Some say Dylan was a bit of a poetic villain, but in fact he was a poet in a million. Born October 27 in 1914, Dylan predicted he would be dead, before his 40th birthday, a truer word he never said. Dylan passed away in St. Vincent Hospital, New York city, at the age of 39. Four or five times Dylan had crossed the pond; with US presidents and Hollywood stars he formed a friendly bond. Dylan was born to write; he often got as high as a kite. Cigarettes, whisky and Welsh brewed beer. A sickly child was Dylan, rather timid and mild, growing up to be a bit of an Oscar Wilde. Dying was his only fear. Wrote the play - now a film, Under Milk Wood, people took time before they understood. Now a hundred years on, Under Milk Wood, and Dylan's poetry, his whole life story is being told the world over. None more than the seaside village of Laugharne, and the magical Boathouse, not forgetting his favourite watering hole, Browns Hotel, where Dylan often stumbled and fell. Did Dylan find his inspiration from the sea? From the Boathouse window he could see the beautiful tidal estuary. Dylan was laid to rest at St. Marys cemetery in Laugharne. Marked by a simple wooden cross.

T.V.H.