There are some places that pull you back not because they are new but because they still have more to give. Pembrokeshire is like that for me. The light, the coast, the mixture of wild weather and calm coves, the old estates and the cliffs, the feeling that a day can hold beach play, birdsong, history and a proper sense of adventure without ever needing to be over planned.
This Easter, we headed back to Freshwater East for a family holiday that was part escape, part tradition and part quiet experiment in how a divorced dad builds good memories with teenage children who are growing older, more independent and perhaps a little slower to relax into things than they once were. Alongside me were my partner, my son and my daughter. What followed was a week of beach rituals, National Trust stamps, small runs, yoga mornings, sandwiches packed for long days out and the kind of simple family moments that matter more with each passing year.
Friday 3 April: On the Road West
The holiday began, as many good holidays do, with a packed car, a long drive and the sense that life was beginning to loosen its grip. After collecting the kids, we headed west, leaving everyday routines behind and settling into the particular rhythm of a family journey: snacks, motorway miles and the gradual mental shift from home life to holiday life.
We broke the journey at Ross-on-Wye, stretching our legs with a walk along the river towards the canoe launch point before climbing steeply up into town to see the church. It was only a stopover, but a worthwhile one, the kind of pause that makes a long drive feel like the first chapter rather than something to be endured.
By evening, one of the day’s best moments turned out to be one of its simplest: a picnic tea from Asda eaten in the grounds of Tredegar House. Nothing fancy, just a wide selection of bits and pieces spread out in the open air after a day of travel. There was also the beginning of a new audiobook: The Storm Keeper Trilogy by Catherine Doyle, a fitting companion for a Pembrokeshire trip. Its island atmosphere, mythic seas and storm haunted mood seemed well matched to the coast we were travelling towards.
Not everything felt romantic. After a long day at the wheel, I found myself once again irritated by the now familiar ritual of hotel parking terminals and reception desks, trying to enter a vehicle registration correctly while someone cheerfully talks at you as if no error could possibly matter. It felt like exactly the kind of modern inconvenience designed to tip the balance after five hours on the road. Still, the day had done its job. We were on our way.
Saturday 4 April: Tredegar House and Arrival at Freshwater East
The next morning started with hotel breakfast and a short drive back to Tredegar House. We arrived soon after opening, though the car park was already filling, perhaps helped along by a local parkrun. There was an Easter trail underway, so we picked up a trail map and a pair of bunny ears and set off through the formal gardens.
It was one of those family activities that works best when you don’t overthink it. There were puzzles, clues and small stations dotted through the grounds. We hunted for hidden keys and repeatedly came up one short, even after going back and counting again. Later it was confirmed that, yes, one really was missing. Somehow that made it even more memorable. There was also a race game in the stables, with little horses mounted on strings, old-fashioned in the best possible way and inside the house we followed clues that eventually spelt out the words TIME TRAVEL.
For my daughter, it also meant another small but meaningful souvenir: a stamp in her National Trust passport. Those stamps became one of the threads running through the holiday, a way of marking not just where we had been, but that we had been there together.
Lunch was jacket potatoes in the café, then it was back into the car and onward to Pembrokeshire. The plan for arrival was practical rather than glamorous: get into the cottage as close to check-in time as possible, unload everything, then head back out to stock up on food for the week. There was something faintly absurd about emptying the car and then promptly filling the boot all over again with groceries, but that, too, is part of the ritual of self-catering holidays.
By evening we were in. The cottage itself was ideal for us: not luxurious, not trying too hard, just warm, roomy, well equipped, with parking, wifi, a washing machine and enough comfort to make bad weather irrelevant. It sat about twenty minutes’ walk from the beach, which turned out to be near enough for regular visits while still feeling slightly tucked away.
The holiday was beginning to take shape.
Sunday 5 April: First Proper Day at Freshwater East
The first full day at Freshwater East always matters. It is the day a place starts to become familiar again.
I began with a short morning run, easing my way back as part of a Couch to 5K style return from injury. The route took me to what quickly became “my bench”, then down along the beach and back via the dunes, the apartment block and the road to the cottage. It was only a few kilometres but it gave me bearings, both literal and mental. There is something deeply reassuring about running somewhere new or new again first thing in the morning and beginning to understand how the land lies.
Back at the cottage, breakfast ready, which felt like luxury in exactly the right form.
