Hawarden is a tiny speck of a village in the northeast of Wales. It doesn’t show up on all road maps, but it’s located roughly halfway, as the bird flies, between Chester and Mold. While driving around the North Wales Borderlands, my buddy and I happened through the little village one pleasant September morning. Somewhere along the way, we happened by a sign that alerted us to the fact that there was a castle somewhere around here. Being the enthusiast that I am for all things of even remote historical significance, I demanded that we stop and tour the castle.
Well, as I said, Hawarden is just a wee bit of a place. A couple of shops, a pub or two and a handful of houses pretty much comprised the "downtown" Hawarden district, centering around the crossroads where the A550 and B5125 intersect. There didn’t appear to be a castle hidden among these quaint little homes and shops. We found a place to park and headed toward the only likely landmark that we’d noticed. Along a fenced in pasture was a wall with a rather large wooden gateway. It was hard to see what was beyond the gate, but it seemed like the best place to begin our search.
Standing in front of the gate, we read a small sign attached to one side that specified the times the entrance would be unlocked. It didn’t say what it was the entrance to, but it was unlocked at that moment, so with a sturdy shove, we pushed our way through to the other side. Immediately, a small gaggle of chickens and ducks assaulted us, but we were not to be deterred. Fending off our attackers, we discovered that we had entered a sprawling pastureland that extended into the distance across green, rolling hills. Keeping an eye over our shoulder for any vengeful fowl, we traipsed off along a well worn path that would lead us deeper into the sparsely wooded pasture.
Going mostly on blind speculation, we ventured along the trail for what must have been a half-mile or more. It was quite pleasant and scenic, leading us through thickets of trees and past the occasional congregation of sheep. About the time we were deciding that we’d had an enjoyable hike, but weren’t likely to find a castle, we glimpsed the remains of a stone tower peeking through the trees on a nearby prominence. Ah, we’d hit pay dirt. The elusive Hawarden Castle was within our grasp.
Forging on through a growing population of sheep, we soon found ourselves standing at the gate to the castle. The gate was actually a low wooden doorway, set into a rather high stone wall that extended out in both directions. This was certainly not the original defensive wall of the fortress, but at approximately ten feet high, it did manage to obstruct our view of the castle. We intended to have a thorough exploration of whatever remained of this obscure castle, so never mind the wall, or so we thought. Once at the sturdy little entranceway, we discovered that it was locked tight with an even sturdier padlock of some antiquated design. With no sign of life to be seen (other than several curious sheep), you can imagine our disappointment. We’d put in a good deal of effort into our venture, by that point.
For a minute or two, we stood looking dumbly at each other, in that shrugging manner one uses when lost for words. I don’t recall who actually suggested it, but the answer to our unspoken "what now?" seemed all too clear to us both. We’d invested too much, psychologically, to turn back on our spur of the moment foray. Wall or no wall, we were getting into that castle. Now, I don’t advocate a life of crime by any means and, normally, I don't condone trespassing, whether at home or abroad. Sometimes, though, events take on a life of their own and you must go with the flow of things. I mean, really, when was the next time I was apt to find myself standing at the gate of Hawarden Castle? My friend, who only lives an hour and a half away in Manchester, England, reckoned he was no more likely than I to be standing in that spot again. The die was cast. We were breaching the wall.
Scouting in either direction, we found what appeared to be the lowest portion of the wall. It may have been the lowest, but we would have preferred something a little lower. It took a good five minutes of pushing, pulling and dragging each other by the arms before we were perched safely atop the wall. We managed to keep our knapsacks and ourselves intact, for the most part, though I did suffer some nasty abrasions on one arm. A small price to pay for success, I assured my friend and the few sheep that gathered below to watch our progress. Our smug sense of satisfaction was cut short when we realized that the distance to the ground on the inside of the wall was even higher than what we had just scaled. With a deep breath and some choice expletives, we jumped.
Hawarden Castle lies in ruins and there is not much that remains of it. The remnants of a tower, a couple of fairly significant wall sections and a considerable amount of rubble is all that’s left of what was most likely a minor fortress even in its heyday. That’s not to say that it wasn’t worth our considerable efforts to have a look at it. Being fairly remote, as it is, and being somewhat overgrown with brush and weeds, there was a certain sense of making a genuine archeological discovery. Not to mention, one rarely gets to investigate historical structures in such an isolated and solitary environment. Indeed, as we poked and climbed around the castle ruins, there was a real aura of adventure and we may as well have been miles from civilization.
That feeling lasted several minutes; right up until we looked down the hill to see a sprawling mansion nestled in an exquisite English garden, surrounded by a perfectly manicured lawn. A second glance informed us that there was a set of stone steps leading from the castle right down to the grounds of this grand home. Putting two and two together, we decided that we probably shouldn’t be standing there in the open gawking down at that house. Though it was few hundred yards away, we would be clearly visible to anyone who bothered to look our direction. Considering how we’d gotten into the castle, we preferred not to have to explain ourselves. After all, we were smart enough to assume that both the fields and the castle were on property that belonged to that estate.
After ascertaining that we’d gone undetected, we finished snooping around the castle, though we tried to skulk around out of sight of the mansion. Once we were ready to head back to the car, our luck took a turn for the better. From the inside of the wall, there was a place that required very little climbing to get back to the other side. With a nod to the flock that had patiently awaited our return, we hoisted our bags and set off down the trail toward Hawarden Village. Another successful campaign under our belts, we could now set about the days scheduled activities.
Some days after our siege of Hawarden Castle, I did some Internet sleuthing to ascertain just where we’d been. The castle does, indeed, belong to the sprawling estate that we’d discovered. At times, the castle is open to the public. The estate we'd spied is the home of former British Prime Minister W. E. Gladstone and is not open to the public, so it’s probably best we weren’t caught infiltrating the property. The castle itself was an English built fortification from the 13th century and played a role in the wars between the English and Welsh, changing hands a number of times during that era. The castle again saw action during the Civil War of the mid-1600’s.
Though not one of the better known or most physically impressive castles in Wales, it did have a long and colorful history before being abandoned. Centuries later, it even managed to provide me with my own adventure and story. I doubt I’ll ever forget the day that we laid siege to the Hawarden Castle.