It had been a couple of years. To long really. But for some reason - I couldn't tell you why - the Yew had been on my mind, and I was of a mind to visit it again. And I remember Nantglyn being a friendly place - one of those places that people who have absolutely no idea as to who you are, will wave at you and smile - and you wave and smile back, because that's what people used to do - or ought to do - and that's how people are in Nantglyn, and that's just aces, that is.
Different this time, was that Martin was there. You don't know Martin, but now I do, and I'm the better for it. He immediately told me, with a smile, that we (my wife and I) were the second visitors that day. He asked me if I'd been before, and I said I had, and was happy to let me go my way to the Yew.
But, Martin was tidying the graveyard, which he does regularly, and as he busied himself, he began to mention a few things to me in passing. It wasn't long before I was rapt, because Martin tidies the graveyard and knows just about everything you need to know about Nantglyn - he's like me, a bit, since he's not from round here - he's from Lincolnshire (I'm from Yorkshire, as is obvious, of course) - and has taken the place to heart. He's not religious like, he just loves the graveyard and the history. He even let me have a look within the church, which I hadn't been able to previously.
We had a chat about St Mordeyrn, and his connections to Nantglyn and Glasmor. Apparently, ground penetrating radar has been used in the field opposite the farm and hasn't found a thing. Neither of us, I think, were of a mind to worry too much. He's here somewhere, the Sovereign of the Sea - even if the only evidence we have for him is a 16th century poem - even if it's in our hearts.
As I left this tiny village, I was a happy man - and that's surely the aim of any day. Every village should have a Martin, and perhaps every village has. I met Nantglyn's, and I were right glad to have done so.