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The Rediscovery of Cledwyn Hughes

Posted on 25/02/25 in Literature

I am thrilled that the mercurial Anglo-Welsh writer Cledwyn Hughes is being rediscovered; particularly happy as I am his son-in-law. Partly thanks to the efforts of my wife and her sister Janet, his 1947 novella The Inn Closes For Christmas is being republished by Baskerville later this year (spoiler alert: it’s a treat). This follows the inclusion of his short story ‘The Strong Room’ in Martin Edwards’ recent Crimes of Cymru, in the British Library’s wonderful Crime Classics series.

I never met Cledwyn – John Cledwyn, as his family still calls him, as they remember his gentleness and his eccentricities. He died all too early in 1978, leaving behind a goodly trove of novels, stories and topographic non-fiction, virtually all set in the rural North Wales and Border country he loved. He was born in what we probably can’t call Montgomeryshire any more, and ended his days in Arthog, near Dolgellau, a village the size of a largish postage stamp.

It would be lovely to see some of his oeuvre back in print. No reason why it shouldn’t be. Cledwyn was critically applauded in his day, even if his youthful promise wasn’t entirely fulfilled. His style was macabre; The Inn Closes … unfolds like something by Poe. I’m not sure if his genre has a name: Welsh Gothic, Celtic Noir. Definitely unsettling, eerie, dark. Not supernatural though; the mysteries and savage turns of fate have their roots in human imperfection, not divine indifference.