In the rolling hills of Powys, Wales, the historic village of Three Cocks has found itself at the center of an unexpected controversy—one that has little to do with cycling prowess and everything to do with the quirks of modern technology and the evolving sensitivities of language. The story began innocuously enough, with the staging of the Junior Race of South Wales, or Ras Ieuenctid De Cymru, over the Bank Holiday weekend in August 2025. But what should have been a celebration of athletic achievement quickly turned into a debate over heritage, censorship, and the limits of automated moderation.
Three Cocks, a village whose name dates back at least 500 years, was selected to host both stages of the prestigious junior cycling event. According to reports from Monmouthshire Beacon and other local outlets, stage one featured a challenging 76-kilometer sprint circuit weaving through the picturesque countryside, while stage two saw riders tackle a 10-kilometer individual time trial, both beginning and ending in the village itself. The choice of location was a nod to the area’s deep roots and its longstanding hospitality—the Three Cocks Inn, for example, has been welcoming travelers for half a millennium, its sign proudly displaying the three birds that inspired the village’s name.
Yet for all the tradition and local pride, an unexpected hiccup emerged when British Cycling, the sport’s national governing body, published the event schedule on its official website. To the surprise—and, soon after, the amusement—of many, the name “Three Cocks” was nowhere to be found. In its place, visitors saw five asterisks: *****. The cause? An overly zealous automated filter, apparently designed to shield users from potentially offensive language, had flagged and censored the historic name.
The reaction was swift and, in many cases, laced with humor. Social media was soon awash with jokes and gentle ribbing. One commentator quipped, “Far too offensive to have cockerels crowing over the Welsh countryside, let alone three!” Another, poking fun at the perceived excesses of political correctness, remarked, “This is just taking wokeness too far. It is a perfectly acceptable old English word which has been around for centuries. You must have a pretty smutty sort of mind to think anyone would be offended by it.” Others expressed genuine dismay, with one local saying, “I’d be offended if my village name had been altered like that. Who on earth is going to be offended by Three Cocks?”
According to Monmouthshire Beacon, the controversy has sparked a broader conversation about the treatment of Britain’s more colorful place names. The UK, after all, is dotted with villages and towns whose names might raise an eyebrow—or a chuckle—among the uninitiated. Bell End, Bitchfield, Butthole Lane, Cockermouth, Fanny Hands Lane, Fingeringhoe, Penistone, and Great Cockup in the Lake District are just a few examples cited by locals defending the country’s rich tapestry of toponyms. As one Powys resident, speaking anonymously to avoid becoming “the butt of online jokes,” put it, “Three Cocks should not take this snub lying down. For British Cycling to censor its name implies there’s something lewd and embarrassing about Three Cocks. In my experience, it’s not the mouth it comes from but the mind it goes into that’s usually the problem.”
The roots of the village’s name are anything but risqué. The Williams family of Old Gwernyfed, former local landowners, adopted three cockerels as their coat of arms centuries ago. The village, and its famous inn, have carried the moniker ever since. For many residents, the name is a source of pride and an emblem of the area’s enduring identity. The Three Cocks Inn itself boasts on its website, “The building has stood here for 500 years offering the traveller and visitor a relaxed and warm welcome. It is extremely spacious and comfortable, helping us to create a feeling of warmth and well being.”
British Cycling, for its part, moved quickly to address the backlash. On August 28, 2025, the organization issued a public apology, acknowledging the error and promising a review of its web systems. “We apologise for this accidental censorship which was caused by some overly sensitive filters on our website. Clearly the system decided, inappropriately, to spare our blushes and auto censored the historic Three Cocks village from the Junior Race of South Wales. Whilst it’s great to see this fantastic event getting such national attention, we’ll be having a serious look at the new systems we’re implementing to ensure that technology doesn’t override common sense in future.”
While the apology was generally well received, it did little to stem the tide of good-natured mockery and more pointed criticism. Some locals argued that the incident was symptomatic of a broader trend toward over-cautiousness in public discourse. Others worried that such decisions, even when made by algorithms, risk erasing or diminishing the unique heritage of places like Three Cocks. As one resident suggested, perhaps the solution is to revert to the village’s alternative Welsh name, Aberllynfi, though even that, they admitted, would be a loss for local tradition.
There’s a certain irony in the fact that a race designed to showcase the best of Welsh youth cycling has instead shone a spotlight on the intersection of technology, language, and identity. The episode has prompted many to reflect on the value of embracing, rather than sanitizing, the quirks and peculiarities that make Britain’s landscape so distinctive. As the anonymous Powys resident wryly observed, “Sticks and stones may break our bones but the UK’s colourful place names are something we should be proud of. The historic heritage of places such as Three Cocks deserves better than to be castrated by a censoring hand.”
For the villagers of Three Cocks, the hope is that this brief brush with digital infamy will serve as a reminder of the importance of context, common sense, and a little bit of humor. After all, what’s in a name? In this case, quite a lot—a story of history, resilience, and the occasional technological hiccup that brings a community together, if only to share a laugh at its own expense.
