The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr

by Peter Murphy

  Overton had been warned that Caradog Prys-Jones was likely to cause trouble, but that was something that did not trouble him in the slightest. In the course of a professional lifetime spent arguing, and usually winning, the most challenging of cases, Overton was well used to litigants throwing tantrums to get what they wanted. Caradog Prys-Jones was nothing new. If he insisted on speaking Welsh, he would have an interpreter. If he continued to disrupt the proceedings, Mr Justice Overton, after giving him every chance to change his mind, would reluctantly have him sent down to the cells. He would then be brought back up to court at key moments of the trial and again invited to participate, and would be taken back down when he refused. If he refused to have counsel to represent him, Mr Justice Overton would bend over backwards to make sure that the jury heard everything that could be said on his behalf. And the jury would be present to see and hear it all for themselves. They had to judge Caradog Prys-Jones, and they would see for themselves what kind of character he was. It would all be perfectly fair.

  ‘Mr Prys-Jones,’ the judge began, ‘you have an interpreter, and you may speak in Welsh if you wish. We are about to begin the trial. Do I understand that you still wish to represent yourself?’

  Standing next to Prys-Jones, PC Watkins watched the man raise himself to his full height, which, by the sheer force of his presence, he somehow managed to make appear even greater than it was. He started to speak quite slowly.

  ‘I refuse to recognise this court. I demand to be tried in Wales, under Welsh law, by a court conducting its proceedings in Welsh. I demand to be tried by a Welsh judge and a Welsh jury.’

  Mr Justice Overton waited patiently for Watkins to finish his translation.

  ‘Mr Prys-Jones, whether or not you recognise the court is irrelevant. The Central Criminal Court has jurisdiction to try you, and you have been properly indicted. That, I am afraid, is a fact, whether you like it or not. You will be tried under the law of England and Wales, which is the law to which we are all subject. The proceedings will be conducted in English because that is the language which everyone in this court understands but, as I have said, you may speak Welsh if you wish.’

  Prys-Jones began to speak again before Watkins had the chance to finish his translation of the judge’s reply. He reached out a hand to touch Prys-Jones’s arm to ask him to wait, but the defendant pulled away. He was speaking quickly now, and the pace was increasing. It took every ounce of concentration for Watkins to keep up with him.

  ‘This is just another chapter in the subjugation of Wales by the English, and the cultural genocide being committed against the Welsh people. Ever since the days of Edward I, you have assumed the right to do what you like in our country. You have killed our people. You have replaced the true princes of Wales with your imported Saxon royalty, and you demand that we recognise them as our rulers. You threaten our language…’

  By now, the defendant and his interpreter were shouting at the same time, and Watkins was struggling to make himself heard. Watkins held up his hands to the judge to indicate that he was doing his best.

  ‘Mr Prys-Jones,’ the judge was saying, ‘all this has nothing to do with the case. You must confine yourself to speaking about the case.’

  ‘You flood our valleys, you take our money, you take our coal, and then you throw our miners out of work when your English bankers decide that the mines are no longer profitable enough for them.’

  ‘Mr Prys-Jones, you will stop this immediately, or I shall have you taken down to the cells.’

  ‘You have sown the wind, and you shall reap the whirlwind. The people of Wales will rise up as one and drive you out of Wales.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ the judge said. ‘Take him down.’

  The two prison officers once again approached Prys-Jones, who lunged at them violently, catching one officer on an already red cheek. His colleague punched Prys-Jones in retaliation. Watkins intervened to prevent further violence and, with his assistance, the officers soon pinioned Prys-Jones’s arms behind his back, and began to drag him towards the door leading down to the cells. He had to be dragged every inch of the way, as he continued to rant.

  ‘I am a member of a legitimate military force. We are freedom fighters. I am a prisoner of war. This is an illegal tribunal. I demand my rights under the Geneva Conventions. I do not recognise this court. I demand to be taken back to Wales.’

