became a leader, set up a dynasty and taught the natives to live in houses, cultivate trees and plants, and rear flocks of animals. He made Cuzco the capital of Peru and reigned there for forty years before heading south down the Andes and disappearing. He brought a lot with him: he developed structures of authority and justice remarkably similar to those of Hywel Dda in Wales. Elements of Christianity were present in the Incas’ worship of the sun. Words and place names were similar to those used by Welsh Druids.
There was a knock on the door. It was Marty. ‘I’ve got the car for a couple of days if you fancy a bit of an excursion.’
Three
THE CARIBBEAN
‘Please come this way, ladies and gentlemen. On the walls of this magnificent dining room are portraits of Morgan family members. As you can see, scattered around the room are various bits of china and silver, some of which are extremely valuable. That Elizabethan salt cellar, for example, is worth almost twenty thousand pounds. These chairs are worth—’
‘Who is that in the picture by the door?’ interrupted Marty.
‘Ah! That’s the black sheep of the family, Henry Morgan the pirate. We try not to mention him. He did disgrace the family quite a bit.’
Marty and I and various tourists were on a guided tour of Tredegar House, a mansion just off the main Cardiff–Newport road and former home of the Morgans, one of the greatest of Welsh families. We were on our way to Cwmaman, from where the Stereophonics hail, and the current home of Bernie Davies, a senior member of both the Valley Commandos and of the Firm, Britain’s largest criminal organisation. I had last seen Bernie at the Glastonbury Festival, where he had expressed interest in my doing a showat the Cwmaman Institute. I had agreed to visit him the next time I was in Wales.
‘He looks a bit like you, Howard. Don’t you think so?’
‘Who, Marty?’
‘Henry Morgan, of course. Look at his eyes and his mouth. Exactly like yours.’
I could vaguely see what Marty meant, but the portrait was of a teenager.
‘Excuse me,’ said Marty to the woman guide, ‘but he was a bit more than just a pirate, wasn’t he? I mean he was governor of Jamaica. Let’s be fair.’
‘Deputy governor only, I think. And he got sacked. And he was imprisoned in the Tower of London for his crimes against king and country. Henry Morgan was a very cruel man. He was a murderer, a drinker, a womaniser and a thief. I don’t know why they keep his picture here. If I had my way, it would be thrown away. And he was probably born out of wedlock. The family has had to endure shame for centuries because of Henry Morgan’s evil ways and mad behaviour.’
‘But he was knighted,’ protested Marty, ‘and made Sir Henry Morgan.’
‘Well, things were different in the seventeenth century, weren’t they? All sorts of scallywags were made knights. Anyway, let’s not dwell on him, please. On the right there’s a picture of Evan Morgan, the last of the family to live here in Tredegar House. Now he was a real character. He would frolic naked in the pool here at weekends with his three best friends, who were none other than H.G. Wells, Aldous Huxley and George Bernard Shaw. He filled the place with wild animals, including an anteater and a boxing kangaroo called Somerset. His mother was even more of an eccentric. She built bigger and bigger bird’s nests in the house and ended up living in one of them.’
Marty wasn’t about to let the guide get off so easily. ‘WasHenry Morgan born in this house, then? I suppose he must have been if his portrait is here.’
‘He certainly was not born here,’ answered the guide indignantly.
One of the tour party, an American, suddenly developed an interest in the pirate. ‘Where
was
he born? My name is Morgan. I might well be one of his descendants. I’ve been told my ancestors were Welsh.’
‘There’s no chance of that, sir, I’m afraid. Henry Morgan had no children, thank
There was a knock on the door. It was Marty. ‘I’ve got the car for a couple of days if you fancy a bit of an excursion.’
Three
THE CARIBBEAN
‘Please come this way, ladies and gentlemen. On the walls of this magnificent dining room are portraits of Morgan family members. As you can see, scattered around the room are various bits of china and silver, some of which are extremely valuable. That Elizabethan salt cellar, for example, is worth almost twenty thousand pounds. These chairs are worth—’
‘Who is that in the picture by the door?’ interrupted Marty.
‘Ah! That’s the black sheep of the family, Henry Morgan the pirate. We try not to mention him. He did disgrace the family quite a bit.’
Marty and I and various tourists were on a guided tour of Tredegar House, a mansion just off the main Cardiff–Newport road and former home of the Morgans, one of the greatest of Welsh families. We were on our way to Cwmaman, from where the Stereophonics hail, and the current home of Bernie Davies, a senior member of both the Valley Commandos and of the Firm, Britain’s largest criminal organisation. I had last seen Bernie at the Glastonbury Festival, where he had expressed interest in my doing a showat the Cwmaman Institute. I had agreed to visit him the next time I was in Wales.
‘He looks a bit like you, Howard. Don’t you think so?’
‘Who, Marty?’
‘Henry Morgan, of course. Look at his eyes and his mouth. Exactly like yours.’
I could vaguely see what Marty meant, but the portrait was of a teenager.
‘Excuse me,’ said Marty to the woman guide, ‘but he was a bit more than just a pirate, wasn’t he? I mean he was governor of Jamaica. Let’s be fair.’
‘Deputy governor only, I think. And he got sacked. And he was imprisoned in the Tower of London for his crimes against king and country. Henry Morgan was a very cruel man. He was a murderer, a drinker, a womaniser and a thief. I don’t know why they keep his picture here. If I had my way, it would be thrown away. And he was probably born out of wedlock. The family has had to endure shame for centuries because of Henry Morgan’s evil ways and mad behaviour.’
‘But he was knighted,’ protested Marty, ‘and made Sir Henry Morgan.’
‘Well, things were different in the seventeenth century, weren’t they? All sorts of scallywags were made knights. Anyway, let’s not dwell on him, please. On the right there’s a picture of Evan Morgan, the last of the family to live here in Tredegar House. Now he was a real character. He would frolic naked in the pool here at weekends with his three best friends, who were none other than H.G. Wells, Aldous Huxley and George Bernard Shaw. He filled the place with wild animals, including an anteater and a boxing kangaroo called Somerset. His mother was even more of an eccentric. She built bigger and bigger bird’s nests in the house and ended up living in one of them.’
Marty wasn’t about to let the guide get off so easily. ‘WasHenry Morgan born in this house, then? I suppose he must have been if his portrait is here.’
‘He certainly was not born here,’ answered the guide indignantly.
One of the tour party, an American, suddenly developed an interest in the pirate. ‘Where
was
he born? My name is Morgan. I might well be one of his descendants. I’ve been told my ancestors were Welsh.’
‘There’s no chance of that, sir, I’m afraid. Henry Morgan had no children, thank
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