Mining the Diaries 91: wales
Arosfa, Goat Street, St Davids, 21st May 2019
Out bright and early – the fresh, sunny morning was too good to miss. We drove east from St Davids, turned off at Nine Wells and parked in dappled sunlight under trees ringing with birdsong. Following the path down towards Porty y Rhaw, we crossed a stream, where wagtails hunted for insects among the stones, and climbed up on to the cliff top, walking towards Solva, past what is claimed to be the remains of a fort – it needed an archaeologist’s eye and a poet’s imagination to bring it into being. We lay on the grass watching jets heading west, invading the clear blue sky with chalky contrails – some short, some long, some fat, some thin, some persisting, some transient. What determines their form and duration? Height? Speed? Type of aircraft?
We retraced our steps and clambered down over the rocks onto the pebbly beach at Porth y Rhaw. Off shore a gentle surf created a soothing susurrus; no waves reached the beach and the tide ebbed slowly back across the stones with the sound of the sea breathing.
Returning to St Davids, we took a picnic lunch to Caerfai Bay. A steep, paved, descent led to the shore; the tide was out leaving a wide sandy beach enclosed by grey and red cliffs with green patches of tumbling vegetation. We padded across the damp sand to wade knee deep in the coldness of the millpond-calm sea, humbled by one very hardy swimmer. Dogs raced along the water’s edge with unbounded canine joy. We ate sandwiches as strange looping contrails swept arabesques over the sky and the sun shining through the haze created a surreal inverted rainbow.
I strolled down to the Cathedral before supper at The Bishops. Lady Maidstone on her tomb in the Chapel of St Edward had a superior, haughty profile. She converted to Catholicism, but wanted to be buried in the Cathedral, so paid for the then roofless Chapel to be restored. The alabaster tomb was carved in Italy – it is said that she was a very difficult client and the masons took revenge by putting her face on the carving of her pet dog on which her feet rest. She predeceased the dog and when it died it was cremated and the ashes placed in a small urn in the corner of the Chapel – the lid is surmounted by a small dog.
After supper we drove down to Whitesands Bay to watch the sunset. No contrails then, just columns of barbecue smoke drifting up into the still air.