Wanderings in Wessex by Edric Holmes

E >> Edric Holmes >> Wanderings in Wessex

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

A pleasant route out of Corfe is to take a path between cottages on
the left of the lane leading to West Orchard, and, crossing several
meadows, to pass over the breezy Corfe common to the Kingston road.
This gives the traveller a series of beautiful views and an especially
fine retrospect of Corfe Castle. In a short two miles Kingston,
climbing up its steep hill, is reached. The church, a landmark for
many miles, was built by Lord Eldon in 1880. It was designed by Street
in Early English. With its severe and lofty tower the exterior has a
coldly conventional aspect not altogether pleasing. Inside, the large
amount of Purbeck marble employed gives a touch of colour which, to a
certain extent, relieves the austerity. Not far away is the older
church built in Perpendicular style by Lord Chancellor Eldon. The seat
of the Eldon family is at Encombe, a lovely cup-shaped hollow opening
to the sea about a mile and a half away, and not far from the lonely
Chapman's (or perhaps Shipman's) Pool, a deep and sheltered cove on
the west of St. Aldhelm's Head. A path can be taken that crosses the
fields until the open common, which extends to the edge of the great
headland, is reached. On the summit, 450 feet above the waves, is a
little Norman chapel dedicated to the first Bishop of Sherborne, whose
name the headland bears and _not_ that of St. Alban, as erroneously
given in so many school geographies and in some tourist maps. This
chantry served a double purpose, prayers being said by the priest
within and a beacon lit upon the roof without, for the succour and
guidance of sailors. A cross now takes the place of the ancient beacon
bucket. It is said that the chapel was instituted by a sorrowing
father who saw his daughter and her husband drowned in the terrible
race off the headland in or about the year 1140. It was restored by
the same Earl of Eldon who built the Kingston church, and is looked
after by the neighbouring coast-guard. The interior is lit by one
solitary window in the thick wall and in the centre is a single
massive column. Some authorities have questioned its original use as a
place of prayer, but tradition, and a good deal of direct evidence,
point to the ecclesiastical nature of the building.

[Illustration: ST. ALDHELM'S.]

The tale of wreck and disaster off this wild coast reached such a
dreadful total that in 1881 after much agitation a light was erected
on Anvil Point and declared open by Joseph Chamberlain, then President
of the Board of Trade. Between the two heads, which are about four
miles apart, is the famous "Dancing Ledge," a sloping beach of solid
rock upon which the surf plays at high tide with a curious effect,
possibly suggesting the quaint name. This section of cliff, like the
whole of the Dorset coast, is of great interest to the geologist and
the veriest amateur must feel some curiosity on the subject when it is
apparent to him that the beautiful scenery of this shore is caused
mainly by its being the meeting place of so many differing strata. The
Kimmeridge clay will be noticed at once by its sombre colour, almost
quite black when wet, and in times of scarcity actually used as fuel.
This clay rings Chapman's Pool and extends westwards to Kimmeridge
Bay. St. Aldhelm's Head is built up of differing kinds of limestone,
the fine bastions of the top being composed of the famous Portland
stone itself, the finest of all the limestones from a commercial point
of view.

To walk from St. Aldhelm's along the cliff to Anvil Point and so into
Swanage is possible but fatiguing, and perhaps not worth the labour
involved. Winspit Quarry and Seacombe Cliff would be passed on the
way; between the two are some old guns marking the spot where the East
Indiaman _Halsewell_ went down in a fearful storm in January, 1786.
This tragedy was immortalized by Charles Dickens in "The Long Voyage."
Out of 250 souls only eighty-two were saved by men employed at Winspit
Quarry. Some of the passengers are buried in the level plot between
the two cliffs.

Worth Matravers, a mile and a half from the Head and four from
Swanage, is a village at the end of a by-way that leaves the Kingston
road near Gallows Gore(!) cottages, a mile west of Langton Matravers.
The name of both these villages connects them with an old Norman
family once of much importance in south-east Dorset. It is said that
one of them was the tool of Queen Isabella and the actual murderer of
Edward.

Worth is famous for its fine early Norman church, also restored by the
Earl of Eldon. The tower, of three stories, the nave, south door and
chancel arch, all belong to this period. The chancel itself is Early
English. The carved grotesques under the eaves of the roof are worthy
of notice. Not the least remarkable thing about Worth is the tombstone
of Benjamin Jesty, who is claimed thereon to be the first person to
inoculate for smallpox (1774). Langton Matravers need not keep the
stranger; its church was rebuilt nearly fifty years ago and the
village is unpicturesque.

