Anthony Lewis

The nationalist movement in Wales, like its counterparts in Scotland and Ireland, has always had its share of colourful characters who have added a whiff of sulphur to the bland pottage of constitutional politics.

One such was Anthony Lewis, who spent some 40 years on the fringes of Plaid Cymru, a party that was highly embarrassed, in the 1960s, by the Free Wales Army, a small band of uniformed men who, as far as is known, never fired a shot in anger or caused physical injury to anyone. With Cayo Evans and Dennis Coslett, also now hors de combat, Tony Lewis was often to be seen carrying a flag in commemoration of some prince or martyr, or briefing gullible journalists down from London about the FWA's guerrilla strength up in the hills.

The FWA leaders - all nine of them - were brought to trial in Swansea on 1 July 1969, the very day the Queen invested her son Charles as Prince of Wales at Caernarfon Castle, a ceremony the militants had planned to disrupt. The nine had been kept in solitary confinement since their arrest on 26 February. Lewis, after a trial lasting 53 days, was found guilty of being a member of an illegal organisation but, unlike Evans and Coslett, not guilty of managing the FWA; and so escaped a custodial sentence.

One of his favourite anecdotes recounted how, while they were awaiting trial, the prison governor, out of the goodness of his heart, had allowed the nine to watch an international rugby match. When the governor asked whether he had enjoyed it, Lewis replied that he wasn't really interested in rugby - the time had been spent in forming an escape committee.

The trial did not put a stop to violence, or the threat of it, and soon afterwards a much more shadowy and effective group calling itself MAC (Mudiad Amddiffyn Cymru or "Movement for the Defence of Wales") began causing explosions at buildings associated with the Crown. The destruction of property continued into the 1970s with the arson campaign of Meibion Glyndwr ("Sons of Glyndwr") against second homes owned by English people in Welsh-speaking areas. By then the police were showing renewed interest in Lewis, and for a while he was on the run from the law but eventually turned himself in and no charge was brought against him.

For Lewis, the trial was the culmination of several years of political activity which had run into the sand of electoral defeat. As a member of the Patriotic Front, a splinter-group of Plaid Cymru dissidents given to braggadocio and not very subtle innuendo, he had often had his home searched and been taken down to the police station for questioning. At the time he was working as a bus conductor and would sometimes arrive home at the end of his shift to find plain-clothes detectives waiting at his door.

Lewis had joined Plaid Cymru shortly after finishing his military service with the RAF in Germany. Brought up in a working-class home in Usk, a very anglicised town, and kept ignorant of things Welsh at school, he now grew aware that he had a country with its own history and language. He once told me he had suddenly realised the depth of his feelings as a Welshman after being called Taffy by English officers and taunted by other squaddies on account of his accent.

But he was attracted to a stronger brew than what constitutional nationalism had to offer: living in Cwmbran, a New Town in Monmouthshire not noted for its Welsh identity or the vigour of its cultural life, he formed a unit of like-minded friends and they called themselves the Patriotic Front. They even had their own social club, the "Patriot's Rest", until Plaid Cymru outlawed the group in 1966. Lewis designed the Front's uniforms, and its symbol - devised by the poet Harri Webb and based on the White Eagle of Snowdonia - he made into cap-badges. It was not long before slogans began appearing on walls the length and breadth of Wales that were accompanied by this potent piece of symbolism.

The Cwmbran group soon merged with others who were happy to march under the banner of the FWA. But there was always a touch of the comic about what Tony Lewis got up to. On one occasion he presented himself at the embassy of the United Arab Republic in London dressed in full uniform, only to be told that it was about to close and that he should come back next day; to his great chagrin, he was given even shorter shrift at the Cuban embassy.

Again, the charabanc which Lewis had booked to take the Cwmbran group to Bala for the opening in 1963 of the Tryweryn dam, which had drowned a village and valley to make a reservoir for Liverpool, failed to turn up, and so he was prevented from taking part in a protest against a project which had brought him, and many others, into the ranks of the nationalist movement a few years before.

After the FWA trial, Lewis was in no whit daunted and resumed his political activities, though was never taken to the bosom of mainstream nationalism. Fortunately, he was a gifted self-taught craftsman, especially in the working of silver, and he now began to receive commissions. While living on the Isle of Man, he made Celtic medals for the House of Keys and ran a jewellery shop. In 1982 he made an attractive medallion for the seventh centenary of the death of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the last prince of independent Wales, which has become something of a collector's item. He also made, for the National Eisteddfod, a number of silver crowns that are among the finest ever awarded at the festival, as well as an elegant silver gilt trophy, the World Wide Welsh Award, which was presented to Gwynfor Evans in 2000.

A highly intelligent autodidact, a mild-mannered man with a splendid blond moustache, Lewis spoke fluent German and Dutch but not, oddly enough, given his patriotism, Welsh. He was also a talented musician, playing the harp, flute and fiddle for his own pleasure and for any late-night company that cared to listen. He remained staunch in his attachment to the cause of Welsh nationalism, and when I last met him - at the National Eisteddfod - he seemed as convinced as ever that Wales would, in due course, become a republic. He was also a good friend to the bi-monthly magazine Cambria, saving it from folding more than once.

There will be scores of people at his funeral carrying not only the Red Dragon but also the red-and-yellow standard of Owain Glyndwr and the golden cross on a black ground which is the flag of St David. Tony Lewis, who was very keen on heraldic devices and symbolic pageantry, will be given a send-off with the ceremonial panache he always brought to his own public appearances.

Meic Stephens