Wanderings in Wessex by Edric Holmes

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[Illustration: PUDDLETOWN.]

At Wool the rail parts company with the Dorchester turnpike and soon
after leaves the valley of the Frome, traversing a sparsely populated
district served by one small station in the ten miles to Dorchester,
at Moreton. Here a road runs northwards in four miles to the "Puddles"
of which there are several dotted about the valley of that quaintly
named river. Puddletown, the Weatherbury of the Wessex woods, is the
largest and has an interesting church, practically unrestored. The
Athelhampton chapel here contains ancient effigies of the Martin
family, the oldest dating from 1250. The curiously shaped Norman font,
like nothing else but a giant tumbler, will be admired for its fine
vine and trellis ornament. The old oak gallery that dates from the
early seventeenth century has happily been untouched. Athelhampton
Manor occupies the site of an ancient palace of King Athelstan. Though
certain portions of the present buildings are said to date from the
time of Edward III the greater part is Tudor and very beautiful.
Affpuddle, the nearest of the villages to Moreton Station, has a
perpendicular church with a fine pinnacled tower. The chief object of
interest within is the Renaissance pulpit with curious carvings of the
Evangelists in sixteenth-century dress. Scattered about the
heath-lands in this neighbourhood are a number of "swallow holes" with
various quaint names such as "Culpepper's Dish" and "Hell Pit." At one
time supposed to be prehistoric dwellings, they are undoubtedly of
natural formation.

Bere Regis, rather farther away to the north-east, is the Roman
Ibernium. This was a royal residence in Saxon days and a hunting lodge
of that King John of many houses; very scanty remains of the buildings
are pointed out in a meadow near the town. Part of the manor came to
the Turbervilles, or d'Urbervilles, of Mr. Hardy's romance. The
church, restored in 1875 by Street, is a fine building, mostly
Perpendicular with some Norman remains. Particularly noteworthy is the
grand old roof of the nave with its gorgeously coloured and gilt
figures, also the ancient pews and Transitional font. There are
canopied tombs of the Turbervilles in a chapel and some modern stained
glass in which the family arms figure. Bere Regis is the "Kingsbere"
of Thomas Hardy, and Woodbury Hill, close by, is the scene of
Greenhill Fair in _Far from the Madding Crowd_. Here, in the oval camp
on the summit, a sheep fair has been held since before written records
commence. These fairs, several of which take place in similar
situations in Wessex, are of great antiquity. Some are held in the
vicinity of certain "blue" stones, mysterious megaliths of unknown
age.

It is doubtful if any town in England has so many remains of the
remote past in its vicinity as Dorchester. Probably the Roman
settlement of Durnovaria was a parvenu town to the Celts, whose
closely adjacent Dwrinwyr was also an upstart in comparison with the
fortified stronghold two miles away to the south; the "place by the
black water" being an initial attempt to establish a trading centre by
a people rather timidly learning from their Phoenician visitors. The
great citadel at Maiden Castle belonged to a still earlier time, when
men lived in a way which rendered trade a very superfluous thing.

Modern Dorchester is a delightful, one might almost say a lovable,
town, so bright and cheery are its streets, so countrified its air.
But it is probably true that nearly every one is disappointed with it
at their first visit. Historical towns are written of, and written up,
until the stranger's mind pictures a sort of Nuremburg. Dorchester is
a placid Georgian agricultural centre. In fact there is very little
that antedates the seventeenth century and yet, for all that, it is
one of the most interesting towns in the south. Its loss of the
antique is due to more than one disastrous fire that swept nearly
everything away. It is when the foundations of a new house are being
dug that the past of Dorchester comes to light and another addition is
made to the rich store in the museum. Describing "Casterbridge" Hardy
says: "It is impossible to dig more than a foot or two deep about the
town fields or gardens without coming upon some tall soldier or other
of the Empire who had lain there in his silent unobtrusive rest for a
space of fifteen hundred years." It is needless to say that
"Casterbridge" and the town here briefly described are identical. To
the limits laid down by the Roman, Dorchester has kept true through
the ages, and until quite lately the town terminated with a pleasant
abruptness at the famous "Walks" that mark the positions of the Roman
Walls. The so-called Roman road, the "Via Iceniana," Roman only in the
improvement and straightening of a far older track, passed through the
town. This was once the highway between that mysterious and wonderful
district in Wiltshire, of which Stonehenge is the most outstanding
monument, and the largest prehistoric stronghold in England--the Mai
dun--"the strong hill," south of Dorchester.

