Welsh Ghosts with the Welsh Storyteller

Owen Staton Explores the legend of the White Lady of Oystermouth Castle.

Gather ‘round, ye seekers of tales, and lend an ear to the whispers of Oystermouth Castle, perched like a weathered sentinel o’er the wild Gower coast. ‘Tis a place where the stones hum with the echoes of ages, a Norman stronghold born in 1106 under William de Londres’ fierce hand. Through fire and ruin it rose again, its walls cradling the dreams and dreads of the de Braose lords, who made it their own ‘til time turned its grandeur to dust. High above Swansea Bay, it gazes still, a silent keeper of secrets, its bones steeped in the salt and sorrow of centuries.

But hark—there’s more than stone here. A shiver runs through the air, for the White Lady walks these shadowed halls. Some say she’s a soul from medieval days, a prisoner lashed to death at the whipping post, her cries woven into the wind. Others whisper she’s Alina de Braose, noble and tragic, her spirit bound to the chapel she adorned. A wraith in white, she drifts, a fleeting mist, her wounds a testament to a brutal end. Oystermouth’s ghost is no mere fable—‘tis a thread of the past, tugging at the veil ‘twixt then and now.