It was a hot summer in Pembrokeshire where Peter and Sarah were spending their summer holiday. As usual they were staying with Aunt Myf who lived in a cottage by the sea on the edge of a small village called Cwm-yr-Eglwys. So far they had spent a pleasant week exploring the sea shore, clambering over rocks to gaze in the still pools and venturing into caves, dark and exciting but not too deep.
“I should like to live here all the time,” said Sarah, as she bounced about in the back of the car on the way back from Cardigan. Aunt Myf had taken them to the market. Peter agreed.
“And whatever should I do!” exclaimed Aunt Myf, “You are eating me out of house and home. Just look at this monstrous pile of shopping! Should last the week but I don’t suppose it will with you two around.”
They all laughed. Aunt Myf turned the car into the drive and it jumped and jolted all the way down to the cottage, where at last they tumbled out with the shopping. Aunt Myf prepared supper and when they had eaten Peter and Sarah made plans for the following day. They both felt they would like a change from the beach and the sea. Peter persuaded Sarah that they really ought to go and view the Prescelly Mountains.
“We could walk from end to end,” he said, “starting before lunch and finishing before supper.”
Sarah wanted to look at a map before she decided, and Peter showed her the track across the tops.
“It looks a very long way to me.”
“We could start really early and take it easily,” Peter was not to be put off. “It’s the most mysterious and magical part of Pembrokeshire. We’ve simply GOT to see it!”
“Very well, then, but we shall need a picnic.”
Sarah went into the kitchen, taking Peter’s rucksack, which, with Aunt Myf’s help she filled to the top.
“After all,” she said, “we shall be out for lunch and tea.”
Aunt Myf promised to drive them to the starting point and to collect them not far from the other side of the range, sometime near suppertime.
“Doesn’t matter if you are late, I shall be waiting,” said Aunt Myf. “And now you had better go straight to bed. Early to bed, early to rise, as they say. Goodnight to you both, sleep well!”
“Goodnight! We shall!” called Peter and Sarah, and off they went.
At eight o’clock Sarah awoke, slowly, until she heard the clatter of plates downstairs and saw that Peter’s bed was empty. She was soon dressed and arrived in the breakfast room to find Peter buried in the Prescelly map with an empty plate beside him.
“Well indeed!” said Aunt Myf, “We thought you were never coming.” Peter muttered something about an early start, but Sarah took no notice.
“Two eggs please,” she called to Aunt Myf and sat down beside her brother.
Peter was still deep in the map when Sarah and Aunt Myf had washed up and put everything away. At last Sarah snatched the map away from him in sheer desperation. “Come on, you could have memorised it by now.”
Peter sighed and got up.
“That is not such a bad idea,” he grinned. “Fetch out the rucksack little sister and we’ll be off.”
Sarah made a face and groaned.
“O.K.” she said, “I shall carry it half way and then you can take over. It will be a great deal lighter after lunch anyway; but knowing you it will soon be filled with interesting stones to go in your collection of fossils and axe heads.”
Peter was interested in Archeology and thought he might like to follow in his Father’s footsteps, but he was not always accurate in describing his finds. They were on the point of having a discussion, as Peter always described their arguments, when Aunt Myf swept them and the rucksack out of the house and into the car.
It was a fine, clear, sunny day. They drove through the little town of Newport, towards Nevern, then turned off on the road that leads to the Prescelly Mountains. At Tafarn Y Bwlch Aunt Myf stopped the car.
“The path is not far from here,” said Peter, as they got out.
“Remember, I’ll be waiting for you at Crymych about suppertime. Have a good day!” Aunt Myf said, as she handed Peter the rucksack and drove away.
Peter and Sarah walked along the road searching for the path. Before long they could see it, leading upwards from a lay-by. They crossed the road and began the ascent to Prescelly Mountain, the first peak in the Prescelly range of hills. It is a long way, and before long Sarah was wanting a rest.
“Let’s stay here by this stream, we could dip our feet and have something out of the picnic.”
“We are not even half way up,” said Peter.
“You said it wasn’t far.”
“Well it isn’t! There by lunchtime, I promise!”
Peter strode onwards and Sarah had regretfully to leave the stream and follow him. They rounded the edge of a forest and came in sight of the concrete pillar, which marks the highest point.
“It’s after midday,” said Sarah.
“We can have lunch on the summit. Once we’re up there we go straight across the peaks until we come to a hill fort and then it’s down to Crymych.”
Peter took Sarah by the hand and half pulled her up towards the pillar. A few minutes later they stood gazing at the view.
“Worth the climb?” questioned Peter.
“Marvelous!” Sarah answered. I do believe I can see St. David’s.”
