Pwll Tra: In Search of the Pool of Avarice

There are a number of strange and fantastic stories concerning  Twmbarlwm and the ridges and valleys of Mynydd Maen. One such is the tale of the Pool of Avarice brought back into the popular imagination  by local author Fred Hando in his articles in the South Wales Argus during the mid twentieth century . In the second of an occasional series of articles this legend will be examined to uncover whether there is any fact in this popular Gwentian myth.

Some years ago on one of my solo jaunts around the lesser known footpaths in the Nant Carn valley on Mynydd Henllys, I noticed an old path leading into the woods off the cycle track and thought I would follow it to see where it went. The path led to a pool, but then reached what appeared to be a dead end, the conifers having grown so dense as to obscure the route of the path down into the valley: because of this, after exploring the pool,  I was forced to make my way back up to the cycle track to continue my walk.

Quiet & reflective or lonely & mysterious? Make what you will of Pwll Tra

When I visited the nearby Tyn y Ffynnon farm in the spring of 2011 to interview Mrs Barbara White, the owner, she told me that there are the ruins of buildings close to this pool. She also suggested that I should take a good look around the pool and its environs as I was sure to find something of interest.

I revisited the site some weeks later and, aside from what were probably the remains of dry stone walls, I failed to find evidence of any permanent buildings.  However, I did discover what appeared to be some sort of temporary dwelling or ‘eco house’ in the woods close to the pool, where a homeless man had recently been living. One thing I did notice about the pool during this visit that I hadn't previously is the fact that no stream appears to flow into or out of it. That in itself might be considered a mystery. 

Remains of  the 'eco-house'

It was some time later, when I read the excellent ‘Western Valley Walks’ by Ralph Collins, that my thoughts returned to this location, as it was he who identified it as the legendary Pool of Avarice.

 If my memory is correct I first encountered the folk tale of the Pool of Avarice around twelve years ago while reading ‘The Pleasant Land of Gwent’ by the much loved Newport author Fred Hando. Hando’s story relates that there was once a great house at the site of the pool and that on one stormy day in the distant past the inhabitants were visited by a poor relative who was in need of food and sustenance. The lady of the house turned her needy relative away with nothing but curses. As he retreated from the house he was aware of a sudden violent movement of the mountain as the hillside opened up, crashed down and buried the house. Since that time, according to Hando, the local shepherds claim that strange sounds are heard to come from the reedy waters of the pool on stormy nights. These are thought to be the cries of the lost ones buried below, doomed forever by their avarice.

 

What secrets lie therein? There is no flow of water into or out of  Pwll Tra

I found this tale intriguing and wanted to find out the actual location of the pool. Fred Hando claimed that to reach the pool you should walk northwards from ‘Twyn Barllwm’ along the green path until it is possible to see a small reservoir on the eastern slope below the path. You then turn left downwards past a farm to a hollow where a deep pool is found in winter. From Fred Hando’s description this sounds like Henllys and Alan Roderick in his book ‘The Folklore of Gwent’ appears to confirm this.

The popular Newport author and columnist Fred Hando (1888-1970)

A little research and chats with local residents seemed to point to Pwll Tra, my reedy pool situated in a hollow high on the western slopes of Mynydd Henllys not far from the head of the Nant Carn Valley. Local author Ralph Collins, who has undertaken extensive research on the geology of the valley, confirms this. He confirmed that there was a cataclysmic landslide on the ridge of which Twmbarlwm forms a part, following the last ice age many thousands of years ago. This landslide and subsequent ones sent millions of tons of rocks and earth pouring down into the Nant Carn Valley.

While researching for my ‘Lost Farmsteads of the Nant Carn Valley’ walk, I decided to include the pool en-route and did a little research of my own on the internet. To my delight I came across the poem featured below. So on  the ‘Lost Farmsteads’ walk in July 2011  I recited the poem at Pwll Tra much to the amusement of the assembled members of CTS and Islwyn Ramblers.  I recently contacted Arwyn Evans, the author of the poem, who resides in Crumlin. He told me that the Welsh word ‘Tra’ could be a shortened form of ‘Trachwant’ which translates as ‘Avarice’ or ‘greed’. I am happy therefore to conclude  that we have located the actual ‘Pool of Avarice’ referred to in the folk tale.

Our visit to Pwll Tra on the lost farmsteads walk in the summer of 2011

 If you want to visit the pool I would recommend parking at car park two on the forest drive and taking the short walk along the cycle track towards the head of the valley. Take the first left turning you come to. Pwll Tra is a lonely and forlorn place with an eerie atmosphere. To visit this location as the dark clouds are rolling in late on a summer evening would send shivers down even the bravest person’s spine. Not for the faint hearted!

the pathway down into the valley from Pwll Tra

The poem featured below has been published previously. It is a Haiban, which is a style of Japanese poem combining prose and haiku poetry. Thanks to Arwyn Evans for his kind permission to include this.

 

Haibun: Pwll Tra’

On the slopes of Mynydd Maen there is a hollow with a quiet pool. A sullen place in gathering storm. So it is, as I sit in grass listening for the cries of those trapped far beneath. Damned by their greed.

Mew of the buzzard 
through whispering leaves 
the wavelets ripple.

I bring to mind the story of this place, this ‘Pool of Avarice’ :  Long ago a wealthy house stood here. There were poor relations living on the far side of the hill. One day, as times grew harder, the poor man in desperation crossed the ridge. I see him crawling down towards the house.   Knocking on the door.  Waiting.  The clouds grow black above the hill.    He knocks again.   The door is opened.     Slow.

Rich fowl, bacon, fats and herbs 
The warmth of bread, of conversation.

A tall and haughty dame stands in the entrance.   Her gimlet stare shows that  she knows me - why I’m here.

Just bread. A crust or two from last week’s loaf,   
I hear my pleading tones, truly my wife and children starve.

The tall one laughs.  Come see, she calls within, what's dragged itself from out the sin where it belongs. They come. They curse me with my just deserts. Spit on my  head. Withdraw into their world.

The tall one, last to go, gives me some words direct:  Naught do I have to spare  the likes of thee.  Be off before I loose the dogs!   

I start back up the hill looking for solace in the gathering storm.   A searing light.   The bark of thunder pounds the earth.     The rock begins to shake.    In  fear I fall and turn.    Below, the bowels of the hill burst wide.     Swallow the  farmhouse whole with those inside to leave a bare, dry hollow place. 

Slowly I slide. Come to a gentle rest in grass.

The birch trees hang 
dark skies drop rain 
the limp pool rings my silence

 Arwyn Evans

NB the photographs featured were taken by Phil Jenkins and may be found on his website at http://www.industrialgwent.co.uk/. Many thanks also to to my colleague John Rogers for reviewing this article and doing some much needed editing. The article in its original form featured in the 2012 edition of Twmbarlwm News - newsletter of Cymdeithas Twmbarlwm Society

Rob Southall