National Geographic : 1955 Oct
Radiotelephone Is + |. Caldy's Sole Link With the Mainland First of its kind in the Brit ish Isles, the instrument oper ates like an ordinary coin-in the-slot phone; a call to Tenby costs about 3/ cents. This brother attends to the monks' external affairs. He shops, banks, collects the mail, and meets guests. His freedom to speak outside the monas tery is sanctioned by the Prior. Young visitors watch him make a call. f-Clifftop antenna serves the two-way radiotelephone. Below lies Priory Bay. The Norman watchtower used to rise more than 40 feet. Its ruin has been roofed to make the Chapel of Our Lady of Peace. Two monks climb to the lofty oratory. friendly terms with all the villagers, including the car penter, Mr. Dalby. His wife, an excellent cook, specializes, in omelets and cakes. She makes good use of the eggs of the herring gull, which, though free from any fishy quality, are rather fuller in flavor than the ordinary farmyard egg. One day I watched an islander rummaging among the rocks at Sandtop Bay. At intervals I saw him pop something into his mouth. Curious, I approached and asked, "What is it you're enjoying?" "Limpets," he grinned. "All you have to do is to knock one off the rock and scoop it out of its shell; it's a really good thing, even better than its relative, the oyster." Shortly after my arrival I met the post master, keen-eyed Albert Grigg, a British Navy pensioner. Besides running the post office, he and his wife sell picture postcards and cigarettes and exchange weather reports with Lundy, Caldy's sister isle 30 miles south.* An old Marconi radiotelephone car ries the messages. On my first visit to the post office I noticed letters in the window for the islanders to pick up. One letter bearing the imprint of the National Geographic Society was for me. Mr. Grigg, curious to know what I was going to write, suggested that I might be interested in the Black Monk. This took me aback, as I had never heard of him. He looked at me with surprise. "Ah," he said, "so you haven't come to write about Caldy's hidden treasure. Come along, and I'll show you something." As we trudged up to the old Priory I won dered what he had in mind, for he seemed most secretive, and I asked whether the treas ure had anything to do with John Paul Jones. He smiled. "You'll see Jones Bay, but he wasn't thought of when the Black Monk was alive." I suggested that it might be a ghost we were going to see. * See "Lundy, Treasure Island of Birds," by Col. P. T. Etherton, NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE, May, 1947.