The Birth of St David

THE BIRTH OF ST DAVID

Tre Breathnach

Introduction The extended title of this booklet could be The Birth of St David – in 5 versions. You will find one story told in five different imaginative ways, from different perspectives, times and even for different audiences. This approach comes out of my own search for meaning in my birth experiences, which has led to many years of finding new and wider perspectives on what I thought I knew was true. I am interested in how we limit our experience through narrative, we diminish ourselves through language, when our bodies often hold other ‘stories,’ which we can’t hear or even disregard.

When I first learned about the birth of St David I was delighted to find a holy birth story that had at least an elemental power contained within it. Whilst it still did not recognise the awe-full eruption of new life that a woman brings forth when she gives birth, it was something to start with.

1 We know the story of the birth of the great St David. The story comes from an 11th century Latin biography written by Rhigyfarch, son of the Bishop of St Davids (Sulien) called Vita Davidis, The Life of St David. A hagiography in 71 parts, the account tells of how St David was conceived, born and then the life he led. As with all hagiographies, however, it may be an interesting story, but not based in much historical truth.

Rhigyfarch writes that David was born to a timid, young nun, who had been raped by a local King of Ceredigion called Sant, meaning saint. On falling pregnant the young nun gave up eating and fasted on bread and water alone.

He calls her Nonnita, little nun. The names in the story should already give us some cause for doubt – what is the likelihood for a great saint to be born to parents called Saint and Little Nun? David’s conception through rape again points to a classic religious motif, where the mother is devoid of any sexuality and therefore more holy as it were, à la the Virgin Mary.

Rhigyfarch places the young nun in a convent at Ty Gwyn, near Whitesands, just to the north of St Davids. He describes an event during her pregnancy in which David’s power is demonstrated when he takes the power of speaking away from the local preacher – Gildas is silenced.

When it comes to his birth, his young mother walks out alone onto the Pembrokeshire cliffs to the place where women would have given birth. It is possible that in the pre-Christian era women would have had a communal birthing area, somewhere in the land aligned with the elements or stars: a place, they might have regarded as having a special divine power to assist them in labour.

There is a bit of a twist in the account at this point, in that Nonnita is in fact 1

in grave danger as a sworn enemy of the unborn David is awaiting her in order to kill the child – an unnamed jealous tyrant. There seems to be some divine intervention here and the would-be-assassin is unable to remain at the site due to a wild storm arriving.

The records say that as David is born, a rod of lightning struck the rock behind his mother and split it in the middle. Her hands grip so tightly to the rock that they leave a mark. And that despite the wind and rain, she was bathed in a pool of light.

But we must remember that the account we have from Rhigyfarch was written 500 years after the event and if she was alone then who saw her being bathed in light in the middle of the storm? Did she report this to the Mother Superior when she returned to her convent? Did she in fact even return to the convent?

Because of the elaborate features in the story some historians have put it into the genre of legends. I expect that there is some truth but the overall narrative is certainly what we might call a classic religious birth, with a virgin, who is also a nun, is raped and commits to living a holy life.

Aside from wanting to create a story that would help to maintain the influence of St David over the people, there are accounts that at the time William I, known as William the Conqueror, who was rampaging around Britain, may have been intending to sack St Davids. And that, Rhigyfarch, through writing this account may have therefore been building up the legend of St David to save the small city from being ravaged by William and his army. When William eventually visited we know he spent time praying there rather than fighting. Does this suggest then that the spell of the story worked? A place so holy that it would be a sin to sack it? A saint so holy, born of mother so holy. Holy children, holy women.

We lose the thread of Nonnita in Rhigyfarch’s text after the birth – it is after all a story about David and once he is born his mother has clearly played her part. We hear that David was baptised by Bishop Elfyw, or in Irish Ailbhe, for he was in fact an Irish bishop, from Munster no less. He was a predecessor to Patrick and was one of the earliest Christian bishops in Ireland. Elfyw is translated locally as St Elvis, and a small headland near St Davids still remembers his name.

