Yet another story, a true one of a humble tragedy, may be added here,
concerning this romantic though eerie spot. One dark, foggy evening a poor
old woman was making her way to the mansion on some errand, when in the
gloom she stepped from the pathway right into the pond. The water was not
very deep, but the mud was sticky, so that the poor old creature had not the
strength to regain the pathway. There she stuck in the cold water and mud,
screaming and calling for help, until at last she succumbed from cold,
fright and exhaustion. Her cries were heard in the house, but everyone
thought they were caused by the screech-owls that haunt these groves, and
had no notion they proceeded from anybody in distress. In the early morning
the first passer-by found the body in the pond.
Some three miles from Maesgwynne, across the Taf, stands Dolwilym, the old
home of the Prothero family. It is a familiar object to those travellers who
have to use the little Whitland to Cardigan line, for the house and gardens
are close to Llanglydwen station. Dolwilym has lain uninhabited now for some
years, the present family having removed to Glyntaf, a dower-house not far
from the small but perfect Dolwilym cromlech, which is well known to
antiquaries. By far the most remarkable member of this ancient family was
the late Miss Arabella Schaw Prothero. I knew her well, and in spite of her
many eccentricities, we were all fond of her. She was a woman of sterling
qualities which she strove to hide by a rough manner and caustic speech. I
believe she showed herself an admirable daughter under extreme difficulties,
for her father and mother, though living under the same roof, never spoke to
one another for years, and Miss Arabella had to keep the domestic balance in
this delicate situation. Miss Prothero was an unfailing and fearless
advocate of the rights and denouncer of the wrongs of her sex at a time long
before the word 'suffragette' had been coined. Her dress was peculiar,
being low at the neck and very short in the skirt, when the exact contrary
was the fashion. Like her neighbour, Powell of Maesgwynne, she also called
herself an advanced Liberal and she owned a special disapprobation of
parsons (not to be wondered at in the Valley of the Taf in those days)! As
she never dissembled her likes and dislikes, she once greatly shocked a prim
lady with whom she was walking in the streets of Carmarthen. There was a
diocesan conference being held and one or two clergymen had already passed
them. When a third appeared on the scene, Miss Prothero spat vigorously on
the pavement, and called aloud, ' What, another of those damned parsons!'
Yet when the clergy of her district were suffering severely from the
withholding of the tithe during the agitation of the 'eighties (of course on
high conscientious grounds by the pious farmers), Miss Prothero gave
generous but secret help to the unhappy incumbents. Her heart was always
sound.
One would never have thought it from her appearance and speech, but Miss
Prothero owned a remarkably fine and highly trained voice. I always
associate Tom Moore's lovely lyric, ' Oft in the stilly night', with her
singing. On one occasion she was staying at some house and on being asked,
began to sing. This, however, did not stop the general conversation around
until there was a sudden pause at the piano, and the penetrating voice of
Miss Prothero was heard addressing her hostess: 'I'm not going to sing any
more: I don't see why I should cast I don't see why I should cast my pearls
before your swine!'
Like many strong-minded spinsters, Miss Prothero had a perfect mania for
animals, particularly cats. I remember counting twelve of them in her small
house near Whitland, also a couple of mangy dogs and a sick turkey in a
basket by the fire. The stench and noise were frightful, but she was devoted
to them all, and was annoyed when her visitors were not equally appreciative
of her pets. What a pity it is that these hard and fast devotees of
(so-called) dumb animals cannot concentrate their affection on a single
consolation pug, or on a bowl of goldfish, preferably the latter, for
goldfish neither smell, bark nor bite.
from: The South Wales Squires, Herbert M Vaughan, 1926
Regards
Richard James