LLANDDWYN 25 



Entering this central hollow, one is arrested by 

 two crosses, prominently placed one nigh to a ruined 

 church, the other high up on the headland where, 

 with the lighthouse, it dominates land and sea. 



Here there is no other evidence of human occu- 

 pation saving a strip of kitchen garden, jealously 

 wired in, and the telegraph wire that runs past it and 

 the church and the crosses to the lighthouse, where 

 its business is. A disused well, choked with stones, 

 speaks, like the ruined church, of occupation that has 

 ceased. Pious hands have raised the nearer cross to 

 commemorate it. Inscribed in Welsh and English, 

 it informs the wayfarer arriving from the mainland, 

 and perhaps serves also to remind the few inhabitants, 

 Welsh Protestants though they be, that : 



" THEY LIE AROUND ; DID LIVING TREAD 



THIS SACRED GROUND : NOW SILENT, DEAD." 



I knew the story of the Benedictines who made 

 this lonely place their retreat. It was a beautiful 

 action thus to mark the spot, otherwise unmarked, 

 where they rest beautiful, because the time in 

 which they lived was, like our own, full of excess, 

 and the extravagance of one age is, as a rule, 

 intolerant of that of another. 



Passing on into the small rock-sheltered flat that 

 lies immediately inside the headland, we entered the 

 world of to-day, a small world of four families housed 

 in a row of as many cottages, the families being ex- 

 clusively those of the pilots of this station, Llanddwyn 

 existing now solely for the sake of the beacon erected 

 here, and for the piloting of vessels across the dan- 

 gerous bar of Carnarvon. Some of the cottagers, 



