If you recognise this title, you’ll know exactly what I’m referring to. If not, you’ll be thinking, what IS she on about now? We are a lot of numbers: NHS (health), HMRC (tax), passport, driving licence etc.
Somewhere I have always wanted to go is Portmeirion. I don’t think this longing is related to the TV series The Prisoner (17 episodes, shown during 1967 and ’68), but it might have had an influence on my young mind. Portmeirion is an Italianate village in North Wales, conceived by the architect Clough Williams-Ellis from 1925. I could probably write a dissertation on our five days there, but you’d all be asleep before you got to Day 2. Once written, I’ll decide if it’s one or two Posts. You have been warned!
Most of the information here is gleaned from this book if you want to know more.
Sir John Clough Williams-Ellis was born in 1883 in Northamptonshire, where his father was a vicar. As you can tell by his name, the family were Welsh and, on retirement in 1888, his father took the family to their home in Caernarfonshire. This needed some work, and instilled in Clough (as he was known) a passion for architecture. He enrolled at the Architectural Association as a student, but after only three months, he had his first commission and set up in practice, working in London and Wales. In 1924 he was one of the team of architects working on the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley. When the buildings were demolished at the end of that, he salvaged many parts that were to be used later in his life. For his 25th birthday, his father gave him Plas Brondanw, a family property dating back to Tudor times, with a small estate. We’ll come to that later.
He was a keen sailor and dreamed of finding a coastal site or island where he could realise his ideas. He sailed the coasts of Britain and the Mediterranean looking for this ideal spot. His participation in the First World War and ensuing disillusionment with the British Government’s provision of ‘Homes for Heroes’ made him even more determined to prove that a place could be more than functional.
Ironically, he found this only five miles from Plas Brondanw. The estate of Aber Ia was owned by his uncle and when the last tenant, Mrs Adelaide Haigh, died in 1919, Clough was asked if he knew anyone who would lease or buy it. He took possession in 1925. The rest, as they say, is history.
Aber Ia (frozen or icy estuary) was difficult to access by land: Clough had seen it when sailing. The oldest known building was a Welsh castle built around 1180, demolished in the mid-nineteenth century by a tenant who wanted to discourage tourists. Some of this stonework was re-used by Clough.
Between 1808 and 1812 the Cob was built and Porthmadog Harbour created. More on this later as well. However, for our story, this eventually led to the quay at Aber Ia being abandoned. In the 1830’s, as was the fashion, a villa with pleasure gardens was built: fountains, grottos, secluded walks etc. Just go and visit Stourhead (Wiltshire), a National Trust property to see a good example.
Portmeirion was intended by Clough as an example of how architecture and town planning could be fun and colourful. However, he needed the economies of his creation to work, so he planned a hotel and holiday village. It was seen by Clough as an enjoyable place, like a theatre set. Initially it was for ‘discerning people’, guests being encouraged to arrive on their yachts. It continued to attract artists over the years, with George Harrison celebrating his 50th birthday there in 1993. Day trippers and charabancs were discouraged, with possibly the invention of dynamic pricing: the entrance board could be altered easily to show prices rising from three to ten shillings as more people arrived during the day.
He changed the name from Aber Ia as he felt it forbidding for a holiday destination; locals were unimpressed with this and the alien Italianate style of the buildings. It is reported that the first time the name Portmeirion appeared officially was on detailed German maps when they were preparing for invasion during World War Two.
It was always ‘I’ll get there one day’ but never strongly enough to do anything about it. Earlier this year, I read an article in Country Life magazine and mentioned it to a friend, who pushed us into booking it. JD took the advantage of our wedding anniversary to take me away for a romantic weekend and here we were. Unfortunately, I have lost my notes (or maybe you’ll think just as well) so this is a truncated version of what I was going to tell you about it. Relying on my memory of almost three months ago is not ideal.
We set off one sunny morning (they all were this summer) and, studying the route for the first time, remembered that North Wales is a long way from almost everywhere else in the UK. Rather than thrash up motorways, we decided to take the most direct route through the Welsh countryside and enjoy the views. On arrival at Castell Deudraeth, we thought we had arrived. Up to a point: we checked in there, picked up a residents’ parking permit, then drove for another mile to the carparking, from which we got a golf buggy to the Hotel. The Castell was built in the 1850’s and added to Portmeirion in 1932, allowing a much grander entrance from the land. In the Second World War, a school from Essex took it over.
This fireplace in the Castell Hall shows Owain Glyndwr, Prince of Wales in the 14th Century, on the left and the blind harper and composer Dafydd y Garreg Wen (1712 to 1741) on the right, but you knew that, didn’t you?
