The 183 fields on Ynys Enlli (Bardsey Island) all have names, and a stroll down the island's single road provides clues to its past, far from the legend of 20,000 saints buried there. In 1938, Welsh naturalist Ronald Lockley described the island as a mountain 'crudely cemented to a lowland valley, and the whole thing thrown into the middle of a violent tide-race.' Much has changed since then, but that vivid picture holds true today.
A Linear Settlement
Enlli's simplicity as a linear settlement arranged along a single road means only two directions of travel: north or south. This makes the lane a movable town square, where those travelling in opposite directions or at different speeds are bound to meet, greet, make dinner invitations, or trade sightings and finds.
Field Names as History
An oft-cited claim about Enlli is that 20,000 saints lie buried here, due to its importance as a medieval pilgrimage site (three trips here was worth one to Rome, it was believed). While that may seem improbable, the same economy of space necessary for such a density of graves was also applied to the crowded lattice of fields that crisscross the lowlands. All 183 carry a name, or in some cases, more than one.
As I stroll along Enlli's only, unlonely road, those old Welsh field names tell of islanders long departed – Bet, Cristin, Sionyn, Siôn, Siani. Then there are pedol (horseshoe), had (seed), weirglodd (meadow), sofl (stubble), which speak of ponies shod in iron, seeds and crops cultivated against the sea breeze, hay meadows, and stubbled ground after harvest. Cae Calch (lime field) reminds us of the lime they spread to improve the earth. Another, cae gwrachod (witch field), ominously refers not to a single witch, but many.
Changing Landscape
There isn't a harvest these days, only a few hundred sheep, also found in the old field names as cae'r ŵyn (lamb field). They are survivors of a changed landscape and rural economy, today grazing the daisies that obscure a rusting plough and old pigsties full of nettles.
A name can be a fleeting thing, vanishing along with old farmers and agricultural methods. But their worth is clear to me – more than just a memory or a witness to loss, they help us contextualise a changing world and are a seed of what could yet be again one day.
