A whole month has passed and I haven’t had a chance to sit down and write – so my memory of this walk will be sketchy – life happens…….

So, after a complicated taxi arrangement, we are deposited at Fox Hole, which looks nothing like the ones in our embankment, and set off westwards, heading for the pinnacle guarding the entrance to Threecliff Bay. It’s a dull day with promising patches of blue sky – “enough to make a sailor suit” – as my mother used to say.We soon find ourselves tramping through the dunes of Pennard Burrows, all roads lead to Rome so they say – and there are many steep trails of soft sand to be conquered. I go one way, Damian goes another so I stop to catch my breath and take a moment in this lovely little cove. Emerging from the dunes we meander down to Pennard Pil, walking up the river to a set of substantial stepping stones – I do love a stepping stone.On the other side we turn left and follow the path up through heathland to the tops of the cliffs – from here we are faced with the wonderful sweep of Oxwich Bay. …….and yet more sand dunes down to the wooden bridge that crosses the inlet – a photo opportunity.

After crossing the bridge we head for the beach. Here, the firm, slightly damp sand is easy to walk on, a relief after the panting and puffing through the dunes. We quickly get into the rhythm of walking, I take great lungfuls of salty air, peace descends and in the distance I can even see signs of tea and cake.

As I drift contentedly on, my eyes come to rest on a boy walking towards me, a small terrier  beside him, not on a lead. At the same time two young girls overtake me with an extremely ugly pug face dog trotting along beside them. As I watch, the pug face scuttles over to the terrier and starts the initial chat up, sniffing a little here and there. Suddenly, with a ferocious growl, the pug face launches itself at the terrier’s neck, jaws snapping, locking on, silly little tail snapping back and forth with the velocity of the intended garrotting. I watch appalled as the owner of the terrier tries to snatch up his poor dog and shake off the pug, earning a few nips in the process. Not before time, one of the girls totters over in her high heels and grabs hold off her little darling by the scruff of its neck and thank goodness it’s over. The owner of the victim puts up his hood and slinks away, the dog in his arms. In the strange shocked silence I put in a few words about dogs that should be on leads and owners that can’t control their pets – it falls on deaf ears.

The spell is now broken, Damian and I head hastily for the tea shop.

Heading out of the cafe up into the woods, Damian makes the mistake of looking back over his shoulder……It is here I lose the clip to my camera strap and amazingly find it again – in the piles of leaves!From here the path winds up through woods and out over the cliff tops, down to the sea – we meet no-one.

At one point, the so familiar diversion sign appears, which we dutifully follow into Port Eynon.This is without doubt a popular seaside destination in the summer – in November even the chip shop is closed. But no matter, we have finished the walk fairly early and there are Sunday newspapers to read over a glass of local ale.

It seems so long ago………………….and it has been, but hopefully I am now back on track. Two months to say goodbye to Mum but I think she’s still with me – in the sea spray, the sound of waves breaking on the rocks, the shy morning sun, the gentle rain and warmth of the colours of Autumn.

Damian joins me to walk from South Sands – we’re going to see how far we get, as the weather looks unpredictable. The sea tractor ferry to Salcombe is still in operation but lies idle on the beach as there are only a few people about on this overcast morning. What a difference from the madding crowd of a hot summer’s day, last time I was here.

Up the narrow tarmac road we walk, through some woods and then out onto the path that runs along the top of the cliffs. It’s an overcast day but no rain yet – in the distance the vegetation has settled itself into patterns – can you see the heart? 

The path is quite narrow as we approach Sharp Tor, here’s Damian taking a sharp breath in ………………….

……….and myself, not bothering.

Up ahead some curious cattle stand in wait, ears pricked expectantly. Six or seven of them straddle the path and as they are quite small I make a point of checking their undercarriages to see if they are cows or bullocks.  

Damian is braver and gets close in to say hello.

The path is easy walking and we soon reach Soar Mill Cove where a path on our right takes us up the hill to the hotel we will be staying in tonight. This is a chance to lighten our bags and take advantage of the complimentary cream tea – say no more….

Back by the beach again the path rises steeply upwards and we are then back onto the top of the cliffs heading for Bolt Tail. On a downward slope we pass a bench with its own moat – a testament to the amount of rain we could have encountered, we have been lucky.

From Bolt Tail we look down on the villages of Inner and Outer Hope, the sea is very rough.

