Coasting Along Pembroke’s Path – Part 1
Fought at Pembroke
Mighty Pembroke! Ancient Pembroke!
Silent ruin clad in time.
Doughty gatehouse! Foes forbidden!
Dominating Norman power.
Great Carnarvon! Sombre Harlech!
North-east guardians watching tides.
Wrexham’s Chirk! Severn’s Caldicot!
Grown from wealth of Norman pride,
built to conquer, spread control,
kings advanced through looming stone,
that the conquered keep their peace:
lords and armies dined and drank,
splendid in their ducal ways –
in their shadow locals shivered.
Dare besiege? Daring death!
Mighty Pembroke! Ancient Pembroke!
Castle’s proud promontory –
money proffered, smiles and greetings,
guided tour through history,
towers, rooms and exhibitions,
tourists stroll, the new invaders,
roam along stone corridors,
cavern hidden, gruesome dungeon,
till refreshments in the café.
Mighty Pembroke! Ancient Pembroke!
Heavy dark stones’ open welcome!
On the Cleddau Bridge
Behind the curves of land and port,
receiver quays the ferry sought,
the slow incoming Irish ship
with people, cars and freight each trip:
a hill rose up to Pembroke Dock,
main streets unseen past nearby block
of industry and takeaways,
somewhere among them station stays:
up through some houses white as rime
the walking route demands a climb
that brings the path by last abode
and comes to fast and busy road.
Smooth drive onto an airborne ridge
as cars stream on the Cleddau Bridge,
another stream that’s way below
with gleaming calm far hills bestow,
like resting boats with journeys done,
and caught in light of wintry sun
in spread of sky cross river’s breadth,
its flow seen down in bridge’s depth.
While over river traffic went,
to Neyland walked down steep descent,
arriving at a boating yard
and statue of great Isambard
where sidings lay and station stood,
to sail to Ireland people could:
once place of bustle, noise and crowds
with ships’ and engines’ smoky shrouds,
it’s quiet now by Cleddau stream
with white-washed houses’ homely dream:
refreshments sparse, no shop, no pub
so upward marched to township’s hub,
acquired a drink in small café,
sells cake and workers’ takeaway.
A welcome rest we could not spurn,
then left past church, dark, taciturn,
to come to foot of angled road
whose steeps a walker’s muscles goad
while moving under woodland leaves
the Cleddau Bridge eye last perceives.
Oily Images
Beyond our modern hotel’s window:
beside a quiet still marina:
away from central Milford Haven:
unseen the next day’s railway station:
there lies its bay with well-spread headlands,
its gleaming sea of tidal depths
among the hills of placid strengths,
where oil’s refined, with power station,
ships silent at their anchorage,
each vessel with its hold and bridge
where captain feels his privilege,
plus usage of his freight envisage?
They lie at each discharging jetty,
where seagulls float like blown confetti,
but near the ships saw no one moving,
though metal monsters not unsoothing
discharging oil –
far pumps uncoil
so cars are filled
oil here distilled,
while tankers rest,
by waves caressed,
great iron urns
till sail returns,
must leave the dock at Milford Haven,
go where await the oil fields’ drilling,
then gorged once more, come vessels laden,
bestow on cars their petrol filling.
Epilogue : From the Pembroke Coast
Deep rumbling growl at railway station,
four hours from Milford, destination
the home that saw us at our leaving,
ahead nine days new world perceiving –
the towns, the cities, most just passing,
towards the coast, our footwear tasking
between each night’s accommodation
since Saundersfoot’s arrival station:
from Amroth round to Milford Haven,
past haunting cliffs not for the craven,
down steep, up steep, each stream worn gully,
whose oozing mud paths quickly sully
the boots once clean before the journey,
our mode of transport as we sternly
begin each day, with bodies rested,
each route ahead be well contested:
soft grass along the clifftops lying,
past castles built for war and spying,
small stony coves, wide sandy beaches,
as step by step each evening reaches –
comes long cool pint to mark the ending,
then meal at local pub attending,
another bed our day deeds sealing
before new cliffs and tides revealing:
there may be soreness, muscles weary,
but by the walks are hearts made cheery,
accomplished was the planning talking,
completed now our stay for walking:
at Milford Haven’s farewell station,
for what we’ve known a commendation,
the pleasure of that Pembroke nature
may call a journey back in future.
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