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We learn that David moved to Henfynyw, a small area near Aberaeron on the Ceredigion coast. It is assumed that he would have moved with Nonnita, also known as Non. Hence the place name Llanon – church of Non – could be considered her first holy community. Non eventually left Wales, although it is unclear when. She travelled to Cornwall, where it is possible her sister Wenna was already based near Tintagel. Her second church was built at Altarnun.

When her son David visited he stayed close by and a place name grew in his honour, Davidstow.

Her final move was to Brittany by boat, settling in a place to be called Dirinon, in her name, in the Finistère region. The church that was built for her is the place where she came to be buried after her death. Like Cornwall, there is a local village also named after St David, Saint-Divy, who we assume would also have visited his mother there. The Bretons hold Non in high regard and celebrate her feast day on 3rd March, but like the rest of her life there is little clarity on this date and it could be the 2nd or the 5th – no one really knows.

The Bretons also suggest that Non came to Brittany much earlier, when she was pregnant, or when David was a young child – to escape the shame she no doubt felt about being raped and pregnant as a nun. Indeed, the stained glass artist, William Morris, who created one of the few images of Non in the Church of Our Lady and St Non depicted her as a tall, strong woman arriving off the boat in Brittany, with David as a young boy.

Records of the details of all saints’ lives in this early period are very scant and we rely heavily on what may have been written about them at a later period, as well as drawing on more contemporary renditions. In the case of David, his birth seems to be an important event in his life to receive a description in the hagiography, which foretells the greatness that is yet to come through his life and work.

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2 Rhigyfarch – I have gone through all the scrolls in the main chamber now and have created a loose narrative based on what I could find. There wasn’t much there to work from to be honest, so I have taken some creative license with this and written the bones of something that I hope sounds convincing and is what you are looking for. Please use as much or as little as will help our current plight. This first section here covers David’s conception and birth – important to lay down the divine nature of his life right from the beginning, I think? I have written in a sort of miracle/prophesy section to ensure that it is known before David is born how great he will be. I have also tried to link the story with the place we agreed on the cliffs as being the site of the birth.

It’s all in note form at present but I can write this up more formally if you wish.

THE SAINT’S CONCEPTION King Sant of Ceredigion meets a young virgin nun (Nonnita?).

She is very beautiful and graceful.

Sant desires her and takes her by force, violating her.

Through this she conceives her son, holy David.

She never before nor after knew a man.

She remains chaste in mind and body 5

She leads a most faithful life.

From the time of conception she lives on bread and water only.

SILENCING GILDAS FROM THE WOMB [Miracle/Prophesy] As her womb grows, the mother offers alms and oblations for childbirth according to correct custom etc.

She enters a certain church to hear the preaching of the Gospel. Saint Gildas (son of ???) is preaching.

Set this in the time of King Triphunus and his sons?

As the mother enters, Gildas is struck dumb.

The people ask him why he has stopped preaching.

Gildas: I am able to speak to you in ordinary conversation but preach I cannot. But go you out and cause me to abide alone that so perhaps I may be able to preach.

The congregation goes outside.

The mother hides herself in a corner overcome with desire to demonstrate the status of her mighty offspring.

Gildas attempts to preach again but despite all his effort he remains mute.

He becomes frightened and calls out.

Gildas: I adjure you, if anyone lies hid from me, that you should show yourself from your hiding place.

Mother: I lie hid here between the door and the wall.

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Gildas: Go outside, but let the people re-enter the church.

Everyone returns to their seats and Gildas preaches clearly again.

Congregation: Why could you not the first time preach the Gospel of Christ to us, anxious to listen?

Gildas: Call hither the nun, who went outside the church.

The mother is questioned and confesses she is pregnant.

Mother: Lo, I am with you.

Gildas: The son, who is in the womb of that nun, has grace and power and rank greater than I, because God has given him status and sole rule and primacy over all the saints of Britannia for ever, before and after judgment. Farewell, brothers and sisters. I am not able to abide here longer owing to the son of this nun, because to him is delivered sole rule over all the people of this island, and it is necessary for me to go to another island, and to leave the whole of Britannia to this woman’s son.

The congregation know that she is about to bring forth into the world one who in honourable status, effulgent wisdom, and eloquent speech will excel all the doctors of Britannia, etc.