We now approach Swanage, a delightful little town, well known and much
appreciated by those of the minority who prefer a restful and modest
resort to the glitter and crowds of Bournemouth. That it will never
attain the dimensions of its great neighbour to the north is fairly
certain. Swanage is in a comparatively inaccessible position. Barely
eight miles from Bournemouth as the crow flies, it is twenty-four
miles by rail and about the same by road. So that during the five
years of war, when the steamer service was suspended, Swanage had no
day trippers and the quietness of the town was accentuated, and the
camp on the southern slopes of Ballard Down did not interfere to any
great extent with this somnolence. But now the steamers pant across to
Swanage pier again and unload the curious crowd who make straight for
the Great Globe and Tilly Whim and pause to "rest and admire" as they
breast the steep slopes of Durlston.

[Illustration: OLD SWANAGE.]

The tutelary genius of Swanage is of stone and the two high priests of
the idol were Mowlein and Burt. Some undeserved fun has been poked at
the shade of the junior partner, who conceived the enormous open-air
kindergarten that has been formed out of the wild cliff at Durlston.
For the writer's part, while venturing to deplore certain
incongruities such as the startling inscription that faces the visitor
as he turns to survey the Tilly Whim cavern from the platform of rock
outside, a feeling of respect for the wholehearted enthusiasm and
industry of the remarkable man who was responsible for these marvels
is predominant. Every guide to Swanage enumerates in exhaustive detail
the objects which make the town a sort of "marine store" of stony odds
and ends. The best of these cast-offs is the entrance to the Town
Hall, once in Cheapside as the Wren frontage to Mercer's Hall. The
"gothic" tower at Peveril Point at one time graced the southern
approach to London Bridge as a Wellington memorial. The clock at the
Town Hall is said to be from a "scrapped" city church and the gilt
vane on the turret of Purbeck House on the other side of the way is
from Billingsgate. Not the least surprising of these relics are the
lamp-and-corner-posts bearing the names of familiar London parishes.

When Swanage was Danish Swanic (it was called Swanwick in the early
nineteenth century) it witnessed the defeat of its colonizers in a sea
fight with Alfred. The irresponsible partners commemorated this by
erecting a stone column surmounted by four _cannon balls_. A queer way
of perpetuating a pre-conquest naval victory, but possibly the
projectiles were less in the way here than at Millbank. Not far away,
attached to the wall of the Moslem Institute, is a coloured geological
map of the district, another effort at the higher education of "the
man on the beach." It is certainly a good idea, and may lead many to a
further study of a fascinating science, for nowhere may the practical
study of scenery be made to greater advantage than near Swanage.

Perhaps the most graceful curve of coast line in Dorset is Swanage
Bay, and to see it at its best one should stroll across the rising
ground of Peveril Point. To the right are the dark cliffs of Purbeck
marble that encircle Durlston Bay; to the left across the half-moon
stretch of water is the white chalk of Ballard Point guarded by "Old
Harry's daughter," the column of detached chalk in front. At one time
this was one of a family, but "Old Harry" and his "wife" have sunk
beneath the waves and the sole remaining member of the family may
disappear during the next great storm. Beyond, indistinct and remote
during fine weather but startlingly near when the glass is falling,
are the cliffs of Alum Bay in the Isle of Wight, and the guardian
"Needles."

The picturesque High Street should be followed past the Town Hall with
its alien Carolean front, and the long wall of Purbeck House that is
said to be made up from the "sweepings" of the Albert Memorial at
Kensington. Down a lane at the side of the civic building is the old
"Lock Up," with an inscription as quaint as it is direct, for it tells
us that it was erected "for the prevention of Wickedness and Vice by
the Friends of Religion and Good Order." Farther up High Street is a
cottage, creeper-clad and picturesque, where Wesley stayed while
preaching to the quarrymen. The best part of this stroll is towards
the end, where a space opens out on the right to St. Mary's Church and
the mill pond which is surrounded by as extraordinary a jumble of
queer old roofs and gables as may be seen in Dorset. The church has
been rebuilt and much altered and enlarged, but the tower is as old as
it looks and has seen several churches come and go beneath it. There
is no door lower than the second story and it must have been reached
by a ladder. It was undoubtedly built for, and used as, a fortress in
case of need.

