basefinder | Reading

The world is changing and I seem to be changing too.

I dislike dogs, right? Only today I was left in charge of a dog that doesn't know me and it barked and barked until I got down on the floor beside it and talked to it nicely with the result that by the time the window cleaners turned up and needed dealing with I had it in my arms and was petting it and we were having a lovely time together.....

So maybe the self I now am likes dogs. How strange!

And another thing- I need to blog regularly, yes? Only for several days now I have tried to write and find it's just not coming naturally or flowingly and I've produced a few laboured paragraphs and then scrubbed them.

So maybe the self I now am doesn't need to express itself in words.

Am I saying "farewell? Yes, I rather think I am.

Perhaps in a week or two I'll be saying hello again.

But in case I don't....

Ach, visitors have just arrived, I need to engage with them....

Love you,

Poliphilo......

sistawendy

There was a car fire on my block, a couple of doors down, that started at about 1630 yesterday. I was just about to go to dinner with the Wendling and exited my front door to a pall of smoke. This being early July in the US of A, my first thought was of fireworks, even though I hadn't heard any. But then I rounded the corner of the house and saw flames pouring out of a minivan that seemed to have been backing out of a driveway. The smell reminded both the Wendling and me of an angle grinder on metal. I put on a mask.

Luckily for me, there's a fire station just a few blocks downhill on my street. They came, they ripped the hood off the car, and sprayed water on the engine for a longer while than I would have expected. More good luck: the Wendling hadn't driven to my neighborhood because Ex's car is in the shop.

West Neighbors had a direct view of the proceedings from their porch, and made use of it while the Wendling and I went out for teriyaki. They said the driver walked away from the fire, but then came back. Okey doke. The police eventually came, and somebody, maybe police or maybe fire, took pictures of the burnt van. There's nothing in the police blotter, so I assume this was... just a minivan that burst into flames?

Anyway, excitement!

Current Mood: surprised
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House
Current Music: Sky Cries Mary, "Moonbathing on Sleeping Leaves"

sistawendy

A weeknight sneakout to the Blue Moon with M from West Seattle for a FLINTA* night. Groovy tunes spun by people who aren't cis dudes is noice. And M is the anti-motorcyclist: she used to work in a hospital and told me how much business they got from bikers**. Yikes! We talked about Burning Man events, the vicissitudes of running a munch, and naturally our... related extra-curricular activities. On the way out I said I'd like to get together someplace where we can hear each other. She didn't say no.

But what did I wake up to this morning but panicky emails from the lady who handles Lambert House activities outside Seattle? It seems that my queries are producing numbers that don't make sense, and I'm missing some that I didn't know I needed. The former isn't too surprising because I remember being exhausted late one night when I wrote them, and they looked funny to me on Monday night when I ran them. Le sigh. I know what I'm doing Friday evening now.

*Female, lesbian, intersex, non-binary, trans, and agender.
**Electric scooters are also not good. Their riders rarely wear helmets.

Current Mood: busy
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House
Current Music: the microwave beep

poliphilo

In Autumn 1703 a travelling meagerie arrived in Malmesbury. It's people took rooms in a local inn and the caged animals were kept in the inn yard. Among the animals was a tiger.

Hannah Twynnoy, a 33 year old servant at the inn, set about teasing the tiger. She was told to stop being so silly but carried on. The tiger got crosser and crosser, broke the lock on the cage door and that was the end of that

She became the first person in Britain ever to be killed by a tiger.

Her grave, the headstone of which has been restored/recut/replaced, is in the Abbey grounds.

sistawendy

Last night was Lambert House for me. There are two items worth celebrating about this:

It's the last time I need to go to St. Mark's for trans group. Yes, good on St. Mark's for renting us the space, but the noise, lack of window treatments, and video hassles made the space less than ideal.
Because of the aforementioned awkward video setup, I end up seeing myself in profile. I have to say, I don't hate it and indeed even like it. All credit to the Sculptor.

I will, however, be making at least one more visit to the house as part of the database reimplementation project. B the volunteer manager says that the renovated house should have a much better networking setup than we do at St. Mark's, but I'd still like to find out whether I have to do anything clever like locally cached copies of the DB to make it work tolerably. Plus, it'll be the first time I've tried to set up a Javascript-Python-SQLite stack on a Windows laptop, which I'm sure will be educational.

Oh: in other software news, I've been wrestling GIMP on behalf of my )'( theme camp. I loathe GIMP.

