And the Welsh have never allowed oblivion to cover the memory of the man who seems to have been the first missionary who laboured on the banks of the Dee to turn our pagan ancestors to Christianity.
Journal of British Archaeology, 1878
It is said that the town of Llangollen was founded sometime in the seventh century, with the arrival of Collen to the Vale. He had once been a man of considerable violence, a soldier whose defeat of the pagan warrior Bras had led to the “whole nation of the Greeks” being brought into the Christian faith, and Collen being feted by the Pope for his victory.
A man of substance then, and hard edges, smoothed over perhaps by his taking of religious orders. But of “choleric temper” still, and an impatience with the faithless clinging to him in a reflection of his past – to which the legends surrounding him bear witness.
A sunset destination
The stories of Collen’s arrival in the Vale are, as you would expect, miraculous and astonishing. As abbot of Glastonbury Abbey he grew restless, frustrated at the wickedness around him, and sought to distance himself from the world. He prayed to God for “a place to dwell in for the rest of his life” and God, it seems, answered in the most splendid fashion.
The legend tells of Collen bidden to leave Glastonbury on foot and walk until he came across a waiting horse, which he was to mount and ride in whatever direction the steed deemed desirable. He found the horse at a place aptly named Rhysfa Maes Cadfarch, meaning ‘the course of the charger’s field’. They rode through the day – their sunset destination was to be his sanctuary. Collen arrived in Llangollen as the sun dipped beneath the waters of the River Dee.
But this is the legend. While it may be true, in keeping with the saintly richness that came later, I see a different Collen arriving here. Beneath the hill upon which the weathered remains of the old hillfort were evident. On the Dee, where likely a bridge of sorts was already present – made up of clapper stones perhaps, or a wooden walkway.
I see him arriving, weary and aching from the long journey, deeply lined eyes squinting at the last of the sun. There’s a pack upon his back, and perhaps he’s holding a staff, worn smooth from callused hands more used to a sword’s hilt. I hear his contented sigh from here, as he knows he has arrived at the rest of his life.
The Tylwyth Teg
There are several legends of Collen in the Vale, all making plain his disdain for ancient pagan ways and his febrile temper. Perhaps the most famous is of his battle with the Lord of the Tylwyth Teg, Gwyn ap Nudd – a tale also told of Glastonbury, it should be said.
As Collen read his Bible one evening, he overheard a conversation from outside his cell. The voices were sharp and unpleasant, and as he rose he heard sneering contempt within the words.
“This is the home of that fool Collen. He lives his miserable little life in service of a God that frowns on splendour and joy,” said one.
“Compared to the power of our lord, Gwyn ap Nudd, the master of Annwn and all of the Tylwyth Teg, the power of his god is nothing,” said the other.
Collen was a man of peace but had been a man of war. He felt the red mist of anger rise. “How dare you!” he cried out. “You pagan fairy folk are the work of the devil!”
“Hold your tongue, Collen. If you speak so again Gwyn ap Nudd will throw it to his dogs!” Sharp words, heavily hissed.
Furious, Collen ran to attack the visitors. Yet on throwing open his door, he found they had left no trace of their presence. Unnerved, he returned to his prayers with renewed vigour.
Preparing for battle
The next day, Collen spent the hours of daylight praying, walking through the Vale of Llangollen, returning to his sanctuary as the sun sank. As he finished his simple evening meal, he heard the voices, high pitched this time, a skin-creeping shrillness to them. Despite his martial past, Collen was not a little fearful. Still, he rose and moved to the door, determined to see those who would belittle his God and faith.
As he approached the door the voices stopped and he paused, his hand upon it. Suddenly, a low voice of measured calm and weight said, “Collen.” It almost whispered. “Come to Coed Hyrddyn and climb up. Gwyn ap Nudd would have words with you.”
Gritting his teeth against his fear, Collen flung open the door. Aside from a sudden gust of wind, which whipped dust from the ground, there was nothing to see. Collen started praying again, as he knew he had attracted the Tylwyth Teg’s ire.
The next day, Collen spent his day in preparation, knowing a reckoning was due. He bathed in the cold holy waters of the River Dee and, taking a flask of its water, he called upon the Lord to bless it. He prayed hard, asking for the strength of Christ for the task that had befallen him.
As twilight approached, the voices returned. This time Collen made no effort to open the door, but listened with his head bowed. “Collen,” it laughed. “Is your God a coward?” it whispered. “He trembles before the mighty Gwyn ap Nudd? The Lord of the Tylwyth Teg wants to speak with you. Climb the hill.”
The top of the hill
Collen departed with his staff and flask of holy water to climb Velvet Hill. Though it was a summer evening, the air grew chill and the wind gained strength. In the light of day the hill was beautiful, but this evening a sense of foreboding built within him.
As he climbed, with aching limbs, he could see to his unease that the hilltop not only bore trees and rocks but was also crowned with a tall, beautiful, whitewashed castle. Pennants snapped in the wind on its battlements. Doors opened and knights appeared, brightly burnished armour reflecting the remains of the waning sun.
They escorted him through gates into a courtyard. He was surrounded by Tylwyth Teg, haughty and beautiful in resplendent coloured silks. But Collen was not fooled. He saw through their fair façade and recognised them for what they were – shallow peoples of a lesser faith. The Lord gave him better eyes than to be taken in by lies. They stared at him, stately and silent. Collen looked disdainfully around at the fakery.
He went with the fairies into their Great Hall and felt cold, though it glowed with candlelight and fire. A long table of polished ash stretched the length of the room, and at it sat the Fairy King’s court. They smiled silently, grinning at him from thin faces of stretched, ill-fitting skin. The quiet was eerie, and Collen felt the chill twist deep into his bones.
Gwyn ap Nudd
At the head of the table sat a long-limbed giant of a man, with pale hair and skin and garbed in the finest silks and velvets. Gwyn ap Nudd motioned to a chair beside him. “Sit with me, Collen, as your Lord Jesus Christ, the Risen Man, sits with his father? You are our honoured guest,” he said with a wide smile.
Collen was shocked by the blasphemy. “I will stand, as I shall before my Lord as he judges my acts as righteous, or not. And yours.” Gwyn ap Nudd’s face darkened, then the smile returned. “As you will. But look at the feast we prepared. Will you not eat?”
The table was full of delectable foods but Collen shook his head, for he saw through the glamour. “Why choose to eat leaves and twigs, when I have honest fruits at home?”
Gwyn ap Nudd snarled and banged his fist on the table. In place of food there was suddenly a pile of rotting greenery. He composed himself, his smile full again, splitting his face from ear to ear. “You have seen through my wit. Look again at my court’s fineries and tell me truthfully, have you ever seen such splendour?”
Collen sighed. He pulled the flask from his sack and flung holy water onto the floor of the hall. As the flask shattered, so did the illusion, and the court was gone. He stood alone in the dark, then made his way down Velvet Hill. On entering his cell he knelt and gave thanks for victory over the Tylwyth Teg.
This was a tale of Collen in the Vale, the settlement he founded. There are others of him. Shall I tell you of his battle with the Cannibal Giantess, overlooking the Horseshoe Pass? Another time perhaps.
