# An Angler at Large/Chapter 28

Yesterday I was a wholly undistinguished person. To-day I am a Bard. The manner of it was as follows:—
About midday a number of Welsh, to some of whom we are related by the closest ties of blood and affection, arrived from London in a char-à-banc at our garden gate, and with loud barbaric cries summoned us forth. We were indeed prepared for their coming, and believed that an ordinary picnic was intended. A drive of a few miles, an open-air feast within the Great Stones which illustrate this neighbourhood, a drive back to Willows, tea and farewell—this was the programme which in our simplicity we had imagined. We had yet to learn how the Celt makes holiday.
Nothing excessively unusual happened until luncheon had been eaten. It is true that our companions sang hilariously in Welsh all the way up the Valley, and it is a fact that they gathered great sprays of young oak and fastened them in ​their hats. But these things, in comparison with that which followed, were the mere commonplaces of ordinary life. We were no more out of the way in Clere valley than, say, a circus. But as I was mopping up sugar with my last strawberry (and I sat just outside the Stones), I perceived that the mother of the two children who were with us was draping her progeny in ample veils of gauze—the lad in green, the girl in white, and close beside them stood a tall and lovely lady who wrapped blue muslin about her head and shoulders. And it was suddenly borne in upon my understanding that I was to be the witness of amazing occurrences. Hardly had I arrived at this conclusion when a respected member of His Majesty's Government sprang upon a recumbent stone and emitted several piercing cries which, I have since been told, gave those present (or such of them as understood him) to know that the Gorsedd was opened.
Now a Gorsedd is a competition for Bardic honours.
At this there arose, swathed in green muslin and crowned with oak, the Druid Derwen, aged ten, who stood stoutly on a Stone and gave forth a Welsh Ode, composed by himself in honour of the Great Circle. And we all stood by and shouted "Clywch! Clywch!" in the manner of the ​Welsh when they applaud noble sentiments combined with skilful versification. And while this was happening a body of two hundred young women, all wearing straw hats with red ribbons, arrived in several chars-à-bancs at the Stones, and coming into the circle stood at first astounded, and thereafter very properly formed audience for the children's play, and were silent while the Gorsedd proceeded. And after the Druid Derwen, the Druidess Caerwys, aged twelve—and she stood on yet another Stone—in turn gave forth her Ode, also addressed to the Stones, and we cried "Clywch! Clywch!" as became those who listened to valiant poetry. And during this ode certain soldiers with red crosses on their arms added themselves to our number, and the policeman came, he who guards the place from Americans who want to take it away, and two or three cyclists. And they were all amazed at the utterances of the Druidess Caerwys, and looked from the one to the other as much as to say, "What the devil is all this here?" But no notice was taken of them because we were engaged on a very serious business, and they were gross Lloegrwys, and unworthy to comprehend these mysteries.
So the Druidess Caerwys ceased and stood down, and all these chance witnesses of our Bardic doings imagined that the game of the odd children was ​over. But lo! there leaped upon a fourth Stone a learned counsel and member of Parliament, aged—well, middle-aged, who proceeded to deliver himself of a flood of ancient British, and he was Llew Towy, the Crownéd Bard of this Gorsedd. And to him replied that reverend Minister of His Majesty (who was in truth none other than the Arch Druid Callestr) and together they had it, antiphonally, and what they said I do not know, but I marked a closing together of the straw-hatted females, and the ambulance men were obviously preparing for work, and the policeman began to look professional, and the cyclists seemed glad that they had their swift machines handy.
And every time that the little knot of supporters cried, "Clywch! Clywch!" the eyes of all those persons turned apprehensively in our direction.
Then came the granting of Bardic Honours. Each of us, in turn, arm in arm between Nansi Hir, the lady in blue muslin, and the Druidess Caerwys, was led before the Arch Druid. Then the Crowned Bard said precisely what he pleased about us—it sounded very abusive, but I am assured that it was all compliments—in support of our pretensions, and the Arch Druid, laying hands upon us, called us by our Bardic names, cracked a jest at our expense, as we knelt before him, and let us go.
​And my wife's Bardic name is Telynores yr Amerig, because of the harp and her origin. And my Bardic name is Pen Twadl, which is no doubt one of the compliments.
All this accompanied by "Clywch! Clywch!" and incessant laughter from those who assisted. But the chief actors might have been at a funeral.
Then we closed this Gorsedd of the Great Stones with a song called "Hen wlad fy Nhadau," and climbing instantly into our char-à-banc, sped back to Willows speaking with tongues and enormously elated.
This is true.