The Story of the Misses Angels and Their Farm

Ed. Note: This is another in the  ‘ Vanished Landmarks’ section. It is a brief account of one of the bygone features of our locality, which live on only in the imagination, through stories passed down through the generations and in the saying  ‘You can hear them out on the Green Grounds.’

Possibly from Neolithic times and certainly from the medieval period, the edge of a wooded Swansea Bay curved outside the ‘Green Grounds’ from the Mumbles Head to Margam Wood. There is also a legend of a bridle path from Penrice castle to Margam Abbey passing some way out past Mumbles Head. Then, on the morning of 20 January 1607, Grove Island or ‘the Green Grounds’ was submerged when a great tidal wave engulfed many places along the Bristol Channel from Swansea to Bristol.

In 1899, Col. W. Ll. Morgan in his  ‘Antiquarian Survey of East Gower’ wrote ‘A slab of rock was dragged up on the Green Grounds bearing marks of a chisel and cement. It is supposed to have come from the old house of the Angels said to have existed on these lands.’

 It was in the autumn of 1890 that I found myself one glorious afternoon, accompanied by two congenial com­panions, parading the Mumbles Beach and enjoying with them the many extraordinary views, which the clearness of the atmosphere revealed to us. The light of the sun burnished the tops of the distant hills, and we could see in the distance the frowning heights of Craig Lynn and the towering cones and ridges of the Afan and Rhondda Valleys. We saw the white cliffs of the Nash rising out of the sea, and Dunraven Castle hard by, looking like a sentinel and guardian of the land on duty. The whole coast-line was well defined by the golden sand dunes, which abound all round the foreshore. A large number of trawlers were still afloat and the numerous skiffs and pleasure boats which skimmed across the bay in graceful attitude, made up a sight never to be forgot.

  Calling for a boat, an old sea salt, on the look-out, struck a bargain with us, and after a few minutes rowing we found ourselves far out in the bay, just under Mumbles Head. We soon found the old salt very agreeable and full of traditional stories, which he related to us quite freely, and of which the following is the substance:

 ‘I remember the Mumbles for the last 70 years. I am in my 79th year. I consider the sea has encroached nearly 100 yards since I was a boy, as the stumps and the roots of trees along the shore testify. I know all about the Misses Angels. There were two sisters, one of whom was blind for a long time. They lived in yonder house close to the shore (the first house after leaving Norton for Swansea) and during the winter, when the waves rolled over the protecting wall and threatened its destruction, they would move down to the Ship Hotel and remain there until the winter was over. One of the sisters lived in Angel Street, Swansea, in the house now known as the York Hotel, and died there. This was 30 years ago.

It used to be told among the fishermen that the Angel family would become extinct. There used to live in the parish three families — the Robins, the Madocks and the Angels. Each of these families opposed the laying down of a tessellated pavement in the church, whereas the other parishioners were desirous that this should be done. They heaped curses upon the heads of those who opposed the scheme, and swore that they were accursed, and that their posterity would become extinct. And this actually happened, as we have no Angels, nor Robins, nor Madocks left.