The (No Longer) Grey Havens- Nolton Haven to Little Haven, Master Frodo
The next day broke with some sunshine, we weren't too hung over and amazingly Rhian was still talking to me. I knew that I would have to take some teasing about keys and locked cars for a little while but I figured that I deserved it. After breakfast we drove to Little Haven, parked my car and then drove back to Newgale Sands in Rhian's car. Rhian was a good hearted soul and only asked me once if had my keys. I was still writhing with embarrassment at the previous day's cock up. It was a perfect day for walking, dry but not oppressively hot. We walked up the the road where we had seen the Puffin Shuttle the previous day, turned off the road and started the walk along the cliff tops towards Little Haven, 8 miles down the path.
The guide book informed us that this part of the coastline contained coal that had been mined since medieval times. Rhian and I had grown up in the Rhondda Valley, famous for its coal mines that fuelled the industrial revolution and changed the world. The Rhondda was pockmarked with waste coal tips and childhood summers were often spent playing around tumbledown mine workings. These days it is a much greener and more beautiful place and a fantastic place for walks.
It was strange to think that this beautiful part of the coast, seemingly pristine, had similar geology. We had been walking for a mile or so when we came across a tall redbrick chimney stack and we wandered round the stack and some over grown outbuilding, broken down and being reclaimed by nature. Brambles and grasses were growing over the brickwork, softening the edges, reclaiming the ruins as part of the natural scenery around us.
At this point you can skip the next few paragraphs if it’s all too self indulgent but it does explain a little about why I wanted to do this long distance walking. My husband had died some years before and I don't think that I had fully worked through my feelings of grief and loss. I thought that walking might help me a little. When Sandy first died I was beside myself but I was so busy learning how to be a single parent I couldn’t think about it much. When I could, it was too raw and painful. It was as if some one had slashed me across the face. All I could do was to look at the rest of the world and wonder how everyone else could go about their normal lives. Couldn’t they see this huge slash across my face? Time passed and the wound healed but it still hurt and and the slightest knock could open it up again. It was as if no time had passed and I was back there in all the pain and anger. More time passed and the scar hardened. And it didn't open up and bleed any more but it was all that I could see. It was all I could think about. I was scarred for life. I couldn't imagine life ever being normal again.
And that never changes. People tell you that time heals all wounds but that's not quite true. The scar will never leave me but it's faded and with time I've grown around it. It's become just one more part of me. It no longer defines me. And as I stood at the wall of the old mine working I thought, this is like me. This part of the path isn't pristine but it’s still beautiful. Time has passed and nature is softening the edges of the marks on the land. It’s part of a greater whole and the scar on this landscape doesn’t matter and that puts my pain, and my scar into context. And that helps; life is good. Walking was the best thing that I ever did for my mental and physical heath and these thoughts, on this day, at this place on the Path marked a point where I could see the process of healing from loss, written in the nature around me. It was a life changing event.
Right, normal service will now be restored and I will get back to falling over and getting lost.
This is the view from the Southern edge of Newgale Sands just before we found the chimney. The mine closed in 1906 but mining continued along the coast until the 1950s. This was yet another part of Welsh history that I knew nothing about. We enjoyed the view and were quite smug that we had walked the whole of the coastline behind us. It was stunning.
This might look like a bunker but it is actually an eye wateringly expensive house, it cost a million to build in 1998. It is known to everyone as the 'Tellytubby House' and a million quid would have bought a whole lot of Tubby Custard. Most of the house is underground and its shape is based on the underside of an airplane wing. No doubt it has won awards and it even has its own wiki page,
It was a day when the air was fresh and there was great feeling of space and of freedom that is so exhilarating, and a sense of our smallness in the grand scheme of things that I really quite enjoy.
We were making good progress and the beautiful views made us realise how unpleasant the mist of the previous day had been. The next expanse of sand was Druidston Haven at the foot of steep cliffs. We decided to treat ourselves to a coffee at the wonderfully eccentric Druidstone Hotel. Being able to stop for a coffee and bun is one of the great pleasures of the coastal path and this time there there no Grumpy Actuaries to eat the last cake. This is what makes walking better than running marathons, 10ks and such like: the opportunity to stop and relax, put your feet up and drink hot beverages. It had a café over looking the sea and the views were outstanding. Far below us on the beach we could see horses and it reminded me of the children's program 'White Horses' that used to be shown in the summer holidays in the 60s and 70s.
