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Walking with the Last Prince: Following Owain on the Glyndwr's Way
Walking with the Last Prince: Following Owain on the Glyndwr's Way
Walking with the Last Prince: Following Owain on the Glyndwr's Way
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Walking with the Last Prince: Following Owain on the Glyndwr's Way

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April 2011 and the United Kingdom was in royal wedding fever. Wills and Kate were getting married and to a substantial number of people, this seemed an extremely exciting thing to happen.

But for Andrew Bowden the idea of getting out of London and heading off on a good long walk was a much more appealing idea. So he headed off to the peace and tranquillity of mid Wales to walk the Glyndŵr's Way; a trail dedicated to one Owain Glyndŵr. Who? Oh, only the last Welshman to hold the title Prince of Wales.

Yes, to escape one set of royalty, he ended up following in the footsteps of another. Still, at least on the hills there wouldn't people sitting around eating sausages on a stick at a trestle table decorated in blue, white and red bunting. Would there?

This second edition also includes a guide to planning your own Glyndŵr's Way walk.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAndrew Bowden
Release dateFeb 10, 2013
ISBN9781301587582
Walking with the Last Prince: Following Owain on the Glyndwr's Way

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    Book preview

    Walking with the Last Prince - Andrew Bowden

    Walking with the Last Prince

    Following Owain on the Glyndŵr's Way

    Andrew Bowden

    Text and photographs ©2013, 2014 Andrew Paul Bowden

    All rights reserved

    The right of Andrew Bowden to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

    First published 2013 by Andrew Bowden

    Second edition published 2014

    Published by Rambling Man

    ramblingman.org.uk

    Table of Contents

    Introduction

    The Last Prince

    Day 1: Knighton to Felindre

    Day 2: Felindre to Abbeycwmhir

    Day 3: Abbeycwmhir to Llanidloes

    Day 4: Llanidloes to Dylife

    Day 5: Dylife to Machynlleth

    Day 6: Machynlleth to Llanbrynmair

    Day 7: Llanbrynmair to Llanwddyn

    Day 8: Llanwddyn to Pontrobert

    Day 9: Pontrobert to Welshpool

    Bibliography

    Planning Your Own Glyndŵr's Way Walk

    About the Author

    intro

    Introduction

    It's on the railway station platform that you get an indication that there's something different about the town of Knighton. Two huge signs stand on the platform; one welcoming you to Shropshire, the other welcoming you to Powys.

    The station itself sits in England. But walk a mere 91m down the road (or 100 yards in old money) and you are suddenly in Wales. Take one step back and you're in the land of St George, one further and it's all daffodils and dragons.

    Knighton is a border town, firmly sat on the rather arbitrary line that acts as a border between two counties. Most of the residents live in Wales, but a small number of roads and houses actually sit in England, lumped together for the purposes of administration with the nearby village of Stowe.

    Even the town name of Knighton is derived from Old English, namely the words cniht and tun. The place didn't even have an official name in Welsh until 1971.

    Not surprisingly though, for many years Knighton was disputed territory, suffering raids and attacks aplenty. Such were the number of attacks that in the 8th century Offa, King of Mercia had built a giant dyke to mark the boundary between the kingdom of Mercia and the people of Powys. Even then, Knighton was the only town to actually sit on the dyke itself.

    It was only with the Acts of Union in 1535 that Knighton's status was determined, and the town was formally decided to be in Wales. Even so it took until 1971 for an official Welsh name to be created for the town. Not that you'll find many people calling it Tref-y-Clawdd; Knighton feels more like England than Wales. The accents are English, with a whiff of Midlands twang about them. The beers in the pubs and even the breakfasts served in the B&Bs are all English.

    Yet despite being in an enclave of Englishness, we were about to head off on a journey into Wales. And not only that, but a walk celebrating a man viewed by some as a father of Welsh Nationalism.


    April 2011 and the United Kingdom was in royal wedding fever. Wills and Kate were getting married and to a substantial number of people, this seemed an extremely exciting thing to happen. Not to me. I was feeling rather out of place. I mean, if they loved each other very much and wanted to get married, great. That's lovely. I was very happy for them. But why should I care? I didn't know them; they weren't my friends or family. So why should I want to watch them tie the knot on television, or sit in a pub with a pint waving a plastic Union Jack? I didn't even believe in the monarchy as a system and would have been quite happy to see its residents turfed out and Buckingham Palace opened up as a year round tourist attraction. Just think of the revenue the admission fees could bring in.

    But the rest of the nation seemed to have gone Royal Wedding Crazy, with people threatening to put up bunting and holding street parties, left, right and centre. Thankfully I lived in a part of London where no one seemed to be particularly bothered enough to try to close off the street, erect trestle tables and eat picnic food whilst wearing plastic Union flag hats, but still there was little escape from wedding fever. The papers were full of speculation about what the dress would look like and busy telling tales of how the fairytale romance had developed.

    Still, there was a bright side. To aid the nation in its celebration, the powers that be had decided that there should be some bank holidays. The wedding was set to be the weekend before Good Friday and there would be a bank holiday on that day, and on the Monday after.

    Great, I thought. A four day work week followed by a three day week followed by a four day week. I can live with that. I may have republican principles but a free day off is a free day off.

    Then, one night in January, a friend pointed out something. With four bank holidays in quick succession, you could have an eleven day holiday by taking just three days off work. On hearing this news I could see the eyes of my partner, Catherine, light up.

    We could do a walk! she said, looking at me excitedly.

    We could indeed, I nodded sagely, before heading off to the bar to get another round in.

    It seemed like a plan. We'd make the most of our annual leave, do a good walk and escape a huge chunk of the Royal Wedding madness that was sure to grip the capital. But that just left one important question. Which walk to do?

    A few nights later we sat in our living room scouring our walking books, trying to find options. Something that would fit in perfectly with the bank holiday period, and preferably one that would take us to an area we'd never been to before.

    You know, I've never been walking in Wales, I said as Catherine thumbed through a rather battered looking walking tome which listed walks across the United Kingdom.

    Hmm. What about this? she replied, handing me the book. "The Glyndŵr's Way. Goes through the middle of Wales. Looks about the

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