what to do with his hat, which he held in his right. The more questions Mr Crawshay asked the more nervous he became. It was a conflict between master and servant, emotion being displayed by both men for a basic reason. All the power of position was at the command of the rich industrialist, yet dissatisfied with the result, he waved his arms in front of his gamekeeper, telling him he had no alternative – he must inform the police immediately. “Go” he told him, “Return to your work”. The Merthyr Tydfil Police interviewed John Lloyd later, in conjunction with the Breconshire authorities, for it was situated in that county. They searched the house for clues. Apparently nothing important was found relating to the missing lady, so the mystery became a talking point at Cyfarthfa Works, and eventually the whole district.

The Merthyr Police had now officially contacted headquarters in London, requesting that two investigators be sent to the town to work on the case. They began methodically as compared to the local officers, by questioning all who were acquainted with John Lloyd, judging the character of good or bad behaviour. “Was he jealous of his wife?”. They asked “Did he bear her? Did she have any men friends?” They circled the suspect with their queries: then they approached him singly, and together: They searched his house; dug in his garden; went next-door; gossiped to the neighbours, while John was at work. All those actions they took in the nerve war against him. It was said of Lloyd that he was unperturbed by the investigations. Each evening he made his way home on the rocky path through the woods and lanes of the Gurnos farmland to Pontsarn. His two dogs running to and fro, as he walked: the glow of the Cyfarthfa Iron Works, lighting the place in a shadowy twilight. Guilty or not, the man acted naturally, notwithstanding the pressure of suspicion around him.

Many thought him guilty, saying he had an evil looking face, as if the look of a man’s face proved his guilt: whereas it is well known that the most handsome of men can be murderous. The London Police were not concerned about John’s looks. They had to get the facts. They followed him around the estate, talking to him on the subjects of game, or poachers in general. They made him stand near the furnace where he boiled down the bones and meal for the Cyfarthfa hounds. A careful examination was made of the vessels – the furnace itself. They collected samples while many eyes watched them from Castle windows. “Those London police are too late.” it was whispered from one to another: “John Lloyd had done his wife in: boiled her down as food for hounds!” “He was very particular in cleaning the vessels. Sir, after his wife was missing”, a servant volunteered to the police. The investigators followed all the suggestions made to them, and despite a detailed enquiry, had to admit they were baffled. John remained free, as far as he was allowed to be under the investigation, so days passed to months.

They eventually presented their report, which turned out to be of insufficient evidence. So John Lloyd was not charged with the murder of his wife. The police returned to London. It is not known if the suspect remained in the employment of William Crawshay at Cyfarthfa Castle Estate. He lived for about 25 years in the Merthyr area, dying in a Poor-law Institution, diseased and wretched so it is believed, but with no foundation in fact. At the time of Lloyd’s death, a skeleton was found on the borders of the estate, presumed although not established to be the remains of Mrs Lloyd.

John Lloyd was alleged to be the murderer of his wife: the investigation into the case was thorough at the time, when men were hanged for far less crimes than killing their wives. The evidence basically was that Mrs Lloyd was missing or disappeared. No additional facts were produced against Lloyd: therefore according to the enquiry, no charge of a crime was made against him. Let that be his epitaph, and so be it.

Merthyr Memories: Cyfarthfa School part 2

by Mary Owen

Some time in the 1980s, a fresh faced, pleasant boy came to Cyfarthfa. He seemed to enjoy his French lessons and he loved illustrating his written work, when required, with neat, labelled drawings. When I saw his excellent work on the ‘Clothes’ chapter, I suggested he repeat it for the wall display for homework, if he felt like it. He arrived at the next lesson with a set of ten delightful sketches of the clothes, including a smart chapeau with a chic feather in it. He had drawn them, coloured them, cut them out and mounted each one separately on a large sheet of paper and labelled them with their French names.

The stylish result amazed me. I didn’t know then that I was looking at the early efforts of a future young fashion designer, who would work at the house of Chanel in Paris, city of my dreams! and who would later make his own name and label famous: Julien Macdonald had done a fine piece of homework. I was delighted, we pinned his work on the wall and I showed it off to each class and to some of the staff. I think it would have remained there until the end of my teaching career but for a sad and regrettable incident a couple of years later.

