CHAPTER 24
Having found so much of interest in Abergavenny, I decided that it was time I paid another visit to Llandaff Cathedral and, in particular, to the Mathew Chapel. I wanted to see if I could find any further evidence here of a connection between the symbolic Jesse Tree and the primary emblem of the Rosicrucians: the crucified rose. Thus, a few days after visiting Abergavenny, I found myself once more going through the doors of Cardiff’s Cathedral.
This former clas church – one of the oldest Christian foundations in Britain – lies on the River Taff, just a couple of miles west of Cardiff Castle. Legend has it that it was originally built by order of King Lleirwg (Lucius). If so, then it would have been in the early 2nd century AD when Britain was visited by Saints Dyvan and Fagan. It is most likely true that these saints were indeed active in the Cardiff area, as it was here they also founded churches of their own. St Fagans, now home to the National History Museum, lies to the west of Cardiff, while Merthyr Dyvan is slightly south of this, near Barry. Therefore, we can be sure that these saints were active in the Cardiff area, and it is only reasonable to assume that they did help their patron, King Lucius, found a church of his own at Llandaff. What is more certain is that, following extensive damage incurred during the 5th century, Llandaff (church on the Taff) was rebuilt by St Teilo. This was in the early 6th century, at the time when Meurig (Mauricius) was King. After that, the church again fell into ruins and was rebuilt on several other occasions. The present church, which includes 20th-century work, was largely rebuilt by the Victorians.
Entering through the west door, I walked up the northern aisle. Unlike most, if not all, cathedral churches in England, Llandaff is not cruciform in plan: there is no crossing in the middle of the church and so there are no transepts. Instead, the north and south aisles terminate in chapels on either side of the chancel or main altar area.
Proceeding up the northern aisle of the church, I came to a large tomb that sat awkwardly among the stalls. Its inscription said that it belonged to Sir William Mathew and his wife Jeanette Stradling. Later research revealed that he was the younger brother of David Mathew (whose effigy I would shortly inspect) and that he was knighted after the Battle of Bosworth by King Henry VII. However, of immediate interest was that his tomb, which was early Tudor and bore effigies of both himself and his wife Jeanette, was also decorated with a number of shields. These were mostly repetitions of the arms of the Mathew family; a lion rampant, though confusingly painted with the wrong tinctures for the Radyr branch of the family. What was more interesting to me, though, was a shield on the head of the tomb. This was painted with the arms of Cardiff: gules, three chevrons argent. This is one of the variants of the arms of Iestyn ap Gwrgan, last King of Glamorgan, the other variant being its reverse: argent, three chevrons gules. The presence of Iestyn’s arms on this tomb indicated that the Mathew family (sometimes spelt Matthew or Matthews) regarded themselves as descendants of the Kings of Glamorgan. This, as we shall see later, is important. It also explains their close association with Llandaff Cathedral.
My primary interest at this time was the north or ‘Mathew’ chapel, which I knew contained more medieval tombs and effigies, as well as early 20th-century stained-glass windows representing the Welsh King Arthur and his grandfather, King Tewdrig. The Mathew family, like the Herberts of Raglan, attained fame and fortune through their involvement in the Wars of the Roses. The patriarch was Sir David Mathew of Radyr, whose effigy, though not now his tomb, lies on the floor by the High Altar. He was another supporter of Edward IV and, just as Sir William ap Thomas was the progenitor of the later Herbert Earls of Pembroke, Sir David was the ancestor of the Mathews. Reading about this, I decided to investigate him further, and what I discovered was quite extraordinary.* Sir David Mathew, who was born in 1400, was the father of Sir William Mathew of Radyr, whose tomb I had seen in the aisle. Already an old man of 61 at the time, he took part in the Battle of Towton – the Yorkist victory that established Edward IV’s supremacy over the Lancastrians for eight years. This battle was fought on Palm Sunday, 14 March 1461, just seven weeks after Edward’s first victory at Mortimer’s Cross. Towton took place in Yorkshire and is said to have been the largest and most bloody battle ever fought on British soil. More than 50,000 men were involved, and by the end of it, only 22,000 were still alive: a casualty rate of nearly 60 percent. During the battle, in a replay of what happened to Henry V, Edward’s life was saved by David Mathew, who, like Davy Gam at Agincourt, was only a captain at the time. His effigy, which shows him dressed in full armour, is a full six feet seven inches in length. Clearly he would have been an exceptionally tall man even by today’s standards, but in those days he must have seemed a positive Goliath. One can only imagine Edward’s relief when he saw this huge man leading his company as they hacked his way through the enemy and came to his rescue. In gratitude, after the battle was over, Edward immediately awarded him the title of ‘Knight Banneret’ and appointed him Grand Standard Bearer of England. This was an unheard-of honour for a Welshman, and, once more, it underlines how, through military service to the Crown, certain families were able to undo centuries of prejudice and climb the social ladder.
This, however, was not to be Sir David Mathew’s only or most important claim to fame. Around 1404, there had been a raid on Llandaff Cathedral, which caused a great deal of damage. Accounts differ, some blaming the raid on Glendower’s men, others on pirates from Bristol. In any event, a mob smashed open the tomb of St Teilo, the church’s primary patron, and scattered his bones. The tomb remained damaged until, many years later, Sir David paid for its repair. In 1480, in recognition of this laudable act, Bishop Marshall presented him with the skull of Teilo and appointed him its guardian.
Sir David’s wife was Gwenllian Herbert, who was first cousin to Sir William ap Thomas, the ‘Blue Knight of Gwent’. In the 15th century, therefore, the Mathews were close relatives of the Herberts. This may partly explain Sir David’s allegiance to the cause of the White Rose of York at a time when most other Welshmen of rank, including, later, his own younger son Sir William Matthew of Radyr, were drawn to the Red Rose of Lancaster.
Sir David Mathew died in 1484, but the skull of Teilo, to which healing powers were attributed, remained in the family for centuries. Eventually, in 1658, a certain William Mathew died without issue in the small village of Llandeilo Llwydiarth in Pembrokeshire and passed it on to another family: the Melchiors. It was kept by them for many years, used as a cup for drawing water from a local holy well with links to Teilo. However, because the Mathew family had neglected their duty as guardians, it was prophesied that bad luck would befall them for 200 years. This certainly came to pass, but then, in 1927, it was purchased back from the Melchiors by a descendant of Sir David Mathew; eventually, in 1996, it was returned to Llandaff Cathedral. Today, supported by the wings of silver angels, the skull cup sits like the Holy Grail in a reliquary that is kept locked away from the prying eyes of would-be thieves or hooligans.
All this drama, of course, lay in the future. During his own lifetime, Sir David could only lay the foundations for his family’s later eminence when his descendants became Sheriffs of Glamorgan and eventually Earls of Llandaff. Much of this success was attributed to the blessing of St Teilo, but there were other saints associated with Llandaff, one whose tomb I then went to investigate.
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* See Chart 11: The Mathew family of Llandaff and the relic of Teilo, page 234