At first, it was hard to distinguish the sound from that of the wind.  But, when I listened more closely, it had a different note to it; something hollower and altogether more melancholic.

I wondered if it was perhaps a baby crying, but from where?  There was no one around.  For miles.  But surely it was a cry of some kind?  It was a mournful sound; redolent with despair; surely a plea for help?

I was reminded of the legend of the Sirens; those creatures from Greek mythology whose seductive cries almost lured Odysseus and his crew to a watery grave.  This sound had a similarly alluring quality, compelling investigation.  The Siren call of Lundy.

It was not until I spotted a grey shape in the sea far below me that I realised the origin of the strange noise.  Seals.  Atlantic Grey Seals to be precise.  Cutting into the peace of the island, the sound of their wails was echoing up to me standing on the cliffs above.

Passing on from the bay where I had spotted the seals, I met a fellow cliff-top walker, having a picnic lunch above Brazen Ward.  I told her about the strange sounds I had heard.

“Maybe you’ve something of the Selkie in you,” she suggested.  “If you can hear the seals talking.”

I thought this was perhaps a rather fanciful notion.  I hadn’t been staying on Lundy for long enough to be so swept up in island folklore.  However, although I didn’t admit it to my fellow-traveller, I could have sworn that one of the seals had waved at me.

© E. C. Glendenny

E. C. Glendenny gets a bit special in the company of Lundy’s seals.