After lunch we all headed down to the beach, to a spot that became our default place for the week. My daughter began arranging small stones, as she would on several afternoons, while my son set about digging canals and dams where a stream crossed the sand. It struck me again how children, even as they enter their teens, still return to elemental things by the sea: moving water, shaping sand, ordering stones. There is a kind of concentration in it that no screen competes with.
The weather was cool but improving after the previous night’s storm, with cloud giving way to sunshine. We strolled a little along the beach but mostly we simply stayed there. After the driving and travel of the opening days, it felt as though everyone was beginning to relax.
That matters more than I sometimes remember. On trips like these, especially in the particular dynamic of divorced family life, I sometimes wonder whether it takes time for the children to settle into enjoying themselves. Perhaps that is just how it is. Holidays do not always start the moment you arrive. Sometimes they begin when people finally exhale.
Monday 6 April: Stackpole, Broad Haven and the Coast Path
If I had to choose the defining day of the holiday, this was probably it.
The morning began quietly: yoga for me, studying and slow preparation for everyone else, sandwiches made for the day ahead. Then we drove to Stackpole, one of my favourite corners of Pembrokeshire and one of those National Trust landscapes that feels bigger and more varied every time you visit.
We parked near the visitor centre, sorted out the slightly confusing parking arrangement only after realising how easy it was to miss the sign and set off along the river towards the site of the old house. There was a rope swing, views across the water and the kind of low level family wandering that allows different interests to emerge naturally. My son wanted to see the infinity weir, so we followed the river further, then returned to the car to drop off and collect bits before heading out again.
The lakeside and boardwalk sections were beautiful as ever: tranquil, reflective, edged with woodland and reeds. No otters this time, despite keeping an eye out but that hardly mattered. We crossed narrow footbridges and climbed up to Bosherston Camp, the old promontory fort, where we found a quiet place for a picnic. I liked the contrast there: a peaceful lunch on a now silent headland that once held strategic importance, defended by ramparts and shaped by the needs of a far more precarious world.
From there we headed on to Broad Haven. This was where the day changed from pleasant to unforgettable. The beach itself was tempting enough to stop for longer but I knew that once swimming, sand play or full beach mode began, it might be hard to get everyone moving again. So instead we kept the momentum, walking on until we reached the stream crossing. We looked for a place to jump it, failed to find one, then gave in, took off shoes and socks, waded across and dried our feet before continuing up onto the coast path.
That simple act of wading through cold water somehow became one of the day’s sharpest memories.
From there the walk only improved. We followed the coast above the limestone cliffs I used to climb when I was younger, with views of Church Rock and Stackpole Head, then continued on towards Barafundle Bay, the boathouse tea room, and Stackpole Quay before eventually cutting inland again. We covered around fifteen kilometres over the day and it was the kind of distance that feels satisfying rather than punishing when the scenery keeps changing and everyone is in good spirits.
The weather helped too: sunshine and more sunshine.
There was one minor challenge in deciding not to stop properly at Broad Haven, knowing how lovely it would have been to linger. But that restraint preserved the day as a walk rather than letting it dissolve into a single beach session. In the end I was glad we all experienced some of this coastline together.
By the time we got back, this had become the benchmark: a full value family day with variety, movement, views, history and enough small adventures to make it feel properly earned.
Tuesday 7 April: Running, Birding and a Beach Afternoon
By now, we had settled into our own rhythm.
I went out for another gentle run in the morning, extending it a little further along the coast before looping back. Recovering from injury has taught me patience again. There is satisfaction in building back carefully, not chasing old fitness too quickly and simply being grateful to be moving.
After that, my son and I spent time birding as part of his citizen science project. We were using BTO BirdTrack and Merlin, which made for a nice combination: formal recording alongside the detective work of identifying calls, movement and shape in the field. We logged blackbird, chiffchaff, chaffinch, herring gull, magpie, robin, rook, swallow, and crow. It also confirmed something I already knew but keep relearning: identifying distant, fast moving seabirds in windy coastal conditions is genuinely difficult.
At one point we spotted a red children’s kite stuck in a tree and I joked that perhaps we could count it as a red kite. Sadly, science did not allow it.
I had seen a stonechat earlier in the trip but on returning to the area found nothing. I wondered whether the wind had pushed it elsewhere. That is birding, of course: moments of certainty, long spells of searching and the humility of not always being able to find again what you thought you had seen.
