We spend a lot of time in Llandudno these days, as it’s our nearest big town and the location of our son’s excellent special school. Described as the Queen of Welsh Resorts since the 19^th century, Llandudno is an attractive place to wander around and admire the sweeping coastline, but for us the star attraction is Great Orme, the magnificent limestone headland that dominates the Victorian town.

Viewed from Llandudno’s North Shore, Great Orme reminds me of a sleeping dragon looking out to sea.

Rich in wildlife and designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest, a Special Area of Conservation and Heritage Coast, Great Orme is managed as a nature reserve and country park, while it’s human story dates all the way back to the Stone Age, with over 400 sites of archaeological and historic importance. The most famous of these is the Bronze Age copper mine, the largest prehistoric mine workings ever found in the world. Extensive archaeological investigations have been carried out since its discovery in 1987, and today the mine is open to the public as a visitor attraction and is well worth a visit. But last week, with a couple of hours to spare before the school run, we decided to take a wander above ground on the Orme, and seek out its lesser-known medieval history.

The Bronze Age Copper Mines are well worth a visit

In fact, you don’t have to go that far to slip into the Middle Ages on Great Orme, as the name itself came from the Vikings. The fearless raiders and explorers weren’t so fearless when they sailed the coasts of Wales between the 8^th and 11^th centuries and came across this staggering curvilinear land form stretching out into the Irish sea. From their longships, the forboding protrusion looming up out of the mist resembled a fearsome beast, so they named it ‘horma heva’, meaning great dragon or sea serpent, before turning and fleeing as as fast as their little sails could carry them.

Far from fearful: Great Orme is now home to a large colony of Atlantic Grey Seals, just one of the wildlife wonders to be seen on this special nature reserve. At this time of year they can often be seen chilling out on the shore of Pigeon’s Cove.

Another welcome inhabitant is the famous feral Kashmir goats, of which there are around 200 roaming Great Orme, all descended from a pair acquired from the Windsor Royal Estate around 1880. The resulting herd was released on the headland twenty years later and they’ve been breeding successfully ever since.

The Vikings were right to be afraid though, because the hazardous seas around Great Orme have claimed many lives over the centuries, as countless ships either ran aground or came to grief on the rocks. One of the best-known is that of the Hornby, which met its doom on New Years Day in 1824 as it was attempting to round Great Orme’s head. Caught in a fierce north-westerly gale whilst en route from Liverpool to South America, the vessel was driven onto the rocky cliffs now known as Hornby Craggs. All hands were lost save for one man, John Williams, who was flung onto the land from the rigging, and managed to climb his way up to safety. The long tradition of maritime disasters stretches back at least to the Middle Ages, when even royalty suffered losses. In 1245, three military supply ships belonging to King Henry III (1207-72) were wrecked off Great Orme.

The view from Great Orme to it’s smaller cousin, Little Orme, that lies on the other side of Llandudno Bay.

It wasn’t just mariners who lost their lives on the rocks of the Orme. On 3^rd July 1093 the powerful Norman lord Robert of Rhuddlan, who ruled much of North Wales, was enjoying a nice midday nap in his castle just along the coast at Deganwy, when he was roused with very unwelcome news.

The two ‘camel hump’ hills on the right are the site of the now vanished Deganwy Castle, where Robert of Rhuddlan was snoozing. Great Orme is just along the coast, seen here rising on the left.

A group of Welsh and Viking raiders had beached three ships on Great Orme, pillaged his lands and were busy loading the loot. Robert sent messengers to gather his troops, then made straight for the Orme accompanied by only a single knight. When he got there, he saw to his horror that the raiders were soon to make their escape on the rising tide, so without thinking he charged down the steep mountain path in a rage, followed by his companion, to attack them. It was a fatally bad move. Robert was met by a volley of arrows and spears, and his enemies sailed away with all their plunder and a brand new figurehead on their leading ship, in the shape of Robert of Rhuddlan’s freshly spiked head.

Sheep grazing on the slopes of the Orme, with Anglesey in the distance.

This triangulation point is right on the top of Great Orme’s summit, and the 360° views from here are spectacular.

A view across the headland, with our next medieval destination below…

Llandudno, which during the Middle Ages was nothing but boggy marshland. The modern town is so near, and yet so far when you’re up on Great Orme. Our son’s school is the last building on the left of the town in this view.