Current Mood: satisfied
Current Location: on a 44 westbound across I-5

poliphilo

The interior of the Abbey is as grand as any cathedral- there just not a whole lot of it

At the east end the arch, which was once the arch that led to the crossing, is filled by a blank stone wall.

"Do you not hang anything on it?" I asked the lady who was greeting visitors. "Well, no" she said, "It's a very thin wall and it lets in the damp and anything we put on it gets ruined. However we have a projector on the balcony at the west end and we project pictures onto it during services."

Not such a bad idea, I thought.

And now for the other thing about the church that's remarkable.

Athelstan is buried here.

Athelstan?

Yes, I didn't know anything about him either, but I should have done because he was was a very good king- a scholar, a lawgiver and a great warrior. At Brunanburh he defeated the king of York, the king of Strathclyde and the king of Dublin and became the first Saxon king to rule the whole of the lands we now call England. His actual burial place is unknown because his bones were moved to a secret location to prevent them being direspected by the Normans but the later mediaevals made up for this by creating a monument for him with a fine effigy. I imagine it would once have had a prominent position- possibly in front of the high altar- but now with the church being so very much reduced in size it's been tucked away in a corner.....

poliphilo

Malmesbury Abbey was wealthy and its church was enormous. When the monasteries were dissolved the town of Malmesbury which was also wealthy took the church over because it could afford to maintain it.

But

A high wind or an earthquake- one or the other- brought down the central tower and it fell east and demolished the choir and the sanctuary.

While a little later the tower at the west also fell down and demolished about a third of the nave.

And so the Abbey now looks rather odd- a fragment of very grand mediaeval architecture with ruins at either end.

The porch is magnificent. Unfortunaely the carvings that surround the entrance are very badly eroded. They look great from a distance but are all but impossible to make sense of up close.

However just inside the porch to right and felt are two very fine romaneque lunettes representing the apostles receiving the Holy Spirit at Pentecost....

And straight ahead is a door with a very fine Romaneque tympanum

poliphilo

"Life is but a dream"

But it's one thing to sing or say this, to affirm it theoretically, intellectually, and quite another to actually feel it- as I now seem to be doing....

People fall out with me and I fall out with them and I find myself thinking, "Oh, lets stop this pretence. You have adopted a set of characteristics and I have adopted another set and we find ourselves arguing and saying hurtful things- but it's just a game, a performance. Let's drop the masks and smile at one another and laugh about how silly we're being.....

I wake up in the morning and it takes me an hour or two to readjust to the "reality" I've agreed to take seriously.....

sistawendy

Despite the long weekend, I didn't go out Saturday night. I a) was still recovering from Friday night with Tacoma Girl, b) apparently sprained my ankle two weeks ago, c) had a left knee and back being whiny little bitches, and d) was just plain tired. Despite the fireworks – I can hear the municipal ones over Lake Union just fine – I slept the sleep of the just, to quote my father. Heaven knows I was not in a celebratory mood this year.

Then I opened up a can of whoop ass on my to-do list, which included items for the Devil Girl House, )'(, and Lambert House. One thing that I forgot to put on my to-do list, though, was the weeds growing between the pavers out front. I was eventually just going to cut the heads off them with my hoe as usual, but neau. Mrs. East Neighbor got on her hands and knees and dug them all out of the joints between the pavers. It looks terrific and I feel a tiny bit guilty because... that's not their property, nor is it in common. It's mine, and I should have weeded it.

I have made dates. Watch this space.

Current Mood: guilty
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House

poliphilo

We drove past Stonehenge. Seen from the road it's oddly unimpressive- like a gift shop model of itself.

When I was a kid you could wander freely among the stones, Now your visit is monetised and regimented and you aren't allowed within touching distance- or so I'm told- because I refuse to go back until the restrictions are lifted.....

Avebury is a different matter. There's a village at the heart of the henge, sheep graze among the stones and so long as you don't let them out you can wander at will. Also there's no receipt of custom. I return as often as I can.

What particularly struck me on this latest visit was the sheer size of the site- the heft of the stones, the height of the bank, the depth of the ditch. And they did all this with wooden spades and antler picks? Hmmmm.....

poliphilo

I dreamed I'd been sent to prison for a month. To my surprise I found I was enjoying myself. In the morning my group was given a flame gun and told to strip paint off something or other. In the afternoon we lounged about in the woods and greated the new intake of prisoners with a rendition of "The Teddy Bears Picnic".

sistawendy

Since I had yesterday off, I made plans to hit Uwajimaya with Tacoma Girl. My excuse? I need sake and hot sauce for Burning Man, and ramen is good to have on hand. So I got that, but also munchies because TG suggested going back to her place.