They stood silent for a while, looking out over nearly all South Wales. Eventually attention was turned towards the rucksack and lunch.
The sun was hot and high overhead when they finished eating. Sarah said she would rather sit where she was for the rest of the day, as Peter spread the map out to show her where they were going next.
“What strange names,” said Sarah, as Peter pointed out the names, “Even Prescelly Top has another one: Foel Cwm Cerwyn, I suppose ‘Foel’ is another name for mountain?”
“Yes, and ‘Carn’ obviously means Cairn. Now we must get a move on. It’s afternoon already and we have hardly started.”
Peter got up. Sarah packed what was left of the picnic, which was not very much, into the rucksack and off they went. As they came off Prescelly Top, they looked down into the Old Quarry where it was said The Blue Stones for Stonehenge had been mined. Mists curled far below them, giving an air of impending menace to the whole area.
Sarah shivered. Little did either of them know just how much of a part that Old Quarry, and indeed the Prescelly Mountains, would have to play in both their lives from now on.
The next mountain in the range was lower than Prescelly Top, so they had to go down before climbing up again. This was a nuisance and Sarah could see that the other peaks were similar and that they would be going up and down for miles.
“How far is it right across?” she asked, panting rather.
“Oh, about seven or eight miles, I should think.”
Peter reached the top.
“This is Foel Feddau!” he shouted down at Sarah.
“At last!” What a strange place this is,” Sarah yelled.
The path wound down away between stones scattered over the tops, as if some giant had sown them there, indeed the whole place was like some weird Moonscape. It was the oddest place she had ever encountered.
“Yes,” said Peter, “ it’s more like something from outer space.
He ran down and in among the stones. On either side the mountains fell away into broad valleys. The land to their left looked flat and brown.
“Marshland?” queried Sarah.
“Yes, probably.”
They spoke little now, as they had begun to climb again. Even Peter for all his enthusiasm began to wonder how long it would take to reach Foel Drygarn, the hill fort at the end of the Prescellys. They went on past Carn Bica and Bedd Arthur. Peter explained that Bedd Arthur meant Arthur’s grave.
“He’s got a Cairn as well,” said Sarah.
They had stopped to look at the map.
“Yes he has, but we can’t look at everything today.”
All round lay huge piles of stones looking half natural, half as though someone had put them there. Many mysteries surround the Prescelly Mountains, as Peter and Sarah knew well.
Their Father, who was interested in old legends, had often told Peter and Sarah about them. One of the most enduring is how the famous Prescelly Blue Stones were transported to Stonehenge. By whom and how it was done nobody quite seemed to know!
“The road we are following now is Roman,” Peter said, in way of explanation.
“Does it go to the Hill Fort?” Sarah asked.
“No, silly! Foel Drygarn is much older, prehistoric —- Hey! Mind out!”
Peter had begun to lecture Sarah in order to explain about the ancient peoples who had inhabited Wales and the dwellings they had built, and especially Hill Forts. But all of a sudden, Sarah caught her heel in a tussock of grass and went flying into a patch of damp bog. She landed with a squelch.
Peter ran up to her, anxiously.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I don’t think so, only muddy. The bog round here doesn’t seem to dry up, even in summer.”
Sarah brushed the mud off where she could and they plodded on. They passed many more piles of wierdly stacked stones before at last they came to Foel Drygarn. A place filled with atmosphere and the reek of a history that had on occasion been an extremely violent one.
“Are we climbing again, Peter?”
“Yes, but this is the last one.”
And up the slope they went.
“I think,” said Sarah, as they stood on the top, “that Wales must have invented the ancient monument. Not two steps can we go before we fall over some cairn, or standing stone, or barrow, or —”
“Or hill fort!” completed Peter. “It must have been quite a size, judging by what’s left. You can still see where the hut settlement was here.”
“So you can! But don’t let’s stay here too long. My legs are telling me that when they sit down it will be for good, and my stomach is telling me that it could do with some supper, and another thing —”
“What?”
“This place gives me the creeps! It’s really, really spooky! And I don’t think I like any of the places up on these hills at all, especially round by that Prescelly Top!”
“Sarah, that’s complete rubbish,” said Peter.
But he had to admit to himself that there certainly was a strange atmosphere about the place, so they half ran down the hill, as if a thousand Ancient Britons were after them, not stopping until they were through the gate which opens onto the road to Crymych.
They looked back. Even in the bright evening sunshine Foel Drygarn managed to look dark and oppressive.
It was in fact well past suppertime when they stood wearily at the door of Aunt Myf’s car, which she had parked outside the Crymych Arms. They got in. Aunt Myf asked Peter if they had enjoyed themselves and they both began to tell her about the walk.
