Wanderings in Wessex by Edric Holmes

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Preston is a little over two miles from Weymouth. There are still a
number of old thatched cottages here and a Perpendicular church with a
Norman door. The visitor will notice the ancient font; also a
hagioscope and holy water stoup. At the foot of the village is an old
one-arched bridge over the brook that comes down from Sutton Poyntz.
It is said to be of Norman date and was even supposed at one time to
be Roman. Not far from the church is a Roman villa with a fine
pavement, unearthed in 1842. Breston is supposed to be on or near the
site of Clavinium.

The monotonous line of the Chesil Beach that has been seen from
Portland is, in its extreme length, from Chesil Bay under Fortune's
Well to near Burton Bradstock, where it may be said to end, more than
eighteen miles long and the greatest stretch of pebbles in Europe,
ranging from large and irregular lumps at Portland to small polished
stones at the western extremity. It is said that a local seafarer
landing on the beach in a fog can tell his whereabouts to a nicety by
handling the shingle. For about half the distance, that is to
Abbotsbury, the Fleet makes a brackish ditch on the landward side.
Behind this barrier is a country of low hills and quite
out-of-the-world hamlets seldom visited or visiting. Chickerell, the
nearest of them to Weymouth, has a manufactory of stoneware and a
golf-course, so that it is not so quiet and remote as Fleet, Langton
Herring and the rest, which depend almost entirely on the harvest of
the sea for a livelihood.

The first place of any importance west of Weymouth is Abbotsbury. The
best method of getting there is by the branch railway from Upwey
Junction, which for some occult reason is at Broadwey, leaving Upwey
itself a mile away to the north. Here is the "Wishing Well" beloved of
the younger members of the char-a-banc fraternity who come in crowds
from Weymouth to drink part of a glass of very ordinary water and
throw the remainder, at the instance of the well keeper, over the left
shoulder. As far as the writer is aware there is no particular history
attached to this spring. The arch and seats have been erected for the
benefit of the visitor. But there are less harmless ways of spending a
summer afternoon, and for those who have no "wish" to make, a visit to
the sixteenth-century church will be appreciated. Here is some ancient
woodwork, a pulpit dating from the early seventeenth century, and
three carved figures of the apostles in quaint medieval costumes.

Nottington, a mile to the south of Broadwey, was once a spa, first
resorted to as far back as the reign of George I. The well house,
visited by the third George, is now a residence and the pleasant
surroundings are made picturesque by an old water mill.

The railway penetrates a lonely stretch of country with one wayside
"halt" on the way to Portesham (indifferently "Porsham" or "Posam").
This is a convenient station from which to visit the Blackdown
district. The large village was the birthplace of Admiral Hardy, whose
ugly monument upon the hill does not improve the landscape. The Norman
and Early English church has a fine tower with a bell turret. A good
Jacobean pulpit and panelled ceiling are among the details of the
interior. The brook that runs down the street gives a pleasant
individuality to a village otherwise uninteresting.

[Illustration: PORTESHAM.]

Blackdown is 789 feet above the sea, and the Hardy column, 70 feet
high, is a conspicuous landmark over a wide circumference. This hill
and its outliers are a museum of stone circles and dolmens, the best
known of which is the "Helstone," or Stone of the Dead. On Ridge Hill,
north of Abbotsbury, are the five large stones, almost lost in a
tangle of nettles and undergrowth, called the "Grey Mare and her
Colts."

