'Here Be Giants' - Giants in Shropshire Folklore

 

When you think of Shropshire, giants may not necessarily be the first thing that comes to mind. However, littered across the landscape are tales of giant beings, each with their own unique narratives. These creatures are somewhat underrepresented in discussions regarding our lore, but despite this I believe they are intrinsic to the county. They can symbolise the savage elements of nature, which are in constant conflict with human kind. Furthermore, they come to symbolise the spirit of the land itself, something that is altogether primordial, unrestrained, and untamed. Some of our giants whisper of Celtic influences, however others seem distinctly ‘Shropshire’ in design. Some are successful, whereas others are resigned to a fate that is controlled by humans, or the forces of nature.  We are going to explore some of these stories, travelling across the breadth of shropshire, in hope we can discern more about the counties wonderful folklore.

The first and arguably the most famous giant in Shropshire is Gwendol Wrekin ap Shenkin ap Myndmawr. He leaps from the page, demanding our attention. So, let us pay him his dues.

Gwendol Wrekin ap Shenkin ap Myndmawr was a man with a grudge. By man, I mean a grumpy Welsh giant with a searing hatred of Shrewsbury and all its inhabitants. It hadn’t always been that way, once he’d had a good thing going with them. He had an agreement with the mayor of Shrewsbury that he wouldn’t smash the town to pieces, as long as they provided him with a steady supply of young women to eat. Obviously, the mayor didn’t know he ate them… but then again, the mayor didn’t really ask.

The arrangement took place for some time, leaving Gwendol very satisfied. However, this was soon to change. One day a young woman was sent to him, who was much cleverer than the rest. She quickly realised that her fate was sealed, noticing that no women ever returned from their trip to the giant. Now, this girl was a cunning woman, she understood the potent power of plants and herbs and concealed some on her person before her journey. When she was face to face with the giant, she offered to brew him up a tea, and stupid Gwendol agreed. The woman used the herbs and sent Gwendol into a deep slumber. So, Gwendol had an early night, and the woman snuck away, not before taking note of the piles of bones and skulls that littered Gwendol’s cave. When she returned to Shrewsbury, she had a few choice words to say to the mayor, including telling him all about Gwendol’s appetite for Shrewsbury’s woman folk.  

So, from that day, the Mayor never sent another woman to be eaten by a giant. How commendable. However, when Gwendol awoke and eventually realised, he wasn’t getting any more free meals, he became very angry. His anger grew and grew, seething inside him like coal. The people of Shrewsbury were detestable, loathsome people, and their very existence insulted him. As for that Mayor, well, Gwendol decided he hated that Mayor most of all.

So days past and his anger was all consuming. All he could do with his time was sit among the hills stewing on how much he wanted to wipe Shrewsbury out of existence. Day in, day out he imagined life without the lamentable town, day in day out he tried to think of ways he could complete his task, to no avail.

Then one day, the idea struck him, whilst he sat among the hills.

It seemed so simple; he had such an easy solution to his problems!  Like a lightning strike he resolved that he had to act. Gwendol decided that he would dam the great river Severn that snaked its way through the county, past farm, and field and through Shrewsbury.  Thus, there would be a monumental flood, filling the streets and drowning all the towns inhabitants. Gwendol smiled at his plan, proud of his ingenuity. They would be his burden no more.

So that was that. He wasted no time in rising from his hilly perch and grabbing his spade. With one great swoop he plunged it into the earth and lifted a great mound of earth.  He then began his journey.

Mile after mile Gwendol marched, barely stopping to catch his breath, spade so full that even he struggled under its weight. He knew the route well, having terrorised the local area in the past. However, as the hot sun beat down on his back, he began tire, and he became confused. The roads all twisted and turned and despite being taller than the hedgerows and thickets, it all looked the same. Gwendol had gotten lost. 

It had to be close now, Surely, he had to be near…

A short while later he heard footsteps approaching. The footsteps belonged to a man, old and grey who hobbled along carrying a large sack of boots and shoes. The man was a cobbler and lived in the nearby town of Wellington. The cobbler would journey to Shrewsbury every day to collect customers shoes to mend, then return home and fix them before sunrise.  He had noticed Gwendol sometime before, but walked without a care, pretending not to notice the ugly giant heading in his direction.

Gwendol was tired, and at this point his wits had failed him. He just wanted the journey to be over, so he could rid himself of the blasted town, and then he could rest his tired bones. So, he didn’t hesitate to ask the man for directions. He seemed old, and inoffensive enough after all.

The giant called out with an unmistakable growl. ‘I say good man… You look well- travelled… How far is Shrewsbury? Shrewsbury my good man, I need to know… Tell me NOW!’

‘Shrewsbury you say?’ The old man called back quizzically; he sensed that the giant was up to no good.  ‘Whatever could you want in Shrewsbury? There isn’t much there for… your kind’ he replied looking up at the giant.