Walking over the bridge we stop to watch some surfers and then further on, in Outer Hope, some people in wetsuits standing right at the very end of a long breakwater. As we watch, massive waves crash up and over the wall – these matchstick men look extremely vulnerable but I guess they know what they’re doing.

Suddenly, one of them dives into the water and emerges some way away – he then swims back to the breakwater ladder and hauls himself up onto what must be a very slippery surface…….it looks great fun.

His partner then tries feet first ………

After a quick look around a small disappointing art gallery (why is there so much bad art around?) we climb upwards, leaving Hope Cove behind.

Just before Thurlestone we are diverted off the path due to slippage – at the base of the signpost is a strange flesh coloured wall – I wonder…….

The diversion takes us over a very narrow wooden bridge and back to the shore. Looking back I take a photo of Thurlestone Rock – a pierced rock standing stiffly in the rolling sea.

…….and in the distance, looking north, the beautiful art deco hotel on Burgh Island, a second home for Agatha Christie and Noel Coward. Difficult to see I know but you can Google it…….

By now, I am starting to feel a little faint. We have covered a lot of miles and the cream tea seems like a distant memory. The choice is whether to walk into Thurlestone and find  a taxi back to our hotel or carry on to Bantham and hope that there is a pub – it says so on the OS map but you never know……

Asking the locals is not much help – some say no, others yes, so fortified with a soft mint, that I discover tucked into the seam of my rucksack pocket, we decide to brave it out. The path follows the coast at a low level, past the golf course and up to Bantham Sand where it turns inland into the village…………and there it is, a lovely little 14th century hostelry, the Sloop Inn. The local beer, Proper Job, is wonderful and fully lives up to its name.

We start from the footbridge close to the Dylan Thomas Centre where I finished last time – dark clouds are massing but we may out-walk them.The footpath winds around the Marina past new dockland flats, looking just like new flats in any other re-developed dockland area in the country. Soon the path veers off into rough grass and on the other side a long stretch of sand, a lonesome tower at the end of the beach. We later discover there is a restaurant and bar at the top but we’ve no time for this today.Half way along is an exotic looking building which turns out to be Swansea’s ecliptic observatory, where some of the first photographs were taken of the moon – bit difficult to see but the goddess Eciptia is mounted  on the glazed roof of the back tower.From here it’s quite a long walk on firm sand up to the university. I had no idea that Swansea had such long sandy beaches, although when I think about it we were often bussed down here from mid Wales as children on school trips – but it was always raining, so maybe we never got to the beach!

At one point we decide to leave the sand for the path which is equipped with a range of exercise machines. Every eight metres we are presented with a different contraption to strengthen and exercise a different part of the body – Damian goes for the thigh toner.The concrete path runs along the side of the main road – we are warned of passing trains but do not see one.After a while we reach the outskirts of Mumbles, the pier in the distance, where we stop for a Welsh cake and a cup of tea. In the same way as I enjoy eating cream teas in Devon I also love eating Welsh cakes in Wales – it reminds me of my grandmother who used to  make them on a griddle over the open fire of an old fashioned kitchen range. The pier itself has a few odd moments………  …………….but we walk to the end and spend some moments marvelling at the huge, shiny, bright orange lifeboat parked inside its station. On the far side of the pier is a rough little beach, the lighthouse on Mumbles Head in the distance. From here the path leads upwards onto a road for a while and then back to the coast where an information board tells us that we are entering the Gower. In 1956 this was the very first Area to be designated as one of Outstanding Beauty.  The path is well maintained and it’s easy to walk and stare at the same time – at one point we see the heads of two seals bobbing above the water. The next beach is Langland Bay where a lot of people are out enjoying the intermittent afternoon sunshine.

We ask a coastguard whether it would be possible to walk on the beach, round the headland to the next bay – but no. The path now gets rockier and I have to concentrate more on where I place my feet, I stop to get a photo of the rugged slabs of rock below.Walking down into the delightful Pwlldu Bay we walk past a pretty creamy white calf cooling his heels in the stream.We then get a bit lost, following signs that lead to dead ends, there are two lovely old farmhouses facing the beach but no-one to ask for directions. Eventually, we find the path that winds upwards through woodland to Pwlldu Head – the map shows the remains of a fort but we don’t find them.  The last part of the walk is wild country, wide stretches of grassy cliff top – no-one around until we arrive at the road that leads to the outskirts of Southgate. We walk down into the village and find a pub where we drink to a wonderful day’s walking and then get a taxi back to Swansea (the buses are very few and far between on a Sunday).