Abbotsbury is famous for its Abbey, St. Catherine's Chantry, and the
Swannery. The latter is probably the most attractive of the sights to
the majority of visitors, and it is certainly worth seeing.
Application must be made, during the afternoon as a rule, to the
keeper. On a board near the gate is a record of the great sea flood
during the storm of 1824, when the country around was inundated to a
depth of 22 feet. Besides the sight of the long lines of white swans
on the Fleet, there is an interesting decoy for trapping wild duck,
the procedure being explained by the courteous attendant. The history
of the Swannery takes us back to Elizabeth's days, when one John
Strangeways was in possession not only of the swans but of the abbey
and much else besides. It is still in the possession of his
descendant, Lord Ilchester, to whom the new Abbotsbury Castle belongs.
This was destroyed by fire about nine years ago and has since been
rebuilt. The original "Castle" is a small prehistoric entrenchment
west of St. Catherine's Chapel. The grounds of Lord Ilchester's
mansion are very fine, the sub-tropical garden being of especial
interest, and contains many rare plants and trees. Admission is
granted at certain times, and advantage should, if possible, be taken
of the permission.

The sixteenth-century church with its sturdy embattled tower is
interesting. In the doorway will be noticed the lid of a sarcophagus
that has the presentment of an abbot carved upon it, but nothing to
show who the one-time occupant was. Some old stained glass still
remains in the windows and an archaic carving of the Trinity may be
seen upon the wall of the tower. It is conjectured that this was
removed from the abbey at the time of the Dissolution.

A skirmish took place within the church during the Civil War and marks
are pointed out in the Jacobean woodwork of the pulpit as those of
bullets fired during the fight. Doubts have been thrown upon this, and
the damage placed to the account of amateur decorators at the time of
harvest festivals! The writer prefers the more romantic explanation,
but is open to correction. The sounding board over the pulpit is
contemporary with the base and is a fine piece of work.

Close to the churchyard is Abbey Farm. Portions of the buildings
include remains of the once famous Benedictine Abbey of St. Peter,
founded about 1040 by Orc, a one-time steward of Canute and afterwards
in the service of Edward the Confessor. At the Dissolution the abbey
came into the possession of an ancestor of the Strangeways who owned
the Swannery when that first became known to history. The abbey, like
many others, is said to have been built on the site of an older
religious house, dating from very ancient days. There is a gatehouse,
with an arch of later date, remaining, besides the fragmentary
portions in the farmhouse. Many houses in Abbotsbury have pieces of
ecclesiastical stonework or carving built into their heavy walls, and
arched windows seem to have been transplanted bodily from the
dismantled abbey to the dwellings in the village.

By far the most notable building in Abbotsbury is the
fifteenth-century Monastic Barn, a fine structure 276 feet long. Its
plan is as perfect as its simple but imposing architecture; the
ecclesiastical appearance is heightened by the lancet windows between
the heavy buttresses and the slight transeptal extensions that give
the structure the form of a cross. The abbey fish pond, fed by the
stream that runs through Portesham street, till remains below the
tithe barn, and though its farmyard surroundings are very different to
those it had when the brethren gathered around the banks on Thursdays
of old, it is still, with its island centre of old trees, a
picturesque finish to the scene.

St. Catherine's Chapel on the hill above the sea is an erection in a
situation similar to that of the far older building on St. Aldhelm's
Head. Its appearance, however, is quite different, and it is
Perpendicular in style. The turret at the north-west corner, the two
porches and clerestory, are very evidently of another age to the heavy
Norman of St. Aldhelm's, though St. Catherine is solidly built and has
weathered many a fierce storm without suffering any apparent damage.
The walls are nearly four feet thick and the buttresses are sturdy in
proportion. The fine stone roof is greatly admired and is a wonderful
piece of work. The turret was probably used as a beacon, and the
chapel seems to be identical in everything but style with St.
Aldhelm's. On the east side of the south door are three curious
depressions in the stonework said to be "wishing holes," one for the
knee and the higher ones for the hands.

[Illustration: ST. CATHERINE'S CHAPEL.]

The views of the Dorset seaboard during the climb to this exposed
eminence are as fine as one would imagine. The contrast between the
hilly country to the west and the long sweep of the Chesil Beach
backed by the "fleets" is very striking. From our vantage point the
stretch of coast immediately to the west is shown to be quite bare of
hamlet or settlement of any kind beyond a few isolated houses.
Puncknoll, which we shall reach in the next chapter, is the nearest
village, fully four miles from St. Catherine's and nearly half that
distance from the sea.

