The Sea Coast - J. Steers A.

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pilgrims’ shrine. For this reason another doorway was made, and a new one substituted for the original Celtic doorway. This alteration was probably finished in the twelfth century. Up to the time of the Reformation the Oratory was kept clear of sand so that the relics of the saint could be seen. But when the destruction of shrines and images took place, the Oratory roof was removed. This was early in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The Oratory was thus neglected and was gradually surrounded by sand. Yet Camden, in 1586, speaks of it as “on the sands,” and Wilson1 says it could still be seen in 1608. Soon after this the sands covered it, and it was lost, until in 1789 the shifting sands again exposed the western gable. In 1835 it was excavated by William Michell, and by William Haslam in 1843. Then it was neglected until 1892, and finally excavated and partly restored in 1910.

      The Old Parish Church was built between the ninth and eleventh centuries, about one-third of a mile east of the Oratory, in order to avoid the encroaching sand. Part of this building still survives, and it is to it that the Domesday survey refers. Additions were made to this Church in the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. Up to the beginning of the seventeenth century, it was free from sand, but then mining operations diverted the stream which flowed between it and the Oratory—this stream had been a means of checking the sand advance—so that the original stream bed dried up and sand began to threaten the church. For the next two centuries various attempts were made from time to time to restrain the sand, but eventually it prevailed. Parts of this church were removed, but most of it was left, and it was still visible in 1848. The present church was consecrated in 1805.

      Other coastal areas of north Cornwall were also ruined by sand. The Gwithian sands cover about the same area as do those at Perranzabuloe, and seem to have formed in the Middle Ages. In the seventeenth century they were a menace, and Lelant Church was invaded. East of the Hayle river these sands caused the deterioration of a considerable area of good agricultural land. Somewhat similar, but less extensive damage was done by sand advancing on to farm land south of Trevose Head. St. Constantine’s Chapel was also destroyed. North of the Camel estuary is an extensive dune area at St. Minver. These dunes were threatening St. Enodoc’s Church in the first decade of the nineteenth century, and finally ruined it.

      In all these cases there is an obvious parallel with South Wales. The present dune areas were, as far as the very slender evidence goes, quite free from sand in the sixth and seventh centuries.

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      FIG. 8 Coastal changes at Southport. (From information supplied by Borough Surveyor)

      By the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries dunes became a serious menace. There was apparently a more stable period in the sixteenth century, and a renewed advance later.

      Southport illustrates admirably the growth of a modern town on recent accumulations of blown sand. A map dated 1736 shows the site of Lord Street, the chief thoroughfare of the town, as “The New Marsh,” and washed by high tides. By 1834 a new range of dunes had formed to seaward, and “Lord Street” was then a line of slacks or fresh-water pools. Extensive reclamations were later carried out, including the extension to the North promenade, and the building of the Marine Lake and Marine Drive in 1887–1895. The last sea-bank around the Municipal Golf Links was made in 1931–32. In the Crossens district (the north-west end of Southport) considerable changes have taken place, and are shown in Figure 8. In recent times reclamation in this part has been carried out by the planting of a stretch of fore-shore below high-water mark with grass sods, or samphire, set out at about one yard intervals. These gradually grow together to form a close turf, and the level also rises with the deposition of tidal silt. When conditions are judged fit, an embankment is built to exclude the sea, and the reclaimed area is drained. In the southern part of the town and nearer Birkdale the coast has altered far less. There has been some outward growth since the coast at one time followed what is now Rotten Row.

      What has been said so far shows that even during the last two or three centuries it is far from easy to make any exact assessment of coastal changes. They are known quite well qualitatively, but not quantitatively. It is only occasionally that we find reliable data which allow us to fix details with certainty. In still earlier times the record is worse, and before the period of maps and plans we have to rely on descriptions and perhaps tradition. Sometimes we can check this evidence by careful archaeological or geological excavations, but even so we seldom if ever get precise measurements except at the place of excavation, and even there the evidence is sometimes equivocal.

      In Wales, Cornwall, Ireland, and Brittany there are many legends which have as their theme the overflowing of wells or lakes or the drowning of low-lying areas by the sea. In the Isles of Scilly and the neighbouring parts of Cornwall there is the legend of Lyonesse—the fertile land that formerly was supposed to extend beyond Cornwall. This land was alleged to have been overwhelmed by the sea, leaving but one survivor, a man named Trevilian, who was able to mount a swift horse and escape to the mainland. Geological and perhaps archaeological evidence certainly supports the view that land has been comparatively recently submerged in the Isles of Scilly, and although this submergence may have included the rocks called the Seven Stones, mid-way between the islands and Cornwall, there is no ground whatever for the tradition that these rocks mark the site of a large city.

      The most interesting example illustrating the inter-relation of physiography, geology, archaeology, and folk lore is to be found in the legend of Cantref y Gwaelod. In Cardigan Bay there are several Sarns, or causeways, running seawards from the coast. The longest is Sarn Badrig, or St. Patrick’s Causeway, which runs south-west from Mochras Island for about twenty miles, nine of which may be exposed at a very low ebb. The others are shorter: Sarn y Bwch is about a mile long, Sarn Cynfelin seven or eight miles, Sarn Dewi about a quarter of a mile, and Sarn Cadwgan one and a quarter miles long. They are all formed of loose rounded stones and boulders and are quite narrow. Tradition has it that some of them represent the remains of masonry. This, however, is false; they are entirely natural features.

      The first mention of the lost land, or lost hundred, of Cantref y Gwaelod occurs in the so-called Black Book of Carmarthen, which belongs to the twelfth century. There the cause of the flooding is ascribed to one Margaret or Meredig “who, at times of feasting, allowed the water of a magic well, under her charge, to overflow the country.” The more popular tradition blames a certain Seithennin, who, in his cups, neglected the sluices. In course of time the legends varied, but Seithennin remains the central figure. In 1662 this story was connected with Sarn Badrig by Robert Hengwrt. Later writers embellished this suggestion, and in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries there was a collection of tales and legends to the effect that Cantref y Gwaelod had been drowned in historic times as a result of carelessness. Hence, it is not surprising to find that an actual date is ascribed to the event, namely A.D. 520. There is no historic support for this. The Romans did not occupy any of the coastal area between 55 B.C. and A.D. 409, and no mention is made either of the lost land or of the catastrophe in Antonine’s Itinerary, or by Ptolemy, or by Giraldus Cambrensis.

      Is there, then, any foundation for the inundation legend? Certain facts are important. The sarns are natural features; at Borth and other places there are submerged forests

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