After lunch, my partner left to catch the train home. That gave the day a slight sadness, a small sense of the holiday contracting. Still, the rest of us headed back down to the beach and resumed our now familiar pattern. My daughter with the stones. My son with dams and channels. Me reading Baden-Powell’s Scouting for Boys on the sand, with a flask on hand for hot water and even instant mash later in the afternoon before the climb back up the hill.
The weather stayed bright, though still windy. We had half considered getting out to Caldey Island on this trip but the sea state never allowed it; boats were off every day we were there. That reminded me how fortunate we had been on the previous year’s visit.
Even without the island trip, the day had everything I could reasonably want: a run, some birding, time with the kids by the sea and the sort of simple structure that makes family holidays feel real rather than performative.
Wednesday 8 April: Colby Woodland Garden, Amroth and Industrial Echoes
Some days on holiday gather more layers than you expect. This was one of them.
It was just me and the kids now, which changed the feel of the day. Mornings became more functional: get fed, get organised, get out. We drove to Colby Woodland Garden, collected another National Trust stamp for my daughter’s passport and set off into the woods and gardens.
Colby has a gentler feel than some places in Pembrokeshire. It is less dramatic than the coast but no less memorable for that. We wandered through the grounds in strong sunshine, grateful for the dappled shade and made our way to the forest bathing area. There we paused for a short meditation using Apple Music, sitting quietly among the trees and letting the woods do what woods do best: soften the edges of the day.
It was one of my highlights of the whole trip.
From there we descended to Amroth, where the contrast between shaded woodland and open coast was immediate. By this point the heat felt almost comically strong for April, so ducking into a café for chips and as much water as we could drink felt entirely justified. Sitting in the shade with the sea nearby and the kids happily refuelling was exactly the right kind of interlude.
Then came the day’s historical dimension. Following the coast path and tramway route, we moved through a landscape layered with industry as well as scenery. The old Saundersfoot Railway Tramway, the remains of the Kilgetty Iron Works, the traces of a working landscape now folded into a much quieter coastline: it all gave the walk more depth. It is one thing to walk through a beautiful place. It is another to understand that people once quarried, forged, hauled and shipped from it, and that the present calm has been built on older, harder uses of the land.
We made one small navigation error when hurrying for ice cream, missing a turning because of a broken sign but corrected it quickly enough. In truth, every good family walk benefits from one minor moment of uncertainty. It makes the eventual return feel more earned.
We only just made it back before the café closed. Ice creams in hand, we wandered once more through the grounds and closed out one of those days that manages to feel both restorative and substantial.
Nature, history, chips, meditation and ice cream. Hard to improve on that.
Thursday 9 April: Seaweed, Stones and Slow Time
Not every memorable holiday day needs a headline attraction.
This day began with morning yoga and the usual cottage rhythms. The kids, when given the chance, were often revising or practising music in the mornings, which says something about where they are in life now. These are no longer holidays with little children who simply tumble out of bed ready to go. There are books, exams, instruments, pauses and negotiations with the day.
After lunch we walked back down to our now established beach spot for more digging, more beach engineering and more stone arranging. There was comfort in that repetition. Some of our family holidays have been built around novelty; this one was built partly around returning to the same places and letting small rituals deepen.
One particularly lovely moment came when my daughter took a break from the stones and walked along the beach with me while my son continued digging. We looked at seaweed together, identifying gutweed, wrack species and sea lettuce. It was only a small exchange but those small exchanges are often where a holiday quietly does its real work.
I read more of Scouting for Boys. The children did their own chosen things. Nobody seemed in a rush.
In a culture that often treats holidays as checklists of must see attractions, there is something quietly defiant about an afternoon that amounts to “we went back to the beach again.” And yet those were some of the best hours of the trip.
Friday 10 April: Carew Castle and the Tidal Mill
The next day took us back into history.
Carew Castle and the tidal mill had been a success on a previous visit and it was my son’s who suggested going again because he thought his sister would enjoy it. That alone gave the outing a kind of family endorsement that matters more than any brochure.
The weather had turned colder and windier, so the day had a more exposed feel from the outset. We picnicked near the play area, using a bench that was pleasant enough in theory and decidedly breezy in practice, before exploring more of the grounds. Carew is one of those sites where the variety really helps a family day out: a castle, a mill, a circular walk, a museum, historic displays and enough space to move around without it ever feeling repetitive.
Inside the mill museum, where it was thankfully less cold, one of the highlights turned out to be a hands on flour making activity. The kids teamed up and effectively created a miniature production line of milling and sorting, working as a team on the activity. There were also armour displays, helmets and swords, all the tangible pieces of history that bring a place to life.