  By now, two more prison officers had made their way upstairs from the cells, and the four officers finally subdued him. As he disappeared from the dock, he gave one piercing final scream.

  ‘We are the Heirs of Owain Glyndŵr!’

  Suddenly, there was silence in court. Watkins turned round to check on the others in the dock. Dafydd Prosser, the second male defendant, was sitting with his head in his hands, looking down at the floor. The female officer was standing by his side, looking thoroughly shaken. Arianwen Hughes, the female defendant, was sitting next to Dafydd. She seemed composed, but there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Everyone all right?’ Watkins asked in English, then, out of habit, in Welsh.

  All three nodded.

  ‘Mae’n ddrwg gennyf i,’ Arianwen whispered. ‘I am sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, don’t worry. Not a problem.’

  As if it had been a perfectly normal morning and nothing untoward had happened, Mr Justice Overton turned towards the jury. Glancing in their direction from the dock, Watkins thought they were looking a bit shell-shocked. If the judge noticed the same thing, he did not acknowledge it at all.

  ‘Well, there we are, members of the jury. These things happen. Nothing for you to worry about. Let me just say this. It is my duty, and yours, to treat Mr Prys-Jones fairly, and he will receive a fair trial despite his absence. I will ensure that all the points that can be made in his favour as the trial proceeds are brought to your attention, and it will be your task to give his case the same fair consideration you would if he were in court, and had someone representing him. It is his choice to absent himself, but I will give him a further chance to participate in the trial, and we will see what happens then. We are now ready to begin the trial.’

  He looked towards the dock.

  ‘PC Watkins, even though the two remaining defendants have not asked for an interpreter, I think it would be advisable for you to remain throughout the trial. There may be a need for a Welsh speaker to interpret or to translate documents as we go along. I will make sure that your senior officers are informed, of course, so you needn’t worry about your other duties. You may leave the dock and sit behind prosecuting counsel for now.’

  Watkins bowed to the inevitable. Well, at least he would be on days for a while, now, which would make things easier for Mary and Gaynor.

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  Gareth Morgan-Davies stood.

  ‘My Lord, my learned friend Mr Schroeder and I are concerned that the jury have witnessed this display by Mr Prys-Jones, and that they may hold it against our clients. It would be a natural enough reaction. I am sure your Lordship will direct them not to do so in the summing-up, but I would like the opportunity to make it clear now that neither Mr Prosser nor Mrs Hughes had anything to do with Mr Prys-Jones’s outburst, neither do they agree with what he said.’

  The judge paused, and Gareth saw him fight to keep his temper in check.

  ‘Very well, Mr Morgan-Davies,’ he replied. ‘Members of the jury, of course, this has nothing to do with Mr Prosser or Mrs Hughes. You will consider the case of each defendant separately. The fact that Mr Prys-Jones has chosen to behave in this manner does not affect the case of Mr Prosser or Mrs Hughes in any way. You will bear that in mind.’

  Gareth was smiling reassuringly at the jury, and they nodded in return.

  ‘You may begin, Mr Roberts,’ the judge said.

  Gareth leaned across to Ben.

  ‘God, this is going to be a long trial,’ he whispe
red.

  3

  ‘May it please your Lordship, members of the jury, my name is Evan Roberts, and I appear to prosecute in this case with my learned friend Mr Jamie Broderick. As you have just heard, the defendant Caradog Prys-Jones has chosen to represent himself. The defendant Dafydd Prosser is represented by my learned friends Mr Morgan-Davies QC and Mr Weston. The defendant Arianwen Hughes is represented by my learned friend Mr Schroeder. With the usher’s kind assistance I am going to give you four documents.’

  Geoffrey, the black-gowned usher, a tall, silver-haired man wearing a dark suit and a tie emblazoned with the coat of arms of the City of London, quickly took the documents from the prosecutor’s outstretched hand, and distributed them to the jury.

