At St Fagans National Museum of History, the rose garden, or Rosery, is full of colour and scent during the summer. But behind the beauty, there is a lot of hard work, and a long and interesting story.

The first Rosery was planned in 1898 by Hugh Pettigrew, the head gardener at the time. It had winding grass paths, trellises with climbing roses, and a canal planted with water lilies and filled with ornamental fish. More than 100 types of roses were planted in the garden.

After the First World War, the Rosery was not looked after. The canal was filled in, and the trellises and pergolas were removed. In the 1940s, after the Plymouth family donated St Fagans Castle and grounds to the Museum, a simpler rose garden was created, with triangular beds.

In 1998, the Museum decided to restore Pettigrew’s original design. The old canal was dug out and replanted with water lilies. The triangular beds were removed, and new curved beds were laid out around the canal, following Pettigrew’s plan. Roses were chosen carefully, based on a list made by Pettigrew in 1904.

However, over time, many of the old roses became unhealthy. They suffered badly from a disease called black spot, which makes the leaves turn yellow, develop black spots and fall off. Before the Clean Air Act of 1956, black spot was rare because the air was full of sulphur from pollution, which helped protect the plants. But when the air became cleaner, black spot became a much bigger problem.

In 2017, the Rosery was replanted again. This time, many modern roses were used, strong, healthy plants that flower for a long time and still have the beauty and scent of traditional roses. Most of the roses are from David Austin, a famous rose breeder. One special rose growing in the garden is called ‘Roald Dahl’, named after the famous author who was born in Cardiff.

We still garden in the spirit of the Edwardian period, because most of the ornamental gardens at St Fagans date back from that time. The Edwardians loved roses - and so do we! But looking after them is not always glamorous. Every January, the gardeners prune the roses hard to keep them healthy. Then the beds are mulched with manure, we add manure to the soil to feed it. Healthy soil helps the roses to grow strong and healthy.

Throughout the summer, the gardeners deadhead the roses to encourage more flowers, but they leave some blooms to make rose hips, which are used to decorate the historic houses in winter. Around the roses, there are also flowering perennial plants like lavender and violas planted to help pollinators like bees and butterflies. 

Some roses, called single roses, have fewer petals and an open centre. These are better for insects because bees can easily reach the nectar and pollen. Some of our favourites include roses called ‘Tottering-by- Gently’ and ‘Starlight Symphony’.

Today, the Rosery is full of colour and scent. The new roses look and feel like old roses, but they flower again and again through the summer. They remind us of the love, care, and hard work that goes into keeping a garden full of life.

This treasure is now on display at the National Waterfront Museum, Swansea until June 2027.

What was the Ann Francis shipwreck?

On the night of 28th December 1583, a ferocious storm swept a merchant ship onto the South Wales coast. There were no survivors, but this ship, the Ann Francis, is one of the best documented wrecks of the period and has now produced some of the most remarkable treasure to have been found in Wales.

What was discovered at the Ann Francis shipwreck?

Amgueddfa Cymru – Museum Wales has just acquired a spectacular collection of coins and artefacts. These were discovered by Peter Hughes, a metal detectorist, between 1996 and 2017. They include about 870 gold and silver coins, as well as personal belongings, ship’s equipment, and cooking, eating and drinking utensils, all dating to the late-15th to 16th century.

These add to previously acquired items found at the same beach as far back as the 1970s, such as navigational compasses, more coins and a bosun’s whistle, all indicating the presence of a 16th-century wreck. Research by local historians, archaeologists and curators in the 1970s to 1990s revealed the wreck to be from a ship called Ann Francis.

Are there historical records of the Ann Francis wreck?

Yes, there are! Accounts from the Star Chamber court [https://libguides.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/law-histcom/starch] reveal that a ship was wrecked on the Glamorgan shore on 28th December 1583 (that’s the Julian calendar, so 7th January in the Gregorian calendar we use today). At the court the local lord Sir Edward Mansell claimed legal right over the wreck. He accused the Steward of Afan George Williams and 100 others of arming themselves and plundering the wreckage. Williams denied this, saying that the wreckage was on land belonging to the Earl of Pembroke and that he had taken over the wreck on behalf of his lord. Both sides impounded goods and parts of the ship and held onto them while the case was ongoing.

