It’s late afternoon with another hour or so before sunset, but the evening shadows are all ready thick and cobwebby at the bottom of this narrow bay. The Welsh name for this is, Porth Synfor, but to me the English rendition, Hell’s Mouth, personifies better the other worldly menace that seems to edge around us.

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The day has been cold, but sparkling. Down here, out of the sun, it is bitter and slightly dank from the sea which thrusts a long questing tongue in purposeful rhythm deep into the narrow cleft, seeking, I think, the prey of careless feet.

I shudder and for once am eager to begin the lung busting climb to the cliff tops where bright sunlight glances off the rocky edges and rims the high horizon with a halo of buttery gold.

The climb turns out not to be as bad as anticipated. This footpath is part of the Anglesey coast path and steps have been cut into the cliffs to help combat erosion. For some reason I have the urge to count them and am astounded to find they number 56, the same as my age!

Back in the bright sunlight the rest of our walk is pleasantly undulating with a benign sea on one side and wonderful views of rolling farm land on the other. We walk towards the sunset which sinks in a spectacular plash of crimson, purple and gold. It forms a surreal back drop to the silhouetted outline of a power station and a simple church and we think of the strange art work of Salvadore Dali and wonder whether his inspiration comes from such scenes.

St. Patrick's church, Anglesey

It is almost dark when we reach this church, which is locked of course, but there is a notice on the door which tells us that this is the spot where St. Patrick was ship wrecked on his journey from Ireland. The cave where he spent some time is below and can be accessed with care.

It is at this moment I have a sort of road to Damascas revelation! The 56 steps have been playing on my mind for some little while and now other signs and symbols seem to click together like the pieces of a free falling jigsaw puzzle.

This holiday which has been a light hearted literary trail in search of the Virgin Mary’s remains has taken on a more personal significance. I think back to the kestrel I saw on my first day here and am suddenly reminded that birds were considered by the Druids as messengers from the gods. A kestrel is a hunting bird, was this little messenger wishing me well and a successful hunt? My mind races and makes further connections. The kestrel is as near to an eagle as I’m likely to get on Anglesey. The eagle represents the higher levels of Scorpio which I happen to know is my astrological moon sign. This almost makes me laugh out loud. The moon has had a day time presence in this glorious blue sky for most of the holiday!

The astrology connection quickly brings the Virgo stone to mind and again I have to smile. Virgo is my rising sign! There is more! Those 56 steps, raised us out of Hell’s Mouth and up to a glorious vista bathed in sunlight. I am exactly 56 years old as today is my birthday. Could this be a sign that this is going to be a special year?

I am excited by the thought. Maybe this year I will achieve all the goals I’ve set myself and then again, maybe these signs are telling me something else. Perhaps it is a purely spiritual path I’m being beckoned along? Every church I have tried to enter on this island has been locked. Am I being prompted to look beyond organised religion for enlightenment? Weighty matters for the end of a winter’s day. Me thinks I need to cogitate in a hot bath with the aid of something, red and fruity!