Welsh Journals

big sycamore beside it, and you could climb through it and wander into a field and then into another, before the fitted, wall-to-wall housing of later times. The front of the house had a pillared conservatory, with a giant lawn, and a steep slope to hurtle down on your bike, a shallower one to ride back up. But from the bottom you could zoom off through 'the woods', then round the maze of paths edging the fruit and vegetables to the stable. It was endless and exciting. Summerland Cliff was on the right-hand side of Caswell Hill as you looked down. Most of it was gorse, bracken and small trees. It was an adventure to explore this deserted wilderland, with a packet of sand- wiches. You could easily climb 'Black Rock' and look down to the road below. You could make secret dens. You could sneak through the gap in the wall or climb the low bit into the derelict garden of Summerland House, its summerhouse, tennis courts and rosewalks dark and spooky below rampant undergrowth. It was all a very direct contact with the fringe of Gower, not filtered much through adult control. We kids could wander. The long days were full of adventure, deep fears and absorbing pleasures. I remember a frightening time climbing a 'rock face' near Black Rock. Another day I set myself, with no great reason, to climb a steep concrete slope from the Langland rocks to the Rotherslade path. Even today I have no head for heights, and halfway up the world began to spin and the cold sweat dripped. It could have been nasty, but a voice from above, from the path I suppose, called out words in a tone that calmed me. I paused, thought, and completed the climb. My head stayed down and I never saw the person. It all had a supernatural feel. I had my brother and my cousins, made friends sometimes, met pals from school, but gregariousness was not my forte. One barrier was a lack of adventure. My favourite transport was a three-wheeler bike, even though Dad taught me about two-wheelers one quiet day on the brand new tarmac of Mary Twill Lane. Some of my peers swam splashing from point to point at Langland. I did not go out of my depth. Others climbed high into conker trees, sometimes dropping things on the unsuspecting below but not me! I was full of timidity and rectitude. The positive side was my love of quiet, absorbing play. Before self-awareness set in it made me happy as the day. The teenage years pricked the bubble, but even today my delight in growing flowers or putting history into patterns has the same texture as my games of boats at Langland. Acknowledgement Thanks to my mother for reading over the original version of this and pointing out some 'memories' with little grounding in reality.