i was born in wales to an english father and a welsh mother. i had little contact with my english family, which is a shame. my maternal welsh grandfather was a great storyteller. my grandmother never held a title, but she was a lady. i never heard her gossip, and she never raised her voice. at christmas, i knew exactly what they would buy me – a book. the thing i remember most about my father was his beautiful smile, and that he warmed my cold feet with his hands when i came home from school. my husband makes the best welsh cakes i have ever tasted. they have sustained me through many, many, hours of research. my mother made the most beautiful rag dolls.
enough about me. now i want to tell you about dafydd ap gruffydd.
my interest in him, and subsequent probing into his character, led me to uncover a puzzling anomaly within the geneaology of his family, specifically that of his brother, rhodri ap gryffydd. until now, rhodri ap gruffydd has been one of those grey men in history, hiding on the periphery of the tragic tale of the house of gwynedd.
dafydd and rhodri shared a childhood segregated from their siblings and their country. both of them, in later life had to come to terms with the inevitable divided loyalties that such a separation would have spawned.
theirs is the story of two men and three royal houses; the house of gwynedd, la maison de valois and the plantaganet dynasty.
it is not a story about the defeat of a country, but of unseen hero’s and heroin’s who helped to keep a nations heart beating. it is the story of a lost generation and the emergence of a man who’s identity has begged questions to be asked, and for the curtain that surrounds his past, and that of his ancestors,to be pulled back.
the french kings called him yvain de galles: he was owen of wales.