Henry Herbert, 2nd Earl of Pembroke (c.1531-1604)

What was recovered from the Ann Francis wreck in 1583?

Mansell made an inventory listing all the items he impounded: various cannon and firearms, anchors, rope, sail, pieces of mast, the ship’s boat, three chests with their locks broken, cloves, marmalade, textile, a whistle and 12 pounds 6 shillings of Spanish silver. The Star Chamber records reveal that Williams had confiscated several items from a looter, including spices, a pewter spoon and a pewter cup. Six people were arrested in possession of loot from the wreck.

Williams and Pembroke won the case, but by March 1584, Francis Shaxton, the owner of the ship had come forward to claim the wreck. It was agreed that Mansell would return some of the impounded goods, specifically, two of the best anchors, two of the best cables, six cannon and their carriages, and half of the money recovered from six looters.

Where was the Ann Francis sailing before it wrecked?

Francis Shaxton, the owner, claimed that the Ann Francis had sailed to Hartlepool from King’s Lynn, but in truth, the Ann Francis had set sail for the Iberian Peninsula in October with a cargo of wheat. At the time, Spain relied on imports of grain as well as other goods. It paid for these shipments with gold and silver bullion, which had been shipped from Spain’s recent conquests in South and Central America. The Ann Francis was returning home to Kings Lynn from Spain with payment for the grain along with other tradeable goods when it was driven onto the shore by a storm and violently wrecked. A navigational error or strong southerly winds may have led its captain to enter the Bristol Channel instead of the English Channel.

Map of Glamorganshire from The theatre of the empire of Great Britain. 1616

Why did Francis Shaxton lie about the ship’s destination?

It turns out that Francis Shaxton and his father, also Francis Shaxton, were merchants based in King’s Lynn and notorious smugglers. Smuggling at the time was rife and many coastal communities were involved in it. Francis Shaxton senior was even elected mayor of King’s Lynn twice. Clearly the people of King’s Lynn didn’t mind that Shaxton was a known smuggler. Francis Shaxton junior took over the business in 1582 by which time the family had amassed a fleet of 8 merchant ships.

Who was on board the Ann Francis when it wrecked?

A parish register in one of King’s Lynn’s subsidiary ports may reveal the names of the sailors onboard the Ann Francis. The Wells-next-the-Sea parish register records the loss of 14 sailors on the west coast in December 1583, the same time the Ann Francis was wrecked. It says:

“Perished upon the west coast coming from Spain: Richard Waller, Christopher Dodd, John Bunting, William Craven, George Page, Gregory Baxter, Christopher Baxter, Thomas Ayre, Henry Gouldsmith, Walter Marshall, Robert Archer, Oliver Cobb, William Barret and Richard Dye, whose deaths were brought to pass by the detestable working of an execrable witch of King’s Lynn whose name was Mother Gabley, by boiling or rather labouring of certain eggs in a pail full of cold water. Afterwards approved sufficiently at the arraignment of the said witch”

We don’t know what happened to Mother Gabley. She was apparently the first person condemned in Norfolk under the 1562 Act Against Conjurations, Enchantments and Witchcrafts. As her supposed crime involved murder, her fate may have been execution by hanging.

The Wells-next-the-Sea parish register 1548-1793, with kind permission from the Norfolk Record Office – PD 679/1.

What treasure was found on the Ann Francis?

The ship was carrying a lot of coin. Mansell’s inventory lists several coffers with their locks broken, suggesting that much of the treasure had been spirited away by looters before he got to the beach. Or perhaps he didn’t declare everything he found. What has been found on the beach more recently is what wasn’t recovered at the time.

