Bryn EgluR - Carmarthenshire

South Wales, Late Winter 2019

I first came across Bryn Eglur last summer while researching places to stay around Pembrokeshire. We ended up camping that trip, but the cottage had firmly rooted itself in my thoughts. Each photograph that I had seen told of it being a destination in its own right. I have a habit of thinking in photographs and throughout the winter months found myself regularly sifting through a mental slideshow of Bryn Eglur. It looked to be the ideal rustic retreat, neatly tucked away in the depths of rural Carmarthenshire. Especially in winter, when hours spent both indoors and outdoors are craved in equal measure.

After Christmas, the new year left me with the familiar urge to escape London. F’s upcoming birthday was the perfect excuse to finally pledge our stay. When booking, I was overjoyed to see how reasonable the price was for four nights from Monday to Friday in late February. Throughout January the old cottage was there waiting for us, a little beacon on the horizon.

We have fallen into the pattern of arriving at holiday accommodation in the dark, having spent travel days exploring as many places as possible en route. This trip was no exception with a few stops in various pockets of the Brecon Beacons. It was gone nightfall when we took the turn-off from the road and bumped down a long slate-chipped track in search of the cottage. I could just make out the shadowy shapes of a couple of dwellings ahead, in the middle of what felt wonderfully like nowhere. We parked up and were greeted by the truest black of night, where stars seemed to tumble all the way to the ground. No light pollution or noise; the silent dark of the countryside. It felt so remote, as if I could shout out over the highs and lows of Carmarthen’s hills and across to the sea without being heard. Within seconds of taking in this scene I spotted two glowing amber eyes watching us through the blanket of darkness. I have to admit I felt a little uneasy and couldn’t work out who or what they belonged to. But the friendly sound of a meow soon calmed my nerves and the light from our torch revealed a beautiful black cat crunching her way towards us across the gravel. Mrs Jones, Bryn Eglur’s most celebrated resident, then guided our way to the front door.

A great bonus to arriving at night is that it heightens the excitement of waking up the following morning. I lay in bed, putting off the moment before going to the window in the same way that you often put off opening a precious letter. It was delicious to lie in bed under a tumble of fresh linen sheets and a cosy Welsh blanket. But I couldn’t contain my curiosity, jumping out of the wrought iron bed, onto the creaking floorboards and into my slippers before F had stirred.

As forecast, the rain had fallen throughout the night. I had drifted asleep to the sound of it tapping insistently at the windows, alongside the wind moving through the trees and what I think - and hope - was an owl screeching from them. I was expecting to find a shining world of rain that morning, anticipating that it would be beautiful regardless. Pulling open the little wooden shutter revealed a flower-starred grass slope below; a smattering of daffodils and snowdrops. The rain had stopped and the dawn light glowed across the garden. Over the course of our stay I took such delight in the simple notion of opening these shutters to greet the day, then each night closing them on the outside world.

I pulled the heavy wool blanket off the bed and wrapped myself up in it over my pyjamas. Tiptoeing downstairs, I reached the front door and opened it onto the morning to take a closer look. The rain had brought out the sweetness of the flowers and the dewy grass flicked against my legs as I crossed it. It felt like I had woken up in a cottage from a story book. The garden: a little woodland backdrop, growing so lush and green that it seemed unreal. Moss carpeted the earth and ancient trees sprung up from it. Baby ferns and climbing ivy clustered and entangled all that they crossed. They choked branches, tree trunks and crumbling gate posts, forming a thick blanket of green amongst the brown and earthy hues. Fallen trees have been left and reclaimed by the land, creating unusual sculptures which paths wove around. A brook carved a trench through the creaking trees. Banked by cragged roots and snowdrops, it spilled out into a murky shallow pond. Growing above the earth and encroaching upon the cottage, a tree’s gnarled roots were seemingly part of the building’s foundations.  Walking the perimeter, I passed a rusting cart wheel propping up the outer wall. I explored a little outhouse made of tin, its wooden window panes painted deep red to match the colour of the back door. From here, a small gate coated in flaking paint opened onto rolling fields, the silhouette of a bare tree on the horizon. Another pathway led to a low mossy stone wall and small vegetable patch, beyond which, a shrub lined path continued about 50 meters to a second lime-washed dwelling; Tŷ Unnos.

