The day we left, I pressed my palm against that huge chunk of rock ... it was, of course, wet.
We went back there a couple of years ago ... no shop... I pressed my palm on that rock, after a gap of 40+ years. The cottage was all "done up" as a holiday home.
I was reminded of this yesterday when I was reading The Matter of Wales ( Jan Morris) ...
".... the truest Welsh places offer experiences as much tactile as visual, for everywhere there are stones that seem to invite your stroking, your rolling, your sitting upon or, if you happen to be a Druid or a survivor from the Stone Age, your worshipping. There are thrilling clumps of jagged stones on hilltops, and stark solitary stones beside moorland roads, and stones gleaming perpetually with the splash of earth-dark streams, and stone walls which seem less like walls than masonry contour-lines, snaking away across the mountain elevations mile after mile as far as the eye can see."