The painters and decorators were in and gradually each classroom was going to be spruced up. I was instructed that work was to start on my room after registration the following day and the room had to be cleared of all its stuff. After school I stayed behind and carefully unpinned the wall decorations, that had become part of the furniture. There was a problem – some were too big to store in my cupboard so I decided, as it was time I went home, to leave them on a front desk until the following morning; after registration I would get help to carry them to some corner in the staffroom.

The next day I entered the classroom, without looking towards the precious pile, settled the class down and began to call the register, before assembly. A smell of smoke wafted up from the boiler room, somewhere down below: Glyn, the caretaker, was burning yesterday’s rubbish. A lot of it was paper. I gave a sudden look of panic across to the desk, on which my stack of papers should have been; the penny dropped! I knew in that instant that they would not be there and worse still I knew that they were probably being incinerated at that very moment. The pupil, seated at that desk, noticed my silent anguish and soon she and the rest of the boys and girls were sharing in my sorrowful and not so silent laments. The cleaner had taken them for a pile of rubbish (how could they have been considered rubbish?) and we never saw them again.

The maps of France and of Paris, the Boulogne – trip photos, the French flags, the cheese and wine labels, our exclusive collection of sketches by Julien Macdonald (not yet famous, admittedly) and all the other bits and pieces had gone up in smoke. I fumed at my lack of foresight and and my regret never ended.

Twenty or so years later, when walking in Thomastown Park, I met Matthew Howells, an old pupil of the school and former school-friend of Julien’s. He introduced me to his wife and as he reminisced about Cyfarthfa, he told us that once, when making their GCSE subject choices, he and some friends had asked Julien why he had chosen Art. Apparently, his answer had been “Well, Mrs Owen made such a fuss of some drawings I did for her I thought I would do Art.” After A-level success – nothing to do with me – Julien went on to study Fashion Design in London and is now known for his glamorous creations. He is one of Merthyr Tydfil’s most famous exports.

Aerial view of Cyfarthfa Castle. Photo courtesy of http://www.alangeorge.co.uk/index.htm

Merthyr Memories: Cyfarthfa School part 1

by Mary Owen

The classroom where I taught in Cyfarthfa High School (Castle site) was at the back, looking on to an area, darkly shaded by old trees. They had been planted circa 1824 when the mock-Gothic edifice, Cyfarthfa Castle, was built by William Crawshay, the ironmaster of the Cyfarthfa works. Less than a century later the family and iron-making disappeared from Merthyr Tydfil and their magnificent, unwanted home became a grammar school.

In the 1970s, when I was appointed to teach French at Cyfarthfa, by then a comprehensive school, one of those old trees became a particular favourite of mine and I admired it often as I glanced, or even took some time to gaze, at the shady woodland scene, just outside the window of Room 15: it was a cedar of Lebanon, the tree that indicates that the landowner, who paid for it was seriously wealthy. In quiet moments in that room I would muse on the Mediterranean land, from which the tree had sprung and of the time when the millionaire owner had bought it and many other specimens of exotic trees and plants. These had been transported, at great expense, to Merthyr Tydfil, his ugly, industrial town, for the beautification of his estate. Thanks to those past extravagances we had the most wonderful – looking school, a grey stone turreted castle, with lawns and a lake in front of it and well- established trees and gardens all around.

My north-facing room was dark and the ceiling strip – lights were often switched on to lighten and brighten it. In the well-used fashion of making the classroom a pleasant place in which the pupils can learn and where the teacher can impart knowledge, I made sure that the walls of the dingy room were colourfully decorated with scenes relating to France: pictures of famous buildings and work that the pupils had spent time creating in class or at home. As time passed the walls of the room were pinned with a collage of memorabilia, which gave great delight to me and, I hope, to the children, entrusted to me. Some of my own postcards were there – of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Mona Lisa; a map of France was in the place of honour in the centre of the back wall and it was mounted by two crossed ‘Tricolore’ flags. These had been drawn, painted and cut out by some enthusiastic pupils in break times. They had tried not to forget that Mrs Owen had said “ the colours of the French flag are blue, white and red (bleu, blanc, rouge), in that order from the flagpole, not red, white and blue. You must get it right.” There were wine bottle – labels, cheese – box labels, Orangina advertisements, photographs of the annual 24- hour, autumn trip to Boulogne, with many pupils and several teachers and where, if my allotted group of eight pupils could order their drinks in good French at the first café stop up in the old quarter of the town, I paid the bill; there was Richard Probert’s print of the Sacré-Coeur, bought especially for our classroom, on his and his brother Michael’s family trip to Paris. They would not forget it in a hurry because their Aunty Norma’s handbag, with her money and passport in it, was stolen in that beautiful white basilica, overlooking the city.

