ellid | Hedd Wyn. Born in Wales, 1887. Died in the Great War, 1917.

Hedd Wyn was a poet. He wrote in the strict and exacting forms of Welsh epic poetry, and he wrote well enough that his poems won several awards at the eisteddfodau, or poetry competitions. He was proclaimed the winning bard at regional competitions four times, and the chairs to prove it fill his family parlor, carved with dragons and interlacing fantastical beasts. He worked his farm, wrote his poems, and was a respected and honored citizen.

In 1916 word came to Yr Ysgwrn, Hedd Wyn's home, that his family had to send one of their three sons to fight in the Great War. Although he believed in peace and would never have voluntarily picked up arms, Hedd Wyn volunteered to go, as his brother had a wife and family. He had his heart set on winning the Eisteddfod in Birkenhead that summer and worked constantly on his poem Yr Arwr (The Hero) despite serving in the trenches in France in 1917.

The great Eisteddfod was held in the fall of 1917. The bardic chair that would go to the winner was the most elaborate that could be had, with dragons and hounds and brilliant carving in rich dark wood. The Gorsedd had received many entries, and there was much speculation as to who would win.

And yet, when Hedd Wyn was announced the winner, there was no jubilation, only a bardic chair draped in black crepe. The Principle Bard, the supreme poet of the year, had died six weeks earlier in the trenches of France, a casualty in the hideous muck of Passchendaele. The Archdruid, his voice breaking, said that no one would sit in this great chair since the Bard who had won it was dead, and the crowd mourned as the Black Chair was taken, still shrouded in black, to Yr Ysgwrn.

Hedd Wyn became a legend. A statue stands in his village, showing him as the farmer he was, with the words he wrote on the base. A film of his life was made. His nephew Gerald, bright-eyed and vigorous despite his age, works Yr Ysgwrn and lives in the old stone cottage his uncle knew, although during the coldest days of winter he sleeps in a modern house across the road.

In the parlor at Yr Ysgwrn sit five bardic chairs. Gerald brings visitors into the parlor and tells them the story of his uncle Hedd Wyn, and seats the ladies in four of the chairs. He tells them of Hedd Wyn's courage, and his sacrifice, and his devotion to his art. He shows them the great Black Chair, which no one has sat in to this day, and speaks of the Eisteddfod of mourning. All he asks is that those who hear his words pass them along, that Hedd Wyn's memory may not die.

And so, on Remembrance Day in this year of grace 2008, I pass the story along to you.