Folks

While a return to St Davids had long been my intention, I could never decide when.  Out of the blue I got an invitation from my Cousin Christine to her 65th birthday celebration at the RAFA in St Davids.  Well there's the decider.  Christine is the youngest child of my Uncle Ron and Aunty Eirwen.  As she was only 5ish when we emigrated from England, I did not know her well.  I had seen her on return trips to Wales but she was always busy with her own family and my image of her is moving through St Davids with a gaggle of girls.  Christine no longer lives in St Davids but saw the chance of a party there bringing everyone together again.  I was excited about that but also eager to enter the mysterious 'raffa'.  When we were children, our parents would sometimes leave us in the evening to go to the raffa.  I was intrigued but didn't give it much thought because it provided  opportunities to spend more time with cousins.

It was a 70s party so I didn't really need to find suitable clothes.  I have a caftany dress and made a flower garland like the one in the photo below.  I made the flowers from wool using a 'daisy wheel' from the 1970s.  Remember them?

Here one of Christine's daughters sings her Mum's favourite song

and Christine is overcome.

There was also Oriana's 11th birthday.  Here she cuts a monster cake at her grandparents' house.  Oriana is David and Frances' much loved and indulged granddaughter.

David and Frances also took their much indulged cousin, ie me, to Carew Castle.  This was Mum's favourite castle.  It is a ruin but has beautiful grounds and an easy path all around.

We discovered they do excellent sausage rolls, ie a baguette with 3 pork sausages encased, served with a tangy salad and mustard relish.  There is a special name for these rolls.  They feature on just about every menu in Wales but I can't think of the name.

Another day we went to Fishguard.

Frances, David and Yodi

at the end of this breakwater.

That long, sloping piece of land on the right is where Mum, David, Frances, Cairo and I walked from Pwllgwaelod around the headland to Cym yr Eglys - the day I nearly became an orphan.  Mum was 84 at the time.  After my recent cliff walks, I am in even greater awe of her now.

Cathedral overkill

While my pilgrimage is not about the cathedral, it is central to life in St Davids and very much part of my childhood.

This is my favourite view of the cathedral.  Most visitors walk this way but they are focused on the gateway through the city wall and fail to see the nestled building with Carn Llidi in the background.

So let's follow them through the castellated gateway.

Look right and the cathedral lies before us.  We don't follow the general movement down the many steps, or linger lazily at the top to just take an iconic photo, but do  linger to read this notice

and consider what rare opportunities life in St Davids could bring.

I have found a faint path along the wall that takes us to this new beehive installation.

Bees have become a bit of a thing at the cathedral, especially in the gift shop.  It was St David's fellow monk Aidan who kept the bees.

We are at the back of the cathedral so let's keep walking around to the northside.

Cross the bridge you can see over the River Alun.  Pass the gorgeous little shop you see on the left of the picture

but pause to look down the river to where the previous photo was taken,

stopping to appreciate the purple stone in the path and cathedral.  Follow the path past the houses of the cathedral luminaries.  You are still on cathedral ground.

And now look back to see the cathedral beyond the ruins of the Bishops Palace.  I have waxed lyrical in posts from my previous visits about our freedom to play here as children.  I won't bang on now but know that excitement surges through me even now looking at the photo!

As an adult, I venture beyond the palace and explore outside the wall.

It is a sacred and mystical space.  Surely Merlin walks here.

Continuing on, we join a road and cross the Alun again.

Follow the road right around and enter the cathedral grounds again, this time through the western gate

with my favourite view of Bishops Palace on the left.

This time we emerge just above the newish bridge over the Alun.  Once there was no bridge here and a  thrill for us as children was to be daringly driven through the ford, especially if this involved splashing people carefully picking their way over stepping stones.  No such fun now.

You've done the circuit and wish so much you could be there for the Cathedral at Night, but you'll be in London that night.  You can't have everything.

But you can live á la Saint David.

plus

White Sands / Porth Mawr was just White Sands when we holidayed in the caravan owned jointly by my Dad and Uncle George.  Back in the 1950s it stayed permanently in a field above the beach.  We spent a lot of time on the sands and I think this is where I got my love of the sea and clambering over rocks.  These days it is a much acclaimed beach and has a huge carpark.  No camping allowed, but you can have surf lessons and Uncle George's son, Cousin Richard, is a leading light in the Surf Life Saving Club.