THE JEALOUS TYRANT There is a certain tyrant in the neighbourhood, who has heard from a prophecy of the druids, that a son was about to be born within his borders, whose power would fill the whole country.

He is filled with envy of this unborn child.

The place of birth is made known by the druids.

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Jealous Tyrant: Alone will I sit above the spot for so many days, and whomsoever I shall find resting there or thereabouts shall fall and die by my sword.

Nine months pass and the time of birth arrives.

The mother walks the path to the place of childbearing.

The tyrant has been waiting for her, watching for her.

But on the day a fierce storm of wind, thunder and lightning develops, with hailstorm and rain that prevents everyone including the jealous tyrant from going outdoors.

The mother cries out in her travail.

While the storm whips round her, a light so serene glistens round her, as though the sun was visible and God had brought it in front of the clouds.

The mother leans into a certain stone nearby her, leaving impressions of her hands in the rock still to be seen today.

The rock splits in the middle as the child-bearer is bringing forth – one part leaping above the nun’s head as far as her feet.

In this place a church is now situated, and in the foundation of its altar this stone lies covered.

[The next section will go into David’s baptism which will have to be a bishop from Ireland who is known locally possibly Elfyw? I will work on this in the coming days and get the next section over as soon as possible, I know time is running out.]

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3 In a dream you come and tell me where to go. In a dream you take hold. In a dream you speak my name. In a dream I can’t let go. You have me now in this dream. The dream and the life. The dreaming is the living. I am living the dream. You are dreaming us. And we dance and we love in this dream. We gather to dream. Give praise in dreaming. See those who have dreamed us.

Ghosts walking and dreaming with us. Moving through gates they have broken open for us. The dream opens us, stretching us to become more of the dream. You are dreaming me. The dream is in us. I am here dreaming that we are together.

I want to know how to pray.

Show me how to pray.

Non Nonna Nonnita I call you – not sure if this is your name.

They may have rewritten it. To suit your story. To suit who they needed you to be. Holy. Most holy. Mother of the most holy.

Who is listening?

Who is listening now?

I welcome you.

Make space for you.

Here her body finds and is her voice.

I open my mouth.

I seal cracks with words.

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Hide her body.

Cover up any whiff of sexual desire.

Violate her.

Rape her.

Impregnate her.

Because she is in service to one greater than herself.

Then leave her to fend for herself when she must give birth.

Alone.

In a storm.

Can you imagine that?

There is a woman – Here.

Hot skin, wet, slippery rock.

Terror creeps slowly round her heart.

Wind strips her cries away.

Here is a woman, Hand on belly.

Lips chattering.

Eyes on fire.

No one is listening.

What kind of life is there for a woman? A life for God or for a man.

Choose the one that hurts less, but it’s never enough.

And they will leave their children for that life. And she will leave this place, again and again, that keeps her captive in prayer and virtue without a voice.

She dreamed of the sea before she was born. She dreamed how it would take her away. And that is all she longed for on that day and the next when the storm rolled in.

What choice does she have?

What good comes of this?

Holy children, holy women.

Devoured by piety – who wishes for this?

The storm is listening. It hears her prayers. It takes away pain, takes away terror. Stands there at the edge as it rolls in. Driving rain washing her mind clean 10

of the strain to leave, to escape, to be lost. Her hands in prayer hold to the rock, the rock that fuses with her grip, that marks her presence here forever.

Her hands reaching out to catch his head, his small dripping body, smothered with flesh, smothered with blood. Hands holding fast. Heart ripping open.

Love that is not gentle or caring, peaceful or soft. But love that is fierce, a wild tigress, eats through flesh, her heart eaten open, heart bleeding open, scream the pain of it. My heart that knows you, heart screaming blood. My hands that know you, heart dripping blood. The rock that holds us. The earth beneath us, the sky above us. Rain washing us both, wind promising more, promising more, promising more, promising more, promising more, promising life.

And who did you tell when your waters broke?

And who saw you walk out on the cliff alone?

And who turned their head when the storm rolled in?

