Illfyfel Pier
A fragment of one of the tales of Illfyfel is translatedIt was the wettest day of the year. The rain splattered down, thumping into the proud roses until they drooped their newly-humbled heads, forcing the baby bees to stay at home and swarm all over each other until their fathers gave them short, stinging slaps and told them to settle down. It was, it must be said, a day for fishing.But the poor old Magic Dragon, in his many, many travels, far and wide and back again, had onl...