Another aunty had been snapped colourfully for posterity by her eager nephew, Owain Rowlands, as she was eating her way through a huge dish of ‘moules’. She was in the restaurant of the Hôtel de la Plage in the harbour town of Dieppe. This town featured in the Longman’s textbook, which was the basis of French language learning in Mid-Glamorgan schools. Aunty Jean was not to know then that she would be up there on the wall in our classroom, eating those mussels for many years to come. She was a French teacher and she had entered into the spirit of the family trip with gusto. The photos were rushed to school at the end of the holiday and there in front of us were the hotel, the town hall, the church, the swimming pool, the harbour in Dieppe and Jean eating those mussels – more visual aids for learning the ten French words of vocabulary that were expected to be known at the end of each chapter. La plage, le port, l’hôtel, l’hôtel de ville, i.e. the town-hall, surmounted with two crossed French flags etc… And so it went on until the end of the book and there were always creative hands, ready to change the scene a bit and to add an item about France and the French language to our décor. There was a notice, written carefully in good, correct French, announcing to all that Mrs Owen’s favourite character in Coronation Street was Mike Baldwin and her favourite television programme was Only Fools and Horses.

One chapter was about clothes. The required new points of grammar were introduced and the ten words for articles of clothing were there, to be learned through looking, listening, saying, repeating, writing, drawing and even singing. And of course there were volunteers for drawings of shirts, trousers, blouses, skirts, dresses, shoes, socks, macs and hats. Teaching French, especially in the first years to children of eleven and twelve, some at the start of even becoming clever linguists is a delight. One amongst several of these, was Sharon Rogers, who found it so easy to master the tricky French ‘r’ sound as soon as she heard it. It usually took a great deal of practice.

To be continued……….

The Opening of St John’s Church, Cefn

143 years ago today the article transcribed below appeared in the Western Mail:

Opening of Cefn Church

Yesterday the pretty township of Cefncoedycymmer, near Merthyr Tydfil, was all astir, the occasion being the preliminary opening of the church of St. John’s.

Before the days of the iron and coal trade, but a solitary cottage or two marked the now well populated outskirt of Cefn, and in those bygone days the important section of the parish of Vaynor was concentrated at Pontsarn and Pontsticill. There, in a pleasant little dingle, just above the banks of the Taff vawr, nestled the old parish church. About ten years ago the original building presented a decayed and irreparable appearance, and leading Churchmen of the parish at once decided to introduce another place of worship adjacent to the old site, where Welsh people had worshipped for so many centuries. A sum of money towards the necessary building fund was soon forthcoming; but at the outset Mr. Robert Crawshay, of Cyfarthfa Castle, with characteristic perception, pointed to the more urgent necessities of the people of Cefn with regard to church accommodation, and practically evinced his anxiety to see a want supplied in this direction by the handsome offer, that if the nominal sum already subscribed were transferred for the construction of an edifice at Cefn he would, at his own expense build the Vaynor Church. This was agreed to, and Mr. Crawshay’s idea was speedily verified in the erection and opening of a place of worship at Vaynor.

Meanwhile the committee at Cefn, who themselves had worked hard, and subscribed to the best of their ability, were not so successful, in a financial sense, as was anticipated. Nevertheless, available funds were invested with a view to a commencement of the work at a convenient site near the Brecon and Merthyr Railway, the ground having been gratuitously granted by Mrs. Gwynne Holford.

