In the early 1800s, a young man, an orphan of Celtic heritage, got a job as a clerk at the Antiquities Dept. of the British ruled India. In a remote town on the coast, where the brutal summer winds were so bad, the office shut down and people went to the hill stations. He was given the only lodging, a house whose front wall had been broken down, allowing the winds to kill the garden and lash the house with hot, sandy wind.
When the young man, who all had thought was destined to die a bachelor; through the strangest of circumstances, ended up having a family; he finally got the funding to build that wall.
But the wall did not last. Two years in a row it was rebuilt and both years, the strong winds broke it down. He had to find a way to build the wall that was outside of what anyone there knew.
A water diviner who assessed buildings for viability, told him that the Druids of Wales had once called up rocks from the seabed to build fortifications in places on the sea coast, hard to transport materials to. Those rocks were porous enough to let energy and some air through them, yet too heavy for the wind to push them over. The young man, took two months leave, and set off to Wales, where he'd been born, but never visited; to find a way to call rocks up from the seabed.
This was recounted to me by my Great, Great, Granddad, John Waltham, who met Myrddin McNamara in 2004.
