Three Women, Two Men and Ruby the Dog.

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Peter wears sturdy boots with his trousers sensibly tucked into long woollen socks, Kath sports a racy Panama hat with a black band, and I have a rose pullover.

Along Amroth’s shingle beach, formerly occupied by Victorian houses but long since washed away, we looked out over the flat sand that reached around the frozen lava flows to Wiseman’s Bridge a mile or so away.

Behind us stands the New Inn, a farmhouse with a four hundred year history and now a smart pub, modern and gleaming white in the sunshine. Next to us is the marker post marking the start of the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path, opened in 1970 by the friendly Welsh broadcaster and Oxford history graduate, Wynford Vaughan Thomas. It tells us Poppit Sands are 180 miles away.

Fine weather, low tide, and a lively brown dog encourage us to walk this first stage of the coastal path to Tenby, 7½ miles away. Continue reading “Three Women, Two Men and Ruby the Dog.”

A Circular Walk on New Years Day

stne-circle-hutFoundation stones lie in a circle unmoved and half buried in the grass*

Beyond the Whitesands Bay car park lies an apparently barren headland. In sturdy walking boots, we tracked away from the car up the narrow, but well-worn, path to St David’s Head.

I had learned that for thousands of years, man had trodden this way to a place described in 1793 as ‘most suited to retirement, contemplation and Druidical mysteries.’ Perhaps the oak groves, long gone now, helped. Today, the headland is bare for except for low stubby heather, grass and yellow-flecked gorse. All around the blue-grey sea pounds the rocks below.

There are stones large and small everywhere. It takes a sharp eye to spot Arthur’s quoit. A large capstone angled onto a stubby rough pillar, stands unannounced and anonymous. Any bodies departed long ago. Continue reading “A Circular Walk on New Years Day”