Here are some of the coins found on the beach:

Gold coins

A Portuguese gold São Vicente, named after the depiction of Saint Vincent of Saragossa, patron saint of Lisbon and sailors, on the reverse (tails) of this coin. It was struck in 1555-1557 during the reign of John III.

A Spanish gold doble excelente depicting the so-called Catholic Monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, who united Aragon and Castille, the two largest provinces of Spain. They sponsored Christopher Columbus’s expedition to the New World. They reigned together from 1474 until Isabella’s death in 1504. Ferdinand continued to reign on his own until 1516. Their coins were very successful so many of the coins inscribed with their names were struck posthumously.

Silver coins

A Spanish silver eight reales, one of the famous pieces-of-eight, also known as a Spanish dollar. Most of the silver coins were struck in the names of Ferdinand and Isabella. They range from the 8 reales down to the half real, though most are 4 reales. The reverse on all these coins shows the symbols of Aragon and Castille, a yoke for Aragon and a bundle of arrows for Castille.

A rare Spanish silver three reales, struck during the reign of Charles and Joanna at the newly created mint in Mexico City in 1536-7, making it one of the very first coins struck in the Americas. The reverse shows the Pillars of Hercules at the Strait of Gibraltar. Over 120 Mexican silver coins have been discovered on the beach.

A taler of the Maurice Elector of Saxony. This is one of many different talers minted in the German states and counties of the Holy Roman Empire in the mid-16th century, which have been found on the beach. Their name evolved into “dollar” and came to refer to all silver coins of that size including the Spanish piece-of-eight.

International currency and trade

A silver sixpence of Elizabeth I dated 1580. This may have been dropped by one of the looters or it may have been pocket change belonging to one of the crew. Other small denomination silver and copper Spanish, Portuguese and German coins found on the beach may have been picked up in the ports of the continent as change.

The silver and gold coins form part of the payment for the wheat. Interestingly, most of the coins were several decades old by the time of the Ann Francis’s last voyage, yet many are in an unworn condition, set aside in store for many years. Perhaps some had been transported in bulk as previous payments for goods and services. This would explain why German talers, Spanish and Mexican silver, and Portuguese gold are all associated with one wreck.

What other artefacts were found at the wreck?

A brass combination lock. It was found among the scatter of silver coins. It is likely the lock for one of the chests containing the coins or important ships documents, perhaps one of the coffers listed on Mansell’s inventory. The lock code has yet to be cracked. One contemporary Elizabethan combination lock seems to have used the code “open”, much like using 1234 as your pin code or the word “password” as your computer password, but this one appears more complicated.

Two coin-weights, used for checking the weight of gold coins from the reign of Henry IV, which were still in circulation internationally. Tradesmen would want a variety of these weights to hand so that they could check the different currencies they might be paid in.

Navigational equipment

Sounding leads, lead weights that were dropped over the side of the ship on ropes to determine the depth of the water. They have concave bases which would be filled with tallow, to determine the form of the sea bottom from sand stuck in the tallow or the impression of rocks or coral.

Nautical dividers or compasses, used with charts to determine the ship’s location based on a known starting position and heading, a process now known as a dead reckoning.

A boatswain or bosun’s whistle. It was used for giving orders on board – its sound could be heard above the noise of the sea.

Parts of the ship

Several copper nails, rivets and lead sheet fragments which may have held the ship together or acted as repairs.

Defence

Cannonballs with cube-shaped recesses inside them, indicating that they are likely dice shot. Each ball held an iron dice, possibly intended to cause more damage or make the projectile spin.

Lead shot has found on the beach which may have been ammunition for smaller firearms.

Mansell’s inventory tells us that the ship was armed with a range of different guns, a sensible precaution considering the risk from pirates and privateers.

Feeding the crew

A brass pestle and four pewter spoons, including one engraved with identifying marks.

A pewter tankard handle and lid.

Spigots and taps, which would be hammered into casks of beer or wine.

Several fragments from a cauldron.

Small rolled up lead pieces appear to have been net weights for fishing.

