Thursday, 16 March 2017

Laugharne Laugharne Land



A few miles south of Carmarthen in welsh Wales, the ancient township of Laugharne. Sian and I with Rosie the puppy put into Browns Hotel in the High Street. The town snoozes in the warm afternoon sun.

This town and Browns, in particular, has a famous son, Dylan Thomas. Round the estuary headland looking out across the River Taf is his home and the Boat House where he would write.

Reading Room Browns Hotel
This is Dylan’s town, he and books, literature abound. Our room has books including The Letters of Dylan Thomas an engrossing book that I order up online. There is also a reading room in the hotel, where I sit to colour in the day’s drawings.

Stepping out at dusk to walk with Rosie there is a hardly a sound except for a noisy rookery, birds screaming for a seat at the bar.

Before breakfast a stroll down the High Street reveals much lovely late-Georgian houses; testifying to previous prosperity and some of which is being slowly restored.

Looking out from our breakfast it is close as it gets to it being busy, the morning school run. 
It is St David’s Day – all the school children wear daffodils or tiny leeks.

We relish an all day walk around the town and that part of the Welsh Coastal Path that wraps around it. Warm spring sun, deep lanes festooned with Snowdrops, Celandines and Primroses. As we skirt round the estuary the Oystercatchers’ call drifts up through the woods and Mrs Sheep guides her lambs high on a ridge above.

We break our walk for excellent tea and scones (warm from the oven) at the Dylan Thomas Boathouse café. Judith who runs the place also offers us samples of a lime drizzle cake she has just made in practise for the Mothering Sunday menu.

A steep decent finds us back in the town and ready for the final leg, Coast Path again towards and up Sir John’s Hill. The path is precarious and much mud. We make it and down the other side and into the town and Browns. This is the way good walks should finish. I lay plans now for a return visit.
Across to the other side   Oystercatchers Cry



Sir John’s Hill    by Dylan Thomas

Over Sir John's hill,
The hawk on fire hangs still;
In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dusk, he pulls to his claws
And gallows, up the rays of his eyes the small birds of the bay
And the shrill child's play





The Parlour of the Thomas' Home

The Estuary

Supper time in Browns Hotel