Although there is little of beauty in the quarries that honeycomb the
hills to the west of Swanage, the industry that is carried on is of
much interest as a surviving guild or medieval trades union. One of
the laws of the "company," unbroken from immemorial time, is that no
work may be given to any but a freeman or his son who, after seven
years' apprenticeship, becomes a senior worker upon presenting to the
warden a fee of 6_s_. 8_d_., a loaf of bread and a bottle of beer. The
guild meet every Shrove Tuesday at Corfe to transact the formal
business of the year. Each quarryman and his partner, or partners,
hold the little independent working allotted to them apart from the
remainder of the quarry. This obviously prevents blasting and each
block of stone is cut out by manual labour.

[Illustration: TILLY WHIM.]

Purbeck marble is famous all over southern England, and many historic
buildings, from the Temple church in London to Salisbury and Exeter
Cathedrals, are enriched by the beautifully polished columns of this
dark-coloured limestone. The caves at Durlston, with their intriguing
name, are simply abandoned quarries, although all sorts of fanciful
legends have grown up about them. To any one familiar with the plan of
the working of a quarry, the sloping tunnel that gives access to the
cave will prove the origin to be artificial. Nevertheless, Tilly Whim
is romantic enough to please the most fastidious of the steamer
contingent and the scene from the platform of rock in front of the old
workings is as wild and natural as could well be imagined. As for the
open-air schoolroom above on Durlston Head a description is hardly
necessary. That the pedagogic master mason was not without the saving
grace of a sense of humour is proved by the once plain block of stone
provided for those who would perpetuate their own greatness, now
literally covered with names and initials. The staring red and white
"castle" that crowns the cliff is a restaurant built to accommodate
the day visitor, but if the evidence of discarded pastry bags and
ginger-beer bottles that at times litter and disfigure the cliff and
caves is to be regarded, the castle is not as well patronized as it
should be. This unseemliness is kept under by what appears to be a
daily clean up, though the writer has never met the public benefactor
who makes all tidy in the early morning hours before the steamers have
discharged their crowds. Possibly this is the same individual who
keeps the tangle of blackberry and tamarisk pruned down so that while
resting with "Sir Walter Scott" or "Shakespeare" we may duly admire
the view across Swanage Bay.

No one should omit the glorious walk northwards across the fine
expanse of Ballard Down to Studland. The coast road round the bay is
taken to a path bearing to the right in the pleasant suburb of New
Swanage. At the time of writing this leads through the before-mentioned,
partly derelict, military camp and, after passing on the right the old
Tudor farmhouse called Whitecliff, emerges on the open Down. The
rearward views gain in beauty with every step, and when the summit is
reached at the fence gate and the stone seat that seems to have
strayed from Durlston, a magnificent and unforgettable view is
obtained of Poole Harbour and the great heathland that stretches away
to the New Forest. Every intricacy of the harbour can be seen as on a
map, and its almost landlocked character is strikingly apparent as the
eye follows the bright yellow arc of sand to the cliffs of Bournemouth.
That town has most of its more glaring modernities decently hidden,
and the pier and a few spires and chimneys seem to blend into the
all-pervading golden brown of the Hampshire coast. In the near
foreground Studland looks very alluring in its bowery foliage, but
before descending the hillside the long and almost level Down should
be followed to the right past the shooting range, provided the absence
of a warning red flag gives permission. By a slight detour to the
right as the ground slopes toward that extension of Ballard Down
called Handfast Point, fearsome peeps may be had of the waves raging
round Old Harry's daughter and the submerged ruins of her parents.
Care must be taken here in misty weather, the cliffs are sheer, and
unexpected gaps occur where nothing could save the unwary explorer in
the event of an unlucky slip. Little is gained by following the cliff
top all the way to the extreme edge of the Point, and a return may be
made from hereabouts or a short cut made to the path leading to
Studland.

[Illustration: THE BALLARD CLIFFS.]

Studland was until quite lately one of the most unspoilt of English
villages. An unfortunate outbreak of red brick has slightly detracted
from its former quiet beauty, but it is still a charming little place
and claims as heretofore to be the "prettiest village in England," a
claim as impossible of acceptance as some other of the challenges made
by seaside towns. But it is unfair to class Studland with the usual
run of such resorts; perhaps its best claims upon us are negative
ones. It has no railway station, no pier, no bandstand, no parade, in
fact the old village turns its back upon the sea in an unmistakable
manner.