And who stitched you up when you ripped yourself open?

And who held your hand when you got scared?

And who whispered in your ear to tell you of your glory?

And who cut the cord that made you two?

And who wrapped you both to keep you warm and dry?

And who carried you home when it was too raw to walk?

And who made your food while you breastfed?

And who held you while you wept in the night?

And who watched over you while you slept?

And who listened when you spoke of your joy?

And who reminded you who you’d been before that?

And who did you become?

And who are you now?

His stories have buried her. A thousand years of his words have diminished her. Cast her out. Unimportant. Irrelevant. A risk? One of them said that Non was not a woman at all, but a male companion of David. He said women of this period were so unimportant that David’s mother would not have been written about, and over the years He has become a She, Non, the male companion is recast as Non, the mother to include her in the story as required.

Because we need our holy men to be the most holy, speaking the words of the most holy.

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Because we are so fucking afraid of women’s sexuality and desire and the power of women’s bodies to create and birth new life that we must castrate them.

But she knows the storm and she will blow his house down.

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4 Dear David, My beautiful son.

I am sorry I am not with you on your birthday this year. Our lives seem to move further apart as time passes and that is the way it ought to be. Children outgrow their parents. Still, I miss you and you are always in my thoughts and my prayers.

This morning I am remembering the morning you were born. Your birth is still in me as though it were yesterday. I know you’ve heard the story many times before and I share it with you here once again – I feel it is important we know how we came to be here in order to know who we might become. We are always becoming more of ourselves. And yet, we seem to exist fully before we even arrive.

You were you when I carried you in my womb. When I took you to the druids for your Listening Ceremony, you spoke your own name through me. David, you pronounced. And you told us which rock would hold your story throughout time. When I found it there on the edge of the cliff, I knew it! As I knew you, from the beginning.

Looking back now there was a very gentle shift in how I perceived the light when I found this knowing in me. And the first moment I felt this shift it was at dawn break the night after I had spent sharing love with your father. He was sleeping beside me and his deep breathing was soothing me. And then I suddenly felt a flush of warmth in my heart and my belly. It was feather-light, happy yes, joyful yes, but so light I couldn’t have even described the emotion.

And as I noticed this, I also saw the light shift. It was more than just the sun 13

beginning to stir, it was more like the focus in my eyes shifted and there was more light in everything. A few weeks later when my body told me you were on your way, I realised that I knew this already.

I had never given much thought to becoming a mother until it happened. I suppose I didn’t feel like the mother type and of course I had the freedom to choose for myself. So, after years of riding and training and battling, I was as surprised as everyone else when I stopped! As you grew inside me, I felt such peace and gentleness. I knew this is what you were bringing to the world and I was so grateful to be able to receive your gifts so directly in my own body during that time. There is a song I used to sing to you when I walked along the cliff: My sweet David, my sweet son, the wind is whistling your name, My sweet David, my sweet son, the sun is singing your name, My sweet David, my sweet son, the earth is humming your name, My sweet David, my sweet son, the sea is roaring your name, My sweet David, my sweet son, soon it will be your time to come.

Singing it brought me closer to this place. And I hope it brought this place closer to you. My prayers seemed to find a home here in this land. I found myself at home here, with you at home inside me. It was a time of such sanctuary for me.

This, of course, changed later on when we moved away, but I was glad that you were born in a place that could hold us both. When I started the walk to your rock, when your time was near, for a while I seemed to lose connection to this feeling. I was scared. And I wasn’t sure if I could do what would need to be done. Perhaps if I wasn’t alone I might not have felt this way. But, of course, we are never alone, even when it appears to us that way. And by the time I arrived in your place my mind was so focused on riding the waves rushing through my body I had forgotten to be afraid!

The sea truly was roaring your name as I laboured there, hands clutching the rock as an anchor. A great storm had gathered and everything around me 14

seemed to be ripping and tearing apart. I pressed my body into that rock and you pressed your body through me. Pushing and pushing and holding on and breathing and pausing before pushing and pushing again. In between there were such deep pauses as I caught my breath and steadied myself and you rested and at times even the wind seemed to pause with us.

