Adrian Davies, BBC Wales’s Head of English language services, takes time out to give an overview of the Real North Wales season, currently on BBC One Wales and BBC Two Wales.

It would be impossible to encapsulate everything that’s special about an area like north Wales on TV. Not in a single programme, not in a long-running series, or even in a season of programmes. Luckily that’s not what we’re trying to do in the Real North Wales season, which has just started.

What we have done is taken a small selection of stories from around the region and packaged them together in a way that offers viewers just a little glimpse of some themes that, I think, are quite fascinating - and, hopefully, offer a fresh look at life across north Wales.

Sian Lloyd tosses Welsh cakes at a Wrexham bakery

The Farmer and the Food Chain - Gareth Wyn Jones finds out about school meals

A brand-new four-part series Welsh Heartland: The Llŷn Peninsula will look at the true nature of the community of Pen Llŷn as part of the Real North Wales season from BBC Wales. Here, Dylan Huws of production company Cwmni Da explains the aims of the series.

“We had an open brief and wanted to focus on the Llŷn Peninsula, to offer an insight into how people really live there - not just the scenery, the coastline and beaches but how people live there all year round. We wanted to reveal the Pen Llŷn community as we know it and present this to the world. We’re trying to show the balance between living in a desirable and beautiful area and the pressures of economy, tourism and language.

Margiad Williams, a contributor on the programme

Born on 17 June 1773, William Madocks was a Georgian entrepreneur of startling ability and foresight.

He was the man who built the Cob across the Glaslyn Estuary, thus considerably easing travel - by foot, horse and eventually by rail - between mid and north Wales. He was also instrumental in creating two new communities at Porthmadog and at nearby Tremadog.

The whole enterprise was a phenomenal undertaking, one that exhausted and nearly bankrupted this man of great vision and energy.

People in Wales might be excused for failing to see the significance of the date 24 November 1816. On the face of it, little happened in the world at large on that day.

Yet in the tiny Welsh village of Llanfair PG on Ynys Mon - or Anglesey as it was then known - a great celebration was taking place. On that day 27 metre column was unveiled, commemorating the courage and heroism of the Marquess of Anglesey who lived just a few miles away at Plas Newydd on the Menai Straits.

The Marquess, Henry William Paget to give him his full name, was one of the most remarkable men ever to hold a commission in the British army and his courage at the Battle of Waterloo has gone down in folklore.

Born in May 1768, he was the eldest son of the Earl of Uxbridge, and succeeded to the title in 1812. Before that date he was known simply as Lord Paget.

Henry Paget was educated at Westminster and Christ Church, Oxford, and, as was the custom of the times, duly became a member of parliament - first at Caernarfon, then for Milborne Port, before being appointed Steward of the Chiltern Hundreds in 1804.

When was broke out with revolutionary France Lord Paget (as he then was) immediately raised a regiment of volunteers and began a military career that saw him rise quickly through the ranks, helped undoubtedly by a seemingly bottomless purse. He was, however, also pretty good at the job.

By 1802 Paget was a major general and in 1809 commanded the cavalry during Sir John Moore's unfortunate campaign in the Iberian Peninsula.

His control and handling of the cavalry to support and hold the rearguard defence - thus allowing Moore's army to be evacuated - was nothing short of exemplary. It could not help General Sir John Moore as he died from wounds sustained at the Battle of Corunna during the retreat to the sea. Thanks in no small part to Lord Paget, however, most of the army got away.

A long term relationship with the wife of Henry Wellesley, brother of the Duke of Wellington, severely limited Paget's employment during the Peninsula War and for a long time there were bad feelings between Wellington and the handsome - and rakish - Lord Paget.

In 1810 both Paget and Lady Charlotte Wellesley were divorced from their respective partners and were then married in a hasty ceremony. It made things a little easier between Wellington and Paget but there was still a degree of frostiness and distance in their relationship. This did not make matters easy when Lord Uxbridge, as he had now become, was appointed to lead the British cavalry in Belgium during Napoleon's last great gamble, the Hundred Days as it is known.