The foundations and lower parts of the walls of the church are
probably Saxon. The building as we see it is primitive Norman without
later additions or any very apparent attempts at restoration, though a
good deal of legitimate repairing has been carried out during the last
few years. The solemn and venerable churchyard yews lend an added air
of great age to the building. Close to the church door is the
tombstone of one Sergeant Lawrence, whose epitaph is a stirring record
of military service combined with a dash of real romance, though
probably the sergeant's whole life did not have as much of the essence
of dreadful war as one twelve months in the career of a present-day
city clerk.

A long mile west, on the northern slopes of Studland Heath, is the
famous Agglestone "that the Devil while sulking in the Isle of Wight
threw at the builders of Corfe Castle" or, according to another
account, from Portland. Probably the confusion arose through the
original reporter using the term "the Island." Natives would know that
the definite article could only refer to their own locality! The stone
is an effect of denudation and is similar to other isolated sandstone
rocks scattered about the south of England, e.g., the "Toad" Rock at
Tunbridge Wells and "Great upon Little" near West Heathly in Sussex. A
short distance away is a smaller mass called the "Puckstone." The
derivation of the larger rock is probably Haligstane--Holy Stone. So
difficult is it to contemplate the ages through which gradual
weathering would bring these stones to their present shape that
scientists, as recently as the middle of the last century, were at
variance as to their natural or artificial origin.

A by-road, a little over five miles long, runs under the face of Nine
Barrows Down and Brenscombe Hill to Corfe. It is a picturesque route
and has some good views, but a much finer way, and but little longer,
is along the top of the Downs themselves culminating at Challow Hill
in a sudden sight of Corfe, backed by the imposing Knowle Hill. This
walk is even surpassed by that along the hills westwards from Corfe.
In this direction a similar by-road also runs under the long line of
the Purbeck Hills, here so called, but on the south side of the range
through Church Knowle which has an old cruciform church pulled about
by "restorers" as far back as the early eighteenth century and several
times since. The village is pleasant in itself and beautifully
situated. A short distance farther is an ancient manor house dating
from the fourteenth century. Its name--Barneston--is said to
perpetuate a Saxon landholder, Berne, so that the foundations of the
house are far older than this period. Over three miles from Corfe is
the small church hamlet of Steeple; here a road bears upward to the
right, and if the hill top has not been followed all the way from
Corfe it should certainly be gained at this point. Not far away and
nearer Church Knowle is Creech Barrow, a cone-shaped hill commanding a
most extensive and beautiful view, especially north-westwards over the
heathy flats of the Frome valley to the distant Dorset-Somerset
borderlands. The narrow Purbeck range now makes obliquely for the
coast, where it ends more than six miles from Corfe in the magnificent
bluff of Flowers' Barrow, or Ring's Hill, above Worbarrow Bay. This is
without doubt the finest portion of the Dorset coast, not only for the
striking outline of the cliffs and hills themselves but for the
beautiful colouring of the strata and the contrasting emerald of the
dells that break down to the purple-blue of the water. Neither drawing
nor photograph can give any idea of this exquisite blend of the stern
and the beautiful.

[Illustration: ARISH MEL.]

Eastwards, Gad Cliff guards the remote little village of Tyneham from
the sea; certain portions of this precipice seem in imminent danger of
falling into the water, so much do they overhang the beach. At
Kimmeridge Bay the cliff takes the sombre hue seen near Chapman's Pool
and the beach and water are discoloured by the broken shale that has
fallen from the low cliff. It is thought that a sort of jet jewellery
was made here in Roman times; quantities of perforated discs have been
found about the bay--termed "coal money" by the fishermen. The greasy
nature of this curious form of clay is remarkable. Naphtha has been
obtained from it and various commercial enterprises have been started
at Kimmeridge in connexion with the local product but all seem to have
failed miserably because of the unendurable smell that emanates when
combustion takes place.

