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Langland Bay
One of the great pleasures of Langland Bay lay in the fact it was the centre for two interesting cliff walks along which I was taken by my parents almost as soon as we had settled in Newton in 1913, and had become accustomed to Langland and our tent. These paths were always of interest, whatever the season. In the spring and summer there were always flowers to find, or birds to watch and sometimes the possibility of seeing seals; in autumn and winter there were the high tides with their foaming spray dashing against the grey rocks. True, in winter (and even in summer sometimes) the paths tended to be muddy, but they were reasonably wide and easy to walk on.
Langland Bay
One such path started at Limeslade Bay and was a very popular one because it often started with a trip on the Mumbles Train from Oystermouth to the Pier. There, having admired the Mumbles Head and Lighthouse, we made our way either by the steps or the road so interestingly scored so that a horse and carriage could climb up, to the first of our Gower bays (not to be a part of Swansea yet), Bracelet Bay. We did not stay long here, for unless the tide was far out there was not as much sand as in Langland and in the summer these bays, both Bracelet and the next one, Limeslade, were often very crowded. For people could get on the Mumbles Train at Swansea, or The Slip (St. Helen's) or Brynmill, and come for the day to either of these bays. Limeslade had more sand and both had a number of little shops where you could get food and drink or buy buckets and spades. What a lovely day out for people from the back of the town, or from Uplands and Sketty.
Mumbles Lighthouse late C19
After Limeslade the path became wider and more interesting. It was at first flat and had a certain number of low bushes on both sides, though I do not remember them as thick or tall as they later became. My father would point out the Mixen Sands and explain to us that these were quick-sands, nearly a mile long, which could swallow up whole ships as they sailed over them; and he would bid us listen to the tolling of the Mixon (also called Mixen) Bell as it warned ships of the danger ahead. Sometimes, if the tide was very low and the winds high, you could see the white waves just breaking along the whole area. At low tide there was a small stretch of low, flat rocks, mainly grey in colour but here and there with streaks of pink in them. This, we assumed, was probably due to the presence of iron ore because we had been told that somewhere along this part of the cliff there was a ‘Doctor's Mine’. > I don't remember that we ever really looked for it; certainly we never found it.
The ramp down from Alma Road, Langland Bay, c.1920
The cliff lands on our right were a wonderful sight in spring and early summer. In places they rose to over two hundred feet and the almost white limestone rock showed up wonderfully against a blue summer sky; but the lower parts were soil covered and were carpeted in summer with patches of purple heather, and ling, and startling yellow gorse. Beneath these bushes were, in spring, patches of violets, blue and pink milk wort and later clover and other flowers. On the sea side on the edge of the cliffs, or even in the rocks themselves, were great clumps of pink thrift, white campion and mayweed. We were introduced to the song of the stonechat, a colourful little bird, and listened to the larks in the sky. The path began to rise, the limestone to show up more and finally we stood at the top of Ram's Tor, a height of over one hundred feet. What a view we had: the point at Langland, Whiteshell Point, Caswell Head, Pwlldu, and finally Oxwich Point. Then the path dropped down, the cliffs were covered in bracken, we saw the little cove of Lamb's Well (if we walked to the edge of the cliff), Dead Man's Island, and finally the path widened to above Little Langland and we walked past the Osborne Hotel to our Langland and our tent.
Rotherslade Bay
In the summers, in the early twenties, we did that walk in reverse, to go to the Pier to see the Pierrot concerts. My parents always took my two friends, Vera and Cicely, with us and we had great fun on the walk. The main track then had on its left two or three tracks made, I imagine, by people climbing up on the bank to avoid the muddy pools of the winter. We named them Heaven, the Earth, and Hell, and we had great struggles to keep on the right path and avoid descending into Hell. What queer ideas get into young people's minds! The climax of those evenings was the return, after the concert, on the crowded Mumbles Train.
The other cliff path went from Langland to Caswell and began by following the path past the edge of the Langland Bay Golf Course (the 9th hole, I believe) to the Point, and then turning right. In many ways it was similar to that from Limeslade to Langland, though possibly a little steeper and with more limestone showing on the cliff side. There were patches of heather and gorse in between the limestone and the same patches of thrift, white campion and mayweed, as well as golden samphire on the rocks on the seaward side. The highest point of the path was Whiteshell Point, over one hundred feet high; and at low tides on the stretches of low rocks and sea weed filled pools, lay an extraordinary looking object. To me it looked rather like the iron boiler of the Mumbles Train, but my father explained that it was a ship's boiler — a small ship, which must have been wrecked at this point and broken up. It did look out of place!
The cliff between Langland and Caswell
From this top, the view was a splendid one. The cliff descended steeply towards Caswell Bay; at low tide a great stretch of sand reaching to Redley Cliff on the other side of the bay where, on the headland, still stood the charred remains of the old windmill. Beyond was the high Pwlldu Head, and the long line of Oxwich head. When the tide was in, and especially if it was windy, great waves rose in bursts of spray over the rocks; when it was calmer, patient fishermen sat or stood on the rocks, fishing, so my father said, for salmon bass. Sometimes too, on a quiet sea in summer, we would see groups of porpoises playing together, or cormorants flying across the bay; even, at low tides, a pair of seals.
The house on the cliffs at Langland leading to Mary Twill Lane
To get back to Langland, we turned up the cliff on the right where a steep track led us to a single house [photo] where I was told my grandparents had once stayed. Then on through the fields and along a path to Mary Twill Lane, to Newton or down the golf links to Langland Bay.
I think even then, that I realised how lucky we were to learn the names of so many flowers and birds.
First published in the autobiography of Freda Marrison
A Childhood in Mumbles and Gower, 1995
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