Across the pond

Y Mwnt is one of those places which will never be spoilt. To reach it you need to drive along a narrow winding lane with few passing places. There is only room for a dozen or so cars in the car park. And you need to walk down 139 steps to reach the beach. Unsurprisingly when we arrived there it was empty save for a middle aged couple and a solitary fisherman. Maybe he was trying to catch dolphins. We saw two on the way down, their heads bobbing out of the water as they swam across the bay.

It is a most beautiful spot. The sandy beach is perfect for sand castles and the sea is inviting. The waves are no more than a foot or two high, breaking gently over the rocks and withdrawing with a quiet contented murmur. In the middle of the bay there is a low island, grey rocks capped by smooth green grass. It is sculpted like the chest of a giant Amazon. From where I sit the left breast is perfectly formed. The right one has been sliced off to permit free use of the bow.

The last battle fought in these parts was in 1155 when a small force of Flemings, ancestors no doubt of some of those Belgians who later established an empire, attempted an invasion. They were easily routed by the Welsh. And for the rest of history no foreign invader has got anywhere near. The 250 foot hill, Y Foel, which flanks one side of the bay, was the site of an ancient cross. It was a staging post on the pilgrims’ route from Cardigan to St David’s Head.

The first church on the cliff top was probably built in the fifth century. The present chapel-sized Church of the Holy Cross was built in the thirteenth century. It is a small stone building, painted white with a grey slate roof. No tower. Just a small belfry from which the parishioners are summoned from the scattered hamlets around the bay. The graveyard bears witness to long lives, several exceeding one hundred years, lived in stress-free tranquillity.

It is now 1.30 PM. The middle aged couple are walking up the hill. The angler has packed up his rods and departed. We have the whole beach to ourselves to eat our sandwiches, except for a few sheep on one slope and the dolphins.

After lunch we climb to the top of Y Foel. Looking north the foreground is filled by a mixed herd of cows, black, white, brown and white and one entirely grey/brown calf. Beyond them a series of headlands around the sweep of Cardigan Bay. In the far distance the sun has highlighted the town of Aberystwyth, the ancient capital of Wales.

Looking west is a vast expanse of ocean until the sea finally meets a layer of grey cloud on the horizon. Above it the celestial artist has added some colour with streaks of water blue and a range of white cloud mountains. I would be happy to spend the rest of the day here. But the grandchildren are getting bored. So we pack up and head for the National Coracle Centre in Cenarth looking for some action.