Winding lanes, solitary also of human kind and delightful to wander in
for the sake of their treasures of flower and insect life, meander
across White Hill and its sister ridge. One of them passes within a
short distance of the "Grey Mare" and her children and, farther on,
another group of mysterious stones. This way would take us to Little
Bredy, a village which, of no interest in itself, has been made a
scene of much beauty by the artificial widening of the little Bride
just below its source as it passes through the grounds of Bridehead.
The last resting places of our Neolithic ancestors are scattered in
great numbers about the heights that enfold the narrow cleft of the
infant stream.

[Illustration: THE CHARMOUTH ROAD.]

CHAPTER VI

WEST DORSET

The branch line of the Great Western from Maiden Newton makes a wide
detour northwards to reach Bridport, passing through a very charming
and unspoilt countryside where old "Do'set" ways still hold out
against that drab uniformity that seems to be creeping over rustic
England. In this out-of-the-way region are small old stone-built
villages lying forgotten between the folds of the hills and rejoicing
in names that makes one want to visit them if only for the sake of
their quaint nomenclature.

The first station is laconically called Toller. It serves the two
villages Toller Fratrum and Toller Porcorum. The Toller of the
Brothers is charmingly situated on the side of a low hill. It once
belonged to the Knights of St. John, whence its name. The Early
English church has an old font sculptured with the heads of what may
be saints, a possible relic of Saxon times; some antiquaries have
declared the work to be British of the later days of the Roman
occupation. In the church wall is a curious tablet representing Mary
Magdalene wiping our Lord's feet. The manor house was built by Sir
James Fulford, the great opponent of the Puritans. It is a delightful
house in an equally delightful situation and the beautiful tints of
the old walls will be admired as well as the admirable setting of the
mansion.

Toller of the Pigs may only mean the place where hogs were kept in
herds. The village is of little interest and has not the fine site of
the other. In the church is a font that is supposed to have once
served as a Roman altar.

Over the hills to the south-east is the little village of Wynford
Eagle, so called from the fact that it once belonged to that powerful
Norman family, the de Aquila, who held Pevensey Castle in Sussex after
the Conquest. The church is an exceedingly poor erection of 1842, but
preserves a Norman tympanum from the former building. The carving
represents two griffins or wyverns facing each other in an attitude of
defiance. Wynford Manor House is a beautiful building of the early
seventeenth century. Under the stone eagle that surmounts the centre
gable is the date 1630. This was the home of the great Thomas
Sydenham, the founder of modern medicine. He was wounded while serving
in the army of the Parliament at the battle of Worcester and, probably
in consequence of the ill success that followed the bungling treatment
he received, determined to practise himself and adopt rational methods
for the treatment of disease and injury. He died in London in 1689,
aged 65, and lies in the churchyard of St. James', Piccadilly.

Three miles or more to the north of Toller are the villages of Wraxall
and Rampisham (pronounced "Ramsom"). The former has near it two
interesting old houses--the Elizabethan manor of Wraxall and an old
farmhouse that was a manor in the reign of King John, though the
present building was not erected until 1620. Rampisham is in a lovely
situation at the bottom of a wooded and watered dingle. Here is
another picturesque old mansion and an interesting stone cross in the
churchyard with a platform for open-air preaching. The base of the
cross is carved with representations of the martyrdoms of St. Stephen,
St. Edmund and St. Thomas a Becket, though they are so worn that one
must accept the identification on trust. Another carving is of St.
Peter and the cock, with figures of monks, knights and fools. Within
the church are some brasses worthy of inspection.

