 Ports of Call! On blue horizons far at the world's end, strange fascinating lands back in us, bid us revel in their exotic splendors. Come with us as we head for Ports of Call. Cruising along the west coast of Great Ritten, where gusty winds from the North Atlantic roughen the sea, we enter Bristol Channel and steam up the broad Severn River toward Cardiff, largest port of the ancient and storied land of Wales. Smoothly we approach our birth in the great busy harbor, built by the Marquis of Butte, to handle the enormous shipments of coal from the Welsh mines. Have you all been caught ready, please? Have you all been caught ready, please? Got your camera, Catherine? Yes, indeed. Think I'm going to miss photographing a druid if I see one? A druid? What do you mean, Kate? Don't tell me you don't know Wales is where the druids held their mystic ceremonies? Why, they were the ones who invented the significance of the mistletoe. Good for them! And I've heard that not far from Cardiff is an ancient druid ceremonial ground with great stones. Nobody knows how old. There might be druid spirits there. Well, you took in hunt druid spooks, if you like, but I'm all to see the room in ruins before we take the train to Carnarvon. Oh, wait, Larry! We're coming! Carnarvon is now only a village clustering about Carnarvon Castle, whose grim exterior gives no hint of the ruined walls and courtyards within. But Carnarvon is the heart of the picturesque and glorious history of early Wales. The nearby mountains of Snowden have seen the battle flags and banners of every noble house in early England, tossing in the pale Welsh sunlight, flapping in the blustering winds from the coast. Wales, home of the earliest Celtic people, old before Roman galleys landed their conquering legions, old when King Arthur's knights set out to seek the Holy Grail. It is the year 1284. In this hostile land, Edward I of England has built Carnarvon Castle, and with his wife Eleanor has lived for three years in the midst of battle with the fiercely fighting barons of Wales. Scorning England's rule, they defy the king. But at last, they are defeated. In the Queen's chamber, Eleanor is pleading with her husband. Now that you have defeated the baron, let us return to England. I hate this bleak Welsh coast. Oh, hear me out, Edward. Already because of this miserable land, we have lost our eldest son. Now that God has sent us another to take his place, let us go back to London before he sickens and dies. It couldn't have been the air of Wales that caused Henry's death. You've seen for yourself the people who live here are like men of iron. They are barbarians. They do not mind the cruel winds of this sea coast. I know if we had been in London, Henry would not have died. Oh, Edward, why should we stay here longer? Because I must make sure these Welsh barons understand that they must swear allegiance to England. But I will promise you this. If all goes well at this audience today, as I believe it will, we will go back to England. Llewelyn understands his power is broken. Many of the barons are glad to make an end of the fighting. I wish the time would come when I might not be pleased. As long as there are lands to be divided, men will fight. You may enter. Your Majesty, the barons are gathered in the Great Hall. Good. When the audience is over, you will let me know. Yes, at once. You will remember what I told you, Martin, and carry it out exactly. Yes, Your Majesty. You may open the door. His Majesty the King. Well, my lords and gentlemen, so you have come to sue for peace. We have come to discuss terms, not to sue for peace. The terms are mine, Llewelyn. And since you have been the one to rouse the barons against England, you shall surrender all the eastern portion of your lands in the marches, and all your holdings near Carnarvon save only the castle in which you live. In addition, every year at midsummer, you shall journey to London. And presenting yourself to the sovereign at the tower shall swear allegiance to the crown. I'll not be so humanly. Your doing is no good with your rage, Llewelyn. Let me speak. Speak, then, Baron Roberts, and remember, I am muster here. I will remind Your Majesty that the Welsh barons have been doing battle with the English since 1062, and many times have been victorious. Now, for the present, we are forced to yield. But if Your Majesty does not make concessions to us, you will never know peace in Wales. Our sons will furnish another army of men, and their sons as long as one is left alive. I am willing to hear what concessions you ask. We demand that Wales be kept separate from England. We agree that to ensure peace, there must be one feudal lord set over us. But he must be Welsh. This is your sole demand? At this moment of defeat, Your Majesty knows we cannot ask for more. Then you pledge your word that if I agree to this condition, there will be peace between England and Wales? We pledge our word. It is well. And because my spies have brought me word of disagreement among you, I have already chosen for you a feudal lord. We will not submit to an Englishman. You need not fear. Not