Personal and miscellaneous items

A brass candlestick, and various personal items and dress accessories, including a thimble, buckles, a button and a spur possibly belonging to the crew or lost during the looting of the wreckage.

What should I do if I find the contents of a shipwreck?

As historic wreck material, the finds are protected by UK law. Under the Merchant Shipping Act 1995, there is a legal obligation for finders of wreck to report wreck material to the Receiver of Wreck. There are different definitions and categories of wreck, but the Ann Francis finds count as “wreck material washed ashore in tidal waters”. Legally, the finds belong to the crown and the finder is entitled to a salvage award. It is the Receiver of Wreck’s responsibility to find an appropriate museum to take the finds. For more information visit Wreck and salvage law - GOV.UK.

Come and see these items on display at the National Waterfront Museum until June 2027.

Further Reading

• Blundell, J. 1994, ‘A Tudor wreck near Aberavon in Glamorgan’, Cardiff Naturalists’ Society Newsletter 22, 1-3.
• Redknap, M. and Besly, E. 1997 ‘Wreck de mer and dispersed wreck sites: the case of the Ann Francis (1583)’ in M Redknap (ed.), Artefacts from Wrecks. Dated assemblages from the Late Middle Ages to the Industrial Revolution, Oxbow Monograph 84 (Oxbow Books, Oxford), 191-207.
• Redknap, M. 2019, 'The Ann Francis', in Redknap, M., Rees, S. and Aberg, A (ed), Wales and the Sea: 10,000 Years of Welsh Maritime History, (RCAHMW/Y Lolfa, Talybont), 240.

Keeping track of plant introductions and invasive plant spread, and knowing how to identify these species is important to conserve our ecosystems – this is where the Welsh National Herbarium comes in…

Have you heard of the term “invasive” species?

As international travel has become easier and more accessible over time, we’ve increasingly moved plants, animals, fungi and algae around the world. Sometimes this happens intentionally – for example, importing pretty plants to be grown in gardens – and sometimes accidentally, such as marine species picked up in the ballast water of cargo ships. You can learn more about invasive species and marine invaders here.

Non-native vs invasive species…

The number of species introduced from their native range (where they originally occur) to new locations has been increasing for years. Species that have been transported to an area they couldn’t have colonised by themselves are called “non-native species”.

Although most of them are harmless, 10-15% of non-native species end up thriving in their introduced habitats – they spread and cause negative impacts to our native biodiversity and ecosystems. These are called “invasive species”, and they can have serious knock-on effects for our health, the climate and our economy.

Why are plants important?

We often forget that we interact with plants every day. The array of habitats found in Britain are made up of a diversity of uniquely adapted species, and plants form the basis of many of these habitats. Plants act as food sources for a huge diversity of organisms (including us!); they also influence our physical environment, for example reducing flood risk by stabilizing riverbanks and storing water. Some plant species are special for being so rare and only growing in the British Isles. However, our flora is changing; we now have more non-native than native plant species in Britain!

Invasive plants – how do they get here and what’s the problem?

There are 36 plant species that are of special concern in Britain, but there are also more species that are considered invasive and have special legislation around how they can be handled to control their spread. Mainly these species have ended up in Britain through horticulture, but less commonly, invasive plants turn up by hitch-hiking in imported materials or in the ballast of ships.

Horticulture

Many species have been imported as ornamental plants because they are pretty and were thought to make for good garden interest – this was particularly common in the Victorian period, before we knew much about the risks of introducing species to new lands!

Japanese knotweed/Clymog Japan is a prime example. This species was introduced to Britain in the 1800’s, where it was propagated and became a popular exotic garden plant. However, records of garden escapes were recorded from as early as 1907 in Glamorganshire and to this day, Japanese knotweed is particularly problematic in South Wales. Evidence indicates that every plant of Japanese knotweed (Reynoutria japonica var. japonica) growing in Britain originated from a single female plant introduced all those years ago! You can find this plant growing along roadsides, riverbanks, railway lines, woodlands and grasslands, where it spreads by deep underground rhizomes (underground stems that produce new shoots) and seriously reduces biodiversity. Around £1.7 million is spent in the UK every year on managing Japanese knotweed and mitigating against its damage!

