May 13th 2016: Gower: Broughton and Llanmadog

Monty the Motorhome is basking in the warm sun at Hillend campsite, which is filling up for the weekend with happy campers.

Today was a walking day. Setting off from the campsite we skirted outside the dunes, known as Llangennith Burrows, and headed over to Broughton Bay. Surprisingly we had never visited this spot in the many previous holidays - probably something to do with kids, beach and surfing I suppose.

Our first sight of Broughton Bay was quite dazzling in the sun, very blue, probably due to a sandy bottom. We continued round the bay, heading on public footpaths towards the village of Llanmadog. It was hot work, especially on some of the uphill sections.

Broughton Bay

Arriving at the village for lunchtime we sought out the local pub - The Britannia Inn - for sandwiches and soft drinks. Then to the local post office for pudding. Yes, the post office. The whole place has been turned into a community shop, perhaps due to a threat to close the post office and was a hive of activity. Half a dozen well meaning members of the community were all tripping over themselves in an effort to run the place, and not doing a bad job in fairness to them. We had intended just an ice cream, but saw an array of impressive looking cakes, which apparently had been baked in the village. Well it would be quite wrong not to support such a venture.

So suitably refreshed with carrot cake and lemon mascapone cake we ventured on. Just down the road was St Madogs church. A tiny 13th century building overlooking Whiteford Sands, it still serves as a parish church on two or three Sundays a month. Inside there were celtic type crosses on the wall thought to date back to the 6th Century, as well as carving done by a previous rector at the end of the 19th Century.

Our return was across the sands of Broughton Bay and back along the same path at the back of Llangennith Burrows.

This evening the campsite has many more campers, including families with small children. Cue lots of screaming, crying and parental tellings off. Ah well, maybe we won’t make that move.