This was the third dolmen we had visited in three days whose name tied it to the legendary King Arthur…and three times three is a magical number. It is certainly a magical site and quite unexpected as you walk between the gaily painted bungalows of the little coastal town of Newport.  A gate opens into a green oasis, bounded and shadowed by high hedges, cool in the midday sun, where you come face to face with the oddest little dolmen. My first thought was just as odd…that it reminded me of Ani, the way she sits with the front paws together, demure and expectant, yet somehow regal and ready to pounce in joyous abandon… there was that kind of ‘feel’ to the place.  Very much alive.

Like most of these sites that were once houses of the dead, the overriding impression is not one of melancholy, but of warmth and…

The jaws had dropped, the expletives had escaped and the cameras were out almost as soon as we exited the car. Even from a distance, Carreg Samson was spectacular, set against the backdrop of the coast… a smiling dragon resting his maw on folded wings as if he was casually looking over the cliff top at the approaching party. We should have expected dragons in Wales, but we could never have expected this.

Even at close quarters, the resemblance remained. We had dutifully noted that, from the correct approach, the contours of the great head seemed to shadow the shape of the headland beyond. The location alone is stunning and the stones are simply enormous. The capstone is over fifteen feet long, nearly nine feet wide and over three feet thick. There is plenty of headroom to stand beneath it. When you consider that the legends say that St Samson…

It was already hot, only dawn and I’m melting

The sun in the heavens is already pelting

I want to crawl into the fridge to keep cool

I am staying indoors, I am nobody’s fool.

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But in that I am wrong, for I do have a duty…

My son is my boss though, in that there is beauty.

He will understand that I’m achy and hot

He is bound to be gentle with Mum, is he not?

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He’s all bright and smiley, he likes the hot weather,

I’m wilting and limp, but I keep it together…

“Let’s garden today,” said my son and employer.

Is that in my contract…perhaps get a lawyer?

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He feeds me with honey for energy levels

Then says something nice, he’s a sneaky young devil

He plies me with compliments, even says ‘please’…

Then I’m out with the rose bushes, spiders and bees.

Whispers in the West – part four (final)

On the Saturday night, replete with the adventures of the day and a large meal from the Sloop, we could do little else but retire early and sleep the sleep of Kings. The following morning was to be one of the highlights of the trip – St David’s, itself. The famous Cathedral was to be the final destination for the weekend, but first, Lizzy, our guide, had other local gems in store…

A misty St David’s Cathedral, our final destination.

Most of the group were staying a mile or so along the coast in or near a small, family-run hotel (The Ocean Haze). Lizzy had planned it so that we could approach St David’s from the coastal path.

As you can see from the photographs, Sunday was a very different day from the sun-baked Friday and Saturday. A mist pervaded the coast…

“It is just space,” he nodded his head towards the now empty shelf. “It is not,” said my son, “a bad analogy … the Fridge of Life.” He didn’t elaborate, but after a few moments thought, I had to agree… though it takes a particularly warped mind to see an analogy for life in his fridge. Life, you might quite possibly find… which is why we were cleaning it, but analogies don’t usually figure on his shopping list.

This is a man’s fridge…a man who eats well. Many things are bought, but few are chosen…or at least not enough, and not entirely or not before their ‘use by’ date has used itself up. My personal fridge is more of a Mother Hubbard affair. It usually has eggs and milk, with the occasional bit of salad. I buy what I will eat that day or the next and the leftovers…

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All that…

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becomes one…

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does so…

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by participation…

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of unity.

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