I GREW UP IN WALES – THESE ARE THE COASTAL COMMUNITIES THAT SHAPED MY MEMORIES

Not long ago, I embarked on a walking journey around the Wales Coast Path as research for a book. My aim was to understand how the sea had shaped the lives of people, and how society has sought to shape and tame the sea.

As well as immersing myself in the history, culture, folklore and science of the coast, it would be a personal trip to reacquaint myself with places that evoke memories for me and my family.

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One of my first stops was the Victorian seaside town of Penarth, on the outskirts of Cardiff. My nan would bring me here to see the murky grey “sea” of the Severn estuary when I was a little boy. Having walked the promenade, we would retire to Rabaiotti’s Italian café for “frothy coffees” and hot chocolate.

My mother continued the tradition with my kids, Dylan and Zelda. And when they were young, my wife, Jowa, and I would take them on walks along the cliff path from Penarth towards Lavernock Point, to where, in 1897, Guglielmo Marconi transmitted the first Morse code radio telegraph message across water from the island of Ynys Echni (Flat Holm). Each time though, little legs tired or the muddy Coast Path forced us back.

Around 20 miles west, the beach at Nash Point – on the Glamorgan Heritage Coast – has long been a favourite. I love how the retreating tide reveals multi-layered flat rocks that stretch out to the next bay and beyond.

The cliffs here were created more than 300 million years ago when this area would have been sub-tropical ocean. The coast is a treasure trove for aquatic fossil hunters.

As a family we’d spend hours in search of ancient imprints while taking care to stay clear of the overhanging, unsupported limestone cliffs. Some look like a giant has taken a large bite out of them – leaving the top sections hanging over the stone beach with no support.

At the end of a trip to Nash Point, we would encourage the kids to run up and down a steep slope above the beach in the hope of exhausting them so they would go straight to sleep when we got home. It worked every time.

Heading west again is the Gower. In August 1897 the Impressionist artist Alfred Sisley arrived here to paint. One of his main muses on that trip was Storr rock (also known as Donkey rock), the tall, rounded mound that dominates the top of Rotherslade – a small beach adjacent to Langland Bay. His serene painting Storr Rock, Lady’s Cove, le soir, is part of the National Museum of Wales’s permanent collection.

As a child, I knew that rock better than any other part of the Welsh coast. Rotherslade was my family’s favourite beach and summitting Storr rock was a rite of passage for little kids – not least to watch teenagers jump off the top into the sea at high tide. I must have tried for what felt like an entire summer to hoist myself up. My knees were scraped and battered by digging into the barnacled rockface for traction but finally I made it. Nearly 50 years on, I can still recall the thrill of reaching the top.

One incredibly wet April day, Dylan and I walked along the Coast Path from the village of Amroth to the Pembrokeshire town of Tenby. I was excited to do this walk for two reasons. The first was that Dylan was back from university. The second was that Tenby was where my grandfather grew up. He was a blacksmith and forged the railings that surround the graveyard of Tenby’s grand St Mary’s Church.

Those iron railings still stand proud, but the church has a much greater claim to fame. Inside is a memorial to Robert Recorde, a 16th-century Tenby native and one of the most influential people in the evolution of mathematics. It was Recorde who invented what we now know as the equals sign (=).

My family had told me that my grandfather grew up in a house located on Upper Frog Street, somewhere near the De Valence Pavilion. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he might have lived, but my closest guess was an attractive-looking microbrew pub a few doors down from the theatre. So, I popped in, ordered a beer and raised a glass to seaside memories. I’m sure my grandfather would have approved.

Matthew Yeomans is the author of ‘Seascape: Notes from a Changing Coastline’ (Calon, £18.99)

2025-04-26T05:40:58Z