  ‘The first document is a plan of the centre of the town of Caernarfon in North Wales. The second is a plan of Caernarfon Castle. The third is a floor plan of a book shop in Caernarfon called, in English, the Prince Book Shop. My Lord, I understand there is no objection…’

  ‘That is correct,’ Gareth said.

  ‘I am obliged. In that case, my Lord, may these become Exhibits 1, 2 and 3?’

  ‘Yes, very well,’ the judge replied.

  ‘We will come to those when the evidence gets underway. The fourth document is a copy of the indictment, which you have already heard read to you by the learned Clerk. It has one count, which is in these terms. The statement of the offence is conspiracy to cause explosions. The particulars of the offence are that:

  Between a date unknown and 1 July 1969, Caradog Prys-Jones, Dafydd Prosser, Trevor Hughes and Arianwen Hughes conspired together and with others unknown to cause explosions.

  ‘Members of the jury, you will hear that the four defendants plotted together to commit as grave and as heinous an offence as could possibly be imagined. They plotted to plant an explosive device in Caernarfon Castle on the morning of the 1 July 1969. That was the day on which Her Majesty the Queen performed the ceremony of Investiture of her son, His Royal Highness Prince Charles, as Prince of Wales. You will hear evidence that, if the defendants’ plan had succeeded, it might well have resulted in death or serious injury to a large number of people gathered together that afternoon in the Castle for the Investiture, perhaps even, in certain circumstances, the Queen or the Prince of Wales.’

  Roberts paused to allow this to sink in before continuing.

  ‘You will have noticed, members of the jury, that although four defendants are named in the indictment, we only have two in the dock. You know why Caradog Prys-Jones is not here. But another defendant is missing from the dock. That is Trevor Hughes. Trevor Hughes is the husband of Arianwen Hughes, and the prosecution say that he played a full part in the conspiracy, together with his wife. But when the other three defendants were arrested in the early hours of the 1st of July, Trevor Hughes somehow managed to evade arrest. When police officers went to his home and his place of work shortly after the arrest of his wife, they fully expected to find him at one or the other of those places. He was not at either.

  ‘The prosecution assume that in some manner he found out that the plot had been uncovered and that his fellow conspirators either had been, or were about to be arrested, and that he seized the chance to make good his escape. He has not been seen since. There were reports at the time that he had fled to Ireland, but whether or not that is true, his whereabouts are not known at present. We have every confidence that he will be arrested in due course, and when that happens, he will be brought before the court to answer this charge. But he is not here today, and he will play no part in this case.’

  Roberts paused for a sip of water.

  ‘Who are these defendants?’ he asked, suddenly raising his voice. ‘Who are these people who planned such a heinous crime designed to cause such mayhem and havoc on a day of national celebration, a crime which so callously and viciously threatened the safety of our reigning Monarch and of the Heir to the Throne, and which represented an attack on the very foundations of our country?’

  Ben looked at Gareth, his eyebrows raised. Gareth shook his head, briefly. He knew what Ben was asking. Roberts’ rhetoric would have been more suited to the Old Bailey of 1890 or 1910 than to the court of 1970; it betrayed his lack of experience of criminal cases. It would have been quite proper to object to such an attempt to play on the jury’s emotions. Some judges would have intervened even without an objection, would have told Roberts to stop it and get on with what he should be doing – which was to provide the jury with an overview of the evidence they were about to hear. But Gareth could not see Miles Overton doing that; he had heard Overton use some pretty robust language himself during his days at the Bar. Besides, Roberts was entitled to make the gravity of the case clear to the jury. There was no point in picking a fight about it unless it got out of hand.