This distance or coldness may, to some extent, be the reason for one of the great remarks in British military history. During the Battle of Waterloo on 18 June 1815, Lord Uxbridge led the spectacular charge of the heavy cavalry, checking and ultimately destroying d'Erlon's Corps in the centre of the French line.

Then, in the final stage of the battle, Uxbridge and Wellington were sitting side by side on horseback when a cannon ball passed between them. It was one of the last cannon shots of the battle and it struck Uxbridge on his leg.

"By God, sir, I have lost my leg," Uxbridge said. The duke glanced down and replied "By God, sir, so you have." The remarks have always been taken as an example of British upper class reserve and breeding - the bad feeling between the two men might also have had a part to play.

Lord Uxbridge was taken to the rear where a surgeon removed the shattered limb. According to legend Uxbridge continued to write and read despatches as his leg was removed, remarking to his aide de camp: "I have had a pretty long run, time to let other young men become beaus now."

Two weeks after Waterloo, in gratitude for his part in the campaign and at the Battle of Waterloo, the Prince Regent made Uxbridge the Marquess of Anglesey. He also had an artificial leg fitted - the leg and the saw with which the stump was removed later found their way into the museum at Plas Newydd, once the Marquess's home on Ynys Mon.

The Marquess went on to lead a distinguished public life, twice becoming Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and, in 1827, Master General of the Ordnance. He finally retired from public life as a field marshal in March 1852. He died on 29 April 1854, outliving his beloved wife Charlotte by barely a year.

The column at Llanfair PG was a suitable tribute to a remarkable man, albeit one rooted in the class conscious world of 19th century Britain. A separate monument, this time to his lost leg, was also erected on the field at Waterloo but some years later the bones were dug up and put on display. The Marquess of Anglesey would surely have disapproved.

Few people these days have ever heard the name Thomas Pennant but, in the second half of the 18th century, this remarkable and fascinating man was one of Britain's foremost naturalists and antiquarians. He ranked alongside men such as Gilbert White of Selbourne and, perhaps more importantly, was regarded as one of Wales' greatest travel writers.

Thomas Pennant was born in Flintshire on 14 June 1726, his father having recently inherited Downton Hall (and its large country estate), not far from Holywell. Educated, first, at Wrexham Grammar School, then at Thomas Croft's School in Fulham, by 1744 the young Thomas had moved on to Oxford where he studied at both Queens and Oriel Colleges.

Like many wealthy men at the time he left Oxford without taking a degree. He had already become fascinated by natural history and, in particular, after a walking tour around Cornwall in the winter of 1746, fossils and minerals.

In 1750 he wrote an account of an earthquake that had occurred at Downing Hall and when this was published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society his career as a naturalist and zoologist began.

Further papers soon appeared in the journal and within a few years after leaving Oxford, with no formal qualifications, he was regarded as one of the most important scientific writers of the age. Interestingly, several years later, in 1771, Pennant's pioneering work as a zoologist was recognised with the awarding of an honorary degree from his old college.

Thomas Pennant succeeded to the property at Downing after his father's death in 1763. He immediately began to develop and extend the house and estate, even opening a lead mine - which went a fair way to funding his projects.

Pennant was elected Fellow of the Royal Society in 1767 and began to publish books in earnest. He wrote A History Of Quadrupeds and A Tour Of Scotland in 1769, with two other travel books about Scotland following quickly in their wake.

Pennant is perhaps best known for his Tour Of Wales which came out in 1778. He was soon regarded as an expert on his native country, its customs and topography. And yet he spoke little or no Welsh, having to receive help - in the form of translations - from friends such as the Reverend John Lloyd of Caerwys.