The "Tout" forms the eastern extremity of Worbarrow Bay; this boldly
placed and precipitous little hill forms a sort of miniature Gibraltar
and is one of the outstanding features of this bewilderingly intricate
shore. On the farther or western side of the bay is the exquisite
Arish Mel Gap,[1] that, taking all points into consideration,
particularly that of colouring, is probably the finest scene of its
kind on the English coast. Picturesquely placed at the head of the
miniature valley is Lulworth Castle, grey and stern, and making an
ideal finish to the unforgettable picture. A spring in the recesses of
the dell sends a small and sparkling stream down to the gap, the sides
of which in spring and early summer are a blaze of white and gold,
challenging the cliffs in their display of colour. A path climbs
gradually by an old wind-torn wood up the landward side of Bindon
Hill, with gorgeous rearward views across the fields of Monastery Farm
to the northern escarpment of the Purbeck Hills. The path very soon
reaches the top of Bindon that seems to drop directly to Mupe Bay and
its jagged surf-covered rocks. In two miles from Arish Mel the path
ends directly above the delectable Lulworth Cove, and of all ways of
reaching that unique and lovely little place this is the most
charming. Care must be taken on the steep side of Bindon. Several
accidents have taken place here. One of them is perpetuated by an
inscription on a board placed upon the hillside. The path must be
followed until it drops into the road leading to the landward village.

[1] Correctly--_Arish Mel_. "Gap" and "Mel" are synonyms in Dorset.

[Illustration: LULWORTH COVE FROM ABOVE STAIR HOLE.]

Lulworth bids fair, or ill, to become a "resort" apart from the
descents from Bournemouth or Weymouth, which are only of a few hours'
duration. Before the Great War there was an extension of West Lulworth
round the foot of Bindon Hill, but the railway at Wool is still a good
five miles away and the great majority of seaside visitors seem to
fight shy of any place that has not a station on the beach.

Lulworth has been described and photographed so many times that a
description seems needless. It would want an inspired pen to do any
portion of this coast full justice. Suffice it to say that the cove is
almost circular, 500 yards across, and that the entrance is so narrow
as to make it almost invisible from the open sea. The contortions of
the cliff face within the cove would alone render the place famous.

More often sketched than Lulworth; perhaps because it is easier to
draw, is Durdle Door or Barn Door, the romantic natural arch that juts
out at the end of Barndoor Cove. The outline has all the appearance of
stage scenery of the goblin cavern sort. So lofty is the opening that
a sailing boat can pass through with ease. Behind it is the soaring
Swyre Head, 670 feet high, and the third of that name in Dorset.
Between this point and Nelson Fort on the west of Lulworth Cove is
Stair Hole, a gloomy roofless cavern into which the tide pours with a
terrifying sound, especially when a strong sou-wester is blowing.

[Illustration: DURDLE DOOR.]

East Lulworth is a charming old village, three miles from the cove and
two from West Lulworth. Close to it is the castle that completes the
picture at Arish Mel. The church, much altered and rebuilt, is
Perpendicular, and in it are interesting memorials of the Welds to
whom the castle has belonged since 1641. This family are members of
the Roman church, and a fine chapel for adherents of that communion
was built in the park at the end of the eighteenth century. It is said
to be the first erected in England since the Reformation. The ex-king
Charles X of France sought and found sanctuary at Lulworth Castle in
August, 1830, as Duke of Milan. He was accompanied by his heir, the
Duke of Angouleme, and the Duke of Bordeaux.

[Illustrtion: CERNE ABBEY GATEHOUSE.]

CHAPTER IV

DORCHESTER AND ITS SURROUNDINGS

The railway from Wareham to Dorchester runs through the heart of that
great wild tract that under the general name of Egdon Heath forms a
picturesque and often gloomy background to many of Mr. Hardy's
romances. These heath-lands are a marked characteristic of the scenery
of this part of the county. Repellent at first, their dark beauty,
more often than not, will capture the interest and perhaps awe of the
stranger. Much more than a mere relic of the great forest that
stretched for many miles west of Southampton Water and that in its
stubborn wildness bade fair to break up the Saxon advance, the heaths
of Dorset extend over a quarter of the area of the county.

Wool is five miles from Wareham and is the station for Bindon Abbey,
half a mile to the east. The pleasant site of the abbey buildings on
the banks of the Frome is now a resort of holiday-makers, adventurers
from Bournemouth and Swanage, who may have al-fresco teas through the
goodwill of the gatekeeper, though it would appear that they must
bring all but the cups and hot water with them. The outline of the
walls and a few interesting relics may be seen, but there is nothing
apart from the natural surroundings to detain us. The old red brick
Manor House, close to the station, and in plain view from the train,
was a residence of the Turbervilles, immortalized by Hardy. Of much
interest also is the old Tudor bridge that here crosses the Frome.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22