Three Welsh castles

Caerphilly Castle has been somewhat restored and its moat re-flooded. Not all, but some of its wooden parts have been rebuilt. Wooden bridge and wooden hoarding (rooftop for archers) can be seen in this video.

Caerphilly is different from the other Welsh castles in that it wasn’t built by Edward I. Instead, it was built by a powerful rebellious lord, Gilbert de Clare, who swore fealty to Edward I but had often been in rebellion against his father. Caerphilly was built about a decade before Edward’s other castles.

Caernarfon, built by Edward I, was the keystone castle of the ring around Wales. It was meant as a royal seat, and Edward I’s son was born there. Princes of Wales now are invested with their titles at this castle. It’s one of the few that wasn’t deliberately destroyed in the English Civil War.

Video tour.

Conwy Castle was, like others, destroyed. Its metal was stripped out and sold. However, so much of it is left that it’s been a tourist attraction since soon after it was disabled. If you watch this video tour, note the window seats and other wall niches.

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Meditation On Harlech Castle

We should not love a castle, but we do;
we place ourselves within its keep, not where
we’d really stand. For thousands, not a few,
the parapets were meant to strip you bare.

We love the castle for its inner view,
the safe and privileged place we dream to share,
Its bridge down, pennants fluttering; for who
considers himself “Saracen” not “heir”?

This crumbling stone machine was not meant to
welcome you in; its gatehouse disrepair
belies intended gore. You’d be shot through
before you set a foot inside the square.

The escalades and walks were not for you.
You never saw the glass and silver-ware,
the neat stone well, the chapel doloroux;
For you was not the heraldry fanfare.

We love a castle most if once we knew
some private bed behind a portiere;
beau idéal of one throne sized for two,
inside love’s wall, secure, belonging there.

I stand outside. A castle’s function true
was blood and guard; look up to your despair.
To each walled heart, we’re all the wandering Jew;
Limestone and granite sing you solitaire.

Sweet the rhyme and full of grace,
sunshine of my lady’s face,
Sweet the song and clear the skies,
Radiant as my lady’s eyes.
Sweet the song, its notes are pure:
my lady slept this night secure.
Sun rose, day came like a shout!
horns blew and my lord rode out.
Such a prize at such high cost;
Night came and my lady’s lost.
Sweet the tune yet tinged with rue:
tears as rain, my lady’s due.
Sweet the song though sad the air:
The lute still sings that sweet despair.

(Ruth Johnston, 2013)

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Harlech Castle

Harlech Castle, on the western seacoast of Wales, is the Platonic ideal of a castle. It’s that castle you think of when you hear the word. It’s the castle that toy companies copy, the castle 11 year olds try to make with oatmeal canisters and boxes. It’s the castle’s castle.

The reason is simple. Harlech was built by the premier castle designer in the apex time of castle-building. It was built before gunpowder, but after all of the siege engines. Its design incorporated the necessities of the age of castles, and nothing more.

The castle’s walls seem to grow out of the sea cliff rock; they were built into it with no apparent ledge or place to stand. On the landward side, there is a huge double-tower gatehouse. The Inner Ward’s design is square, with round towers. Unlike in the previous centuries, there was no free-standing Keep. Instead, the Great Hall and other residential buildings were built into the Inner Wall, on the opposite side from the gate.

The castle had a road down the cliff to the sea coast. This meant that besiegers would need to use both troops and ships to effectively blockade it, and the Welsh, against whom the castle was originally built, were not a sea power. It would be very hard to attack the castle from the sea, on the other hand. The cliff’s height was formidable, and there was a wall built down to a lower level, with a gate that could be defended. Stairs led to a pier so that supplies could go straight from ship to gate to castle. The sea level was higher than it is now; if it rises again, Tuvalu’s loss will be Harlech’s gain. In a modern photograph, you can see that houses have been built into the former bay.

The landward gatehouse was the key defensive structure. Its towers were elongated as well as round, basically shaped like the letter D. It didn’t have one single door. It had two heavy doors, surrounded by three portcullises. Between the doors was an open area that defenders could look down on, leaving invaders exposed to fire. Of course there were arrow slits and murder holes built all through the structure, as well. The gatehouse was large enough to function as its own fort; the commanding knight may have lived inside it. It was equipped with glass windows on the sides that were inside the walls.