Lloyd and artists such as Moses Griffith and John Ingleby - who illustrated his various books - soon created something of a niche for themselves. Pennant was a shrewd businessman and Ingleby, in particular, was paid for his work on a contract basis - not always with money, sometimes by the provision of board and lodging. The illustrations that he and Griffith provided certainly added to the appeal of books like his autobiography The Literary Life and travel books such as Journey To Snowdon.

Over the next 20 or so years Thomas Pennant popularised and promoted the study of zoology. His work was characterised by detailed and accurate research and Pennant even oversaw the production of his books.

This was due, in no small degree, to something of a disaster when The Literary Life was printed on paper that was too large.The book was one of the few by Pennant that made a loss and thereafter he insisted that all his publications should appear in smaller size.

Thomas Pennant was also a fanatical collector of art and artefacts. He regularly commissioned paintings from well-known artists of the day and acquired many old maps and prints, not only of Wales but of the whole of Britain.

Indeed, at his death on 16 December 1798, he was actively engaged in writing and publishing a series of works to be called Outlines Of The Globe. It was an ambitious project, with only two of the volumes appearing in his lifetime. The others were edited and produced by his son in the years after Pennant's death.

Thomas Pennant built up an impressive library at his country house in north Wales. There were eventually over 5,000 volumes in this library, consisting, in the main, of works about topography, travel and natural history. The collection was only broken up and finally sold in the 20th century.

Pennant was an incredibly industrious man. In The Literary Life he actually states that his output and work ethic amazed even him! He had a gift for befriending many influential people and, of course, had the means to pursue his interests.

Yet without his indefatigable efforts there is no doubt that the study of zoology would have been long delayed in its development - and where would Charles Darwin have been then?

On 17 June 1880, the tiny north Wales town and port of Holyhead was suddenly filled, almost overwhelmed, by thousands of visitors and dignitaries. They had come to watch and applaud as the Prince of Wales formally opened the port's new harbour and hotel.

The occasion was a dramatic and important one. This new harbour spelled prosperity for the town and everyone knew that the future beckoned brightly.

Many people in the crowd were only too well aware that Holyhead had a long history as a port.

Sitting on the north-western tip of Anglesey, on the adjacent and tiny Holy Island, the invading Romans saw its advantages as early as the first century AD and quickly built a fort to protect the anchorage.

Soon a stone bridge connected Holy Island to the larger Anglesey (now replaced by a solid causeway) and the place became well-used as a port during the Middle Ages.

This was the ideal departure point for anyone intending to cross the Irish Sea or to sail south along the coast of Wales. In fact Holyhead was significant enough to be used, in 1332, as a major mustering point for a military expedition to Ireland.

Yet despite these clear advantages, for a long while Beaumaris was still regarded as the premier port on the island - sitting at the south east corner it was, at least, better protected from the elements - and it was not until the growth of the mail service between London and Ireland in the early 19th century that Holyhead really began to assume a dominant position.

Thomas Telford, who was building the connecting road to London, and John Rennie were heavily involved in creating the harbour at Holyhead. Rennie built what was known as Admiralty Pier at the north end of the harbour, the work being taken over by Telford after Rennie's death in 1821, and soon this was being heavily used for both goods and passengers.

To begin with the larger mail packets simply moored in the deep water channel and passengers - and their baggage - were transported ashore in small rowing boats or wherries. Such an arrangement, however, was clearly at the mercy of the tides and elements and in 1845 an Act of Parliament gave permission to build a new pier at Holyhead.

Brunel's Great Eastern docked at Holyhead in 1859 and for a while there were dreams of a regular transatlantic route. It came to nothing and the Great Eastern, far too large and unwieldy for use as a passenger ship, was relegated to laying the transatlantic telegraph cable across the ocean. She never returned to Holyhead.

In the 1870s the LNWR became alarmed at the plans of other companies to develop the Irish ferry terminal - and, eventually, to create a transatlantic route. They therefore decided to improve the inner harbour at Holyhead. New quays and sheds were built as well as a new harbour wall, the land behind it being filled in with rubble.