Bryn Eglur and Tŷ Unnos, along with a third cottage nearby; Bryncyn, are owned by Dorian Bowen of The Welsh House and rented out as holiday accommodation. Dorian was kind enough to pop by on our first morning, answering any questions I had with warmth and enthusiasm. It felt strange welcoming Dorian into his own house and offering him a cup of tea. Especially when we couldn’t follow through, realising that we hadn’t picked up any milk. And so, it was over orange juice that we chatted across the kitchen table. Not being one to miss out Mrs Jones joined us, purring from her chair at the head of it.

Dorian’s sheer passion for Bryn Eglur is evident everywhere you look and becomes all the more palpable after speaking with him. The smallholding dates back to the 18th century and had been abandoned for 40 years when he first came across it in 2003.  Dorian is from Carmarthenshire but was living in London at the time and working as a building surveyor. After years of urban life, he viewed hundreds of places searching for the perfect Welsh cottage to become his bolt hole, specifically seeking a place in complete isolation. To Dorian’s surprise the cottage came up for sale in the landscape of his childhood. No tracks or roads to it existed; a sorry ruin in the middle of a field. ‘When I first set eyes on it, it was in a pretty sad state,’ Dorian told us. The windows had gone, and water was coming in through the roof, which was smothered in ivy, so much so that he thought it might have been thatched. ‘But the fact that it still had the roof was a big bonus,’ he added. The location was ideal, landlocked in 12 acres of green pasture, and the cottage was untouched for so long that it had completely escaped modernisation. In Dorian’s words: ‘I knew it was a magical place’.

Bryn Eglur was the first of Dorian’s renovations and it took just over two years to complete. He worked closely with a team of local people that knew how to recreate and maintain vernacular traditions. Dorian was happy not to rush the project in favour of doing it in accordance with traditional principles. Such a conscious effort to preserve a sense of history, I asked where he thinks this love for historical buildings and rustic interiors stems from. He told of it being a deep-rooted affair, drifting back to childhood visits to his great grandparents. His grandfather would take Dorian to see family and friends of rural Wales’s older generation. On Saturday afternoons, Dorian remembers sitting alongside a couple, so frail that they generally wouldn’t shift from their well-worn spots by the fireplace. This environment had been untouched for a long time and it really resonated. He spoke of seeing places like this disappear over the years, listed buildings not having been protected properly, sadly ending up far removed from the original gems. And so, with Bryn Eglur Dorian insisted that the building and its history would come first, repairing rather than replacing its features wherever possible.

The building work started first on the roof and chimneys. After repairing the walls, the collapsed cowshed was rebuilt and the kitchen conversions began. More structural repairs to the internal walls and floors followed. Steel plates were inserted into rotten joists to preserve the original timbers, and any new timbers required were hewn from Dorian’s parents’ forest nearby. Plumbing and insulation ensued on the ground floor, along with underfloor heating running off a solid fuel Rayburn. Slate floors were laid down, after which the former dairy was transformed into the bathroom. Any admissions to modernity were carried out with sustainability in mind, including sheep wool insulation and a solar panel to warm the hot water, cleverly hidden on the roof. Dorian described a time when the large inglenook fire would have been the hub of the house and kept burning continuously. The fireplace itself is original, but the chimney flue he has carefully rebuilt for functionality. The final stages of the restoration comprised the decorating and snagging period, all finished off with a traditional limewashing of the walls. A big celebratory party marked its completion, where the whole community turned out to toast the revival of one of its ancient homes, witnessing the lighting of its inglenook fire for the first time in over 40 years.

Dorian found Bryn Eglur with trees growing out of gaping holes in its walls. Yet somehow many original features managed to stand the test of time inside, including some furniture. He described it as though the family had just upped and left, the cottage sleeping since, strewn with abandoned possessions. My favourite of these artefacts still in his possession was a black and white photograph. Blotted with wear from its forgotten years, through sepia layers and torn corners, you can make out the faces of a cluster of Edwardian school girls. They are posing for a class photograph, prim and proper, with starched white collars and ribbons in their hair. Dorian has pressed the photograph in a thick dark frame, suspending it in transitional decay. It now rests proudly on the parlour room’s mantle, perhaps where it once perched many years ago.

Walking around Bryn Eglur, it’s the attention to these little details that brings the cottage to life. When I first pushed open the door I felt like a trespasser in time. I had stepped back to a simpler age where I instantly felt at home. The wooden panelled hallway welcomed us inside, empty pegs awaiting our coats. They would soon hang above dirty walking boots lining up on the flagstones below, coated in a new layer of mud for each day of our stay.