I was with you then, together we pushed and pulled ourselves apart. Lost in each other, I didn’t know where I ended and you began until I could feel your head and I gasped. Here YOU were. I could feel you with my hand. Your soft, soft crown. Such relief and joy that finally you were here! I stopped pushing and you pressed yourself out on my breath. Your head there inside my thighs. I could see you! And on the next breath your shoulders squeezing through. And then your body. All of your body there in my hands. The whole of you. My David, my sweet son. Whole and holy. Your tiny body, chalky and pink, smeared with my blood and my tears. Your dark blue eyes peering out listening to my voice as I sang your name and cried out my joy of meeting you. You were so familiar to me.

I knew you already. And I raised your tiny body in my hands to this place that had called you here, as the light of your wholeness glowed from under your skin.

You are so perfect to me. And I am so deeply grateful for you coming through me. I feel gratitude every day but especially on your birthday, which we shared together that first time.

David, all children are born whole and holy. I knew this the moment I held you in my hands. And in knowing your wholeness and holiness, I could also know my own, perhaps for the first time. This, my son, is the greatest gift that any child could offer their mother.

In knowing your own holiness you offer the gift of wholeness to all those people who ask for your help. And you do this with such gentleness and humility and deep service that I am always moved. I feel proud to be your mother.

I continue to devote my life to the mystery that binds us and weaves us both.

With love, Your mother, Non. 15

5 St David was born, it is believed, on the cliffs a little less than a mile outside of St Davids, on the west coast of Pembrokeshire. At the end of a single lane track, you will find a field with the ruins of a chapel, enclosed by a timber fence. A marker to remind you that this old ruin is under the stewardship of the Welsh Government’s historic environment service, CADW. The sign explains this. And the sign also explains that this is supposed to be the very place that Non gave birth to St David around the year 500. Later a church was built in her honour to mark this holy place. Many hundreds of years later, with the chapel in ruins, a smaller chapel was built to honour her – the Chapel of Our Lady and St Non. Built in 1934 by Cecil Morgan-Griffiths, a solicitor from Carmarthen who had also built a house for himself and his wife on the site, the house is now in stewardship of the Sisters of Mercy. The church was always intended to be called after St Non, but as she was not recognised by the Catholic Church in their Roman Liturgy, it was not possible for a church to be named after her, so they put in Our Lady’s name too.

Near the old chapel ruins, you can also find a well in St Non’s name – it’s hard to know what might have come first – the birth or the well but it’s likely that any old birthing place would need to be near a water source. The well has been improved in more recent years with a few steps leading down to it and a bench to sit on. Some legends say that the well itself sprung up upon the birth of David.

I spent the night on the cliff, sleeping under the stars, to try to experience something of David’s birth. Ideally, I would have done this around the feast day in early March, but the British weather is not very amenable, so I did it in June instead. The dream came easily. I walked through an old oak forest and found a woman there – she was of indistinguishable age, both young and ancient, with white hair. She introduced herself as Sula, after Sulis. She told me

she had been midwife to the local tribe when David was born. I asked her to tell me about the birth. This is her account.

“Every mother came to us once the baby had been growing three moons, when we sang and spoke with the newly formed life. We sang about how great this world can be – songs of the oak and meadowsweet, songs of the wind and sea, but we also sang of the pain and suffering of the human life and made it clear if they wanted to come through they would need to be steadfast. When Non first came to see us, we spoke to David about the changes that were coming to our land, the loss of the old ways and the hurt that he might face. He listened quietly there in Non’s womb and he heeded what we said and committed to coming through.

Each mother returned to see us after six moons. This time we brought our dreamers in to travel to meet the soul of the child to welcome them and prepare them for their journey into this world. They encountered the soul in its many incarnations so that we too could prepare for the arrival. When the dreamers journeyed to meet David, although he had not yet brought forth his name, they found him in many other human lives. He was an earth-soul – souls can come from any of the elements: the stars, the sea, the earth, and a small number of souls come from the air. They are close to elementals and the Fae. This soul group don’t usually stay long in this world- its too dense for them.