Hidden away among the hills of Western Dorset is Beaminster, a little
town so placed that it may be visited from several different railway
stations without much to choose in mileage or roads; possibly
Crewkerne on the main line of the South Western Railway is that most
used. It is about six miles from Toller, Bridport and Crewkerne, and
therefore as quiet as one would expect it to be. But "Bemmister" is
not by any means a dead town and is, for all its want of direct
railway transport, of some importance as the centre of a rich dairy
country. The situation at the bottom of a wooded amphitheatre is
delightful:--

"Sweet Be'mi'ster that bist abound
By green and woody hills all round,
Wi' hedges reachen up between
A thousan' vields o' zummer green
Where clems lofty heads do show
Their sheades vor hay-meakers below
An' wild hedge-flowers do charm the souls
O' maidens in their evenin' strolls."

(Barnes.)

The Perpendicular church has a remarkably handsome tower of
yellow-brown stone with sculptured figures showing the chief events in
the life of our Lord. Part of the interior is Early English. Monuments
of the Strodes, a great local family, will be noticed, and also some
good stained glass. The church, and the old "Mort House" attached to
it, were fortunately spared in the several disasters by fire that, as
in Dorchester, have removed almost everything ancient. The present
smart and modern appearance of the main street is the consequence of
the last conflagration in 1781, though this was not so serious as two
others in the seventeenth century. The first of these started during
the fighting between the forces of King and Parliament.

[Illustration: BEAMINSTER.]

Charles II stayed at the "George" in his groom's disguise during the
flight after Worcester. This inn was rebuilt during the last century.
About a quarter of a mile out of the town to the south-west is the
Tudor Manor of the Strodes, standing in Parnham Park. Certain portions
of the house are older than the sixteenth century, and a window bears
the name and date "John Strode 1449." Mapperton House is another fine
old mansion. It stands two miles to the southeast in a secluded dingle
lined with closely-growing trees and the beautiful colour of the early
sixteenth-century stone building is a delightful contrast to the
greenery around. The finely designed entrance gateway is surmounted by
two eagles in the act of rising from the posts. The old house forms
two sides of a picturesque quadrangle, Mapperton church being on the
third.

Three miles north-westwards of Beaminster is Broadwindsor, amidst
scenery pleasant enough from the farmers' point of view, for these are
"fat lands," but more tame than that seen between Toller and the
former town. Not far away, however, are the finely-shaped summits of
Pilsdon Pen and Lewsdon Hill, nearly of the same height and remarkable
alike from certain aspects. "Pilsdon Pen," says an old writer, "is no
less than 909 feet above the sea, and therefore 91 feet short of being
a mountain!" Who gave the 1,000 feet contour line that arbitrary
nomenclature is unknown. Usually in Britain double that height is
taken as the limit, but it is perhaps more fair to allow each
countryside its own standard. Pilsdon is much more imposing than some
of the "lumps" that are double its altitude on the table-land of
central Wales, where the bed of the Upper Wye is not many feet below
the height of the "Pen." That, by the way, is a Celtic suffix; it
would be interesting to know if the word has continued in constant use
since British times.

The chief claim to fame on the part of Broadwindsor is that the famous
Thomas Fuller, witty writer and wise divine, was its royalist parson
and that he preached from the old Jacobean pulpit in the parish
church. This building has been well restored by the son of a former
vicar. The usual Perpendicular tower surmounts a medley of Norman and
Early English in the body of the church.

But this is a long way from the Tollers, and the road must now be
taken by Mapperton, back to the train that provokingly burrows through
cuttings, with an occasional flying glimpse of lovely wooded dell and
tree-crowned hill, on the way to Powerstock or, according to
Dorset--"_Poor_ stock."

The well-restored church here is interesting. There is a very early
Norman arch in the chancel with beautifully sculptured pillars and
capitals. Upon the hill top above the village is the site of
Powerstock Castle that was built within the ramparts of an ancient
earthwork by King Athelstan. A short distance to the south-east is
Eggardon Hill (820 feet) with a great series of entrenchments upon its
summit which deserve to rank with those of Maiden Castle and Old
Sarum. The fortifications have a strong resemblance, on a smaller
scale, to the first-named stronghold.