We hung out, chatted, and listened to music like we usually do. But Tacoma Girl got hungry because she didn't partake of the munchies that we'd just gotten. What to do with a pescatarian? I suggested Life On Mars on Capitol Hill, which is vegan. Light rail makes the trip from TG's place easy peasy.

So we ate some juicy vegan burgers – I was the designated pickle eater – while sitting at a table outside Life On Mars, which filled up just minutes after we sat down. There was people watching. I pointed out that the bar across the street, St. John's, has dinosaur decor.

Well, of course we had to go to St. John's. Something I'd never noticed before is that it claims to be a bisexual bar. Tacoma Girl, being a bisexual in good standing, was sold. She says that the room and the clientelle definitely look bisexual. It wouldn't have occurred to me, but then I'm not bisexual; at least that was TG's take.

I punked out around midnight. Tacoma Girl said she was going to stay on the Hill; I'll have to ask her what she got up to. It's also a minor miracle that I'm not hung over, but that could just be from mostly low-concentration alcohol spread out over many, many hours. And of course there was no damn bus home from the U district at 0030.

Current Mood: amused
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House
Current Music: Duolingo background music, dammit.

poliphilo

There aren't that many Saxon churches. Later generations wanted bigger, grander, more fashionable- and the Saxon buildings were- accordingly- expanded, rebuilt or entirely replaced. St Laurence, Bradford was one of the ones that got replaced. The new church sits right next door- you can see its spire in the second image. St Laurence was spared demolition and put to other uses.

In 1856 William Jones, rector of All Saints, cast an antiquarian's eye on an unusual looking school house with cottage attached and thought, "I know what that is!". Restoration followed- and now it's a Church again.....

The consensus is that St Laurence dates from the early 11th century, but there are those who think it may have been begun by St Aldhelm in the 8th. The exterior looks like a reliquary and the interior is narrow and dark and tall and holy.

The two angels- now set high on the nave wall- would once have been part of larger composition. Perhaps a crucixion or a Christ in glory. Anglo-Saxon carvings are also rare.

poliphilo

Bradford on Avon is a much smaller dinkier, nicer version of Bath. Bath was a spa town- drawing all the ghastly society people you find in Austen and Dickens- while Bradford was industrial- first wool and then, surprisingly, rubber. Both occupy a valley of the river Avon, climb a steep hill in tiers and are made of lovely buttery (mellow yellow) Bath stone. I avoid Bath because it smells of money whereas Bradford doesn't.

Locals call it BOA.

Bath has an Abbey, a Roman Baths and a bridge. BOA has a bridge too, nothing Roman I'm afraid but its Saxon church is marvel.

Here's the bridge.....

.

The odd little building clinging to the side of the bridge is the lock-up- where they put the drunks and the footpads overnight until justice could be done on them. It may have started out as a chapel

And here's a view of the buildings just a step or two down river from the bridge....

The Saxon church deserves a post all to itself

sistawendy

I bailed on ~~classy porn~~ erotic art in Pioneer Square and a munch at the Wildrose in favor of a gathering of (mostly) biker babes just a few bus stops away. How could I not?

The gathering was at Top Dead Center on Aurora. There was a Russ Meyer movie projected against a wall, a DJ, and a tattoo shop setting up when I arrived. Yup, I think I found the bikers.

I note with satisfaction that there were tons of trans people among the assembled bikers, who were mostly queer women because duh. There were a few men grilling hot dogs. Of course they were men.

Motorcyclists have a higher tolerance for... bad things happening while getting around than most people, I think. There were many tales of "dropped" bikes, and what happens when you lose various parts. There's also a ton of motorcycle terminology that I don't know. There's a culture of DIY maintenance that, while not as intense as it is for bicyclists, does seem to be more prevalent than for four-wheelers.

The one person I knew there encouraged me to ride motorcycles. "What, my own?" I asked.
"Any bike!" they replied.
I'm not sure I'm ready to plunge into this lifestyle. If I suddenly have frequent motorized transportation needs I might consider it, though. As I pointed out, though, the Sculptor's injunction against activities that require helmets surely includes motorcycling.