Japanese knotweed/Clymog Japan growing in South Wales.

Specimen of Japanese knotweed in the Welsh National Herbarium (Amgueddfa Cymru), collected from St Fagans.

Himalayan balsam/Jac y Neidiwr (Impatiens glandulifera) was also introduced as an ornamental plant from the Himalayas in 1839. It is found today growing along riverbanks, in woodlands and along roads. It has explosive seed pods which allow it to spread across large distances. Although the flowers are beautiful, it outcompetes native species, reducing biodiversity. It also has shallow root systems which can worsen riverbank erosion, which in turn can reduce water quality and increase the risk of flooding. A study by Cardiff student, Amy Wyatt, found that since 1865, Himalayan balsam has evolved to better adapt to its introduced range.

A specimen of Himalayan balsam/Jac y Neidiwr.

Contamination of imported materials

Pirri-pirri burr (Acaena novae-zelandiae) found its way to Britain from south-eastern Australia and New Zealand as a hitch-hiker on imported wool. It has hooked seeds which can easily attach themselves to fur and clothing. Like many invasive plants, this species can outcompete our native flora and form dense stands which reduce biodiversity.

Example of Pirri-pirri burr flower, showing hooks/spines that allow seeds to spread by attaching to fur and clothing. 

A specimen of Pirri-pirri burr.

Ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) is native to North America and is thought to have arrived in Britain in bird seed, horticultural soil and soil used to ballast ships. It has highly allergenic pollen and can cause hay fever.

Heath Star Moss (Campylopus introflexus) is an invasive moss that is thought to have originated in the Southern hemisphere and to have been introduced with produce transported by ships. It is also known as Tank Moss, for its suspected spread via World War II tanks. An expert coloniser of acidic bare ground, such as that found on coal tips, it is now common in Wales where it threatens these wildlife-rich habitats.

Heath star Moss growing in Tylorstown.

Recently, a new fungus (Bryoscyphus granulosus) has been found infecting Heath Star Moss and closely related mosses. The fungus causes the moss to die back and form dead patches that expand outwards, like a fairy ring. Specimens of this fungus have been donated to the museum recently by former curator George Greiff. These include the ‘holotype’, the original specimen used to describe the fungus as new to science. This fungus parasite has significant ecological importance, perhaps with the potential to control an invasive moss that can cause substantial harm.

How we’re working on invasive plants at Amgueddfa Cymru

The Welsh National Herbarium held at National Museum Cardiff contains over three quarters of a million plant specimens, representing around 300 years of collecting and covering virtually all species found in Wales. The herbarium is a treasure trove of information that acts as a reference point for identifying plants, where species are found, and how non-native and invasive plants are spreading across the British Isles. You can learn more about what an herbarium is and how we preserve plant specimens here. The Botany team work hard to look after and develop these collections of specimens for the benefit of us all, and to support ongoing research into the changing diversity of our ecosystems. We form a small part of the Natural Sciences team at Amgueddfa Cymru, made up of curators who look after the natural history collections. Some of us specialize in species taxonomy (naming and classifying species) and ecology; some of us research non-native and invasive species so we can understand their spread and impacts.

What can you do to help?

There are many ways to help stop the spread of invasive plants. You can find out more here. You can help prevent future invaders by keeping an eye on the plants in your garden and alerting others to species that may jump the garden wall. There are also ways to stop the spread of invasive species in and around water – learn more here.

In recent years, Gwen John has been reclaimed as a queer Welsh icon. While her sexuality was never hidden (her brother Augustus references her attraction to both men and women in the foreword to her Memorial Exhibition catalogue in 1946 and it has since been discussed in all three of her biographies), this renewed interest encourages us to think about how John’s queerness might influence how she saw the world and made art. How do gender and sexuality affect out reading of an artist’s choice of subject or how they depict people and places?