Previously, passengers disembarking at the old station, at the southern end of the town, had to be transported through the streets to the quayside by horse bus or cart in order to catch their boat. It was the same, of course, for people coming off the ferries - after what was often a rough and uncomfortable crossing. But now a new station was built, the platforms being divided by the angle of the harbour. This meant that passengers could, almost literally, climb out of their train and step onto the gangplank up to the ferry boat.

Part of the new complex was an elegant and comfortable station hotel - complete with memorial clock - so that travellers who had the time could either stay overnight or take tea while waiting for their boat.

When Edward, Prince of Wales, agreed to open the new complex it seemed as if the port of Holyhead was being given royal approval. The future was assured.

Of course it did not quite work out that way. Holyhead operated boats to the Irish port of Dun Laoghaire, close to Dublin. But when a rival ferry port was created at Fishguard in Pembrokeshire - running ferries to Rosslare - it meant that the Irish trade was split between the two ports and neither one of them ever achieved quite the degree of prosperity they had expected.

These days Holyhead continues to operate its ferries across the Irish Sea. A container harbour was opened in 1970 but this was a short-lived enterprise. The old station hotel closed in 1955 and, with the advent of ro-ro ferries, now most people barely notice the port as they speed through Holyhead on their way to their destination.

Yet for those who have imagination, it is easy to think back to 17th June 1880. That glorious day will live forever in the town's history.

The North Wales coast has seen many shipping disasters over the years but none more tragic than the loss of the brand new submarine HMS "Thetis" in the summer of 1939. The submarine was on her maiden voyage and 99 men died when she sank in the waters of Liverpool Bay, just 15 miles to the east of Llandudno.

Launched on 1 June 1939 from the Cammel Laird Shipyards in Birkenhead, she left for her trials/maiden voyage on the 31st of the month.

On board were 103 men, more than twice her intended complement. Just 69 were sailors, the rest being dockyard officials, engineers and technicians. It was very cramped inside that fragile hull.

The plan was for the "Thetis" to make her first dive during the trip and the civilians on board were offered the chance to leave the boat - submarines, for some reason, are always called boat, rather than ship - before the dive. All of them chose to remain on board.

The first dive attempt failed as, it was felt, the boat was too light and the decision was taken to add seawater to the torpedo tubes to make her heavier. Unbeknown to anyone the outer torpedo tube doors were already open and, therefore, the tubes were already full of water - during the painting process some weeks earlier enamel had dripped and solidified on the test tap that would and should have told Lt Frederick Woods that the doors were already open. Woods, like the rest of the men onboard, believed the tubes were empty.

The moment they began to flood the torpedo tubes, hundreds of tonnes of seawater quickly flooded into the forward compartments and the "Thetis" simply nose dived to the bottom.

It was three hours before help arrived and by that stage, the crew had already pumped out 60 tonnes of drinking water and fuel oil in an attempt to lighten her and bring her to the surface but the submarine was lying bow down with her stern protruding out of the water.

It seemed, for a while, that there was a good chance of getting the men out but vital cutting equipment arrived too late and those rescue vessels that quickly sped to the scene were literally helpless to do anything.

For 13 hours she lay, stern free of the sea with the trapped men almost within touching distance. Inside the metal hull air was running out as carbon dioxide slowly began to flood through the decks.

Lt Woods and three other sailors managed to escape using the Davis Escape gear that all submarines carried. They had squeezed through a small hatch and out into the murky water. However, when four other men tried the same route they were drowned and the escape attempts were abandoned.

A salvage ship had now appeared on the scene and a wire hawser was looped around the stern of the submarine, in an attempt to keep it raised. But with the rising tide the hawser snapped and at 3pm on 1 July the "Thetis" slipped below the surface. She did not reappear.