Distance: 11 miles

Much of the path today is stony and when skirting a sharp drop down to the sea it’s exciting.  Silver studded blue butterflies whirl up in front of me as I walk up the path out of Lannacombe Beach through ferns and low scrub. The path is narrow but easy to follow and at one point I come across a memorial. “Dula Rose” what a wonderful name – if it wasn’t in Devon I could see her as a strong, silver haired matriarch in her 70’s, sapphire blue eyes bright against her lined weather beaten face, a wide straw hat protecting her from the pitiless sun and dust of the American prairie  – what do you see?  After a while the path opens up and after walking through a gate I catch a glimpse of some buildings and a large house. Diggers lay idle behind large piles of earth – the lucky someone who owns this property is obviously renovating and rebuilding.  

A very beautiful but isolated place to live, your only uninvited visitors a few walkers crossing the bottom of the garden occasionally.Leaving the house I am now on a broad grassy shelf, craggy rocks to the right, cliffs down to the sea to the left. It is a beautiful day and the slight breeze is salty and refreshing – at one point I come to a very interesting sign.

Up ahead I can see the look out station at Prawle Point and after a steep climb I reach it. There is a small visitors centre which tells me I am at the most southerly point in Devon. I have a little chat with one of the coastguards who bemoans the fact that they can’t get enough volunteers for the evening shifts……any takers? 

The path now winds off to the left following the contours of the coast – the landscape is wild and empty. I keep wanting to stare into the distance and immerse myself in its rugged beauty but I have to keep an eye on the rocky path – don’t want to end up spraining an ankle again, especially when there are so few walkers around (like none so far).

Down below me are lots of small coves, all empty of human life until I come to Maceley Cove. From where I’m standing I can see no-one, but moored in the bay are two boats and I can also hear children laughing.

When I reach the other side of the cove I can see two families camped up under the cliff and I also notice a very steep narrow path leading down to the beach. So to get to this small piece of paradise you have to walk a good few miles or come in by boat – I have also discovered that the cove is on the Wild Swim Map drawn up by the Outdoor Swimming Association.

Leaving this enchanting spot I come across another memorial plaque involving the Rose family – they must have been a powerful presence at one time.After a while the wildness of the landscape retreats and I start to see signs of human life. Below me sea kayaks dart around the contours of the rocks and I start to meet holiday makers from (I realise this when I get there) the hotel at Gara Rock. 

By this time I am extremely hot and sweaty and despite the tangles of green weed floating on the surface of the water I pick my way in between the large rocks covered in green slime and hurl myself into the water. Almost immediately a young girl swims out to join me and treading water we have a little chat about this and that. When I decide I’ve had enough she is still splashing about so as there are no adults in the close vicinity I try to ask her where her parents are. There ensues a confusing exchange involving the family’s black labrador with a red ribbon round its neck whereas I can only see a knot of people (quite far away) sitting next to a black labrador sporting a blue ribbon. Fortunately a woman floats by on a body board who seems to know the girl and assures me she will keep an eye on her. There follows a bit of wondering whether at that age I would have left my daughter alone in deep water even if I knew she could swim. I then decide it’s probably age – we do tend to get more jittery about things the older we get non?

Anyway, by now I am very hungry so I set off over Rickham Common and down into Mill Bay and the ferry crossing to Salcombe which I can now see in the distance.Walking through woodland alongside the estuary, I pass one beach, then another, then another – how many more!?

Eventually I reach a small cafe with a sign pointing down to the ferry. I walk down the stone steps and take my place in the small queue on the landing stage.On the other side is the Ferry Inn – too early for alcohol though, so I walk up the stone steps out onto a street full of chi chi coffee shops, natty boutiques and crowds of well dressed tourists.I slide into a cosy well stocked cafe selling the most delicious cakes and treat myself. Sugared up I then decide I have time and energy to walk through the town and on to South Sands, where I know I can get a ferry back to Salcombe where I am staying the night.

