It's a cool sunny day here in Fergus.
Most of my morning has been spent writing Gerry and it is coming along nicely, I must say. I've imposed a deadline on myself for the rough draft to be completed and am well on my way to meeting that deadline. I had a ready-made break built into this day, as my wonderful friend Willow had an appointment with the local vet. Everything was fine and when I got home there was an unexpected postcard from my aunt and uncle in the mailbox. I love the postcard and would have scanned it if my other computer was not in the shop - There's a rant I have about technology that I won't go into right now. I love this particular postcard because there's a story on it.
The Story of Beddgelert
In the 13th century, Llewellyn, Prince of North Wales, had a Palace at Beddgelert. One day he went hunting without Gelert, "The Faithful Hound", who was unaccountably absent. On Llewellyn's return, the truant stained and smeared with blood, joyfully sprang to meet his master. The Prince, alarmed, hastened to find his son and saw the Infant's cot empty, the bedclothes and floor covered with blood.
The frantic father plunged his sword into the hound's side thinking it had killed his heir. The dogs dying yell was answered by a child's cry. Llewellyn searched and discovered his boy unharmed, but nearby lay the body of a mighty wolf which Gelert had slain. The Prince, filled with remorse, it said never to have smiled again.
He buried Gelert here.
The spot is called Beddgelert.
The story on the face of the card is accompanied by a pair of photographs. The first is of a few of the old buildings which comprise the village. The second, is what appears to be the grave of Gelert, himself.
Okay, now back to stories about Giants.