After a while Sarah fell fast asleep in the back of the car. They were hardly through Newport. She did not wake up until they were back at the cottage and Peter had to shake her hard to get her to move!
The next day it rained. Peter and Sarah were glad in a way because it gave them an excuse to be lazy and do nothing all day. They decided they needed a rest after the previous day’s long walk.
Peter was full of ideas about what they could do next and Sarah was content just to sit and listen to him.
“How about St. David’s?” he said, as they settled down to watch the rain dripping down the windowpanes in the drawing room. They had just had a very large lunch.
“How about it?” said Sarah.
“It would be very interesting to see the Cathedral. Let’s ask Aunt Myf to take us there.”
“What! This afternoon! I thought we were having a lazy day.”
“It would be nice to go this afternoon, but I meant tomorrow, actually,” said Peter, lamely.
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be much fun in the rain, but go and ask Aunt Myf anyway. If we stay here all day we might get tired of doing nothing and die of boredom.”
Sarah sat down in one of the large armchairs and waited while Peter went to ask Aunt Myf if she felt like going out. They were surprised when she said that they might as well go that afternoon.
“The wireless said that the rain should clear by early evening and we could have a look at the ruins of the Bishop’s palace,” Aunt Myf said, as she looked for her umbrella.
Peter and Sarah struggled into mackintoshes, and went out to the car. It was still raining when they arrived at St. David’s.
”Present structure begun in 1180.”
Peter was reading the guidebook in a loud whisper as they stood in the nave. He continued to give Sarah the guided tour, until by the time they came out of the Cathedral, the sun was shining through the clouds and Sarah thought she had heard quite enough about St. David’s. Aunt Myf seemed to think so too, and returned to the car.
“But we haven’t seen the ruins at the Bishop’s palace yet!” said Peter.
“That’s quite all right,” said Aunt Myf, “I shall wait for you here. My poor old feet have had all they can take for now. You two go off and enjoy yourselves.”
So Peter and Sarah ran towards the ruins. They spent a good hour climbing up and down walls and old staircases, of which there appeared to be several.
“I declare this to be the best ruin we have ever seen!” said Sarah, “Because it has so many stairs and a ruin is much more interesting if one can climb to the top of it.”
Laughing, she ran up one of the longest flights of stairs to look out over the palace. The clouds were drifting away, seawards, westwards. Far below her Peter was engaged upon enlarging his collection of ancient stones.
He had collected a few chips from a heap of rubble where some of the walls were being restored. Then he saw IT! A stone shaped like a pyramid, with an opening cut into the upper third and with strange marks upon the base. It was sky blue in colour and was not too large to hold with one hand.
“Wow! This looks precious!” Peter muttered under his breath, “I wonder how the builders can have missed it. It must have belonged to someone in the palace long ago and have been hidden away. Yes, somewhere where no one could ever find it, inside this wall! What a good thing they knocked it down. What a find! I’ve never had anything as good as this before.”
He looked round to see if anyone was watching and then quickly put it in his pocket. Just in time, for with the sun came more tourists and the builders who were restoring the ruins came out of a hut to return to their work.
“Aren’t you coming?” he called to Sarah.
Somehow he felt that the stone was something very much out of the ordinary, more than just a valuable addition to his collection. He decided to show the stone only to Sarah for the present.
“Come on little sister!” he called, “Hurry up!”
Sarah jumped down the last two steps.
“Oh Peter! You are irritating sometimes. You know I don’t like you calling me ‘little sister’.”
She frowned at him meaningfully.
“I’ve found something rather special.”
“What is it? Oh! I think I can guess! It’s some of your silly old stones. Well, don’t blame me on the way home if they weigh a ton, I’m not carrying any.”
“They are all small, just bits and pieces really, but one is absolutely extraordinary! I’ll show it to you later,” he whispered, as they reached the car.
That evening, after supper, Peter and Sarah went up to their rooms early. Peter had his stone collection arranged on the windowsill, but the St. David’s Stone he had hidden away in a box in the suitcase under his bed. It was the only stone that he kept from the Palace, for he had thrown the others, stone chippings from the wall, away in the garden. He brought his prize out triumphantly. When she saw it Sarah was most impressed.
“Goodness! Whatever do you suppose it is?” she said, as Peter handed it to her.
“I don’t know. I have never seen stone like this before, but I think it might be lapis lazuli and that means it must have been part of the Palace treasure or a jewel belonging to one of the Bishops.”
“Have you noticed the strange marks on the base of it? They look like scratches but they are in groups and must have been made on purpose.”
“Yes, I know what you mean, I think they are letters. They could be prehistoric writing, even Ogham perhaps. I am sure I have read about it somewhere.”