The ferry service at South Sands starts with a sea tractor – I have to rush to get it, so no time to take a photograph, but what a strange sensation it is to be sitting in a cart being pushed out to sea by a tractor to meet the colourful little ferry boat further out in the bay. 

Distance: I forgot my Jawbone so can’t say – maybe 10 or 11 miles.

It is a beautiful day as I head down a quiet green lane, past the village church and onto a narrow tarmac road leading to Blackpool Sands.  On the main road there is quite a lot of traffic but fortunately, a sign soon directs me down through some woodland where I am allowed a few tantalising glimpses of the beach.When I arrive I am pleased to see that the shop is open so I can buy some water – the shock of the Brixham to Kingswear walk without much water has taught me a lesson. Coming out of the shop I am momentarily dazzled by the display of coloured plastic paraphernalia – everything you need for a day at the seaside.From here I cannot walk along the coast due to a stretch of private property (and I still don’t understand how that can be legal) so following the directions of a friendly car park attendant I cross the road just in front of a row of pretty thatched cottages, to follow a track over a lovely stone bridge and then through into a steep green field.

 Halfway across the field I realise I am heading for a corner with no apparent exit so retracing my steps I walk up the very steep slope to where I think I can see a coast path sign – I take another shot of Blackpool Sands from the top, it is such a lovely spot. Sure enough there is a sign pointing left up a grassy lane, ferns, nettles and brambles on both sides, not great when you’re wearing shorts.

Eventually I hit tarmac again – I am on the very busy road leading through Strete. There is a lot of traffic but just as I am beginning to worry about the very real possibility of having to jump into the hedge to avoid speeding cars, I am directed off the road and onto a purpose built lane for cyclists and pedestrians – relief.

After a while I come to Strete Gate and the landscape opens up with some wonderful views of a long swathe of sand on one side of the road and a lagoon on the other.    This is Slapton Sands and I am not so enamoured when I realise it is actually very fine shingle. After five minutes of trudging I stop for a drink next to a striking piece of driftwood.There follows a bit of hopping from one tuft of wiry grass to another to avoid sinking into the sand until I decide to go back to the road.

At one point I walk past a war memorial erected to commemorate the loss of American servicemen involved in a secret rehearsal for the D-Day invasion of Normandy. Operation Tiger required the evacuation of 3,000 local residents from Slapton Sands which was chosen for its similarity to Utah Beach – a long flat stretch of gravelly sand backed by a lagoon. Nine hundred odd men lost their lives due to a combination of friendly fire incidents and an attack by E-boats of the German navy.After a stretch of easy walking on a grassy path, I walk into Torcross where I decide I need fuel. One of the many beneficial aspects of walking so many miles is that it allows me to quieten the guilt which would normally be brought on by eating Devonshire cream teas at any time of the day. Sitting in the glorious sunshine eating scones, jam and cream with a pot of tea is simply divine.

At the end of the Torcross seafront a flight of stone steps takes me up and over the promontory known as Limpet Rocks, down to a small shingle beach.  Massive slate rocks sculpted by the waves are strewn across the beach – they make me think of Wales and the two large pieces we brought back from Snowdonia for our garden.The path now winds up through trees and shrubs but I am soon in Beesands where I have booked to stay the night. It is still quite early so after paring down my rucksack I set off to walk to Start Point. It is a strange thing about walking with weight on your back – you get so used to it that you only notice the difference when it’s taken off. I practically skip along the promenade and up the hill, over the next promontory and down to the beach at Hallsands. Hallsands is famous for its “lost cottages” washed away in the high tides and storms of 1917. Up until the late 19th century the village had been protected by a bank of shingle which was gradually removed as part of a scheme to expand the naval dockyard at Plymouth. Despite protests, the dredging continued for seven years – by that time it was too late.

The path now winds up through trees, bushes and shrubs with wonderful views of Start Bay. 

The sea beneath me is a wondrous blue, the underside of rocks marked by bright purple smudges under the crystal clear water – despite the sunny day I meet very few people. Reaching the road down to the lighthouse I check my watch and wonder if I can cover a few more miles. A young couple wearing walking boots appear and I stop to get some local knowledge. I decide not to investigate the lighthouse but carry on walking to Lannacombe Beach.  This last part of my walk is beautiful, the path winds along the top of the cliffs and at intervals looks down on small isolated coves where a few people are swimming – there is no road access.