The South Western station is close to another fine relic of the past,
though this cannot claim to have any Celtic or pre-Celtic foundation.
The great circle of Maumbury Rings was the original stadium or
coliseum of the Roman town; the tiers of seats when filled are
estimated to have held over twelve thousand spectators. The gaps at
each end are the obvious ways for entering and leaving the arena. In
digging the foundations of the brewery near by, a subway was found
leading toward the circus, which may have been used by the wild beasts
and their keepers in passing from and to their quarters. Maumbury was
the scene of a dreadful execution in 1705, when one Mary Channing was
first strangled and then burnt for the murder of her husband by
poison, though she loudly declared her innocence to the last. On this
occasion ten thousand persons are said to have lined the banks. It is
difficult at first to appreciate the size of the Rings. If two or more
persons are together it is a good plan to leave one alone in the
centre while the others climb to the summit of the bank. By this means
a true idea of the vast size of the enclosure may be gained.

[Illustration: DORCHESTER.]

The "Walks" are the pleasantest feature of modern Dorchester and run
completely round three sides of the town, the fourth being bounded by
the "dark waters" of the Frome. They are lined with fine trees planted
about two hundred years ago; the West Walk, with its section of Roman
Wall, is perhaps the best, though the South Walk with its gnarled old
trees is much admired. They all give the town an uncommon aspect, and
there is nothing quite like them elsewhere in England. The contrast on
turning eastwards from the quiet West Walk into bustling High West
Street is striking and bears out the claim that Dorchester still keeps
more or less within its ancient bounds, for turning in the other
direction we are soon in a different and "suburban" atmosphere. High
West Street is lined with pleasant eighteenth century houses, the
residences or offices of professional men intermixed with some
first-class shops. Once these houses were the mansions of county
families who "came to town" for a season when London was for several
reasons impracticable. The chief buildings are congregated round the
town centre; here is the Perpendicular St. Peter's church, a building
saved during the great fire in 1613 when nearly everything else of
antiquity perished. Outside is the statue of William Barnes, the
Dorset poet, whose writings in his native dialect are only now gaining
a popularity no more than their due. The bronze figure represents the
poet in his old fashioned country clergyman's dress, knee-breeches and
buckled shoes, a satchel on his back and a sturdy staff in his hand.
Underneath the simple inscription are these quaint and touching lines
from one of his poems ("Culver Dell and the Squire"):

"Zoo now I hope his kindly feaece
Is gone to vind a better pleaece;
But still wi' v'ok a-left behind
He'll always be a-kept in mind."

The speech of the older Dorset folk is the ancient speech of Wessex.
It is not an illiterate corruption but a true dialect with its own
grammatical rules. But alas! fifty years of the council school and its
immediate predecessor has done more to destroy this ancient form of
English than ten centuries of intercourse between the Anglo-Celtic
races.[2]

[2] A good example of the Dorset dialect is contained in the message
sent to the King by the Society of Dorset Men at their annual banquet
in London.

"TO HIS MAJESTY KING JARGE

Sire--Dree hunderd loyal men vrom Darset, voregather'd at th'
Connaught Rooms, Kingsway, on this their Yearly Veaest Day, be
mindvul o' yer Grashus Majesty, an' wi' vull hearts do zend ee
the dootivul an' loyal affecshuns o' th' Society o' Darset Men
in Lon'on. In starm or zunsheen thee ca'st allus rely on our
vull-heart'd zympathy an' suppwort. Zoo wi'out any mwore ham-chammy
we ageen raise our cyder cups to ee, wi' th' pious pray'r on our
lips that Heaven ull prosper ee, an' we assure ee that Darset Men
ull ever sheen as oone o' th' bright jools in yer Crown. I d' bide,
az avoretime, an' vor all time, Thy Vaithful Sarvint,

SHAFTESBURY (President o' Darset Men in Lon'on)."