John had sexual relationships and romantic friendships with both men and women throughout her life. According to Augustus’s autobiography, she had ‘an unhappy crossing in love’ with ‘a certain girl student’ at the Slade School of Art in London which ‘led to a drama’ in which John jealously demanded the girl end an affair with a married man. John’s first biographer, Susan Chitty, suggested that this love interest may have been Grace Westray, a fellow Slade student who shared a flat for a time with Gwen and Augustus. She may be the young woman depicted sitting in the foreground of John’s Portrait Group, one of John’s only surviving student works. Outside the window, we see two figures, possibly Gwen and fellow artist Ambrose McEvoy, another love interest. This group scene represents the tangled web of love, friendship, and family that defined Gwen’s student days. It depicts the shared student flat at 21 Fitzroy Street which served as a hub of creativity that fostered her artistic development, as well as a safe space in which to explore her emerging sexuality.

Gwen John, Group Portrait, 1897. UCL Art Collection – currently on display in Gwen John: Strange Beauties

John’s subsequent relationships followed a similar pattern: passionate attachment and deep affection spilling over into overwhelming devotion on John’s part. When she met the sculptor Auguste Rodin after moving to Paris in 1904 she became a favourite model and soon began a romantic relationship with him. This is documented in the hundreds of letters she sent him, now in the archives of the Musée Rodin. While many of them are love letters and some speak frankly about sex and desire, including with other women, others describe her day-to-day modelling for other artists. Among these were many queer women, such as Ottilie Roederstein, Ida Gerhardi, Anna Wood Brown, and Hilda Flodin all of whom were long term clients and friends. While it’s not clear if John ever attended any of the cafés or salons associated with the Parisian sapphic artistic circles to which these women belonged, she would undoubtedly have been aware of them.

Like many of the women John worked with and for, having her own lodgings was essential for both her professional and personal life. Her garret apartment, as depicted in Corner of the Artist’s Room, was both her home and her studio. As art historian Alicia Foster has pointed out, having a ‘room of one’s own’ was essential for her art practice, but as an unmarried woman it was also a space to which she could invite friends and lovers. At a time when even walking city streets unchaperoned could illicit unwanted attention, the ability to rent a small, private space meant freedom, sexual and otherwise. Is it any surprise then that John’s rooms appear so frequently as the subject of her art in its own right? For a single, queer woman and artist, this space represented both sanctuary and livelihood.

Gwen John, Corner of the Artist’s Room in Paris, 1907-9, NMW A 3397

In late 1926, John met the famous Catholic philosopher Jacques Maritain, who lived nearby in Meudon with his wife, Raissa, and his sister-in-law, Véra Oumançoff. John quickly became deeply attached to Oumançoff, who became her confidante and spiritual advisor. The two women would often speak after mass at their local church and go for walks in the woods together. John’s affection for Oumançoff developed into romantic feelings, which appear to have been unrequited. Many passionate draft letters addressed to Oumançoff can be found in the Gwen John Papers in the National Library of Wales. In them, John mixes religious thought with romantic devotion, asking God to ‘show her how to love Véra’ and asking Oumanoff to let her ‘kiss her hands’. Oumançoff became overwhelmed by the attention, and asked John to limit her letters and visits to once per week. John duly obeyed, but began bringing not just letters to these rare visits but also drawings, which she called ‘dessins de lundi’ (Monday drawings). Each week for nearly two years, John presented Oumançoff with a drawing or watercolour, some new and others apparently versions of older motifs. The subjects, styles, and mediums are widely varied. Some were presented attached to backing sheets of coloured paper with the title and date given inscribed on the back. The titles of many of John’s works on paper (such as Mademoiselle Pouvereau and Souvenir du Dimanche des rameaux) are known thanks to these inscriptions.

