Rhuddlan Castle...

During our recent stay in North Wales, we escaped the horrors of Prestatyn's Pontins holiday camp (No, I'm still too raw to tell you about it. It will definitely be the subject of a future post though!), exchanging them for the delights of Rhuddlan Castle in Denbighshire.

You know me. I can't resist the lure of a castle, ruined or otherwise. Just take a look at the thickness of those walls, would you? And check out that impressive twin-towered gatehouse! Can you hear me salivating? The castle may be battered and beaten but it's still standing. Not bad for a structure that started its life back in 1277, in the days when Edward I was busily constructing his fearsome 'Iron Ring'  with which to subdue the Welsh.



 

Needless to say, the kids absolutely loved it--almost as much as I did! While they were occupied with my SIL, rolling themselves down a steep grassy hill (above the tower in the bottom left corner of the picture, if you're interested. :)), I had a little wander around by myself.

The only tiny niggle I had with this marvellous place was the lack of information available for the curious visitor. Visit any other historic site in the UK and the tourist is bombarded with information boards. In Rhuddlan, I only found two in the entire castle. Even so, I was surprised to find just how familiar it all was.

Martha has taught me well!

Martha is the she-ro of my current WIP, a twenty-first century woman who finds herself in an alternate medieval world. (It's a F.A.R.T, btw. A fantasy, adventure, romantic, time-travel story. :)) As I walked around, I recognised many parts of the castle. The curtain wall, the inner and outer baileys, the gatehouses, the death-holes, the wall walks...it was meeting up with old friends!

It was a weird experience. Not weird as in ghostly, but it was a little bit odd. The fragmented walls seemed to rebuild themselves right before my eyes, and all the gaps disappeared. A bit like in the TV show 'Time Team' where, before your very eyes, the clever techies reconstruct an entire Roman pot from a tiny mud-encrusted shard. It was easy to imagine the noises and smells of castle life. I fancied I saw a few of the long-dead people whose feet had worn such deep dips into the thick stone steps leading up to the towers.

Then the kids reclaimed my attention and the echoes faded away. All that remained were the roosting pigeons--and then one of them shat on me! That's supposed to be a lucky sign on this side of the pond. As I mopped the residue away with a wet-wipe, I certainly felt lucky. It was a perfect day, especially as the entry fee was just over ten quid for two adults and four kids. Bargain!