David, though, was from the earth. Earth-souls are the ones who will make the greatest changes in our human world. The sea-souls are the dreamers – they hold the vision. David’s mother Non came from the sea. The star-souls are the ones who bring the light to our world, who help us to see in the darkness, who remind us of our spiritual home. Although David had a strong connection to the sea through his mother, and a natural inclination towards the stars, we knew that he would be very important in building something for those who came after him. This came from the vision one of the dreamers received of a golden anchor at the bottom of the sea. The chain stretches up to the surface of the water where it becomes a light, transparent thread, which is lifted towards the sun by a small white dove. We knew from this that David would work with all elements to bring something to pass. Once he named himself David – the soul speaks the name through the mother at the six moon ceremony – we knew he would be part of the growing Christian movement.

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This made it more complex for us. With some women and some souls coming through, we continue to dream for them up until and even during the birth, always by request from the mother or the child-soul. It wasn’t so with David.

In the first place, it was clear that he wanted to do this alone. My sense was that he carried some guilt from a previous life and was repenting – something which we were seeing more frequently in the name of this new god, Christ, who himself suffered for the benefit of all others.

But the main reason we stepped back was because of Non. We had known her since she was in the womb and had witnessed her grow from a child to a woman. She had come to us when she began her moon cycle and then we could see how deeply the sea ran through her blood. But she refused to see it. She was bold and fierce and very angry about what had happened to her mother, so she took her place by her father in battles and court matters. She burned with fire. Until that is, she came to us for the three moon ceremony. Bearing this child was changing her. And by the six moon gathering you could see the sea in her eyes. She had retuned to herself and although she did not yet know this, she soon would.

It was agreed that I would not attend her at her time of labour. She accepted this with great humility. And so, unable to be with her, I watched over her.

I saw her approaching David’s rock on that stormy morning. I called on Sulis to bless her and bring water to ease her pain – to bring flow to support her breathing. I beheld Non as she lifted David from between her legs. I felt her love stretch across these fields and I heard her joy in her cries. I wanted to go to her but held fast behind the rocks above and instead sent my dream bird, the heron. He flew over her and for a moment, she looked upwards with the babe in her arms and the sun broke through the clouds and they were both bathed in light.”

I thank Sula for sharing this story. When I return to the cliff the sun has risen and I look to the horizon. A heron flies past. I feel an expansion in my chest, my heart tilts backwards and stretches open.

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This booklet was commissioned by Ancient Connections in 2019.

Comisiynwyd y llyfryn hwn gan Gysylltiadau Hynafol yn 2019.

Led by Pembrokeshire County Council with partners Wexford County Council, Pembrokeshire Coast National Park Authority and Visit Wexford. Funded by the European Regional Development Fund through the Ireland Wales Co-operation Programme.

Arweinir gan Gyngor Sir Penfro gyda’r partneriaid Cyngor Sir Wexford, Awdurdod Parc Cenedlaethol Arfordir Penfro a Visit Wexford. Ariennir gan Gronfa Datblygu Rhanbarthol Ewrop trwy Raglen Gydweithredu Iwerddon Cymru.

Images by | Delweddau gan Sarah Williams.

Layout by | Cynllun gan lucentword.com

© 2019 Tre Breathnach. All rights reserved.

Tre Breathnach Also Tracy Breathnach (formerly Evans). Tracy is a performance-maker, writer and researcher, from Co.Cork, Ireland who lives in Wales with her two sons. She works with a wide range of communities and manages a variety of arts, community, heritage and education projects. In 2018, Tracy gained a PhD from Aberystwyth University, exploring the ways that women perform their birth stories through narrative and the body, funded by AHRC. Tracy’s ongoing creative practice is embedded in deep listening, somatic movement and écriture feminine, or writing the body. She is passionate about supporting women to find their own voices through embodied enquiry and performative actions. She is director of a new visionary arts organisation Silver Apples, which produces and commissions live art projects that explore embodied spirituality.

The research for this text was born out of a performance project about St Non carried out in 2018/19 funded by Arts Council of Wales and supported by Wales Millennium Centre, Span Arts and Oriel y Parc, St. Davids.