  ‘Caradog Prys-Jones is a graduate of the University of Bangor,’ Roberts continued. ‘He graduated in 1955. His degree was in Welsh literature and history. After graduation, he based himself in Caernarfon, living in what, until their deaths, was his parents’ home in Pretoria Terrace. He had a conventional job as a senior administrative officer in the Office of the Inspector of Ancient Monuments for Wales. Outwardly, there was nothing to suggest that he was anything other than a young man beginning to make his way in the world. He had been known as a radical spirit as a student at Bangor, attending a few demonstrations in support of the Welsh language. But once he had graduated, he avoided the public gaze completely and seemed to lead a quiet life. He performed his work well, and he aroused no suspicion. He did not express any extreme views publicly. But he did have such views, and they seem to have evolved in his mind over a period of several years until they became an obsessive hatred of all things English.

  ‘Caradog Prys-Jones, members of the jury, as he told you himself this morning, regards the English as the invaders and occupiers of Wales, and he is willing to resort to force to drive them out. He was the intellectual and moral leader of the conspiracy, and its ideological guru. He was the man who conceived the idea of planting an explosive device at Caernarfon Castle on the day of the Investiture, and he it was who recruited the others, and persuaded them to join the conspiracy.

  ‘It was Caradog Prys-Jones who gave this group of conspirators its name, the Heirs of Owain Glyndŵr. Members of the jury, you will hear that Owain Glyndŵr was a Welsh prince, regarded by many nationalists as the last true Prince of Wales. He was born in the period 1349 to 1359 and was believed to have the blood of the two great Welsh princedoms of Gwynedd and Powys running through his veins. In September 1400, Glyndŵr led a revolt against King Henry IV, which continued spasmodically for several years, but which was ultimately unsuccessful. He died in 1415. From the nineteenth century onwards, Welsh nationalist organisations have regarded Glyndŵr as an iconic figure and the Father of Welsh nationalism. You will hear that the Queen’s decision to make Prince Charles Prince of Wales, and to hold the Investiture at Caernarfon Castle, was regarded by many as an affront to the people of Wales, and the prosecution say that it was the trigger for the plot with which you are concerned in this case.

  ‘This may be a convenient moment, members of the jury, to mention that this was not the only plot of its kind. Some of you may know that a number of bombs were found in and around Caernarfon in the day or two before the Investiture. Only one device was successfully detonated, and that device was in a place where it posed no threat to the Royal Family, although tragically it caused terrible injuries to a young boy who was on holiday in the area. Some of you may also know that, just last month, in April of this year, a man called John Jenkins was convicted of a number of offences involving explosive devices committed during the same time period, and that he was sentenced to a term of imprisonment. Members of the jury, it is not suggested that the defendants in this case had any connection with Jenkins, or indeed with any others who may have committed other such offences. I want to make that clear here and now. The Heirs of
Owain Glyndŵr acted on their own, with no known connection to any other individual or group. But they were no less dangerous for that.

  ‘Dafydd Prosser, known to the others as Dai Bach – members of the jury, I am told that Dai Bach, meaning “Little David”, is an affectionate form of address in Welsh – is an expert in chemistry. He studied for his degree in chemistry at the National University of Wales at Aberystwyth, and graduated in 1956. After graduation, he accepted a job teaching chemistry at the Menai Strait Grammar School in Bangor, where he became a popular and well-respected teacher. Like Caradog Prys-Jones, Dafydd Prosser used a respectable position to conceal his extremist beliefs. Neither his colleagues nor his pupils had any idea that this well-liked teacher had another side to him, and indeed was leading a double life. But in fact, Dafydd Prosser is also a nationalist extremist, and a member of the Heirs of Owain Glyndŵr. He played a vital role in the conspiracy.

  ‘We come next to Arianwen Hughes, the younger sister of Caradog Prys-Jones. Like her brother, Arianwen Hughes graduated from Bangor University, but in 1957 and with a degree in Welsh and music. Until her marriage to Trevor Hughes in 1963, she lived with her brother in the house in Pretoria Terrace in Caernarfon. She was a private music teacher, and taught piano and cello to local children, and indeed, adults. After their marriage, Trevor and Arianwen Hughes lived together above the Prince Book Shop until their son Harri was born in 1965. They then moved to larger premises in a street called Penrallt Isaf.