Gwen John, Mademoiselle Pouvereau, NMW A 3607

Oumançoff kept these drawings long after the relationship ended, in spite of moving the United States as an exile during the Second World War. Over one hundred of the dessins de lundi were discovered again in the 1960s in the Maritain archive. Several works now in the studio collection at Amgueddfa Cymru are versions of compositions John gave as dessins de lundi. Reading these works through the lens of John’s sexuality, we can see them not just as formal studies of composition or tone, but as tokens of love and affection intended to convey a shared experience of faith and prayer. Furthermore, because John’s ability to communicate with Oumançoff was restricted to just once a week, these drawings became an additional means through which she could communicate to her beloved. They stood in for conversations and letters.

One of the images that John gave to Oumançoff as a dessin de lundi was a drawing of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux (1873-1897). This modern French saint, a close contemporary of John, died young and was canonised very quickly. She was one of the first saints to ever be photographed, a fact that her convent used to help create an iconography for her and advance the cause of her canonisation. The convent in Lisieux published books, prayer cards, and memorabilia with Thérèse’s image on it. As a Catholic convert and an artist, John was fascinated by these photographs which for the first time showed the real face of a saint, rather than an anonymous stylised icon made hundreds of years after their death. She became particularly attached to an image of Thérèse and her older sister, Céline, as children, drawing and painting this composition hundreds of times. These images have tended to be underrepresented in studies about Gwen John’s art, and are often dismissed as obsessive or absent-minded doodles. But this diminishes the importance that the ‘true face’ of a saint just three years older than her would have had for John. Furthermore, by the 1920s when John began drawing her, Thérèse had become a bit of a queer icon herself. Jean Cocteau, Henri Ghéon, Lucie Delarue-Mardrus, Vita Sackville-West, and Radclyffe Hall were all devotees of the saint. Her theology of the ‘Little Way’, which suggested that small, imperfect lives could be made holy through everyday sacrifices appealed to converts, avant-gardists, and other outsiders. John, who would write in her late notebooks about her desire to become a saint, was likewise drawn to Thérèse’s ‘Little Way’. Perhaps as an outsider herself, whose life and sexuality didn’t conform to heteronormative standards, she took particular comfort in Thérèse’s image and doctrine.

Gwen John, Sainte Thérèse of Lisieux and her sister, NMW A 15561

Gwen John, Sainte Thérèse of Lisieux and her sister, NMW A 15534

Reading John’s art through the lens of her sexual fluidity opens up possibilities for new interpretations of her art. While this article has touched on a few examples, there is still more work to be done. In acknowledging John’s queerness and considering how it might influence her way of seeing the world around her, we add depth and nuance to our understanding. To read more about John as a queer artist, see Norena Shopland’s book Forbidden Lives (2017), Tabitha Deadman’s Art UK article ‘Bi visibility: Gwen John and multiple gender attraction’, and Mair Jones’s Art UK article ‘Queer Welsh women in art’.

Each May, as part of No Mow May, the National Wool Museum allows areas of its landscape to grow freely, creating space for wildflowers, insects and the wider ecosystem to thrive. By stepping back from regular mowing, even for a short time, the grounds are transformed, revealing how much life depends on longer grass and seasonal change.

The Museum is deeply connected to its surrounding landscape, from the sheep that supply the wool to the habitats on its doorstep. Within the site lie three and a half acres of meadow, bordered by the Nant Bargod and Nant Bran, tributaries of the Afon Teifi. Alongside this sits the museum’s dye garden—a more cultivated space, but one that is equally rich in colour, history and wildlife.

Together, these spaces show how a simple change in land management can support a thriving and interconnected environment.

A Living Meadow Landscape

Away from the clatter of the mill machinery, the meadow offers a quieter, more reflective space. Managed through seasonal hay cutting rather than frequent mowing, it provides an important habitat for a wide variety of species. This approach sits at the heart of No Mow May, allowing grasses and wildflowers time to grow, flower and set seed.

