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My connections with the area go back a long way. My great-grandmother was living in Mumbles when Queen Victoria came to the throne. She must have been a mischievous child because the story goes that she used to play truant from school and spend the day on Mumbles Hill with a picnic, purchased with the money she was supposed to pay for her schooling! My mother was one of thirteen children born in Swansea, as were my two brothers, but the depression in the twenties meant a move to London, where I was born.
Joan Gleig, aged 3
A modern view of Langland Bay, with 'The Camps' in the foreground
A modern view of Langland Camps, photos: Now-John Powell
We had a glorious view of the sea and Langland Bay, with the three points—Langland, Caswell and Oxwich reaching out into the water.
Below us, one field away was the ‘Camp Field’ (photo). When I knew it, each owner had a small hut and a large tent for sleeping, also an earth closet in the garden. The field belonged to the Woolacotts and they sometimes let cows in to graze. It was a friendly place, which had a sports day every summer which everyone joined in. I remember some of the names—including Dickson, Drury, Pride, Taylor and Searle.
Langland Camps. Photo: M A Clare
OS Map 1921
Reproduced by permission of theCounty Archivist at West Glamorgan Archive Office, Swansea
Google Maps view, with Langland Camps marked.
However the pull of the sea was strong and we spent the summer holidays at the bungalow (photo) which one of my uncles had built on the cliff at Rams Tor, high above Doctor’s Mine, an iron ore cave, which we were forbidden to explore. Uncle built it before the Great War when planning permission was unheard of and everyone was welcome. Sometimes the overflow meant sleeping on the balcony under the stars or in a tent in the garden. It had no water or electricity, no drainage, an earth closet in the garden—but it was a children’s paradise. We used to fetch water from the tap two fields and a lane away facing ‘Channel View.’
The Gleig family at Langland Camps C1920s
My mother, front left, and her family
A typical family holiday
'Later, during the war, I worked in Swansea for a time in the Food Office and I bought Mr. Searle’s hut and a big tent for £16 (photo) so I had my own place by the sea. I don’t know how I saved £16 because my wages were only 38s..6d!'
Higher up the hill, there was a field of small bungalows. It is now Beaufort Avenue, but then, it was one of our ways to the village.
We used to go to the beach most days for a swim. Mr. Godbeer owned the café under the promenade and his wife looked after the ice cream kiosk above. When the war came, soldiers were billeted in the café. Langland had another attraction for me—a man called Bert Gray gave pony rides. I was mad about horses so a lot of my pocket money went there. There was another character I remember—Mr. Pobjoy who lived in a house at the bottom of Rotherslade Road, where there are now flats. He used to come out of his house in his bathing costume every day to hurry to the beach, rush into the sea and float out onto his back — the same routine winter and summer! I wonder if Barney’s danger flag ever stopped him.
A bit further along the path, we would often find an old lady sitting on the bank with a basket of sweets to sell and our grandmother always stopped to talk to her and buy something.
The Cafe on the beach at Langland.
'Langland had another attraction for me—a man called Bert Gray gave pony rides. I was mad about horses so a lot of my pocket money went there.'
If the weather was good, we would sometimes walk along the cliffs to Caswell or even Pwll Du and of course this called for a picnic. It was a good thing we were such a crowd, because everyone had to carry something—water, milk, tea, the primus stove with meths and matches to start it, a kettle, dishes, towels, bathing hats and costumes, even a tablecloth to keep the sand away and plenty of food for a hungry mob. There was a little shop at Pwll Du where we could buy pop and sit on a bench outside to drink it. We usually all trouped home with red faces, red backs and peeling skin for the next few days. There was so much to do on our holidays—playing on the cliffs outside our bungalow, climbing down the rocks, watching the waves beating on them, picking blackberries. We had blackberries every day for afters in September!
We always had a day-trip to Ilfracombe on the paddle steamer. The boat picked up passengers from the end of Mumbles Pier. We usually had a trip to Porthcawl and several evening cruises. There was the lighthouse, which beckoned us from miles away in all directions. Now, its descendant is a poor little thing you hardly notice.
The Osbourne Hotel and Shelter, Rotherslade Bay.
The Mumbles Train at the Pier.
A Family picnic time at Rotherslade, with the shelter in the background.
One of my cousins had a grandfather who was a Magistrate in Penarth, so he was more ‘posh’ than we were. On the rare occasions when he came to Langland, he stayed in the Osborne Hotel (photo). We felt this gave us the right to actually visit the Hotel and use the telephone, which was housed in a cupboard at the end of the first corridor. I don’t remember actually meeting Grandpa there, he probably kept out of our way. The last I heard of him, he was writing a book about the Smugglers of Gower. My brother told me recently that our ancestors were involved in this, so perhaps the least said the better!
Occasionally, we went to Swansea on the train and you knew exactly how long you would have to wait because you could follow its progress all round the bay. There was usually time to go into Forte’s Ice Cream Parlour outside the station—now gone together with the trains and the row of shops, not least Harry Libby’s travel Agents. We were taken at least once a year on one of his ‘mystery’ coach tours, which culminated with tea in a big barn.
Fortes Ice Cream Parlour, The Dunns, Mumbles
Libby, Travel Agents, 'The Dunns' / Mumbles Road, c.1950s
'We were taken at least once a year on one of his ‘mystery’ coach tours, which culminated with tea in a big barn.'
We all enjoyed a trip to one of the cinemas followed by fish and chips. Then munching all the way up Thistleboon. When we reached the top, we would lean on the gate and gaze at the view round the sweep of the bay to Swansea, all picked out in sparkling lights—magic! They don’t sparkle now the way they used to, they are made of something else these days. Then over the dark fields and into the cosy warmth and lamplight of our bungalow and some loving people to welcome us home with a cup of cocoa and a candle to light us to our bunks.
The original Hotel Coach-house was converted into a new licensed restaurant
Stephen noted, ‘Next door to the convalescent home, there used to be a really excellent hotel overlooking the Bay, called, logically, Langland Bay Hotel Restaurant, and the views from its massive picture windows as one enjoyed a dry sherry and then roast beef and Yorkshire Pud' was simply breath taking.
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