And sooner than I expected I am looking down onto Lannacombe beach where a few families are catching the last of the sunshine. The tide is coming in and children are desperately trying to save the sand castles they have so painstakingly built during the day – their dismayed faces are a picture but in this day and age, taking obvious pictures of other people’s children can cause concern – sad.Lannacombe boasts a B&B, a horse, a few chickens and no mobile phone signal. It can only be accessed down a narrow dirt track which I start walking up to meet my taxi back to Beesands. I make a note to come back to this beautiful spot one day and stay a few days.

Damian has gone back to London early this morning and I must follow later in the day but I can just squeeze five miles in before I go.Up the steep narrow residential road out of Dartmouth I bypass the castle and head up through the woods on a well marked path. Down below me is yet another little cove, a few people are out walking dogs, playing with boats. This one is called Sugary Cove.

Ahead of me a german couple are peering at a map, making plans for the day. I pass by with a greeting and they reply with a hesitant good morning. They decide to follow me until sometime later when the path is diverted due to slippage and I am forced to scramble up a very steep grassy hill – when I look back they are gone.

Out to sea is a small rocky island with sharp pinnacles, I think this must be Meg Rock. This is a lovely easy walk compared to the torture of yesterday and although sunny it is cooler. Not much happens, I enjoy the sea air, the beautiful wild flowers and the views. Later on I meet dog walkers and on one of the last gates I see a sign which makes me laugh.And here is the afore-mentioned flicking stick – all I see is trouble but there must be a knack…….

Moving on from scatological studies I follow the lane inland and end up on a very narrow road leading down to Stoke Fleming. Just up from the village shop I can get a bus back to Dartmouth. I have twenty minutes to wait which I spend thinking about how to get back to Torquay – steam train? ferry? bus? As it happens I go for all three. I catch the tugboat ferry to Kingswear and arrive just in time for the steam train to Paignton. The train is hot and crowded and the wool upholstery is unbearable. I get up and stand by the door trying for a photo but it’s difficult to lean out far enough to get a good photo.The train rumbles slowly on and eventually we arrive in Paignton where I take a few more photos.

On the harbour wall I wait in the blinding heat for the ferry to Torquay………….

and then a bus to the station………….and a train to Paddington………..and the tube to Victoria………and the train to Herne Hill. Home again…….

Distance: Four and half miles

It is promising to be another hot day as we walk up the road out of Brixham, past the long breakwater, in the direction of Berry Head Country Park.

We decide not to spend much time here so after wandering around the fortified ruins for a short while we retrace our steps and join up with the South West Coast Path again.High above the sea the path winds around the cliffs allowing us occasional glimpses of small rocky islands and sparkling turquoise sea. The stiles we climb are granite, the handholds rubbed smooth and shiny by thousands of walkers’ hands – I first saw these beautiful stiles on a walk last year in South Wales where they were adorned with the emblem of the Welsh Coast Path.

In In this heat, our first sight of St.Mary’s Bay is tempting but it’s early in the day so we walk on only to come up short in front of a diversion sign. 

Following the sign down the back of some houses we are thrown out onto the baking tarmac of residential streets where we lose the signs and have to ask for directions. Fortunately a local man (from Birmingham) is able to give us detailed information about paths back to the coast, including a path lined with sculptures carved out of tree trunks. I liked this one.Back on the path again we climb up onto Southdown Cliff and tip toe down the steep path to Man Sands which is a pretty pebbly beach overlooked by some coastguard cottages. 

It is here we decide to go for a dip and share a sandwich. I say share because I am now a little anxious about the paucity of our provisions for the day. I know from looking at the map that the stretch from here to Kingswear is remote, wild and uninhabited – we have an apple, a flapjack and three quarters of a bottle of water between us and that’s not a lot for a strenuous walk on a very hot day. My apprehension deepens when, on climbing out of the bay we meet a couple of tired looking walkers who had just come from Dartmouth.  “Any tea shops on the way?” Damian jokes, “nothing” says the woman, shaking her head wearily, “nothing at all”.

From now on we decide to only allow ourselves sips of water and only as a reward for a hard, steep ascent – and there were plenty of those!

The path leads on through beautiful open country, down below are enchanting little coves, surrounded by majestic cliffs. This one, which must be Scabbacombe Sands, has no road access and as we stand on the cliff and look to the right, a walker is approaching, across the fields, intent on a swim no doubt. When we arrive on the sand a group of people are swimming naked, I envy them but we cannot afford to stop again. We dip our hats in the sea to cool us down and walk on.