The castle was painted white; we can assume that the Great Hall was painted in other colors, probably with wall murals. By this time, fireplaces with built-in wall chimneys were standard. They had learned a lot about flue design, so the halls were not more than minimally smoky. Chimneys extended upward for several stories, often with more fireplaces feeding into them. The chimneys alone helped take the chill off the upper rooms, which were usually bed chambers.

Like the other Welsh castles, Harlech was deliberately disabled at the end of the English Civil war. It is in much better condition than many of them, though. Video

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Rhuddlan Castle

Rhuddlan was the home of the Prince of Wales at one time, that is, the independent ruler of Wales, not the titled son of the British king. Its location guards an approach to the mountain heartland of Wales. There have been fortresses at that location continuously since early Celtic times.

The current castle was begun by Henry III’s master mason, who was another of the international elite, and finished by Master James from Savoy. It had a standard 13th century plan of an inner ward and outer ward, both guarded by many round towers. The outer wall was built along the River Clwyd, and the river provided water for an artificial moat around the rest of the outer wall. The inner wall was shaped like a diamond, with double-tower gatehouses on each of the broader sides, and single towers at the “needle” points. The inner ward housed the usual workshops, stables, kitchen, residences and chapel.

During a typical day at the castle, the inner ward would be full of smoke as blacksmiths repaired iron harness and weapon parts and the kitchen brewed and baked. Wagons would be rumbling into the main gate with hay for the horses, who may have grazed in the outer ward.

During the English Civil War, the castle was deliberately turned to ruins so that it could not be used. By then, Wales had become so much part of Great Britain that the castle was no longer useful to guard against rebellion. In case the castle were held by someone on the wrong side of the current stage of civil war, it was too strong for a centralized monarchy to tolerate.

The ruins of Rhuddlan tell us a lot about construction methods of the time. Walls were made thicker not with larger blocks of stone, but with “fill” stone and mortar, somewhat like our particle board or gypsum board construction. Areas that were likely to get battered were built of larger, smoother, harder stone. Likewise, the basic outer facing of a wall was made of fieldstone, cut to lay lengthwise, but not cut to the same shape and size. Masons knew how to do very precise stonecutting, so this was a choice.

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Mont Orgueil: defending the Channel

It isn’t hard to see why they sited the castle on this rock. The site is a textbook case of what the Crusaders had learned about engineering. The castle is almost impossible to approach from any angle with land-based siege machines. It must have been the devil to build, too.

The castle began in the early period, and its main structure went up in the 13th century, but many of its buildings were added later. Here is a Time Team (British reality archeology) effort to discover some of its lost earliest walls.

The castle’s approach was a road that wound around and doubled back, allowing it to be exposed to defensive fire from the top. At one point, a gatehouse served as a checkpoint.

The original keep and main buildings were right on the sea cliff, with the bailey walls circling toward the town. Most of the buildings added in Tudor times were placed inside this yard. The oldest parts of the castle are clearly the ones facing the sea. Here is some aerial video that shows the road and gatehouse.

The castle was so constantly updated because it never became irrelevant to England’s defense. Every age needed it to be a working fort. Here are drawings for the 17th century upgrades. Even in World War 2, it had additions to bring it up to date. It’s a major tourist site now.

 

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Chateau de Tancarville

The castle was built at the estuary of the Seine River, where it narrows into a river rather than a bay inlet. One side fronted the river, elevated by a cliff. The defenses were focused on the other sides.

The castle was built in a narrow triangle, with a tower facing the sea, at the “needle.” The tower that is now there may have been built later, but the original gatehouse facing the city, and two towers/gates on the most heavily fortified short side of the triangle, are the original works from the 1200s.

The gatehouse now has glass windows, but these would originally have been perches for archers. Close to the ground level, the only slits in the walls are extremely narrow ones just for archers. Each story above ground level, the windows get a little bit larger, as the likelihood of attack through them drops off.

Inside the original bailey, a large house was constructed in the 18th century. But behind it, you can still see older sections. Look in the background of this photo for striped stonework that was typical of Romanesque churches, built in the pre-Gothic period.

To each side of the gatehouse, the ruined wall is clearly 13th century provenance, with round towers spaced periodically for defense. At the heavily defended end, the towers are wide and very round, a clear late-13th century marker. Later buildings were added after the walls were no longer used for defense, but you can still see the original towers.

The Chateau has its own Facebook page.

Great video of aerial views here.

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European 13th century wars and castles

The main “front” in the Middle Ages was always considered to be the Holy Land, but by the mid 1200s, the Christian kingdoms there were a lost cause. By 1300, they had no more holdings in the Middle East, apart from some last-stand fortresses on, say, Malta. But the 1200s were the boom times for castles.