only was this lord born in Wales, but he cannot speak so much as one word of English. Who is he? A moment, my lords. Martin, bring him in. Yes, born not only in Wales, but in this very castle. Did I not say he could not speak a word of English? Barons of Wales. Dear Lord, my son Edward. Here and now I dub him Prince of Wales. And so was created the title, which since that day is born by the eldest son of the English sovereign. But the proud Welsh nobles did not long remain at peace with England. The lords of the marches, those border estates between England and Wales, resented English domination. Again and again fierce fighting broke out. Edward died. His son, the first Prince of Wales, became Edward II. In the year 1324, the Welsh are defeated. Their leader, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, is taken prisoner, ordered to the tower of London under sentence of death. It is night. Within the cold, grim walls of the tower, the young Earl paces the floor of his dungeon. Oh, Talbot. Oh, your grace. You ought to be hanged in the morning. Oh, that's not news. The warrant was read to me an hour ago, while you were at your supper. Don't look so downcast. You must have seen many men in this predicament. There are not many men like your grace. It grieves me to the heart. Nonsense. We all have to face it sooner or later. Pull up your head. Your grace will die like a brave man. Surely there was something I could do for your grace. You mean that? Yes, but I... Will you spend the evening with me? Gladly, your grace. Spend it. Here. Take these three gold pieces. Send for the finest wine in London. You and I will drink together. What better way could a man spend his last night on earth? Oh, your grace, the priest... I am enough for the priests in the morning. They often bring the wine. Yes, your grace. Close the door and be gone. There's not too much time, you know. On's blood, what are you staring at? The Queen Isabel herself is coming down this corridor. Your majesty. I have come to see the Earl of Mount. Admit me to his self. Yes, your majesty. You may lock the door. I warn you, you will be a reporter to the King if you listen to my conversation with his grace. Oh, your majesty, I will not listen. Oh, Roger, my love. Isabel, it was madness to come here tonight. Do not reproach me, Roger. There is so little time. Say you love me. You know I've loved you since the moment you and his majesty crossed my threshold on your first visit to Wales. But you would never have told me so if I had not thrown myself at your head. I tried to remember you as a wife of the King. But my love was greater than my honor. To mention honor in the same breath with Edward is to defile the word. Oh, I can no longer endure him. I am going back to France. But you are the queen of England. What an empty word. I am miserable here. My only son is thought to hate me. My darling. Besides, when you die, Roger, I have nothing to live for. Oh, Roger. My love, I'm not going to die. I'm going to cheat that gallows tomorrow. Roger, then you knew... I only knew I would not endure death on the gallows of the command of an English king. I have planned to escape tonight. Oh, Roger. Oh, I am so glad. I came here tonight to bring you a drug. I hoping you would take it rather than suffer hanging. No, Isabelle. Splendid. Now I shall not fail. But how would you plan to escape? I sent my jailer out for wine. And I meant to stupefy him with drink. At the end of the corridor is another jailer whom I bribed to exchange clothes with me. And let me bind them as if I had taken him by surprise and stolen his keys. Roger, it is dangerous. I have nothing to lose but my life. And that's a forfeit to the crown tomorrow. Give me the drug. I'll put enough of it in the wine so Talbot will sleep soundly. Where is it? I have it here. Three tablets. Oh, I could not bear to think of the noose about your neck. Now you did not. Quick, give me the tablets. Oh, I kiss your lovely hands. One tablet in the wine and the trick is done. But you must go now, my darling. But we will meet again. The king was Satan himself who could not keep us apart. I have it. I too will make my way to France. Oh, yes. I will go to my father's house outside of Pallieu. Come to me there. I swear I'll come to you the moment I set foot upon the soil of France. Elizabeth, all these two months have been endless. You know, I have been tortured by the fear that you might have been captured. I had no way to let you know. I feared to write from England. Now that's ended and we're together again. We shall be as happy as the day is long. No, Roger. No. What is it? I was mad to think I could escape being queen of England simply by crossing the Channel to France. My poor darling. What has happened? My father refuses to shelter me longer. He thinks it might provoke a war with England. So I must go. I have nowhere to go. Besides... What? Oh, there is still more. I've forgotten how wicked the tongues of men and women could be. Everywhere we have heard about my love for you and of yours for me, Roger. I am scorned by women who once formed at my feet. My darling, if