Pure nostalgia. White Horses
My kids got to watch the Tellytubbies and the Hoobs. People now in their 50s got a far more deranged collection of things to watch as children. They were all in black and white, made in Eastern Europe and dubbed (badly) into English. They were beyond naff. I loved them but we were very easily pleased. Thinking back, we were fed a steady diet of unexpectedly clever animals that could solve crimes and save children from disused mines. I think that this probably gave us unrealistic expectations of the usefulness of pets. And don't get me started on the Singing Ringing Tree. That was just plain insane.
Lurid colours, bizarre creatures and sinister events in Germanic gothic style. Mind boggling. Look at that bear thingy's eyes...
He must be wondering what ever became of that promising acting career, that Oscar and the lucrative book deal to write the autobiography of a Hollywood A Lister.
Some of the images from that time linger. I'm not sure it this is because they were so well made or if we were just not as overstimulated as were are now by the media. In those days we had a few hours of TV and then were out, doing other things. Binge watching didn't exist, unless you counted sitting through both sitting of the film in the cinema. In my mind I can still see the long shot of the beach, showing footprints as the waves came in from 'Robinson Crusoe' (my favourite!). If you are of a similar age to me, I am betting that you can see this now and hear the haunting theme music. It is an incredibly poignant shot and brings up all sorts of emotions; hope, loss and fear. Fantastic stuff.
The view from the hotel café. The Druidstone looked as if it was a wonderful place to stay and I would like to go back there some time. It has a faintly cyberpunk air about it. They even have a tiny holiday cottage made out of a converted croquet pavilion which I think sounds wonderful.
Refreshed, we picked up the path after getting a little lost on leaving the hotel but eventually we found our way and started on the next section of path towards Broad Haven. This section was stunning, high cliffs with numerous landslips which made me profoundly glad that we hadn't got to this point before I discovered my cock up with the keys. A swift push in the small of my back and I would have been over the edge. The map gave us the wonderful names, Haroldson Chins, the Settling Nose and eventually we got to Black Point where we managed, yet again, to totally miss the iron age fort.
A helpful sign to warn against you plunging to your doom over the edge of the cliff. What I love is that they have put the signs on both sides of the marker, just in case you missed them. This section of the path was a stunning, a cliff top walk with weathered stacks interspersed with wonderful sandy beaches. You see the headland in the distance? We had walked all of that over the previous few days, this thought can keep you going on the hardest sections.
The clifftop walking was easy and we covered the distance comfortably. We soon saw the wide bay of Broad Haven ahead of us. Broad Haven is a small holiday village and the beach is everything you could ask for, fine yellow sand and clean. There were lots of families enjoying the surf and the sand as we walked past them. It is a great holiday destination. This section of the coastline was very rewarding. The holiday towns had useful facilities, places to rest and eat, but the coastline was still beautiful and you didn't feel that it had been over developed. A few minutes walk out of the bay and you soon felt you were in the middle of nowhere. And in fact, I have lovely photos of my kids when they were 2 and 4 years old with their Gramps (my dad) and Nan (my mother) on a windswept Broad Haven beach having a wonderful time. We lost my dear old dad just 5 weeks after, so precious memories.
It must be good since it was visited in 1977 by a cigar shaped UFO that seemingly landed next to the local school. Fourteen children saw a silvery, humanoid creature. Some teachers saw it on another occasion in the same year. This makes me think that either the Pembroke Tourist Board had a really big budget that year and stretched to galactic communication or there was a particularly good crop of magic mushrooms.
The sun had come out and this was wonderful walking. We made good time and after a draining couple of days (both physically and emotionally!) we were relaxed and enjoying it all.
We walked up and out of Broad Haven and along a narrow country lane and then went down into the smaller village of little Haven. This sign was on the outskirts and made us laugh a lot.
Little Haven was a charmingly sleepy holiday village. It had several good looking pubs and cafes which we resolved to visit the next day. It is older than the bigger Broad Haven and used to be a working port. In fact, it marks the end of the Pembroke coal field and used to export anthracite coal in the 19th century. The coal levels are faulted and this is probably part of the reason that mining stopped being profitable. This was yet another reminder that this part of the world had once been industrial and not a tourist destination. These days its permanent population is a little over a thousand people and it depends on visitors for income and employment. Centred round the harbour, it is a very attractive place. We walked back to my car. This time I had my key with me and we got in, the days walk finished.
'Got your key then, Hel?' Rhian smiled as she asked me. She had been patient over the day and not used this phrase.
'Yes, yes, as if I would be so stupid as to leave it in your car, eh?'
We drove back to the chalet and stopped at a supermarket on the outskirts of Haverfordwest to restock on essentials like Pringles and wine. We are very careful about our diet while walking and spend quite a bit of time packing carbs, which explains why we never lose weight and while some of our early morning walks are somewhat liverish. It was early in the afternoon and because we had some time on our hands we decided to explore the small town of Narbeth where were were staying.