The designs of the church having been prepared by Mr. G. E. Robinson, architect, Cardiff, the contract was taken by Mr. David Jenkins, builder, Merthyr, for a sum less than £2,000, and he has discharged his obligations most satisfactorily, under, perhaps, trying circumstances. Time does not allow of our entering here either into the circumstances which caused such delay in the completion of this work, or a description of the building itself. We may however say that within a short time since when the work of completion was undertaken under circumstances which will presently appear – the sacred house, partially pledged, remained for a protracted period with the doors and windows barricaded with boarding.

At last Mr. Crawshay, who had long since redeemed his promise by erecting a parish church, was appealed to for further help, and he at once gave directions that the church should be forthwith completed at his expense. This has been done, and a cheque for £200 from the Iron King, with a sum already in hand, satisfies the contractor. Of late a few ladies have rendered assistance to the committee by efforts in the shape of concerts, and solicitations of one shilling subscriptions, in order to provide certain details in connection with the building, which, it is computed, will cost altogether £2,000.

The edifice is substantially built, will accommodate 250 people, and prove a great boon to persons who have hitherto been compelled to either worship under the ministrations of the Rev. J. S. Williams, curate, in a temporary apartment, or journey to Merthyr in one direction, or Vaynor in another. The names of the gentlemen who have assiduously applied themselves in securing the church for Cefn are Messrs. W. T. Crawshay, C. E. Matthews, William Jones, and T. J. Pearce, who have been compelled to carry out the work solely from public subscriptions, not having received the slightest aid from any society.

The interior of the church can be pronounced complete, but the exterior surroundings suggest an unfinished appearance. A preliminary service was conducted in the church on Monday evening, when the Rev. John Jenkins, of Llanfrynach, preached in English, and the Rev. John Cunnick, deputation from the Church Pastoral Aid Society, in Welsh. The services yesterday were choral, and there was not the slightest ostentation displayed; a more appropriate and impressive ceremony being deferred till the grand opening ceremony on occasion of the thorough completion of the building.

The service, which commenced at 11 o’clock before a crowded congregation, was intoned by the Rev. Mr. Jones, rector of Dowlais. The Rev. J. Griffiths, rector of Neath, preached an eloquent discourse. Services were also held in the evening. We were unable at the time of the despatch of our parcel to ascertain the amount realised from offerings. The clergy and visitors were entertained by Mr. Wm. Crawshay, Mr. Matthews, and Mr. William Jones. Mrs. William Crawshay has contributed a beautiful altar cloth, and Mr. C. E. Matthews a Communion service.

Western Mail – 22 April 1874

A Wizard at Cyfarthfa

The article, transcribed below, appeared in the Merthyr Guardian 170 years ago today:

On Friday evening, the 5th instant, by permission of R. T. Crawshay, Esq., Mr. Mathews, Wizard of Wizards, &c., exhibited his extraordinary feats of legerdemain at the Cyfarthfa ball room. The rapidity and cleverness with which Mr M. performed an almost endless succession of tricks, excited the wonder and curiosity of the spectators, and afforded very general satisfaction.

His ventriloquism was a novelty to many in the assembly and was very well done. But that which utterly confounded the shrewdest spectators in the room was the part enacted (as it would seem) by the so-called Mysterious Lady. She was truly blindfolded, and her back was duly turned upon the audience, yet she seemed to be perfectly cognizant of all that was carried on-and to every question she returned a correct and prompt reply. The contents of many a bachelor’s pocket were ransacked and every item was correctly described – she seemed to hear the very whispers of persons at a considerable distance from her, for she would pronounce aloud every secret that thus transpired. Even dumb show was significant to her for she appeared to see and understand it all.

A gentleman present shewed by chance a shilling of the Elizabethian age – a curiosity in its way – it was no sooner in Mr. Mathews’s hands than his lady yonder told him all about it. “Confound you” said one of the knowing ones present – I understand your other tricks very well, but this thoroughly puzzles me”- ” then you are confounded Sir”, was the prompt reply. This part of the performance was very cleverly accomplished.

The entertainment gave general satisfaction to a numerous and respectable company. The performances were repeated to a large company on Wednesday evening, with similar success.

Merthyr Guardian – 13 March 1847