I do wonder if I could get a motorcycle down the narrow walkway past East Neighbors and park it in front of my place without cheesing them off. I'd have to consult with them.

On the way home from the bus I ran into

plantae! In general that's always happy-making, but this time she had news: her job is under threat from budget cuts to the National Institutes of Health. As if DOGE and RFK Jr. weren't bad enough, now their victims have a face for me. Goddamn them all.

Current Mood: various
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House
Current Music: my pager app

poliphilo

A final pair of images from Wells.

These panels are from the tomb of Thomas Boleyn, precentor of the cathedral and several times great uncle of Henry VIII's second Queen. They represent the Annunciation and the Holy Trinity. I think from their sheen and translucency that they're carved in alabaster.

English alabaster, more often called- from one of its chief centres of manufacture- Nottingham alabaster- was prized across Europe. These two panels are especially beautiful- and I rate the second as the most convincing image of God the Father that I've ever come across.

poliphilo

Here, have a dead bishop

.

Have another

Go on, you can manage a third.....

And I know this is getting to be a bit much, but you can't miss this one because it's a transi tomb, with the occupant sculpted in all his finery on the top bunk and as a decaying corpse on the bunk below....

Mmmm. I do love a transi tomb......

poliphilo

You climb those stairs, you take the right fork and you find yourself in one of the loveliest built spaces in England.

As I was walking back down a newly-married couple were coming up towards me with their photographer. Well, of course they were.....

poliphilo

Generations of photographers have admired the way the stairs from the chapter house at Wells just seem to flow down into the cathedral.

All you have to do is point your camera and- bingo- 1st prize at the local photography club's exhibition.

At the bottom of the stairs this cheery little fellow is there to encourage you in your climb. With one hand he casually upholds a pillar while with the other he skewers a satanic serpent with his crutch. "Take it easy," he's saying, "It's not nearly as hard as it looks, and if you're harbouring evil thoughts, put them down before you enter the bishop's council...."

cmcmck

There is a little 19th century footbridge which runs back and forth on rails to open up the docking area:

( Here be pics: )

Current Mood: photographical
Current Location: ici

poliphilo

By the beginning of the 14th century the structure of Wells cathedral was suffering overload- with cracks appearing in the fabric and the possibility that the central tower might come tumbling down. The cathedral's architect/master mason, William Joy, had already solved similar problems at Salisbury and came up with a plan to brace the crossing on all four sides with internal strainer or scissor arches. Joy was not only an artisan but an artist and his design didn't disguise the remedial work but made it look both fully intended and spectacular. So far as I'm aware there's nothing quite like it anywhere else in Christendom. I think of Wells and the two things that immediately spring to mind are the West Front (see previous post)) and the scissor arches.

I look at Joy's scissor arches and I see owls.

Here's the one at the eastern end of the nave.

And here's a view from the north to the south transept....

poliphilo

On the afternoon of the day I climbed the Tor we drove up the road to Wells- Englands prettiest cathedral city.

At the far end of the Market Square are two gatehouses- one leading to the bishop's palace....

And the other leading to the cathedral close.....

Walk through that second gate and half way across the huge green lawn, turn to the right- and this is what you see

poliphilo

I first posted this poem in 2009. I don't like repeating myself but 2009 is a very long time ago.

When I Went Back To Glastonbury

I.M. John Michell

When I went back to Glastonbury
It was 1978
And the signs which read “no hippies served”
Were ten years out of date

And all the folks on the hill were tourists;
None was smoking grass
And the biggest high was to watch the sky
And the little clouds go past

And my mind went back
As I thought it would
To the last time I was there
To a girl my age in a gypsy skirt
With long dark straggly hair
Kept from her eyes with a beaded band
Like the red Indians wear

Who woke up from the night she’d spent
Under the open skies
With beads of sweat on her upper lip
And a druggy look in her eyes.

She said, I dreamed of England
It was very small and green
And all the folk in the history books
Had come in a time machine

Tents had been raised in the meadows,
Bright with cloth of gold.
All of us there were happy
None of us were old

And one I knew came close to me
Holding a daisy chain
He put it on my hair. We kissed
And then we kissed again

And walked among the famous dead.
I saw with my own eyes
Elizabeth among her throng
Of captains, priests and spies

And Charles the haughty, martyr king
And Charles his son the rake
And all the tiresome German kings
Brought over by mistake-
But when the pipe began to play
And the tambourine to shake
It was Shakespeare with his Anne,
William and Catherine Blake

Who led the dancing. Off they went
And we all followed after,
Filling the lazy afternoon
With witty talk and laughter.