my love brings you nothing but suffering, we must part. If you return to England now, we will silence their gossiping tongues. Oh, no. Return to the cruelty of life with Edward. I could not. I have a friend in Flanders. The baron Griffith of Denby. He has a price on his head. Oh, yes, I remember him. Yes, that's it. He and his wife will gladly make you welcome. His wife may disapprove of me too. Disapprove? Not Negan. Besides, once she sees you, she'll love you as much as I do. Call your maid and pack your clothes. Call for Flanders! In Flanders, with the Earl and Countess of Denby, Roger Mortimer and Isabel live three years of idyllic romance. Then one day, Roger returns from the hunt to find Isabel eagerly awaiting him. Roger, I have a letter from my son. Is that all courier from Paris on the road? Yes. The letter went first to my father's house there. My son begs me to return to England. Does he say why? No. Perhaps he feared the letter might be opened in red. Perhaps his father's harshness has become unbearable. Oh, Roger, how I shall miss you. You're going then? It is the first time my son has ever asked anything of me. But you could never face Edward's court. Come with me to Wales. But you will be killed! No, no. I didn't tell you the courier brought Denby and me despatches from Wales. Peace has been signed. We are free to go back home. Roger, then we need not say goodbye. How could you think I'd let you go alone? Come to Wigmore Castle with me, you and the boy. There you can be alone with him, away from his father. How understanding you are. Roger, perhaps we shall never be so happy again. These three years have been like heaven. If Flanders seems like heaven, think how happy we'll be in Wales. Flanders, England or Wales, I love you with all my heart. And I, you, my darling. Well, Lord, what is it? Your grace, a great part of your horseman is at the gate. How many men? I should say a hundred, your grace. It must be the boy in the zest court. Oh, yes, it must be. Station minutes alms at the Fort Cullis. Admit the prince at once. Yes, your grace. Oh, I wonder what he will be like. My son. His Majesty the King. Edward. Yes, it is Edward, the Prince of Wales. No, no longer Prince of Wales, but Edward III, as well you know. What? Edward, my son, your father is dead? My father was killed, and Roger Mortimer is his murderer. No, no, he has not been in Wales for three years. He has been in Flanders, I swear. He was in Flanders when your letter came. My father badly write that letter hoping it would bring you, and with you, Roger Mortimer. But no sooner did he set foot on English soil than his hired assassins killed the king. Captain of the guard. Edward, what are you going to do? I will send Mortimer back to the tower, and this time he shall not escape. Oh, yes. Your Highness, I mean your Majesty, it is true I had no cause to honor Edward II, but I swear I did not take his life. Edward, my son, you cannot send the Earl of Mouth to his death for this crime. I am the king, and I mean to have his life if only my father could have lived to see this day. No, my son, no. Take him away. Swiftly the years sweep over the forested mountains and turbulent rivers of Wales. In the reign of Henry VII, how little Wales is at last forced to bow to England, and peace comes to the troubled land. Industries develop, great coal mines and slate quarries, honeycomb the earth, but the fiery wealth shall quick to resent what they consider tyranny. Late in the 19th century, the wrongs of the poor find an advocate in the brilliant and hot-headed young solicitor David Lloyd George. Farmers, shopkeepers, workmen find him eager to fight for them in the courts. One evening in the year 1888. Come in. Oh, come in, Margaret. What brings you here so late? I was obliged to wait until I'd finished my work. Is it too late to ask your advice, Mr. George? Not at all. Sit down. Now what is it? It's about my father. Oh, I know him. He works in the quarries, doesn't he? He did. He died yesterday. Oh, I'm sorry. What do you want me to do? You see, he wanted to be buried by the side of my sister in the Church of England graveyard. Of course. But he wasn't a member, and so they refused to allow it. What? They say if he's buried there at all, it will have to be over in the far corner among the suicides. Hey, that's an outrage. Oh, is there anything you can do, Mr. George? Oh, of course there is. Don't submit to this decision. You have the legal right to bury your father besides your sister. If you're refused, but they locked the churchyard gates. Oh, then we'll break them down. Scandalized, the church authority sued the girl. Lloyd George Defensor loses the case, appeals to the Lord Chief Justice of England. I find the county court judge was wrong. And that Mr. David Lloyd George was right on the point of law in connection with which he was overruled. The body of Mr. Snowden will remain the Church of England graveyard. The Church of England Like a flame, the name of Lloyd George blazes over Wales. Curiously, he challenges outworn customs and laws. Political fixtures go down to defeat before his trenchant