Souvenirs reflected the day’s mood: a sheep toy for my daughter, a guidebook for my son and even a coaster bearing their stepdad’s name.
It was not the warmest or most scenic day of the holiday but it was a good one: solid, interesting, and family approved.
Saturday 11 April: Saying Goodbye to Freshwater East
The last morning always arrives too soon.
I got up early, finished packing, loaded the car, and somehow still managed to get all of us out for one last run down to the beach before breakfast. Run may be slightly generous, given that we walked back up the big hill but that hardly mattered. What mattered was the gesture: one last visit, one last look at the bay, one last acknowledgement that this place had held us well for the week.
The weather was beautiful that morning, which somehow made leaving harder. Later, on the drive north, the rain arrived, along with hail and stormy skies, as though Pembrokeshire had chosen to keep its best face for our farewell and let the road home deliver the rougher mood.
That evening we walked into Leamington Spa from the hotel and for me it brought an added layer of return. I had lived there in the late 1990s, and there was something quietly strange about seeing streets and houses that looked much as they had then. Holidays often do that: they do not only take you to new or beloved places but sometimes pass you through older versions of yourself.
Still, emotionally this was the least satisfying day of the trip. Leaving is leaving, however nice the onward stop may be.
Sunday 12 April: Kenilworth Castle and Warwick Memories
Our final day made for a fitting epilogue.
After a slower start and a hot drink, we headed to Kenilworth Castle. We began in the café, which quickly became something of a basecamp for the day. The kids had a scone and a veggie cooked breakfast roll and from there we explored one of the great historic sites of the Midlands: the red sandstone keep, the broad grounds, the towers, exhibits and the long, layered story of the place.
Kenilworth is dramatic in a way that works particularly well for families. There is scale, ruin, height and enough accessible history to keep everyone engaged. We spent most of the morning there and enough time in the café that it almost felt like a second headquarters.
The weather, however, did what British weather does. At one point I had to go back to the car to fetch warmer and waterproof layers while my son and partner pushed on in the rain and my daughter and I explored more sheltered spaces indoors. That shifting pattern of who goes where and who needs what is familiar on family trips; you rarely move as a neat unit for long.
We bought another guidebook for my son, then later walked around Warwick University before heading home. For me, that added another personal layer, revisiting ground I had known as a student and reconnecting, however briefly, with the place where an earlier chapter of life had unfolded.
Then it was back north, back to routine and time to drop the kids off for dinner at their mum’s.
The holiday was over.
What the Trip Really Held
Looking back, the highlights were not only the obvious ones, though Stackpole was probably the standout day and Colby’s forest bathing session one of the quiet peaks. The coast path sections were always special. So was simply watching the children play on the beach.
That may be the deepest thread running through this trip. Teenagers do not stay children for long. There is a visible horizon to this stage of family life. My son’s digging and engineering on the sand, my daughter’s stone arrangements, their willingness to come down to the beach day after day and still find something to do there: I am aware, perhaps more than before, that this will not go on forever. That awareness makes those moments feel more valuable, not less.
The cottage proved an excellent base: warm, practical, comfortable and forgiving in bad weather. Useful kit included my yoga mat, running shoes, a good book and the humble vacuum flask, which turned out to be valuable not just for drinks but as is far more common these days for improvised hot food on the beach. Once again, an old-fashioned children’s spade proved more useful than many supposedly technical pieces of kit.
If I learned anything, it was probably to trust the trip as it is rather than trying to optimise it too much. Perhaps next time I would allow even more slack around the cottage, accept delays more readily and let the children shape the pace a little more. But in truth, this one came close to ideal.
If you have not been to Pembrokeshire, you should. It has beaches and birdlife, castle walls and industrial ghosts, woodland calm and weather that can turn in an hour. It is a place for runners, walkers, children, readers and anyone who finds meaning in a coastline.
For me, it also remains a place where family life still feels possible in the best sense: simple, outdoor, shared, and rooted in doing real things together.
Freshwater East gave us exactly what a family holiday should: a good base, repeated beach time, a few standout day trips and the freedom to combine movement, learning, history and rest. The best days were the ones that mixed coast path walking with room for the kids to be themselves and the hardest moments were the two goodbyes: my partner leaving midweek and then all of us leaving Pembrokeshire behind. If this trip taught me anything, it is that the simplest rituals often become the strongest memories.