And so the vale of Avalon
Became a dancing floor.
We danced through Glastonbury town
And through the Abbot’s door
Up the aisle of his roofless church
And round and round the tor.

Just as it did for Joshua
The sun stood still above.
Then it looked down on slaughter
As now it looked on love.

His eyes were green as emerald,
His hair was the softest brown,
His velvet coat was blue and red.
His lip was fringed with down,

But when I asked his name of him
He sadly bowed his head
“In the world where you body lies
The cock has crowed,” he said.

He dropped my hands, he stepped away.
There came a change in the weather
The sky went black the wind was full
Of scraps of flower and feather.

Thunder spoke like a cannonade.
Raindrops fell like lead.
The piping turned to a long high squeal
The dancers broke and fled

And when I caught him by the sleeve
All that I held was air.
The sun came out on the fields again
And nobody was there.

She hitched her rucksack on her back
The larks were singing shrill
Up in the top of the summer sky.
“See you,” I said . “You will
But maybe not in this life,” she said-
And walked off down the hill.

poliphilo

Yes, I did it. I met my own challenge and climbed Glastonbury Tor.

It's something I've done several times at widely spaced intervals. The first time I was seventeen or eighteen- I forget which. This latest climb, I recognise, may be my very last.....

When I got to the very top I looked around and concluded, smugly, that I was the oldest person there......

Here's an artwork someone had fixed to the fence at the bottom of the ascent.

And here's a view over the town with the magnificent tower of St John's church in the foreground

And then one has to go back down because the world insists.....

The tower is dedicated to the archangel Michael, of course- as high places generally are.....

poliphilo

A farmyard in a heatwave breeds flies.

And we were staying in a farmyard in a heatwave.

These flies were biters. They bit Ailz, Miriam and Edna but they didn't bite me. Possibly because I didn't shout at them or try to kill them.

The flies were a bit of a downer but the swallows made up for them. We have swallows in Eastbourne too but they fly high and don't come sweeping in low.

The cottage was a nicely converted cow shed in the village of Wingfield near Bradford on Avon. Here's a picture.

The yellow stone building is a disused barn. It's where some at least of the swallows hung out when they weren't swooping. There's a small square window on the far side and it was quite something to watch them entering it at speed.

dewline

Never thought I'd live to see Bryan Adams put out a protest song.

Well, here we are, right?

The song you're looking for is "51st State".

Current Mood: busy

dewline

With respect...

Also, some further thoughts of Tod Maffin's, shared here:

https://youtube.com/shorts/JHl09QbuOhc?si=tns2hEuPuDMfe8To

Current Mood: Trying to be respectful

cmcmck

Just down the hill from the Roman fort is the medieval church of St Peblig (this is a unique dedication) in the village of Llanbeblig.

Unfortunately it wasn't open but still worth seeing as it's 14th century.

This church also features in the Mabinogion

Current Mood: photographical
Current Location: 'ereabouts

sistawendy

Yesterday's only noteworthy occurrence was showing off my new & improved face to Good Sister via FaceTime. She agrees that I look even more like my mother than I did already, which was plenty.

I’m keeping off my ankle and trying not to fall asleep too early.

Current Mood: pleased
Current Location: bed

sistawendy

I did make it to the parade. It was nice to be in a big crowd because it wasn't quite warm enough to be half naked as I usually am for Pride. I saw the dykes on bikes, the Puyallup tribe, and some corporate contingents. I got to see the Lambert House contingent with surprisingly good placement, then headed for a light rail station.

Up to the Wildrose, where I relaxed in a chair in the shade with a beer as Goddess intended. Was social a bit. Went home. Did the bare minimum of chores. Crashed at about 1930 local time

I dunno. This was an OK Pride, but not a great one. Next year I won't spend quite as much time on the Hill, I don't think. There's fun to be had in Sodo and elsewhere. I hope I'll have better luck meeting up with friends.

Current Mood: calm
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House
Current Music: The B-52's, "Roam"

cmcmck

Sunnycroft is our local National Trust property and is literally four hundred yards from where we live- you can see the roof of the building from our attic room windows.

It's a large upper middle class town house, a bit different from the nobby country houses that the NT often look after.