Now Gwendol wasn’t well known for his intelligence, not many giants are, so he quickly gave away his plan. He was proud of it after all, and all the labour of the journey had made his senses dim further.

‘I am going to Shrewsbury’ he thundered. ‘To drop this earth into the river Seven. Then I will rid myself of that horrible town once and for all. I AM GOING TO DROWN THEM! HAHA that will show them!’ he roared open mouthed, spit flying everywhere.  ‘So, tell me old man. Tell me how to get to Shrewsbury or I will squish you flat… I need to be there as soon as possible’.

 

The cobbler listened intently. Now it must be noted that he was a practical man, and he knew that if he let the giant succeed in his journey, he would be left with no customers, and no customers meant no food on the table for him and his family. He also didn’t really like the idea of being squished either.

So, he looked up at the giant and smiled faintly. ‘Well! Why didn’t you tell me sooner eh? Shrewsbury… Shrewsbury…’ he stretched out his old body. ‘Ah SHREWSBURY! You won’t get to Shrewsbury by sunset, that’s for sure, I doubt you will make it by tomorrow either, tis a long journey at that’.

‘WHAT?!?’  Gwendol shrieked. He was sure he was on the right path. He couldn’t have strayed that far could he.

‘If it is Shrewsbury, you are after, you have wandered far from your course traveller,’ said the old man. ‘see this big bag I am carrying? Filled with worn out shoes, you can see the sky through some of them the holes are that big’.

The giant nodded looking down upon the big sack.

‘Well friend, when I began my journey, these were shiny new shoes with thick soles. To tell you the truth I am heading back from Shrewsbury myself and have worn out every pair but the ones I’m wearing. I was a young fella when I began, but look at me now, Owd and worn out…  It is a long road and I still have miles to tread. Many miles. Gosh that certainly looks like a heavy burden to carry all that way! Especially in this sun!’

This infuriated Gwendol. How could he have been so foolish? He shouted and he growled and stomped his feet.  ‘I will never make it carry this blasted load. I will never make it in time! Oh, cursed foolish Gwendol!’  

He continued to shout, getting angrier and angrier. Suddenly he dropped the spade violently, the earth falling to the floor with a monumental crash, creating a large mound. 

  Then Gwendol scraped his boot on the spade and left the cobbler. He was angry, and embarrassed and stomped his way back to Wales. He was never seen again.  Perhaps his attention was diverted to other some other means, or perhaps he’s still in the hills, trying to think up a perfect plan.

The earth Gwendol dropped still stands to this day and has grown to be two great hills called ‘the Wrekin’ and ‘Little Ercall’ by locals. They stand as testament to the giants attempt and as memorial to the quick-witted cobbler. One can only assumed he continued down the road and continued to keep his customers happy.

I adore this story, and it is perhaps the first piece of shropshire folklore I can remember being told, however, Gwendol is not the only giant associated with the Wrekin. Indeed, there is another origin story, which puts not one but two giants at the centre of the narrative.

The second Wrekin giant tale states that there was once a pair of giants that had recently come to inhabit the area. They soon set themselves the task of building a home to live in, as even giants need shelter. After some discussion, they settled on the idea of building a hill, which they could then hollow out and live in the centre. They set to work and rather quickly they had piled up enough earth to create the Wrekin. However, the giants soon began to quarrel, as giants often do, trying to decide if they should build the mound higher, or leave it as it is. The quarrel quickly descended into violence, with one of the giants reaching for his spade, and striking his friend with it across the face. The stricken giant fought back, throwing fists and clods of earth at his aggressor, who was still brandishing his weapon. The fight was monumental and could be heard as far as the Clee Hills.

Amongst the ruckus, a raven had been sat watching the fight unfold. Soon enough, he took to his wings and attacked the aggressive giant, pecking at his eyes with a great ferocity.

The pain was too much to bare! The giant cried out in pain, and a tear fell from his blood-stained eye, which hollowed out a little basin in the rock, which even to this day is always filled with water.

The other giant struck again, knocking his friend clean out. This meant that he’d won the battle. He was triumphant! To celebrate, he built the Ercall hill, and used it to imprison his former friend. Here the giant remains to this day, still entombed in the hill, and if you listen close enough, you may still hear his groans.

Let us go to the Clee Hills now, an iconic area which even features on the Mappa Mundi. The whole area is drenched in folklore, with associations with witches and fairies, amongst other things. It is also the site of a colossal battle, which defined an age. Indeed, the summit of Titterstone Clee is listed by both Augustus Hare and Charlotte Burne as being the site of a battle of the giants. Still to this day there are a number of stones which are scattered across the landscape, relics of this battle. Rival giants came from all over to do battle upon the hill, which saw many casualties. Similarly on Brown Clee hill there is a large monolith known as ‘Giants shaft’ which is said to be the shaft of an arrow which was fired by a giant during this battle. One cannot help but picture this wonderful scene, and wonder what event inspired it.