Narbeth is full of small independent shops and there were some good places to eat, not surprising since it has a food festival each year in September. It's often in the running for the best place to live in Wales, or the best High Street in the UK, an award I am proud to say is currently held by Treorchy, centre of the known universe and the place I was born and grew up in. The town of Narberth is an old one and has links to Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed who plays an important part in the Mabinogion folk tales from the middle ages. He married Rhiannon, after some serious playing hard to get on her part. This starts with a three day horse ride and ends up with her ex being put in a sack and beaten with a stick. This was even worse than my cock up with Short. Eventually Pwyll and Rhiannon have a son. The son vanished in the night and Rhiannon, who had been smeared with dog's blood in the night by her servant women (bloody hell but she must have been a sound sleeper) was accused of cannibalism. She was sentenced to have to sit on mounting block outside the town gates and tell passers by of her sad story for seven years and carry anyone who wanted a lift into town on her back. I was beginning to think I was going to have to do the same over the key thing, and I felt for the woman. Eventually the son was found and rescued from a monster and renamed Pryderi. This name means 'anxiety' which is hell of a name to give a kid. You can imagine the raised eyebrows in the staff room when the class lists come out. (Oh the laughs we teachers have over names - but my lips are sealed). ( Pedagogical Omerta)
While we were wandering round Narbeth (which is the perfect town for wandering), we found that there was a display of patchwork quilts in a local nonconformist chapel. The colours really stood out against the austere calmness of the walls. The building was plain apart from the warm wood of the pews and the marvellous organ. I love the inscription above the organ pipes, 'Compel them to come up, that my house might be filled' . By the end of the day I felt that my heart and soul were filled by the delights of the day. It had been marvellous and I hadn't fucked up once, which made a nice change.
Such talent and loveliness were on display here. As someone who has no talent or patience for needlework of any kind apart from sewing on a button or hemming trousers I always marvel at the skill and eye for detail involved. I could have bought at least ten of these quilts just because they were so gorgeous.
While strolling around town we also spotted this sign, which on the one hand gladdened my heart at the warm welcome and facilities the hostelries of Narberth offer and on the other made me laugh.
"Welcome! You are looking very attractive today!"
"What excellent parking you have displayed today, Madam!"
" Oooh that's an attractive Hawaiian shirt and shorts combo, Sir!"
That evening we sat out on the balcony eating Pringles and drinking wine watching the bats swooping to catch the last insects of the day. It had been an excellent day. No one had fallen over, there were no cows to terrify Rhian and we hadn't really got lost.
As we sat there watching dusk fall, the evening was still warm - idyllic, in fact. Birds came to roost in the forest beyond the park. It was like something from Rivendell, or the forest of Lothlorien.
"The elves could make a fortune, Sam."
"How so, Master Frodo?"
"They need to rent out cabins like this in Lothlorien, as a retreat for exhausted hobbits, Rangers and such."
"You're right Master Frodo. I will mention it to Legolas the next time we see him."
Our conversation turned to Jeremy, our other school friends, and our memories of the back room of the Prince of Wales on a Friday night when we were 17 (ahem - I mean 18, of course), as we listened to a playlist on a Wi-Fi speaker.
We spent so many happy hours there, crammed in like the proverbial sardines, feeding the jukebox - the BEST jukebox in the world - with 10p pieces. Those of you who were there will know exactly what I mean.
When the track below began, we both said, "Ahhhhh!" and fell silent at last.
Wonderful to read about your adventures. Was particularly touched by your description of grief as a scar. I “lost“ my much-loved husband too, although not in the same way as you (he turned out to be living a double life and broke my heart), and this description of a scar that slowly heals, but never leaves you, really resonated with me. I walked the Wales Coast Path a few years ago, and will be slowly working my way around the coast with you, retracing my steps. Great blog. x
I wouldn't have skipped that passage or anything, Helen. Thank you for sharing it. I remember how hard that time was for you, before, during, and after. You came through with flying colors and you found the right medicine (and the right friend to walk it with). And you've helped raise a lot of useful funds for a good cause. Very proud of you, here. But the story of Rhiannon and Pwyll -- ach du lieber! Deliver us. :^o
I so loved all of this! xx
There's no more certain way of getting your reader to read a passage than by saying you can skip it. I wasn't expecting what came next: a profoundly accurate and humane expression of the workings of grief over time - devoid of sentimentality and all the more moving because of it.
I loved the sign for Little Haven.
I can imagine you two in the back room of a pub when you were 17. Without effort.