I am a 67-year-old Welshman, father and grandfather living in rural Buckinghamshire, England, but I was brought up in the heart of Snowdonia in North Wales by a family of teachers, historians and poets. My father, one of 9 children was the headmaster of my infant and junior school. This was Llanllechid Primary in Rachub, a tiny stone and slate village situated high in the cold foothills of Snowdon and above the small town of Bethesda. With so many uncles and aunts (four of whom were teachers) and countless cousins, I was lucky enough to receive a proper Welsh education and imbued from infancy with a deep and abiding love for our ancient and glorious history.

My blind Taid (Grandfather) was an orator and a storyteller of note, and I recall vividly our huge family squashed into the front parlour in nain and taid’s terraced house on Madoc Street, Porthmadoc. The whole family would be there listening to one of his historical tales, told with an elder-teacher’s love of his language and in his deep and musical baritone. Inspired to verbosity perhaps by his blindness, but you could see he enjoyed the telling of them as much as we did listening to them. I can still smell the coal fire and the whisky, the sherry, and the fragrant smoke that curled from his long pipe as he spun wondrous images before our eyes. He fired our already vivid imaginations with tales of dark druids and magic, glimmering warriors like Lludd Llaw Ereint (silver hand) and Lleu Llaw Gyffes (swift handed), both of whom feature in these truly ancient stories preserved forever in the Mabinogion. Always dressed in a pin-stripe three-piece suit, taid would stand by the mantelpiece, puff his pipe and talk for hours whilst my brother and I would be on the floor in one corner, completely entranced. He spoke of God-like, ancient warriors such as Beli Mawr and both great Arthurs, and a huge, terrifying giant called Yspaddaden Pencawr, who lived nearby and actually ate naughty children! This then was the foundation to my historical and cultural education, which is of course, a never-ending process. Thus armed, I decided to start writing for pleasure and I am yet to stop.