From now on we meet no other human beings, the landscape is empty and primeval – it is also very hard going. 

Eventually we begin to see life out to sea, water scooters and motor boats race around in aimless circles, whipping up the water – we must be nearing civilisation so we decide to drink the rest of the water.We are now both getting very tired and as each ascent presents itself I moan inwardly. I do the same when the path dips steeply down because as we all know, what goes down, has to come up again at some point.

Finally, we reach the remains of an artillery battery from the second world war and the path turns into a concrete one with a very welcome metal handrail. Hauling ourselves to the top we find a look out station which is selling bottles of water – I have never drunk so much water in one go…….ever.The last hour of the walk is pleasant, relatively flat and in the cool of dense woodland. Coming out onto the road we find the path diverted again and we are forced to continue on the road down to Kingswear to catch the ferry to Dartmouth. On the way we pass Kingswear Castle which is not open to the public and then down some very steep stairs to the ferry.

The ferry carries cars and passengers and we are lucky not to have to wait more than five minutes. Standing on what we suddenly realise is an unpowered pontoon, the tug boat pushes and pulls us across the mouth of the river and moors directly onto a slipway on the other side.

 We head straight for the pub and sit on the harbour wall drinking well deserved ice cold beers.

Distance: 14 miles

We start where I finished last time, down the back of the Palace Hotel to the north east of Torquay. It is 10 am but already very hot and glimpses of a sparkling turquoise sea don’t make it any easier. We walk through woodland, past Hope’s Nose and Thatcher Rock, down to Meadfoot Beach where a few people are frolicking in the sea.

We then join the road for a while – I take a photo of some striking flowers that look like tall lupins – if anyone knows what they are, answers on a post card please.Further on we smell this before we see it – a “walk through” aviary but very few birds out in the midday sun.And then Torquay Harbour, bursting with yachts and tourists, living up to its name as the capital of the English Riviera. We walk over the footbridge and onwards, along the promenade, picking our way in between sunbathers on the beach, tramping up the main road out of town and eventually down into Paignton. Damian poses for a picture.By now we are ready for refreshment but Paignton seafront is not an attractive proposition – we walk round to the harbour and find a little outdoor cafe for a cream tea.

Energised we walk through Goodrington Sands where it seems like half the population of Birmingham are on holiday and then up onto a path that runs parallel to the railway line. I have by now realised that the train from Paignton to Dartmouth is a steam train and I am hoping to get a photo. A little later we pass a man in a high viz vest working on the line and I ask him when the next train is due – 30 minutes, too long to wait.

Still no train……………..and we have a long way to go……………

We are soon back to the sea where the landscape opens up. Down below us are a group of people in wet suits – two men and a young girl. The men are shouting words of encouragement, trying to get the girl to jump into the water from the top of a large rock. Damian tells me they are coasteering which according to Wikipedia is “a physical activity that encompasses movement along the intertidal zone of a rocky coastline on foot or by swimming, without the aid of boats, surf boards or other craft”. It takes a while but she does jump.From now on we walk along the top of a series of beautiful little coves, the first being Elberry Cove which is well known (in some circles) for its enormous bed of sea grass. The water in the inlet is beautifully clear and there are only a few people around as there is no car access. We deliberate – I am desperate for a swim to cool down but we decide to cover a little more ground before stopping. At the end of the beach is a small ruin which I am told was a local lord’s bathhouse in the 18th century………….very nice.  Damian walks purposefully on……..And soon we are rewarded with another beautiful cove – Churston Cove – where we join the excited dogs for a dip in the deliciously cool water…..followed by a nap on the pebbles. The path continues to wind upwards through woodland which then leads to a stretch of parkland named Battery Gardens, a coastal defence site intended to protect Torbay from an expected German invasion after Dunkirk.

Walking down into Brixham, we pass a yacht club where a group of young people are confidently wheeling small mirror dinghies down the slipway and into the sea…….it looks quite easy and I expect it is – if you know how.

 Brixham is a pleasant surprise – the harbour is alive with fishing boats and small pleasure craft and sitting amongst them a replica of the Golden Hind. The information board tells us it was home to 60 sailors and 15 officers – it is very difficult to see where there would be room for so many people.iIt is the end of our walk today, time for a pint and some fresh fish – this is the view from our hotel window.