“Yes, so have I. It’s in the guide book downstairs. ‘Ogham: the writing that was used by the ancient British and Irish.’”
They stood silently looking at the stone for quite a while, then Peter put it back in its box and into the suitcase under the bed.
“I feel somehow that we ought to keep this stone a secret. Don’t tell Aunt Myf or anyone else about it.”
Sarah stared at him, amazed. The first thing Peter did usually when he thought that one of his stones was a great discovery was to tell the whole family about it, and anyone else who appeared interested.
“Why ever not?” she gasped.
“Just a feeling,” he said, as he shrugged his shoulders, “as soon as I saw it, I knew it was something mysterious.”
“Could we not try to solve the puzzle of the writing? That would be one mystery out of the way,” said Sarah, who by now was feeling rather curious.
“Very difficult! Even if we found out what the letters were, we probably wouldn’t understand what they said.”
Peter sighed and yawned.
“Let’s think about it tomorrow,” he said, and they prepared themselves for bed.
When Sarah awoke next morning, Peter was sitting by her bed, the Stone in his hands. He was staring fixedly at it.
“Still puzzling?” she watched as he got up to go and put it away again.
“It’s fine again today, Peter, let’s go up to Carn Ingli common, it looks a bit less foreboding than Foel Drygarn.”
“Right!” Peter replied from deep within the suitcase, “I expect Aunt Myf will run us there, if we ask her nicely.
They delayed the visit until after lunch as Aunt Myf said that she wanted to go shopping in Newport in the afternoon, as the town was as a rule a little less crowded in the afternoon than in the morning.
“On a day like this,” she said, “everyone will be going to the beach.”
When they arrived at the bridge on the road below Carn Ingli, it appeared that they were not to have the common to themselves. There were several cars.
As they jumped the bank and crossed over a small stream, they could see some people with a dog walking towards them. There was also a party of hikers striding over the Carn Ingli hill fort.
“I rather hoped that we should have the common to ourselves,” said Peter.
“Never mind!” said Sarah, comfortingly, “By the time we reach Carn Ingli they will be well on the way back. I expect we shall miss them.”
It was quite a steep climb to the first cairns and Peter and Sarah rested awhile on the highest to get their breath back. Then they climbed over the slabs of rock and stood and looked out over Newport bay. There was a pleasant breeze and after crossing the Prescelly Mountains this walk was more like a stroll than serious walking. Beneath the hill fort itself Sarah found bilberry bushes. It was too early to look for berries but she managed to find one or two, juicy and sweet.
They went then to Carn Ingli hill fort. Sarah was wrong on one point, although it was not as large and did not look as foreboding as Foel Drygarn, it too had an atmosphere about it.
“There is the hut settlement below us,” said Peter, as they climbed over a wall at the top.
He pointed to ring upon ring of stones, spreading away down towards the road to Newport. Sarah was looking over to Foel Drygarn.
“Not far as the crow flies,” she said, “I can see Prescelly top too.”
“Yes Sarah, I noticed as we came there is a fine view of Prescelly Top from between two groups of rock, almost like a window.”
As he was speaking, he caught a glimpse behind one of the ancient ramparts of a man very strangely dressed. He wore a grey cloak over a tunic of deep crimson. Pinned on one shoulder was a silver brooch. He was leaning forward, as if to try and catch what Peter was saying. Sarah saw him and cried out.
“Hey, you! What do you want?”
“I’m sure he’s been listening to us,” said Peter.
They were both looking straight at him when he disappeared.
“Come on Sarah, he must have ducked down when you shouted at him. Let us go and rout him out.”
“Why do you think he was listening to us? And why did he look so peculiar?”
“I’m sure I have no idea why,” said Peter; “but looking or listening he is not here now. There is no one behind the wall. He must have gone to hide in one of the hollows. I’m going down.”
Peter ran back towards the common and Sarah kept close beside him, as she felt rather afraid. She was very glad when they arrived at the base of the hill fort and after scanning it for some time, could see nothing.
“He must have gone down the other side. It looks rather too steep to explore properly,” said Sarah.
“We couldn’t catch him now anyway,” Peter said, feeling rather breathless by this time.
“Perhaps he wasn’t looking at us at all.”
“Well, I am quite certain that he was. If he wasn’t, why should he run away?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said, crossly, “and I don’t think I want to know. Talking of running away, let’s go back. I’ve had enough of this place, strange listeners and all!”
Sarah started to walk away quickly. Peter glanced back at the hill fort but he could see nothing there except the stones; so he followed her. They both felt relieved when they got to the bridge and were safely on the way to Newport.