Rescuers were now helpless and, inevitably, the men on board became sleepier and sleepier before death finally closed in. In all, 99 men died in the tragedy. The subsequent Court of Inquiry decided that no blame could be attached to any individual and there the matter was dropped.

Shortly after the disaster war was declared on Germany and the Admiralty knew that it would soon require all the submarines it could get. As a consequence, the "Thetis" was raised from the seabed with the bodies of the sailors and dockyard workers still inside. She was beached at Traeth Bychan near Moelfre so that the men could be removed and initial investigation work carried out. Then the unlucky boat was taken back to the dockyard for repairs and modification.

The unlucky tag stuck, however. Renamed "Thunderer" she went to the Mediterranean for operations against the Italians. There, in March 1943, she was sunk in action off Sicily. This time they did not raise her again.

In the last years of the 19th century and in that short, seemingly idyllic period before the outbreak of World War One, the fame of one small man from Merionethshire was so great that newspapers all over the country led with tales of his exploits. Postcard publishers happily produced visual records of his life and, ultimately, his death.

The man in question was John Jones, better known as Coch Bach y Bala or, sometimes, the Welsh Houdini. Coch Bach was, quite simply, a criminal - not, perhaps, a great criminal but for a few short years his numerous escapes from prisons, police cells and holding gaols ensured him a renowned place in Welsh folklore.

He was born at Bala in 1853 and from an early age became involved in petty crime. He stole eggs from farmers' hen coops and unguarded property from people in the village.

By the age of 20, Coch Bach had served no fewer than three short terms of imprisonment for crimes such as riotous behaviour, loitering with intent and theft.

In October 1879 Coch Bach was sent to Ruthin Gaol to await trial - for the theft of a dozen watches. However, with sheer brazen effrontery he simply waited until his gaolers turned their backs to cook and enjoy their supper and then walked free through the front door of the gaol.

In order to get out through the front door he had actually picked the locks of four other doors, including that of his cell, which does bring into question the effectiveness both of the gaol and the gaolers!

After that escape, Coch Bach y Bala was "on the run" for several weeks before being arrested at the Swan Inn in Colwyn Bay. Tradition says that he was apprehended while asleep in bed. A reward of £5 had been promised for information leading to his recapture but whether or not it was ever claimed remains unknown.

As a result of his crimes (and subsequent escape) the Welsh Houdini was sentenced to 14 years hard labour but by 1891 he had been released on licence. And it was not long before he resumed his criminal ways.

He was not a clever criminal mastermind. The term 'career criminal' might be best applied to his exploits. Over the next few years Coch Bach was arrested many times. He was invariably convicted and went on to serve numerous prison sentences.

In 1900, waiting to be transferred from Caernarfon to Dartmoor Prison, he undertook one of his most famous escapes. He simply barricaded his cell door and while his gaolers were attempting to break in, he dug a tunnel through the floor and under the wall. His escape was daring enough but he was soon caught and sent off to serve his term at Dartmoor.

Anybody visiting the Italianate village of Portmeirion in north Wales cannot fail to remember the 1960s cult TV programme The Prisoner. For a few years it was essential viewing and even now has a dedicated band of followers, many of whom regularly take trips to the strange but enchanting village where the series was filmed. Yet few people know much about the creator of that village, the English born, Welsh-based architect Bertram Clough Williams-Ellis.

A trip up Mount Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales and England, is an experience not to be missed. For those who are fit enough, and have the energy, there are several possible routes and the sense of achievement when the summit is finally reached should never be underestimated.

Gwynedd Museum and Art Gallery in Bangor are appealing for families with naval connections to help provide memorabilia for an exhibition currently being curated on HMS Clio.

CADW, the historic environment service of the Welsh Assembly Government, has purchased a hotel next to Harlech Castle in Gwynedd. The purchase of the hotel and car park, near historic fortress has been supported by the Welsh Assembly Government's £19m Heritage Tourism Project (HTP) and is backed by £8.5m from the European Regional Development Fund.