We visited on Sunday. We walked down the main avenue to the house- these trees are Wellingtonia, very apt for a town named Wellington. They are a species of redwood and therefore large!

( See more! )

Current Mood: photographical
Current Location: 'ereabouts

cmcmck

We walked through the local park to the church. How many parks do you know with mountains?

( More pics! )

Current Mood: photographical
Current Location: 'ereabouts

sistawendy

Or, everybody gets hurt.

I went to the street fair on Broadway and ran into half the queers I know like you do, but failed to have lunch with Tacoma Girl. She had to leave because a friend of hers was in the hospital. At least I got to see her at her table, which is for a non-profit that gets people mental health services.

Walked around Cal Anderson, and failed to find Iikka Keränen, which is just as well because I might have been tempted to buy a fifth artwork from him.

Went home, ate, and made myself fabulous in the hot pink latex dress that says "Slut" in Barbie lettering across the chest. Hit the Inferno night at Neighbours because I had a ticket. Ran into T, who had an eye injury. (!) I did actually run into someone who was flagging red on the left. When I asked about it, she laughed and said, "But not tonight." That's just as well because that activity would put me in the hospital. I was supposed to be there with the Siberian Siren, but her wife had hurt her back.

I didn't last long at Inferno because a) they always play electrolysis music, and b) the Wildrose has light, air, and a better vibe. So thither I went. I had a weird time talking to someone who'd met me at a leather munch. She now knows more than she wants to about Burning Man.

Pretty much anywhere on Capitol Hill the drink lines are so long on Pride Eve that it's impossible to drink too much too quickly unless you have a solid plan to do that. I had no such plan.

My cowboy boots did my feet in around 2300, and I texted my regrets to K-the-trans-girl, who said she'd be at Kremwerk. It's just as well, because Kremwerk is a basement and overbooked. K's date for the evening was showing signs of heat exhaustion, so K got her out of there.

I considered taking the train south to Sodo for Train Car House Party with Riz instead of northward toward home, but every joint in my lower legs was screaming, "Brain, you dumb bitch, what have you done to us?!" Mayunn, I thought I was being sensible about shoes this year.

But anyway, it's Pride Sunday, and I'm going to once again miss my chance to be a dyke on a bike in about fifteen minutes. I'm not too broken up. Plan: hit the parade & Seattle Center, and one last trip to the 'Rose.

Things I learned this weekend:

Flat rubber soles, dammit.
I'm old and so are most of my friends.
I really need to get back on the dating horse. I've already started a to-do list.

Current Mood: sore
Current Location: the living room of the Devil Girl House
Current Music: of Montreal

cmcmck

I'm afraid the cut is playing up so bear with me!

Beddgelert is pronounced bethgelert. The double D in Welsh gives you a 'th' sound- a soft 'th as in 'then.

It means 'the grave of Gelert'.

The village was voted the prettiest place in the world in a recent online poll.

The railway station with the mountains in the background. The WHR takes you up through the hills and you get a view of Yr Wyddfa (aka Snowdon) en route.

The station with the mountains in the background:

( See more: )

Ar ddychweliad Llywelyn, neidiodd y ci yn waed i gyd i groesawu ei feistr. Dychrynodd y tywysog a brysiodd i chwilio am ei fab, a gwelodd grud y baban yn wag, a'r dillad gwely a'r llawr yn llawn gwaed. Yn ei ddychryn, trywanodd y tad y ci â'i gleddyf gan feddwl ei fod wedi lladd ei etifedd.

Atebwyd gwaedd farwol y ci gan gri plentyn. Chwiliodd Llywelyn a chanfod ei fab yn ddianaf, ond gerllaw gorweddai corff blaidd anferth yr oedd Gelert wedi'i ladd. Dywedir na wnaeth y tywysog wenu mwyach, a chladdodd Gelert yma."

And that in English:

"In the 13th century Llywelyn Prince of North Wales had a palace at Beddgelert. One day he went hunting without Gelert "the faithful hound" who was unaccountably absent. On Llywelyn'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 dog's dying yell was answered by a child's cry. Llywelyn searched and discovered his boy unharmed but near by lay the body of a mighty wolf which Gelert had slain. The prince filled with remorse is said never to have smiled again, he buried Gelert here. The spot is called Beddgelert."

Given that two of my ancestral groups, the Jews and the Roma leave stones like this at places of memory, I loved this! :o)