The other two active fronts were in France and along the border between England and Wales. The English kings were almost constantly involved in some kind of war; if they weren’t Crusading (Richard I, Edward I) they were defending territory in France or trying to conquer Wales, Scotland or Ireland. Some of the best castles in the world are in Wales, for that reason. After 1277, Edward I put enormous resources into holding onto his hard-won conquests there, and even more so after 1282.

Caernarvon Castle was the showpiece of the group, and Edward’s son, the first English “Prince of Wales,” was born there in 1284. This castle, like others, was designed by an architect/mason from Savoy (at French Alps border): Jacques (or James) of St. George. Edward I met him when he was coming home from a brief Crusade, and by hiring him, promoted him into the elite international masons. He was responsible for most of the 1282+ castles of Wales. Many castles from this period have fallen into ruins, but several of St. George’s castles are still in good condition.

These Welsh castles are the stereotypical “castle” we imagine, although as you have seen, many castles are not that way. (And as we get into later castles, you’ll see more that aren’t “real castles”.) St. George began his involvement with the castles of 1278 as Master Mason: one of them, Rhuddlan, is still in pretty good shape. The other outstanding St. George castles in good shape: Conwy (begun 1283), Harlech (1282), Caernarfon (1283), and Beaumaris (1295). We’ll look at these five castles separately.

Savoy, in the Alps, was not generally a party to the wars between England and France. Edward I’s mother was related to the Savoy princes, too. So Savoy was not on the front lines for the Hundred Years’ War.

The Channel Islands were very much part of the front lines, though. These islands, where half the population spoke French in spite of the islands’ giving their names to English cattle breeds, had some 13th century castles. Mont Orgueil, on Jersey, is worth looking at.

Normandy had many front-line castles, but of course the many civil and international wars since the 13th century have destroyed most of them. We’ll look at the Chateau de Tancarville.

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Castles without keeps

In the earlier Norman castles, the key building was the Keep or Donjon. It was an all-purpose tower with living quarters and defenses built right in, usually with the chapel on the top floor to permit more windows. But as the castle design came to depend more on rings of walls and ferocious gatehouses, the inner buildings had less need to be so well-guarded.

Harlech Castle’s Inner Ward was not large, and instead of a tower in the center, it had a grassy courtyard. The living quarters and chapel were built into the wall, with windows facing the courtyard. This way, they could get light without sacrificing safety.

Harlech had two halls, a Great Hall and a smaller one. It’s not clear to me where the residential quarters were; they may have been above the smaller hall. I’m guessing this because the Great Hall was for administrative uses like hearing court cases or gathering the local barons for meetings. The second hall may have acted as family quarters and a hub for the sewing that women were always carrying on.

Harlech’s chapel was about as larger as the smaller hall and stood right across from it, one on either side of the barbican (the gatehouse). Next to each hall or chapel was a functional working space connected to food. There was a kitchen, and separately, a bakery. The kitchen had a pantry built against it, while the bakery’s granary was across the courtyard, attached to the smaller hall. Food storage was more important than living quarters, because in a siege, starving people don’t care where they sleep. This castle, of course, had a special water-gate road to get to their private dock for supplies during a siege.

How were upper floors built in stone castles? The builders inserted timber beams into holes or onto ledges, then they built the wooden floor on that base. I don’t think any of the original floors still exist, but we can see the beam supports in the stone walls.

[image source: www.castlewales.com]

In the hall pictured here, stones stuck out as ledges; probably large timbers were laid on them, and then the joists tied to those. You can also see in the picture how the fireplace was angled into the wall. There appears to be a floor below the one we’re looking at, whether it was a cellar or a ground floor. The wall shows no sign of holes or ledges for timber, so I don’t know how they made the floor there.

Sieges were never anything but miserable, but a siege in Harlech’s Inner Ward would be a lot more comfortable than a siege in Rochester Castle’s donjon. At least you could go for a walk outside!

 

 

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Castles: arrow slits, windows, and chimney flues

Even in castles made mostly of fieldstone, dressed stone had to be used for anything structural. We can see it in the interior connecting doors that often have arches, but they’re even more key in the places where thick stone walls needed specialized hollow places.