Distance: 11 miles

The sun is trying to shine as I walk out of the station at Briton Ferry and back through the town to meet the A48 and the busy road bridge over the River Neath. In the distance is the M4 and underneath me, a lot of mud and a large recycling centre.Fortunately, there is quite a lot of space between me and the cars whizzing over the bridge, so it is not such an unpleasant experience as I thought it was going to be. However I still have a fair bit of road walking to do on the other side.

I often wonder what people think when they see a lone woman walking along the side of a busy main road, empty of anywhere she may have come from or may be trying to get to – not trying to get a lift, just walking. Do they think I’m doolally? Are they right?

I walk on, it’s monotonous and there’s not a lot to look at but the pretty wild flowers growing in the verges. At one point I am allowed a few minutes peace when the path/cycle track veers off left, only to soon join the road again further up

After I while I  see a big junction up ahead with signs pointing to an Amazon warehouse and this gets me thinking as to whether I am actually going to put my money where my mouth is (or not as it were) and stop using Amazon – zero hour contracts, terrible working conditions not to mention tax avoidance – but it is so easy. I decide to try.

To my relief I am now directed down a minor road towards Jersey Marine and after asking for a few directions I find a Welsh Coast Path sign on a lamp post pointing towards the tow path of the Tennant Canal. This will take me all the way to Swansea.

The next part of the walk is lovely, most of it accompanied by a family of swans.

I meet no-one apart from a lone jogger until I end up in a housing estate, after which the   path dips down to the building sites of a ferocious redevelopment of Swansea docklands.

At one point I am high above the road and treated to the sight of a trio of bikini clad Welsh beauties, sent out into the drizzle to encourage passing motorists to pull in for a car wash. They wave weakly at the cars speeding past but don’t seem to be harvesting much but a lot of honking car horns – think I’d rather clean toilets.Eventually, I walk across a footbridge over the River Tawe and end up outside the Dylan Thomas Centre – I call in.One could spend far more time in this lovely place so when I continue my walk later in the month I will make a point of coming again. The one thing I did need to see though was the replica of the poet’s writing shed as this was on tour and was due to be moved in a couple of days. One of my favourites:

“And when the firemen turned off the hose and were standing in the wet, smoky room, Jim’s Aunt, Miss Prothero, came downstairs and peered in at them. Jim and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would say to them. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, “Would you like anything to read?”

― Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales

It has been brought to my attention that those of you who have signed up to get an email every time I post a walk are not getting the Google map at the end which shows you where I’ve walked. I don’t know why this is happening because the map is there on the website but in the meantime, if you want to see the map, just click on the “View Larger Map” link at the bottom of the post and the map will appear.

So here I am in Wales again planning a walk to Swansea but having to spread it over two days due to inclement weather. Early afternoon sees me down on the seafront at Aberavon faced with the vast expanse of Aberavon beach. 

The beach is empty apart from a few fishermen and the damp sand makes for easy walking. The official route takes you through the dunes but someone ‘s been having fun with the signposts so I decide to stay on the beach and head up into the dunes further up.

This is a mistake as by the time I need to head inland the dunes are very steep and very hard work. After a lot of exertion I manage to get to the top of one where I can see more clearly in which direction I’m supposed to be walking but a passing local with an extremely slobbery dog tells me that I may have trouble getting through.

I know I cannot cross the River Neath up ahead and I can see the power station that stands in my way. If the walker is right I’d have to come all the way back – I turn around and head for the road which winds back inland through sad streets of pebble dash and yellowing net curtains. Eventually I join up with cycle path 4 which runs parallel to the very busy main road. Reaching the footbridge that spans the road over to Baglan station I decide to carry on up a minor road running parallel to the A48 and eventually end up in Briton Ferry. A sign catches my eye….Later I discover the connection between Bbowa and Briton Ferry is an educational one. This run down town in South Wales is involved in Care For Uganda, a sponsorship programme which aims to give all its children a proper school education. My mind goes back to the time I spent teaching primary school children in Uganda some years ago. Sixty to a class and about 10 pencil stubs between them. Most of them walked barefoot the five miles to school, some without breakfast. It was a real eye opener for me………

Distance: 6 miles