We will travel down to Stokesay Castle now, which is the home of another pair of unfortunate giants. Stokesay Castle is a beautiful building, set in a landscape that feels untouched by the ravages of time. I would definitely recommend a visit if you haven’t already been.

The castle, and all of the countryside around it once belonged to two giants, a pair of brothers who lived upon the view edge. The brothers got on cordially and shared their land as well as the rich treasure it held equally. They kept their vast wealth in a big oak chest in the vaults of Stokesay castle, and whenever one of them wanted something from the vault they simply took the key and got whatever they needed out, taking the key with them afterwards for safe keeping. If the other brother wanted to use the vault, he would shout over, and the key would be tossed over. This happened for some time, and they key would be tossed backwards and forwards whenever it was needed.

One day, this would prove to be a big mistake. One of the giants wanted the key so he shouted to his brother as he usually did. The other giant absent mindedly threw the key, not really paying attention and this time, he threw it too short, with it landing in the moat of the castle. Both giants shouted in shock, sending earthquakes rumbling through the land. The brothers searched and searched, trying every way to find the key, but it was as if it had disappeared into thin air. The giants were a tumult, desperately trying to find the key which had sunk deep to the depths below. They never found that key, some suggest they are still searching on lonely nights when the moon is full. They never lived as comfortably again, instead having to hide away from the watchful eyes of the world. The chest of treasures is purported to still lie deep in the vaults below Stokesay and is guarded by a great big raven. The raven is a fierce guardian, and will not let anyone near the chest, until the key is discovered.

There are further references to giants around the Llanymynech area. The beautiful hill is honeycombed with mineshafts and passages, which potentially date from as early as 200BC. Here history and folklore entwine, with the area being a site of mining from the Roman period. One of these abandoned mines, Ogo’s hole is said to be an entrance to fairyland, and stories of the fae and goblins litter the landscape. It is also home to a very special burial. Locals speak of this burial as having taken place on the Shropshire side of the hill. There is a mound on the hill known as Bedd Y Cawr (the Giant’s grave) where a giant carefully buried his wife. He dug out the grave himself, and laid her to rest with a vast treasure, including a beautiful golden circlet around her neck. She was said to be quite beautiful, and the giant loved her dearly. After she was interred here, he went far away, unable to deal with being close to her grave. Locals soon began to speak of this treasure, and implored each other to search for it, to no avail. However, one story states that there were three men, who actually got close to finding it. These three men were brothers who, after some searching managed to get to the capstone which blocked up the tomb. Realising they were close, they began to laugh and sing jovially, boasting of what they would do with the treasure. As they began to move the capstone, they were suddenly struck dead, by some unnamed force, angry at them for having disrespected the solemn nature of the place. No one since has come close to uncovering the treasure hidden beneath that hill.

The area surrounding Weston Under Redcastle and Hawkstone Park is also the home of Giants, as well as Arthurian connections. These giants are known as Tarquin and Tarquinius, who were said to have ruled Redcastle alongside their brother Carados. These giants were characterised by their cruelty, and once captured Sir Gawain when he was out riding.  When Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristen heard of Gawain’s fate, they quickly set off to try and free him from the giants clutches. Soon enough they found their friend in the clutches of Carados, who was carrying Sir Gawain, tied across his saddle. A fight ensured with both men using all of their strength to defeat the giant. Sir Lancelot delivered the final blow, killing Carados near the church, and thus freeing Gawain. The giant brothers fled from the land and were never seen again. I think its wonderful to think that when we wander around Shropshire, we may be walking in the footsteps of legends themselves.

There are also fragments of folklore which concern themselves with the existence of giants. These are by no means full stories but too play their part in understanding the role of the giants narrative in shropshire. For example, folklore states that soon after the Romans left, the Roman city of Viroconium (Wroxeter) became overrun by giants. This made the crumbling ruins a no-go area, lest you come into conflict, or even be consumed by these ungodly creatures. Here they could symbolise the lack of certainty and control that comes with such a fall and could represent the landscape descending into banditry and lawlessness.

We have now come to the end of our journey, having charted some of the examples of giant folklore in Shropshire. This is by no means exhaustive, but I hope it has been interesting and goes part of the way in identifying how these stories interact with the landscape around us. Giants are our hills and wild landscapes; unfettered beings, that encourage us to embrace our freedom. They represent the parts of the world we couldn’t tame, and yet they are often clumsy, stupid, and consumed with too much pride, which leads to their downfall. This should be seen as a reminder of the importance of humility. Stories like Gwendol’s remind us to question everything, and that even the humblest of cobblers can defeat that which is bigger than him. I also believe such stories implore us to dream, dream of things that are bigger and wilder than ourselves, and that is wonderful.