In the porch of the church lies the "Patriarch of Dorchester," John
White, Rector of Holy Trinity, who died in 1648 and who seems to have
kept the town pretty well under his own control. A Puritan, he
incurred the hatred of Prince Rupert's followers, who plundered his
house and carried away his papers and books. He escaped to London and
was for a time Rector of Lambeth, afterwards returning to Dorchester.
He raised money for the equipment of emigrants from Dorchester to
Massachusetts and thus became one of the founders of New England.
Inside the church the Hardy tablet to the left of the door is in
memory of the ancestor of both that Admiral Hardy who was the friend
of Nelson and the great novelist whose writings have been the means of
making "Dear Do'set" known to all the world. The monument of Lord
Holles is remarkable for a comic cherub who is engaged in wiping his
tears away with a wisp of garment; the naivete of the idea is amusing
in more ways than one. Another curious monument, badly placed for
inspection, is that of Sir John Williams. The so-called "crusaders"
effigies are thought to be of a later date than the last crusade; no
inscriptions remain, so that they cannot be identified. The curfew
that still rings from St. Peter's tower is an elaborate business.
Besides telling the day of the month by so many strokes after the ten
minutes curfew is rung, a bell is tolled at six o'clock on summer
mornings and an hour later in the winter. Also at one o'clock midday
to release the workers of the town for dinner.

Holy Trinity Church was destroyed in the great fire. Another
conflagration in 1824 removed its successor. The present building only
dates from 1875 and is a fairly good Victorian copy of Early English.
All Saints' was rebuilt in 1845. It retains the canopied altar tomb of
Matthew Chubb (1625) under the tower. The organ here was presented by
the people of Dorchester, Massachusetts, for the founding of which
town John White, the rector of Holy Trinity, was mainly responsible.

[Illustration: NAPPER'S MITE.]

The County Museum, close to St. Peter's Church, should on no account
be missed. Here is stored a most interesting collection of British and
Roman antiquities found in and around Dorchester, and also of fossils
from the Dorset coast and elsewhere, together with many out-of-the-way
curiosities. "Napper's Mite" is the name given to the old almshouse in
South 1615 with money left for the Robert Napper. It has a queer open
gallery or stone verandah along the street front. Next door to it is
the Grammar School, which owes its inception to the Thomas Hardy who
is commemorated in St. Peter's, and whose benefactions to the town
were many and great. Of equal interest, perhaps, is a house on the
other side of the street that was once a school kept by William
Barnes, surely the most serene and kindly schoolmaster that ever
taught unruly youth. Barnes, in addition to his other literary work,
was secretary of the Dorset Museum, but his incumbency at Whitcombe
and the small addition to his income obtained in other ways did not
amount altogether to a "living" and he was forced to take up schooling
to make both ends meet. The poems were never a financial success,
though they always received a chorus of praise and appreciation and
led many literary lions to meet the author. After years full of sordid
cares Barnes was granted a civil list pension and the rectory of Came.
Here, in the midst of the peasantry he loved so well, this gentle
spirit passed away in 1886.

The lodging occupied by Judge Jeffreys during the Monmouth Rebellion
trials or "Bloody Assize" (1685), when seventy-four were sentenced to
death on Gallows Hill of dreadful memory, and 175 to transportation to
carry westward with them the bitter seeds that bore glorious fruit a
century later, was in a house still standing nearly opposite the
museum. This almost brings the list of historical buildings in
Dorchester to a close. The County Hall, Town Hall and Corn Exchange,
all unpretentious and quietly dignified, represent both shire and
town. The few buildings left by the seventeenth-century fire seem to
have included a highly picturesque group near the old Pump (now marked
by an obelisk) and at the commencement of High East Street, where a
dwelling-house went right across the highway. This was pulled down by
a corporation filled with zeal for the public convenience. The
improvement, regrettable on the score of picturesqueness, has given us
the noble view down the London road. The other great highways that
approach the town from the west and south do so through fine avenues
of trees which give a distinctive note to the environs of Dorchester.

Fordington is usually described as a suburb of Dorchester; this is not
strictly correct. It had always been a dependent village and was not
simply an extension of the town. Its church is a fine one, with tall
battlemented tower and a goodly amount of Norman work. A quaint old
carving over the Norman south door is of much interest. It represents
St. George as taking part in the battle of Antioch in 1098. Some of
the Saracens are being mercilessly dispatched while others are
pleading for quarter. The stone pulpit bears the date 1592 and the
initials E.R. The late Bishop of Durham, Dr. Moule, was born at
Fordington Vicarage.

Stainsford, about a mile from the Frome bridge, is the original of the
scene in _Under the Greenwood Tree_. Several members of the Hardy
family lie in the churchyard here, and the novelist was born at Higher
Bockhampton, not far away. The carving of St. Michael on the face of
the church tower should be noticed. Within the building are memorials
of the Pitt family.