tongue. Then in 1890, he stands for Parliament. Instantly, his enemies set up on him, try to turn the people against him. Break of his meeting, sneer at him as a demagogue. The ballots are counted. Lloyd George wins his seat by 18 votes. Save it, Lloyd George! Ten crowded years. His wealth splurged quick to Kenville. Lloyd George smashes at obstacles to his cherished dream, the improvement of the lives of the poor. 1899, England declares war against the boars of South Africa. In the House of Commons, Lloyd George is finishing a fiery speech. I outrage that the thought that a great people like the British nation should attempt to crush a tiny pastoral race. I urge you not to commit our country to this deed of violence against the struggling people. No! But such was his hold on the hearts of the Welsh people, that even in the heat of the war frenzy that swept Great Britain, Lloyd George was returned to Parliament. 1906. Extra! Extra! 1908. Extra! Extra! Extra! Extra! 1909. Before the crowded House of Commons, David Lloyd George presents his first budget. Proposes increased income taxes. New royalties. Unemployment insurance. Old age pension. I cannot help believing that we have advanced a step toward that good time when poverty and human degradation will be as remote from the people of this country as the wolves which once infested its forests. No! Oh, no, worse of times. You can't possibly understand the feelings of a gentleman who never went away shop star. The House of Commons passes the budget bill. But Lloyd George sees it killed by the House of Lords. That night in the Prime Minister's study at 10 Downing Street, he sits with Mr. Asquith. We can't expect the Lords to sign their own death warrant. Lloyd George? No, I agree. And yet it has to be legal. I can see you have a plan. I have. And this is it. The price in the history of England, the Prime Minister, has called upon the sovereign to create enough new peers to pass certain legislation. Good Lord, we should need something like 500. I know we should. Are you willing to go to the King? Perfectly willing. Splendid. And I'll drop a hint that will reach the ear of the House of Lords. Asquith consults Edward VII, nominates his army of new peers. The budget bill is again presented. Grudgingly, it is passed. The ancient power of the House of Lords is broken by the Chancellor from Wales. Once again, war. December 1914, Lloyd George speaks to the other members of the cabinet. Do you realize that for five months our army has been fighting a retreat? Do you know they are being overwhelmed by the war? Do you know they are being overwhelmed by gunfire, infinitely superior to ours? We need more shells. I say we are making shells. We need a million times as many. I know Lloyd George is right. I suggest the formation of the Ministry of Munitions, which he will head. Lloyd George takes up his post as Minister of Munitions, organizes manufacturers, trains new workmen, enlists hundreds of thousands of women, organizes departments of labor, enrolls iron and steel experts. The shells and munitions pour out in an enormous stream. June 1916, Lord Kitchener, Minister of War is killed. Lloyd George is appointed to the office. December 4th, 1916, Asquith designs. Lloyd George becomes Prime Minister of England. In his first statement to the cabinet, he says, There are too many men in command of the Allies. We shall never win this war until we place our armies under unified command. Time after time, the military command refuses Lloyd George's suggestion. October 24th, 1917, Lloyd George calls on the Allied commanders in France, just as disastrous news reaches them. Austrians and Germans under Bonsulot have defeated Italy for the loss of 300,000 men and 2,000 guns. If we had had a unified command, this would not have happened. Even yet, it may save the day. Send an army of English and French through the Montenegro tunnel to northern Italy. The commanders agree. General Puma with his army arrived just in time to save Italy from being captured by the Germans. Two months go by. Russia collapses. Two million German soldiers are transferred to the western front. Nothing but unified command can save us now. May 1918, the Allies finally accept Lloyd George's demand for unity. Place General Fosch in Supreme Command. The war is won. And the Welsh Prime Minister who began life as a village boy in a cottage of a shoemaker becomes one of the Council of Four to determine the future of the world. Once more, our steamer awaits us at the bustling docks of Cardiff, whose clean treeline streets and modern buildings belie the turbulent days of old. But the terror of Norman Castle still frowns over the city. And the harsh wind seems burdened with the echoes of the battle songs of the ancient Bards. The stirring choruses of the Welsh esthetically. Music born at age-old conflict, yet today attuned in loyalty to the mother empire of which Wales is an integral part. We're homeward bound once more from another journey to Port Subcalled. We invite you to join us again next week at this time as we journey to another of the world's fascinating Port Subcalled.