Campervan Therapy

West along the M4, first the clouds roll in, then they blanket the sky. By the time we reach the Pembrokeshire National Park, the rain is horizontal, the wind howls. But the hedgerows blaze with hydrangeas, fuchsias, montbretia, ox-eye daisies, purple loosestrife  – a far cry from our Sussex garden’s sun-bleached plants. We cross an ancient bridge in Nevern and pull up to a free, hotel carpark camper-stop, with a view of the wooded hillside.

The Trewern Arms

An old stone building invites us inside its stout walls, out of the wailing wind and teeming rain. But the locals are made of stronger stuff, a group sit outside playing the guitar and drumming out the beat on the picnic table. They’re pretty good too.

Soon I tuck into sea bream with a warm chickpea and sun-blushed tomato salad. My pub-grub gastronome? Fish n’ chips, of course. The night passes with only the sound of the wind and rushing River Nevern.

Nevern (Nuadd y Penriff)

My motto is ‘If you want to know a place, walk it.’ So I coax my reluctant rambler into his waterproofs the next morning. The clear river runs under the hump-backed bridge.

A square church tower, more reminiscent of a castle than church, stands tall among the trees.

Cottage gardens bloom with those fulsome hydrangeas, nodding fuchsias. Californian poppies wave from stout stone walls which surround the fields.

Walking Trails

As we were busy last night supping wine and devouring supper in the bar, sensible walkers had their OS maps out, planning their routes. Us? Well, we sashay out as usual without a clue. We attempt to head for the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path but we’re inland some way from it. The first sign looks as if it’s going off in the opposite direction towards a wooded slope. Of course we’ve no compass, so I’m relying on the sometimes fickle compass in Seán’s head. The path may, or may not be heading north like he insists it is.

Pilgrim Path

So I chase the winding road up the hill out of the village just because it looks like it’ll yield up a walking trail. It does. The mysterious Pilgrim Cross is signed into the woods and there we find the ancient cross carved out of the granite and schist. The way marked for centuries for pilgrims to St. David’s Cathedral.

The Nevern Valley

Just stepping in the ancient pilgrim’s footsteps gives me shivers, not of fear at this point, but of awe. We scramble along the wooded valley side, out into a lush meadow.

Finally we edge along a narrow track high up over the river. But when I look down I freeze –  poleaxed with fear. I always forget how much I hate heights until I’m on a mountain trail beside a sheer drop. My Knight-in-shorts has to edge me to safety, with my back to the drop, clinging to ferns, muttering on repeat,  “Keep away from the edge. I don’t want to be a widow.”