To the right of the hall, the old kitchen opens up with its imposing inglenook, now a perfect snug to congregate comfortably around. An antique colonial salt box hangs on the wall inside the fireplace, where salt lumps would have been placed inside to dry out and make ready for culinary use. Squeezed in the seam between the deep-set window and doorway, we found a high-backed settle and sturdy wooden table with traditional stick-back chairs. Noticing their increasing rarity, Dorian took to scouring local woods to find curved branches that would form natural seat backs, building the rest of the chair around them. There are even candlestick-backed ones that he has crafted after researching traditional styles. These pieces now accompany the 17th century originals they were based on and it’s genuinely hard to distinguish between the two. Resting just below the ceiling beams, a stooping mantel bears pewter and earthenware jugs, bought by Dorian as a child from Carmarthen’s market.

Across the room is the door to the old dairy, Bryn Eglur’s bathroom. The simplicity of this little bathroom is utterly charming. Sunk deep into the walls, two windows with white wooden shutters look out onto open countryside, one with an enamel jug squatting on its slate sill. The bath here is a roll top on curling claw feet. I have to confess I had a bath each evening and between F and I used up a whole bottle of bubble bath during the course of our stay. We brought along a large box of candles from home and it became one of my favourite rituals of our time there; filling the tub, lighting the candles and sinking in. All with the company of a glass of wine and a book that I had been meaning to read for too long. Such indulgence! I wallowed happily late one night, watching the candles flickering across the beading of the rain on the window panes, and imagining the cooler dips that I had planned in the waterfalls of the Brecon Beacons the following day.

I asked Dorian which of the rooms is his favourite at Bryn Eglur. A hard one to answer. He settled with feeling most drawn to the parlour. ‘Most of the traditional cottages I’ve seen no longer have this room,’ he told us, ‘but I wanted to keep it as it was’. Once used for Bible studies and to greet visitors, it is now typically a space lost to time. Across from the entrance hall, perfectly proportioned antiques continue into the parlour, the likes of a classic grandfather clock and Welsh dresser that displays heavy silver plates fit for a medieval banquet. A bundle of tattered books rests atop a dark wooden cupboard, while a mounted wooden crucifix and old portraits of pilgrims juxtapose more contemporary paintings on the walls. On the windowsill, a mysterious looking fern thrives safely in the dappled shade of the woodland trees watching over the cottage. A curated collection of a few rocks and shells sit on the mantle piece like little islands. I wondered where they had each been plucked from and left behind an additional offering when the time came for us to leave. An atmosphere of traditional formality is retained in this little room, yet it felt perfectly comfortable. On the night that we arrived and while unpacking my belongings, I chose the parlour to house my books, maps and pen, gingerly placing them on the round wooden table. Moments sitting by the window here reviewing my notes, felt equally as luxurious as the candlelit baths.

An open doorframe leads from the parlour to the kitchen, passing a wall mounted display of large wooden spoons, all made from single pieces of wood with spindly handles and oval shaped bowls. Dorian told us that these are Welsh cawl spoons: a cawl being a traditional broth of root vegetables and lamb typically cooked in iron cauldrons over a fire. ‘I have a weakness for collecting old spoons, stools and chairs,’ he confirmed. I asked Dorian about his process of accumulating such antiques when it came to furnishing Bryn Eglur. He had an image implanted in his mind from the get-go, almost like curating a film set. When sourcing the antiques it was to a very specific brief, not buying on impulse but holding out for the elusive perfect find. Many pieces were collected locally in places like Tim Bowen Antiques in Ferryside, Narberth Old Hat Bazaar and The Works Antiques Centre in Llandeilo. Dorian’s meticulous approach has certainly paid off. The thoughtful mix of finds really belong in the spaces they now occupy.

Walking through to the kitchen and taking in its cherry-red Rayburn, I dreamed of a slow cooked cawl bubbling away on the hob. Alongside it, a basket of ready-chopped logs for fuel. Homecooked meals can be eaten around a bleached Welsh refectory table on mismatched antique chairs or a pew-style settle, found at Bryn Eglur by Dorian. There are all the essential ingredients here for a perfect farm house kitchen, but the lofty room goes beyond this idyll and brings a modern sense of space and light to the cottage. Wooden beams with their carpenter’s initials reach to the vaulted ceilings and the worktop surfaces are made from thick slabs of Welsh slate that echo the floor. My favourite element is a reclaimed stone salting trough, traditionally used for curing meat or preserving milk and making butter or cheese. Ingeniously it is now employed to drain crockery or wash fruit and vegetables. As if it wasn’t all charming enough, we found a vase stuffed with daffodils from the cutting garden on the table along with a plate of Welshcakes for our arrival.