This type of rough, damp grassland—known in Wales as rhos pasture—is increasingly rare. Its careful management is essential, as too much mowing or invasive species such as Japanese knotweed can quickly disrupt the balance that allows wildlife to flourish.

In spring and summer, the meadow comes to life. Butterflies such as Painted Lady and Red Admiral drift among the flowers, while the rare Brown Hairstreak lays its eggs on blackthorn in the hedgerows. Bees collect nectar from clover and hawthorn, ladybirds feed on aphids, and damselflies hover along the riverbanks. Surveys have even recorded more than 30 species of beetle on site.

The plant life is just as important. Native grasses such as meadow foxtail and fescues support wildflowers including knapweed, cuckoo flower and tansy, while wetter areas are home to rushes, meadowsweet and valerian. Together, these plants provide food and shelter for insects, birds and other animals.

One particularly rich area is the river overflow channel, where seasonal flooding brings nutrients that encourage a dense variety of plant life. It’s a reminder that natural processes still shape the landscape.

By allowing the meadow to grow throughout May, No Mow May supports this complex and thriving habitat.

The Dye Garden: Craft and Wildlife

Alongside the meadow, the dye garden offers a more structured environment, rooted in the history of textile production. For thousands of years, people used plants and minerals to dye fibres, a practice that continued in Welsh woollen mills well into the 20th century before synthetic dyes became dominant.

Today, the dye garden reconnects with this tradition, allowing the museum to explore the journey from plant to dyed fabric. Developed over many years and now cared for by natural dye practitioner Susan Martin, supported by the National Heritage Lottery Fund, it is both a working garden and a place of learning.

During the growing season, the garden is filled with colour—creating an inviting space for visitors but also attracting a wide range of wildlife. The same principle behind No Mow May—allowing plants the time and space to grow—benefits this cultivated area.

Wildlife Across the Site

Across both the meadow and dye garden, a diverse range of species can be found, each playing a role in maintaining the health of the environment.

Butterflies are among the most visible visitors, but many species are in long-term decline. One reason is the lack of suitable plants for caterpillars. The flowers that attract butterflies are not always the same plants they lay their eggs on.

At the Museum, plants often considered “weeds”—such as nettles, thistles and willow—are allowed to grow in certain areas, providing essential habitats for caterpillars.

Bees are equally important, from familiar bumblebees to species such as the wool carder bee. Hoverflies, often mistaken for wasps, also play a dual role: as adults they pollinate plants, while their larvae feed on aphids, helping to protect plant life.

Not all wildlife is immediately noticeable. Earthworms are vital to soil health, aerating the ground and breaking down organic matter. They also form an important part of the food chain—there’s nothing a mole enjoys more than an earthworm-rich feast.

Birds are regular visitors too. Robins are familiar companions to gardeners, often appearing when soil is disturbed and insects are brought to the surface.

The range of habitats across the site has also led to the identification of less common species. Museum scientists have recorded the spider Araeoncus humilis, classed as vulnerable in the UK—highlighting the importance of maintaining these environments.

Looking Ahead and Visiting

No Mow May is just one of the ways the National Wool Museum supports biodiversity, but its effects can be seen across the entire site.

By allowing grass and wildflowers to grow, the museum creates conditions in which insects, birds and animals can thrive. Spaces such as the dye garden show that conservation and cultural heritage are not separate, but deeply linked.

It has been exciting to see the variety of wildlife visiting the museum grounds, but there is always more to discover. Work is ongoing to support these habitats, including plans for wildlife cameras to capture even more of the species that visit.

Visitors are encouraged to explore the landscape for themselves. In April this year, a narrow path was cut through the meadow, allowing visitors to wander through the longer grass without disturbing the wildlife.

The Meadow Trail highlights some of the plants and animals that can be found across the site, while signage, supported by the National Heritage Lottery Fund GROW project, explains the importance of seasonal initiatives such as No Mow May.

By simply letting the grass grow, the National Wool Museum reveals a hidden world—one that changes with the seasons and rewards those who take the time to look a little closer.