Above the short tunnel through which the Great Western line runs to
the north, and about half a mile along the Bradford Peverell road, is
Poundbury Camp. "Pummery" is an oblong entrenchment enclosing about
twenty acres, variously ascribed to Celts, Romans and Danes, but
almost certainly Celtic, with Roman improvements and developments.
There is a fine view of the surroundings of Dorchester from the bank.
It is only by the most strenuous exertions that the railway engineers
were prevented from burrowing right through the camp. The cutting of
this line brought to light many relics of the past, a great number of
which are in the Dorchester Museum.

[Illustration: MAIDEN CASTLE.]

On the south-west side of the town, two miles away near the Weymouth
road, is the greatest of these prehistoric entrenchments; Mai-dun or
"Maiden Castle" is the largest British earthwork in existence. It is
best reached by a footpath continuation of a by-way that leaves the
Weymouth road on the right, soon after it crosses the Great Western
Railway. The highest point of the hill that has been converted into
this huge fort is 432 feet; the apex being on the east. The marvellous
defences, which follow the lines of the hill, are two miles round and
the whole space occupies about 120 acres. From east to west the camp
is 3,000 feet long and about half that measurement in breadth. On the
south side there are no less than five lines of ditch and wall. On the
north the steepness of the hill only allows of three. Over the
entrance to the west ten ramparts overlap and double so that attackers
were in a perfect maze of walls and enfiladed so effectually that it
is difficult to imagine any storming party being successful. On the
east the opening, without being quite so elaborate owing to the
steepness of the hill, is equally well defended. The steep walls on
the north are no less than sixty feet deep and to storm them would be
a sheer impossibility. What makes this splendid monument so
interesting is the assertion made by nearly all authorities on the
subject that these enormous works must have been excavated without
spade or tool other than the puny implement called a "celt." Probably
wall and ditch were elaborated and improved by the Romans, and while
in their occupation the name of the hill became Dunium. Blocks of
stone from Purbeck, used at certain points of the defence, were no
doubt additions during this period.

A pleasant journey may be taken through the Winterbourne villages that
are strung along the line of that rivulet, which, as its name
proclaims, flows only in the winter months. It is on the south side of
Maiden Castle. The first village with the name of the river as a
prefix is Came, two miles from Dorchester. Here Barnes was rector for
the last twenty-five years of his life. His grave is in the quiet
churchyard quite close to the diminutive tower. Within the church is a
fine carved screen and several effigies. Proceeding westwards we come
to Herringstone where there is an old house once the seat of the
Herrings and, since early Jacobean days, of the Williams family. Then
comes Monkton, close to Maiden Castle. The church is Norman, much
restored. St. Martin follows; a picturesque hamlet with a fine church,
the last in the west of England to dispense with clarionet, flute and
bass-viol in the village choir. On sign-posts as well as colloquially
this hamlet is known as "Martinstown." Steepleton boasts a stone
spire, rare for Dorset, and a curious and very ancient figure of an
angel on the outside wall declared by most authorities to be Saxon.
The last of the villages is Winterbourne Abbas, seven miles from
Winterbourne Came. The whole of the low hillsides around the hamlets
of the bourne are covered with barrows, some of which have been
explored with good results, though indiscriminate ravishing of these
old graves is to be deplored.

Another short excursion from Dorchester is up the valley of the Cerne.
About a mile and a half from St. Peter's Church, proceeding by North
Street, is Charminster, a pretty little place in itself and well
situated in the opening valley of the sparkling Cerne. Here is a
church with a noble Perpendicular tower, built by Sir Thomas Trenchard
about 1510. The knight's monogram is to be seen on the tower. Within
the partly Norman church are several monuments of the family, which
lived at Wolfeton House, a fine Tudor mansion on the site of a still
older building. Its embattled towers, beautiful windows and ivy-clad
walls make up an ideal picture of a "stately home of England."
Wolfeton was the scene of the reception in 1506 of Philip of Austria
and Joanna of Spain, who were driven into Weymouth by a storm. (The
incident is referred to in the next chapter.) This occurrence may be
said to have founded the fortunes of the ducal house of Bedford. Young
John Russell, of Bridport, a relative of the Trenchards, happened to
be a good linguist, which the host was not. He was sent for, and so
well impressed the royal couple that they took him with them to
Windsor. Henry VII was quite as much interested, and young Russell's
fortune was made. He stayed with the court until the next reign, and
at the Dissolution got Woburn Abbey, a property still in the hands of
his great family.