David and Frances drove me there one day and we sat in the car and reminisced.  Conveniently, there is also a bus so I could get there easily on my own.  In the past I have used many wending ways to get there but the fields and tracks were sodden after days of hard rain that luckily ceased just before I got to Wales.  The bus is mud free and also allows dogs.  I bonded with this lurcher before he undertook his soulful walk. 

It is a moody beach

and a paradise for sea dares

and sea tracking.

this is how I like my beaches

On a sunny day it's a different kettle of fish.

This was the day I chose to bypass the beach and climb Carn Llidi

which was silly really because it was the hottest day I'd had so far.  I didn't get to the top and, while I'd like to blame the heat, I think age had something to do with it.  The drive to conquer has gone

but the need to see the horses roaming free remains.

In the 1960s our camping site was Caerfai.  Here we stayed in our tent on a farm, trudging through sludge to the farmhouse to get milk.  It is an organic dairy these days and the camping is far more civilised.  Huge motor homes lumber down the hedgerowed lane and disappear through coded boom gates.  I walked via the cliffs and via the road a number of times.  It's like a time machine for me.

Only once did I venture down to the actual beach.

The descent is steep, even though the wooden stairs of my childhood have been replaced by concrete steps.  The wildflowers make the effort worthwhile

as does the beach itself.  It crossed my mind to join this woman for a swim but I let her enjoy her solitude.  I kept watch just in case The White Lady, terror of young swimmers, emerged from her cave to snaffle her.

looking back along the cliff path from the road

catching my breath as the sun catches the cottages

There is nowhere I would rather be.

The reason

St Davids is my soul place.  I go to find calm and restore my spirit.  It works.  I walk the same paths each time to imbibe the beauty and relive my childhood.

It is a 20-30 minute stroll through back lanes from David and Frances' house to Non's Well.  It's a favourite place of mine to sit on a very comfy bench here and stare out to sea, sometimes do a bit of reading.  Non was the mother of St David.  She gave birth alone in the adjoining field during a wild storm. The well is said to have healing properties.

There is a passing parade of people walking the Pembrokeshire Coast Path  but it would be selfish to keep such pleasure to myself... and often there are dogs to ogle.

These rocks between St Non's and Caerfai are  my favourite place to lounge and read but, this trip, the weather was never ideal for this.

This postcard captures the joy I feel walking this path.

Today we'll start at St Justinians and we'll walk home to St Davids via Porth Clais and Non's Well even though it will nearly kill us.

David drove me to St Justinians to do a boat trip to Skomer Island mid morning.  Sadly the trip was not to be (more in another post) and I was stranded.  A boaty chap told  me it was a 2 hour walk to St Davids, so off I set.

this is the image that sits in my heart 

It was early Spring.  Lambs were strangely bossy.  Daffodils were nearly at an end. It was too early for the foxgloves, but oh the wealth of other flowers!

Many hours later I glimpsed the chimneys of 'My House',

by which I don't mean 'home' (note Carn Llidi in the background)

but my dream house, the cottage my child-self imagined would be where I lived with my Alsatian dog and pursued a career as a writer.

The cottage is on a cliff at Porth Clais so I stumbled down the track and nearly kissed the ground when I found the kiosk still open and serving food.  It was later than 3 o'clock, my legs were worn to stumps and I was very hungry.

Porth Clais is a fishing harbour.  As I ate a toasted sandwich, then a mango ice-cream, I noticed nesting boxes in some of the trees bordering the dry dock - look carefully.  Then it was onwards to Non's Well along the coast path.

Looking back to My House from the other side of the harbour

It was a long but glorious walk.  Of course, I could have used the roads but...

As for  St Davids, it is a city by virtue of having a cathedral.  It is the smallest city in the UK and I consider it a village.

We'll cruise the cathedral in another post.  I love St Davids but I acknowledge that there are prettier villages in Britain.

from outside the house where my Uncle George used to live

There are vistas I find uplifting

and little local gems.

The Visitor Centre is a beautiful space, its architecture inspired by cromlechs.  At this time of the year, the rooks are raucously nest building in its grounds.

The cathedral dominates even when you can't see it.  Here houses face the stone wall that once surrounded it.

Once this street was also within the cathedral walls.

And this is one of my favourite views / walks, a little known path leading from the village to the cathedral grounds.

Perhaps that's enough for now.