Heading back through the cottage a staircase leads up from the hallway, creaking conversationally with every step. Dorian told us that this wouldn’t have been installed until the 19th century, before which a simple wooden ladder would have connected the original kitchen to the bedroom. Victorian paintwork survives in parts on the banister, continued on the wooden panelling. Keeping the original paint surfaces even if slightly damaged, show the gentlest of touch Dorian applied to the restorations. The rewards of which showcase a whole century of character. The master double is up in the roof, where thick wooden pegs brace together the old beams. The wrought-iron bed lies by the chimney breast, kept cosy from the heat of any fires lit downstairs. Across the floorboards a partition creates the second bedroom, with a raised platform in the rafters above where earthenware jars and flagons roost. Through to the interconnected room, you can find a snug Welsh box bed. Found by Dorian on eBay, the wooden bed is a historical cubbyhole for children to sleep, or to tuck yourself away with a book on a rainy day.

With no television, phone or Wi-Fi, the cottage epitomises rustic appeal and is full of these characterful reading nooks to make the most of instead. As such, the attraction lies partly in what it doesn't have. Even electric sockets have been kept to a minimum and while ceiling lights do exist, it feels especially atmospheric to use candles in their place. It was wonderful to have a digital detox and spend time together, reading, writing, cooking, wandering around the surrounding fields, watching the daffodils bobbing about in morning breeze and playing cards around the fire at night. With the unaffected air about the place we were able to let the modern world slip away. My hunger for simplicity and a more rural existence was truly satisfied during our time at Bryn Eglur and I have been hankering after that feeling ever since.

With many nods to traditional accuracy it could almost feel like a historic exhibition, but the bare bones of the building have so much character and the genuine warmth of a lived-in home prevails. You would be forgiven for thinking that the cottage has always looked as it does now, that its old occupants could saunter in without realising the passing of the years. Dorian told us that a scene close to this played out a few years ago.  The previous owners were related to the family that had lived there before them for generations, back when the cottage was still a small holding. A member of that family got in touch with Dorian, who as it turned out had gone to school with one of their children. In Dorian’s words ‘everyone knows each other round here’. Dorian invited them back to Bryn Eglur and was humbled by their reaction, telling that it was remarkably dressed like their memories. The real difference that they drew upon was that it was in such a protected state. Having been more exposed to the elements back then, the shelter of today’s towering trees that cradle it into their landscape came as a surprise. Of course, Bryn Eglur would never have had the conveniences of the contemporary fittings installed in the kitchen and bathrooms. But these necessary modern essentials have been incorporated with real candour. They don’t try to fool you with fake charm, and as such find a balance between contemporary design and history, between tradition and comfort. Dorian has enabled the past and present to co-exist in perfect harmony. The result of which is not so much a style, but more of a feeling rooted in an abiding sense of honest, simple living.

This feeling was at the forefront of Dorian’s mind when he decided to make the move from London to Carmarthenshire. Living and working in the capital for over 25 years had enabled him to achieve certain goals, ‘but something clicked in 2010 and I took the opportunity to take a deep breath,’ he told us. From then on Dorian made the Welsh House his focus. He had started dabbling on Instagram and was inspired by how it afforded practical scope to work from remote destinations. I asked Dorian if he missed the city. ‘There are things that I miss but the balance has changed. People’s working environments have changed and the work-life balance is harder to find. After a long weekend in London I long to return to the countryside’.

In an age where young children can often be found glued to their phone or computer screens, Dorian believes that there is a pressing need for people to switch off, recharge and reconnect with nature. We spoke of Henry Thoreau and his retreat to a woodland cabin in 1845. Thoreau’s resulting classic Walden is a book reflecting on simple living in natural surroundings, now a model for deliberate and ethical living that is more pressing than ever. Dorian explained that for him ‘the concept of stripping away has become a reoccurring theme’. This extends to his pull towards minimalist architecture, drawing inspiration from the likes of the Life House in Powys; an example of architectural simplicity designed by John Pawson. It was based on the concept of a retreat and built as a place for calm and reflection. Dorian described a cavernous chamber space there, buried into the hillside with a retractable roof where you can lie on thick stone slabs and gaze at the sky.