Continuing up the Cerne valley, Godmanstone, a village of picturesque
gables and colourful roofs, is about four and a half miles from
Dorchester. Here the valley narrows between Cowden Hill and Crete
Hill. The Perpendicular church has been restored, and is of little
interest. Nether Cerne, a mile further along and two miles short of
Cerne Abbas, also calls for little comment, but "Abbas" (or, according
to Hardy, "Abbots Cernel") is of much historic interest.

Cerne Abbey was founded in 987 by Aethelmar, Earl of Devon and
Cornwall. Legend has it that the monastery originated in the days of
St. Augustine, but of this there is no proof, though it is certain
that a religious house nourished here for nearly a century before the
Benedictine abbey was established. The first Abbot Aelfric was famous
for his learning, and his Homilies in Latin and English are of much
value to students of Anglo-Saxon. Canute was the first despoiler of
Cerne, though he made good his plunderings tenfold when peace, on his
terms, came to Wessex. Queen Margaret sought sanctuary here in 1471
with her son, the heir to the English throne. At the Abbey, or on the
way thither from Weymouth, the courageous Queen learned of the defeat
of the Lancastrian army at Barnet. From Cerne she went to lead a force
against the Yorkists at Tewkesbury. There she was defeated, her son
brutally murdered and all hope lost for the cause of her imprisoned
husband, the feeble and half-witted Henry VI.

A most beautiful relic of the Abbey is the Gatehouse, a fine stone
building that has weathered to the most exquisite tint. The grand
oriel window and panelled and groined entrance are justly admired. The
remaining ruins, however, are almost negligible. The Perpendicular
church is remarkable for its splendid tower, on which is a niche and
canopy enshrining an old statue of the Virgin and Child. Within is a
good stone screen and a fine oaken pulpit dating from 1640. Cerne town
seems never to have recovered its importance after the loss of the
Abbey. For its size, it is the sleepiest place in Dorset and its
streets are literally grass grown. The surroundings are beautiful in a
quiet way, and the town and neighbourhood generally provide an ideal
spot for a rest cure. North-east of the town is a chalk bluff called
Giant's Hill, with the figure of the famous "Cerne Giant," 180 feet in
height, cut on its side. "Vulgar tradition makes this figure
commemorate the destruction of a giant, who, having feasted on some
sheep in Blackmore and laid himself down to sleep, was pinioned down
like another Gulliver, and killed by the enraged peasants on the spot,
who immediately traced his dimensions for the information of
posterity" (Criswick). An encampment on the top of the hill and the
figure itself are probably the work of early Celts. The "Giant" is
reminiscent of the "Long Man of Wilmington" on the South Downs near
Eastbourne. An interesting experiment in the communal life was started
in 1913 near the town. After struggling along for five years it
finally "petered out" in 1918, helped to its death, no doubt, by the
exigencies of the last year of war.

A return may be made by way of Maiden Newton, about six miles
south-west of Cerne, passing through Sydling St. Nicholas, where there
is a Perpendicular church noted for its fine tower with elaborate
gargoyles. The old Norman font and north porch are also noteworthy.
Close to the church is an ancient Manor-house with a fine tithe barn.
This belonged in 1590 to the famous Elizabethan, Sir Francis
Walsingham. Maiden Newton is a junction on the Great Western with a
branch line to Bridport.

The beautiful churchyard is the best thing about Maiden Newton. The
village had seen, prior to the late war, a good deal of rebuilding;
relative unattractiveness is the consequence. This seems to be the
almost inevitable result of the establishment of a railway junction.
The church stands on the site of a Wrest Saxon building, and is partly
Norman with much Perpendicular work. Cattistock, a long mile north, is
unspoilt and pretty both in itself and its situation. It has a fine
church, much rebuilt and gaudily decorated, with a tower containing no
less than thirty-five bells and a clock face so enormous that it
occupies a goodly portion of the wall.

If the railway is not taken one may return by the eight miles of high
road that follows the Frome through Vanchurch and Frampton to
Charminster and Dorchester. The first named village though pleasant
enough, calls for little comment, but Frampton (or Frome town) is not
only picturesquely placed between the soft hills that drop to the
wooded banks of the river, but has also other claims to notice. The
church, though it has been cruelly pulled about, has an interesting
old stone pulpit with carvings of monks bearing vessels. A number of
memorials may be seen of the Brownes, once a renowned local family,
and of their successors and connexions, among whom were certain of the
Sheridan family, of which the famous Richard Brinsley Sheridan was a
member. Near Frampton in the closing years of the eighteenth century a
Roman pavement was discovered, bearing in its mosaic indications of
Christian designs and forms.

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