Dear my friend,

You won’t believe your ears when I tell you about the journey I had timetravelling back to the heroic experience of Owain Glyndwr’s reign of being prince!

As my trembling feet touched the old land it felt arid and crumbly. I tread along the dirt path all the way to Sycarth. There I came across the most astonishing place... Owain Glyndwr’s home!

The house was built with great craftmanship however it looked tired and worn. I drew my finger across the wall and it turned black, soot and dirt were smudged all over my finger, leaving a clear visible print on the wall. I tenderly blew and a cloud of dust erupted into the sky, bit by bit it gingerly littered the floor. I excitedly stomped up to the door and loudly banged my fist. I heard the hustle and bustle inside the ancient house then...

Margaret Hanmer greeted me with a charming smile. I said “hello!” she directed me inside. The corridor was silent and all I could hear were the mighty flames crackling inside the living room. Margaret told me she would tell Owain I had arrived. She offered me a silk chair decorated with purple cotton. I elegantly sat down and gazed around. The wall was white with a printed pattern delicately stitched into the fragile material.

Owain arrived with a less positive expression on his face. His hair dangled down the side of his serious face with buns. He had a moustache that sharply bent down towards his neatly shaped goatee. He lowered down into a chair next to me and his crooked hands rested upon the arms of the ancient armchair. He leant back and asked me how I was. I answered with “I’m great thanks!” “Wonderful.” He replied in a frustrated voice. I asked how he was and he gestured Margaret a seat deliberately. She curiously sat down and surreptitiously picked bits of hair off his dark and dangerous cloak, she hovered her thumb and finger over the half-filled bin silently rubbing together while gravity slowly but surely dragged the hairs into it. He angrily whispered war!” he steadily raised his head and scrunched up his face. After a while of reassurance by Margaret his frown turned upside-down! He then stood up and showed me his exquisite collection of shimmering armour and his weird and whacky collection of mechanisms he had found whilst raiding the people of England.

I was very interested in his training practice for combat and I was inspired to asked if I could try, he agreed. We entered the perfectly-trimmed, fully-flowered fields! In the distance I could hear chitter-chatter of his children playing hide and seek amongst the bushes. Just then, an arrow hit the centre of his archery target and we both turned in shock, I screamed “E-E-E-E-E-E-ENGLISH!” then dashed along the dirt track back to my time machine and here I am writing this letter to you!

Look forward to telling you more, Your friend.

Cothi Howell