With each cottage of the Welsh House, Dorian has satisfied the search for a getaway where the focus is on slowing down to enjoy the rustic charms of a simpler way of life. Yet they all manage to achieve this in different ways. In contrast to Bryn Eglur’s ancient and quaint quirks, Bryncyn is a modernist architectural conversion, where tradition meets clean lines, glass, concrete and a hot tub. Then there’s Ty Unnos, Dorian’s personal favourite. It started as a historical re-enactment, built by Dorian and a small team of friends and family in one night between sunset and sunrise. This was carried out as per Welsh tradition, referencing a time when houses could be built on common land and officially occupied by their builders if smoke was rising from the chimney by dawn. Dorian has now taken this crogloft cottage on a different journey, a recently completed project that he described as having ‘come together organically’. He gave us a sneak peek inside. The result is a beautiful, modern-rustic dwelling, occupying the middle ground somewhere between the other two. I was amazed that it was a relatively recent construction, abundant with features that feel like they have been there for hundreds of years.

The undeniable thread weaving the cottages together is the magic of their rural locations. The Welsh House represents Dorian’s journey from our modern lives back into the heart of nature where each of the cottages reside. His connection with the natural world and passion for its nourishment taps into a way of life that for many has been lost or left behind. Bryn Eglur is a place where you really notice every change in the light and weather, where you take the time to pick out different flecks of colour from the landscape. Dorian told us of a local lady who lives down the road and most days feeds the wild red kites who flock to her en mass. As Dorian put it, ‘it’s all about making time and allowing yourself to notice these moments.’

The remoteness and lack of distractions makes Bryn Eglur the perfect place to withdraw, with enough nature on the doorstep to keep you entertained and inspired. There is however so much to see nearby that we managed to tear ourselves away and explore. The siren call of the sea and the Cardigan, Pembroke, Carmarthen and Gower coastlines are all within easy reach. Inland, Carmarthenshire and the Brecon Beacons are ripe with wild places worthy of adventure. If you journey to Bryn Eglur, these articles from a past trip to Pembrokeshire and of our escapades while staying at the cottage, should help determine a good few spots to seek out. They include some of Dorians favourites: Dylan Thomas’ Boathouse, Carreg Cennen Castle and Barafundle Bay.

We retreated back to Bryn Eglur one evening after an afternoon exploring in the rain. Our clothes and boots were wet through, so I strung them all up inside the inglenook on an original iron crane, once used to hang cooking pans from various heights with the aid of a chain. I then quickly set about lighting the fire, willing my feet and bones to warm up a little. I felt such simple satisfaction from getting a little wood fire burning in the grate each night, then lightning a few candles and settling in. F was soon in his element in the kitchen, throwing together ingredients from the local farm shop for dinner, with Mrs Jones purring at his ankles. And so, I found myself alone and sat by the fire flicking through an old paperback. It was quiet apart from the occasional rattle from the pipes, the fire’s intermittent cracks and pops, and the soundtrack of nature outside. But somehow there was a muted echo that bounced around the ancient rooms, as though each one had a hushed secret to share. The cottage felt resonant, both with everything happening outside and everything that has ever happened within its walls. It reverberates as though remembering how it was built, remembering that it was left alone for so many years, which lends it a real dignity. The feeling of true contentment spread over me that night and I felt more peaceful than I had for far too long.

Having been nurtured back to life, the affection that the cottage has been shown it now gives back in abundance. Full of heart and free of haste, there is such interminable charm and an atmosphere that prickles. If only there were more places like it left, sympathetic in restoration, furnishing and towards the environment. How lucky we are that Dorian has given its long history a chance to continue. There is a special kind of magic about being at Bryn Eglur and it is a place already precious to me.

The Welsh House is held dear by many who have been lucky enough to stay at one of its cottages. It has received plenty of press coverage, from the likes of Cereal magazine, World of Interiors and The Guardian. Perhaps more telling is Bryn Eglur’s visitor book, bursting at the seams with guests’ warm reviews of their retreats to this cosy hideaway. If you are interested in a stay, take a look at The Welsh House or Under the Thatch. You can also find Dorian on Instagram.

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