It really is in an idyllic spot, right on the banks of the estuary so you can watch and listen to the waders (birds) and the screaming of the waders (human) who did not read the notes about getting off the sands an hour before the tide rushes in.
I really left it a bit too late in my life to visit, as there are fairly steep slopes and cobbles everywhere. It was a good time to come, as 2026 is the centenary of the opening of the hotel. We didn’t buy a commemorative tea towel (we already have over 40 of those at home) or mug (ditto), maybe we’re finally accepting that we don’t need more ‘stuff’.
I let JD wander around in the woods on my behalf: there is a Dog Cemetery that obviously I wanted to see, but even he had difficulty finding it. This was created by Adelaide Haigh but continued being used until at least 1991, when the dog Sam was buried (good name). Regrettably JD didn’t find that one. Sam’s owner had his epitaph carved on the headstone in the form of an Englyn. You will of course remember that I mentioned this form of poetry in Post 165 of October 2024. Let’s see if I gave you the right information: 30 syllables of four lines (10, six, seven and seven). It’s a bit more complicated than that but never mind.
Sam The Workshop Dog 1979-1991: He would smile through white teeth, – the trousers / Of every thief in tatters / But his heart was soft / Just a little boy of a dog.
Hmm, I do make that 30 but nine, eight, five and eight. Maybe in the original Welsh it works. I know a few of you speak the language, any volunteers to check it? I’m not sure I’d get the pronunciation (therefore syllables) right.
A highlight is the catering. We met Danny and Danielle from Belgium, who come over to the UK every year, spend one night in Portmeirion for the food then go off to Stoke on Trent to buy chinaware, then visit Stratford on Avon. They drive over via Dover so it really is a journey. We also met a Swiss couple who drive over every year off for four weeks, visiting York and Edinburgh on this occasion. It makes you look at the UK with fresh eyes, all we tend to hear in the news is doom and gloom.
As we arrived early evening, we tried the restaurant in the hotel, preceded by a cocktail on the terrace. A little breezy but we could cope. The dining room had two menus which alternated, so we began to wonder if our stay was going to be too long. There was also a tasting menu so that took up three nights, plus Castell Deudraeth had a restaurant. All sorted, we’d not be forced to eat the same meal twice.
The following morning, we explored the Village: it doesn’t take that long, other than pushing your way through the crowds. It’s a great draw for people, and caters well with lots of little shops and cafes which close once the ‘tourists’ leave and us ‘residents’ have the place to ourselves again. If you don’t fancy staying in the hotel there are self-catering places and the Italian café is open in the evening. We ran out of time to try that.
The Bell Tower (or Campanile) was built in 1928, partly because Clough has acquired a turret clock from a demolished brewery in London. It would appear that the vast majority of buildings were created to fit in with some salvaged material, rather than being planned from scratch. Throughout the Village there are mermaids, many of which came from the Liverpool Sailors’ Home, modified in 1957 and demolished on 1974.
Clough was planning more buildings all his life: he wanted an opera house, but changed his plans when he heard that Emral Hall in Flintshire was being demolished. He managed to buy the first-floor ballroom’s 17th century plasterwork ceiling featuring the Labours of Hercules, plus as much of the rest of the ballroom as was available. To transport it, the ceiling was reinforced, sawn into 100 pieces and packed in straw-filled cases. (It sounds a little like the operation to move the Bayeaux Tapestry from France to London this year).
Not knowing what to do with this ballroom once he had it, the Town Hall was created. We went into it, JD taking the opportunity to pose on a bench: he reminds me of a certain MP from a few years ago?
In 1953, Clough handed the running of Portmeirion over to his daughter Susan and her husband. She founded the Portmeirion Pottery in the early 1960’s. More on that next time. In 1971, 40 of the 50 buildings were awarded Grade II listed status. This was a two-edged sword, as Clough suddenly found out that he was not at liberty to do anything he wanted without permission.
In April 1978, he died in his sleep. An exhibition honouring him was planned for 6th July 1981, but in the early hours of that day, a fire broke out in the hotel. Everyone was safely evacuated but the front half of the building was destroyed. His grandson Robin Llewelyn became MD in 1983, with the major challenge of rebuilding. Inspection showed that the hotel, dating from Victorian times, had no insulation or damp-proofing, poor foundations and dry rot. It was not ready to re-open until 1988. The rebuild did not copy the original, facing some criticism, but the Good Hotel Guide awarded it the annual Cesar Award in 1990 for the restoration.
To Be Continued (Yes, I think we need two Posts otherwise it’ll become TLDR).
