Day Thirty

Thursday 24 March – Roch to St David's Head

Today turned out to be the last of this East West Walk. I had intended to walk to St David's today, and then walk the remaining few miles to St David's Head tomorrow. But the walk went so well, and the day was so fine, that I knocked off the remaing miles in one go.

From my b&b on the outskirts of Roch, the way down to the coast lay along the unpleasant main road for several minutes, until I was able to cut across a field (footpath on the map – no signs), reaching sea level at Newgale. The holiday aspect of Newgale is let down by the fact that the main road goes right through it, traffic thundering downhill, screaming round a few bends, and then grinding uphill again. Also, there is no beach, just a high shingle bank which cuts out sea views from the road, the pub and the café.

I was glad to leave the traffic behind as I took my first steps for several years on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. This is a 186-mile National Trail, sticking fairly rigidly to the coast, with spectacular results. Indeed, in answer to the question I have been asked so many times since I completed my journey around the British coast, which was the best bit, I always reply that Pembrokeshire is the best coastal footpath, even though parts of the Cornish and Northern Scottish coast rival it for scenery.

The path is also the j in the c of the Pemrokeshire Coast National Park. The clue's in the name: the National Park snakes around the coast , although it also takes in an Island (Ramsey), some inland woods, and a large part of the Cleddau Estuary.

At the point I joined it, the Coast Path turns from heading North up the Eastern edge of St Bride's Bay to head West around St David's Head. This turn is not smooth: the coastline here is broken up and ragged, and following the path is demanding. By the time I reached Solva, I had climbed and descended more than in the previous five days, so I was ready for coffee and something at a cafe by the river.

To reach this oasis, you have to walk nearly half a mile from the sea, above a deep, curved cleft in the cliffs. Solva was established just because its situation was so suitable for a harbour. Rocks at the mouth of the river provided ideal shelter. In mediaeval times, the village was an important trading centre, and also a centre for the burning of lime, which was spread on the land to improve its yield. Some of the limekilns have been preserved. More recent development has taken place on the cliff-top above the harbour.

In the 19^th Century, coastal trading gave way to tourism as an income-earner for Solva, with the harbour being given over to leisure craft, but the woollen mill has managed to combine manufacture, which still continues, with catering for tourists, who can watch the looms at work, admire the restored water-wheel, get a cup of tea and a bun, and buy the mill's products, including carpets and rugs. Other attractions apparently include a butterfly farm (Wales' first) and a Nectarium, neither of which I saw.

After Solva, the walking is more level and consequently rather quicker. It was back to shirtsleeves again, for the third day in a row. I passed some other walkers, mostly near points where a road drew near to the coast. At Caerfai car park, some serious picnicking was going on, along with some intense sun worship by a small crowd of yoof.

I had planned to turn off the coast path at St Non's chapel and well. These ruins marked the place where (allegedly) St Non gave birth to St David. It's a magical spot, despite the rather forbidding design of the retreat centre which dominates the scene. As I said, I decided not to head inland here, but to press on to Pen Dal-aderyn, the bit of St David's Head which is the actual Westermost point in Wales. This I reached quite quickly. When I finished my complete coastal walk, a stag was waiting to congratulate me. This time, just a few seabirds had bothered to turn up. I took a few photographs (there was no press), and started inland towards St David's.

At a farmyard, I stopped to check on my direction as a farmer sped up on a quad bike. “Where are you heading?”, he asked. I told him, and he said, “Straight on through the yard. Do you want a lift?” I did; I had finished my big walk, and I was thoroughly tired. “See that bloke by the white van; he's going to St David's” An exchange of shouts sealed the deal, and the farmer zipped off. The second man was standing in the doorway of a farm building. “You in a hurry?” I said I wasn't. “Right, I'm just having some tea. Want Some?” I gratefully accepted. “I haven't got any cups, but I use these.” He held up the cap of a spraycan. “It's clean”, and it was. There was a fresh supply on the ground, still on the cans. The tea was very sweet and very welcome.

The man told me that he had recently retired from farming, had last year lost his wife, and now worked part time to help his brother (the man on the quad bike), especially now during the lambing season. He reckoned that a couple of hundred more lambs would survive this year because of the warm weather. I told him about what I'd been up to, and he seemed interested.

Then we jumped into the white van, and soon he was dropping me in St David's. Actually he overshot the b&b by a few yards, and insisted on backing up to the door. It was a touching act of kindness to round off my adventure.