The next stop on our medieval tour was St Tudno’s church, situated in a hollow on the north face of the Orme. Tudno was a sixth century Welsh Christian missionary of noble birth, who landed on Great Orme and took refuge in a small cave, Ogof Llech, from which he began to spread the word of Christ to the pagan locals. Presumably at some point Tudno was able to move to more suitable accommodation, because he went on to build his cell in a hollow further up the Orme, on the exact spot where this charming 12^th century church now stands.

St Tudno’s Church, built in the twelfth century on the site of the saint’s 6th century cell.

The Church’s interior, which holds much interest for the medievalist.

Two c.14th century grave slabs found buried in the graveyard during church restorations. We don’t know whose they were, but from the intricate celtic carvings, they were clearly markers for high-status individuals.

This 12th century round-headed window is in the north wall of the church, which was unusual at the time. It faces out to sea, and there’s a legend that at night, a candle was placed in this window to act as a warning to sailors trying to navigate the tricky waters in the dark. At a time when there would have been no other lights around, this may have acted as one of the earliest lighthouses.

Tudno is purported to have owned a legendary whetstone, which he’s often depicted holding. Once noted as one of the thirteen treasures of Britain, the mystical stone is said to have sharpened the swords of the brave, but blunted those of cowards. It must have been an excellent judge of character…

St Tudno with his magical whetstone, as depicted in this rather beautiful picture inside the church.

Little more is known about Tudno, but he was clearly a very significant local figure because some thirteen centuries later he gave his name to the town at the foot of Great Orme; Llandudno literally means the Church, or enclosure of Tudno.  

The 13th century saw a flurry of activity and occupation on Great Orme. In 1284, following his conquest of Wales, King Edward I awarded the manor of Gogarth (Great Orme) to one of his loyal supporters, Anian, Bishop of Bangor. At this time, of course, the town of Llandudno didn’t exist, and the land it now occupies was an uninhabitable marsh, so the medieval settlements were on higher ground. There were three townships on Great Orme, so Anian would likely have done very well from his new land. With Edward’s help he built himself a posh new residence, known today as Gogarth Abbey or Bishop’s Palace, the ivy-clad ruins of which now linger in some lucky person’s garden on the lower south-western cliffs of the Orme. The remains are scant, partly due to coastal erosion, but deliberate destruction also seems to have played a part in the building’s demise. Evidence has been found of a great fire on the site, leading historians to conclude that the palace was most likely burned down at the start of the 15^th century by the Welsh rebel Owain Glyndŵr, and it was never rebuilt.

Cloaked in ivy and hedgerow, the ruins of Anian’s palace are now on private land on the lower cliffs of Great Orme, looking across the sea to the northern coast of the Snowdonian mountains.

Relics from one of the three townships of medieval Great Orme: uphill from St Tudno’s, the remnants of ridge and furrow farming fields are discernible from left to right in the middle distance, land that is now grazed by sheep.

Wandering in the wilderness: up here, it’s hard to believe that we’re only five minutes’ drive from a bustling tourist town…

Behind the palace, rising dramatically along the edge of an alarmingly steep slope, is a footpath known as the Monk’s Path, so-called because of the surrounding lush greenery that’s said to have sprung up from the feet of the monks who trod the route long ago, and the holy water they spilled along the way. It’s a dizzying track that I’ve only ever done once, but it’s easy to imagine a trail of medieval men of God tramping down the Orme to visit the Bishop in his sensibly-sited low-level palace…

The verdant, but vertigo-inducing Monk’s Path. I’ve done it once, but never, ever again. Those holy men were braver than me! Bishop’s Palace is just visible on the right.

After a most enjoyable walk of discovery, a welcome cup of tea in a clifftop café and a good gaze at the abundant wildlife, it was time to make our way back down to the town, and to school. But it won’t be long before we’re back up on Great Orme to wander around its breathtaking landscapes, take in the spectacular views and learn more of its never-ending story. As with Tudno, this vast, wild headland has become a true refuge for us, a local sanctuary to escape to whenever we need a break from the increasingly maddening modern world, and we’re constantly mindful of how lucky we are to be able to spend time exploring this ancient and unique place.