A BABY ON WORM'S HEADThis is a very strange tale set in the time of the legendary King Arthur:
A more unlikely place for a baby's upbringing than the weird, wild headland of Worm's Head in the Gower could hardly be found. And a more unlikely upbringing than that of the child Cenydd could hardly be imagined. This is the Tale....
King Arthur ruled Britain in those days and held his court at Loughor. To him they brought an infant of a few days old, sorely crippled in one leg, and who was the child of great sin,for the father had seduced his own daughter. The king's counsellors advised him that a child so conceived should be put to death. But Arthur said that by this judgement could only be decided by God and so the child was placed in a wicker cradle and placed in the current of the Loughor river. This being done the cradle set off towards the Burry Estuary and out to the open sea.
That very night a great storm arose. A northerly gale it would be, for the tiny craft, skimming across the white wave-tops, was carried south to be smashed to splinters against the great gaunt cliffs of Worm's Head. But before this happened the seagulls (who throng there by thousands to this day) had caught up the child in their strong talons and carried it to the top of the cliffs. There they made for it a bed of their own feathers and shielded it from wind and rain with their wings. And so they did for a week and a day.
King Arthur ruled Britain in those days and held his court at Loughor. To him they brought an infant of a few days old, sorely crippled in one leg, and who was the child of great sin,for the father had seduced his own daughter. The king's counsellors advised him that a child so conceived should be put to death. But Arthur said that by this judgement could only be decided by God and so the child was placed in a wicker cradle and placed in the current of the Loughor river. This being done the cradle set off towards the Burry Estuary and out to the open sea.
That very night a great storm arose. A northerly gale it would be, for the tiny craft, skimming across the white wave-tops, was carried south to be smashed to splinters against the great gaunt cliffs of Worm's Head. But before this happened the seagulls (who throng there by thousands to this day) had caught up the child in their strong talons and carried it to the top of the cliffs. There they made for it a bed of their own feathers and shielded it from wind and rain with their wings. And so they did for a week and a day.
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