Dinorwig quarry hospital in Padarn Country Park, Llanberis, is holding an open day on Tuesday 26 October, where you can see what would have happened to injured quarrymen in Victorian times.

In the wake of the Easter Rising in Ireland in 1916, when Irish republicans, many of them members of the Irish Volunteer Army, seized the General Post Office in the centre of Dublin and held it for five days, the British government was frightened into the worst type of knee-jerk reaction.

Hasty courts martial saw the immediate execution of the rebellion's leaders; James Connelly was even taken to the firing squad strapped into a chair because he had been so badly wounded.

And then the government realised that they had a more significant problem - what were they to do with all the rest of the rebels? Many of the more senior surviving officers were sent to high security British prisons but 1,863 of the rank and file republicans, along with men such as Michael Collins and Arthur Griffith who had managed to play down and hide from the British their involvement in the uprising, found themselves incarcerated in an old whiskey distillery in north Wales.

This was Frongoch Prison Camp. Situated two miles to the west of Bala in Gwynedd, the Frongoch Distillery had been founded by R Lloyd Price in 1897, allegedly because of the purity of the water from the nearby river. However, by 1910 the enterprise had gone bankrupt and when war was declared against Germany in 1914 the old buildings were taken over as a prisoner of war camp. Several German prisoners died there and were buried in the village churchyard; their bodies were later disinterred and moved to other sites.

Following the Easter Rising it was decided that this remote location would be the ideal place to incarcerate the rebels. There were two parts to the camp. South Camp was located in the old distillery buildings, whereas North Camp was based in wooden huts a little higher up the hillside close to Capel Celyn. The two camps were connected by a road that passed a large field - here the first ever game of hurley to be played in Wales took place when two teams of prisoners battled it out in the autumn of 1916.

Conditions at Frongoch were never easy. The old whiskey distillery buildings were bitterly cold at night, very hot during the day, and the prisoners - soon reduced to about 500 in number - were plagued by an infestation of rats.

The prisoners themselves kept order within the camp with the result that, to the later chagrin of the British government, what was created was, literally, a 'University of Revolution' where the ideals of independence and the discipline with which to create it were forged. Interestingly, not one escape attempt was ever recorded at Frongoch, even though prisoners sometimes carried the rifles of their guards (usually men too old to serve on the Western Front) when walking across the hills or between the two camps.

Although the camp was guarded by soldiers, many locals worked there, in the kitchens and barrack blocks, and came into regular contact with the Irishmen. They had much in common. As one prisoner later commented: "We marvelled at the fine national spirit of these men and their love for their native tongue."

Indeed, the General Council of prisoners soon added study of the Welsh language to the subjects that were taught, unofficially of course, to the inmates - subjects such as guerrilla warfare and military tactics.

Other activities included open air concerts, fancy dress parades, cross country walks or route marches and sporting events. It is recorded that Michael Collins won the 100-yard sprint in an athletics event held in August 1916. His time, it seems, was just under 11 seconds.

Although obviously hating the conditions in which they were held, many of the Irish prisoners soon grew to love the wild Welsh countryside around Frongoch. It was very similar to the hills of southern Ireland and must have caused more than a few degrees of homesickness in the minds and hearts of many.

The camp at Frongoch was closed and the Irish prisoners discharged in December 1916. It had been a short lived and misguided experiment where the ideals of Irish Republicanism were forged and hardened rather than broken down.

Yet it remains a fascinating and little-known moment in Welsh history. Nothing now remains of the old distillery or the prison camp. A school sits on the site and perhaps that is as it should be: looking towards the future rather than the past.

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As series producer of Snowdonia 1890, the last 12 months have been busy. I started the job in September 2009, with a simple but sweeping directive to send two brave families on an epic journey back in time, to live the tough everyday lives of Snowdonian smallholders.