Holes in the outside walls were a vulnerability, so they were made as narrow as possible. At the outside face, dressed stone surrounded a one-inch slit for archers; as time passed, these slits were often improved with cross-slits to allow archers to aim left or right, or with rounded holes at top and bottom. But they were never wider than absolutely necessary. However, on the inside, they had to open up immediately into space large enough for a man to sit. A four-foot wall’s outside stone contained the slit and was angled away from the slit, on the interior side. The next foot of stone had to be made wider still, and so on. Sometimes these stone were cut at angles so that the archer faced into a smooth, narrowing funnel, while in other castles, the stones opened out in steps. There was usually a stone bench for an archer to sit on, and of course the whole thing had to be tall enough to accommodate his bow.

The dark interior hallways needed as much daylight as possible, but that wasn’t much. Castle windows were usually about four inches wide, that is, narrow enough to present a difficult target for attacking archers who weren’t Luke Skywalker. As with archery slits, they had to start opening up on the interior, to take in as many hours of the moving sun as possible. One way to maximize the incoming light while minimizing the target size was to place two four-inch window slits in one window niche. (Image below is an illustration from Castles: Their Construction and History, by Sidney Toy.)

In a few castles, the mason architects planned the stonework that framed the window niche to let light shine down through an angled shaft. Nobody could peek out those windows, but if an arrow came in the slit, it hit the stone shaft and dropped harmlessly to the floor below.

Both of these holes in the wall were simple compared to chimney flues. Once chimney technology came into use, castles could be much better heated, but they required serious planning. Thick walls had to be built up in layers with the flue hole carried at an angle upward. In simple situations, it went up to the roof, but sometimes the fireplaces had to go up several stories, meeting other flues along the way. Both fireplaces and chimney flue were larger than we picture; a medieval fireplace was like a modern breakfast nook, and flues often had iron bars to act as ladder rungs. That’s how chimneys could be cleaned and maintained.

 

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Castles: stone walls

We’ve all seen sketches of long lines of Egyptian slaves pulling huge blocks of stone on rollers, or up ramps, to form the pyramids. For me, and perhaps for many of my readers, that’s the dominant image when I try to picture how anyone built with stone in the past. I know that sometimes, stone was carried by boat across the English Channel or farther, in the Middle Ages, and I automatically picture huge blocks like that. But no, that’s not how it was. Some videos by an American stone mason who visited a few castles helped me get it really straight in my imagination.

Medieval castles used two kinds of stone: field stones of various kinds, picked up locally in the fields, and quarry stone that may have been transported a little distance. The cut/dressed stones brought from a quarry were clearly more expensive than local field stone, so they were used sparingly for specific tasks. Quarry stones were usually limestone, which was soft enough to carve fairly easily. A lot of limestone was shipped from Caen, in Normandy. The field stones, on the other hand, might be difficult to carve, so they probably weren’t cut.

Mike Haduck, the American stone mason, demonstrates how stones might have been sorted by natural shape in this video. Stones with a natural flat face went into one pile, while those with natural right angles went into another. Irregular and irredeemably round stones went into a third. Stones could then be shaped a bit and improved with hammer and chisel, so that the builder had a supply of flat-faced, roughly square blocks and rounded or irregular ones.

Flat-faced stones became facing-stones, the ones we see on the surface of the wall. A castle’s wall might be six feet thick. Each wall of flat-faced stones could only account for maybe 12 inches on each side, leaving four feet to fill in with irregular and round stones. Medieval masons used lime, sand, and water to make mortar. When the outer facing walls were a few blocks high, they started making layers of stones and mortar to fill in the middle section. The walls slowly rose like this, facing walls first, then fill. The facing stones were not usually all the same size, so their rows are only approximate.

Basically, if you wanted your facing stones to be all the same size, you were looking at thousands of quarry-cut stones, and the expense was much higher. If you wanted facing stones to be rectangular but it was okay if the masons used various sizes to level up their rows, it was a bit less expensive. If you didn’t mind using plain fieldstone for the walls, all pebbly and irregular, the cost was lowest.

King Edward I built seven castles in Wales at the same time, so some of them show cost-cutting stonework. At Harlech, you can see that squared-off facing stones cover the barbican towers, but the ordinary castle walls are pebbly fieldstone. It’s local stone, mostly sandstone. Even in the towers, the facing stones aren’t very regular. In a word, it was a cut-costs castle. We see the same fieldstone walls at Conwy Castle, built at the same time. By contrast, the royal castle at Caernarvon had fairly regular facing blocks in its ordinary walls.

Did kings cheap out? You bet. Next, let’s look at how they built holes into stone walls: arrow slits and windows.

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