St David was born in Pembrokeshire in 500 AD.  He was the grandson of Ceredig ap Cunedda, King of Ceredigion.

According to legend his mother, Non, or St Non, gave birth to him on a Pembrokeshire cliff top during a fierce storm. In the Ancient World it was important for a famous person to be credited with a remarkable birth.  The truth is that we don’t really know anything about his birth.  Even the date is uncertain.  Some sources think he was born in Ceredigion.

He died on 1st March 589 in St David’s and was later made a saint in 1123 by Pope Callixtus.
St David was a Celtic monk and became Bishop of St Davids. Once, while preaching, it is said that he held a handkerchief on the ground and stood on it, upon which a hill rose up beneath him and all the people around could hear his preaching.  A white dove is said to have sat on his shoulder.
In daily life St David is said to have drunk water and eaten mostly bread and herbs.  He was particularly fond of watercress, and possibly, leeks?

His last words to his followers are said to have come from a sermon he had recently delivered: ‘Be joyful, keep the faith and do the little things that you have heard and seen me do.’  ‘Gwnewch y pethau bychain mewn bywyd’ / ’Do the little things in life’.

He was supposed to have urged Welsh warriors to wear leeks in their helmets when fighting the English.  However, the idea that he, St David, was the first to grow leeks, as has been alleged, is unlikely as they were already well known in the Middle East in Biblical times and widely eaten later by the Romans, as can be seen in the recipes of Apicius, a Roman chef, whose recipes are known to us today.  Indeed, the Emperor Nero is said to have eaten them to improve his singing voice. 
And this is why the Welsh are such good singers!

Beth yw’r ots gennyf I am Gymru? Damwain a hap
Yw fy mod yn ei libart yn byw. Nid yw hon ar fap
What do I care about Wales. It’s an accident and a coincidence
That I am living in its confines. This on a map
Yn ddim byd ond cilcyn o ddaear mewn cilfach gefn,
Ac yn dipyn o boendod I’r rhai sy’n credu mewn trefn
Is nothing but a piece of land in the back of beyond
And a bit of a pain to those who believe in order.
A phwy sy’n trigo’ n y fangre, dwedwch i mi
Pwy ond gwehilion o boblach?  Peidiwch, da chwi,
And who lives in the place, tell me.
Who but riff-raff? Don’t, for goodness sake,
  chlegar am uned a chenedl a gwlad o hyd:
Mae digon o’r rhain heb Gymru, i’w cael yn y byd.
Go on about separation and a nation and a country all the time:
There are enough of these to be had, apart from Wales, in the world.
Rwyf wedi alaru ers talm ar glywed grwn
Y Cymry bondigrybwyll yn cadw swn.
I’ve been fed up for some time of hearing
So called Welsh people making a din.
Mi af am dro, i osgoi eu lleferydd a’u llen,
Yn ol i’m cynefin gynt, a’m dychymyg yn dren.
I’ll go for a walk to avoid their speeches and their writings,
Back to where I’m from, and get lost in my imagination.
A dyma fi yno.  Diolch am fod ar goll
Ymhell o gyffro geiriau’r eithafwyr oll.
And here I am. Giving thanks for being lost
Far from the emotive words of all the extremists.
Dyma’r Wyddfa a’i chriw; dyma lymder a moelni’r tir;
Dyma’r llyn a’r afon a’r clogwyn; ac ar fy ngwir,
Here is Snowdon and her entourage; here is the harshness and the bareness of the landscape;
Here is the lake and the river and the cliff; and, genuinely,
Dacw’r ty lle’m ganed.  Ond wele, rhwng llawr a ne’
Mae lleisiau a drychiolaethau ar hyd y lle.
There’s the house where I was born.  But look, between earth and heaven,
There are voices and apparitions all around the place.
Rwyn dechrau simsanu braidd; ac meddaf i chwi,
Mae rhyw ysictod fel petai’n dod drosof i;
I’m starting to waver a bit; and I tell you,
There is some kind of wrenching- sickness coming over me;
Ac mi glywaf grafangau Cymru’n dirdynnu fy mron.
Duw a’m gwaredo, ni allaf ddianc rhag hon.
And I feel the clutches of Wales racking my breast.
God save me, I can’t escape from this.