[Illustration: EGGARDON HILL.]

Our present goal--Bridport--is one of those pleasant old English
towns, cheerful and bright, and to outward seeming entirely
prosperous, which make the average Londoner who has to earn his living
long for the chance to try his fortune there. For the traveller on his
first visit a great surprise is in store; with a name such as this one
pictures in advance a place of quays on a sluggish river, fairly wide
and very muddy, opening to the sea, with the conventional loungers,
tarry and fishy scents and a fringe of lodging houses. But nothing
could be farther from the truth. Here is no evidence of the sea at
all, and although West Bay, the real "quay" of Bridport, is less than
two miles from the High Street, the town seems to be surrounded by
hills and to be solely concerned with the neighbouring farmers and
their interests. The only direct relation with marine affairs is the
important manufacture of fishing nets and "lines" for which Bridport
has been noted for many years. To say "he was stabbed with a Bridport
Dagger" was a polite way of breaking the news that your acquaintance
had been hung! Leland was quite deceived by this old joke, probably
ancient in his time--the sixteenth century, and refers to the dagger
industry in perfect good faith. The arms of the town are three
spinning hooks behind a castle; this proves that the industry is no
modern one and until lately hemp was one of the staple products of the
country immediately around.

Ten pounds only were spent on the defences during the Civil War and
the inhabitants seem to have made as half-hearted an attempt in
opposing the Royalist besiegers as in the preliminaries of warfare.
Charles II arrived here in his flight towards Sussex and rested at the
George Inn, but the identity of this hostelry seems in doubt. There is
a "George" at West Bay that claims the honour of sheltering Charles.
The one in High Street has been pulled down save a small portion
incorporated in a chemist's shop. When leaving, the party of fugitive
Royalists turned northwards down Lee Lane, their pursuers continuing
along the Dorchester road. A memorial stone by the wayside records the
escape of the King, who was in his groom's dress with Mrs. Coningsby
riding pillion behind.

[Illustration: BRIDPORT.]

A skirmish in which the Duke of Monmouth's officers, with the
exception of Colonel Wade, emerged with but small credit to themselves
took place on the morning of June 14, 1685. After marching through the
night from Lyme the unfortunate yokels who made up the Duke's "army"
displayed much coolness and bravery in the fight recorded on a
memorial in the church to "Edward Coker Gent, second son of Robert
Coker of Mapowder, Slayne at the Bull Inn at Bridpurt, June the 14th
An. Do. 1685, by one Venner, who was a Officer under the late Duke of
Monmouth in that Rebellion."

Bridport is first known to history in the year preceding the Conquest
when it had a priory (St. Leonard's) and a mint. These have entirely
disappeared and almost all the medieval structures except the
church--a good Perpendicular building with Early English transepts.
The only monument of interest, except that of Edward Coker, is a
cross-legged effigy of one of the de Chideocks in the north transept.
The handsome pulpit and reredos are modern. An old house in South
Street called "Dungeness" was contemporary with the Priory, and near
by is a fine old Tudor house, once the Castle Inn, but now used as a
club.

The picturesque Town Hall with its clock turret is the best known
feature of Bridport and lends quite a distinctive air to the broad
High Street which has the vista of its west end filled by the
cone-shaped Colmers Hill. South Street leads to West Bay, at the mouth
of the diminutive Bride or Brit. The little town of late, mainly
through the exertions of the Great Western Railway, has made an
attempt to transform itself into a watering place. The coast is
attractive and possibly at some future date the railway and the local
landowner will have their way, but at present West Bay is in a state
of transition. Many who knew the primitive aspect of the tiny port
before the paved front and its shelters came to keep company with the
hideous row of lodging houses that stand parallel with the Bride, will
deplore the change, or hope for the time when that change will be
complete and nothing is left to remind them of the lost
picturesqueness of Bridport Quay.

Burton Cliff is the name of the odd rounded hill on the east that has
been cut neatly in half by the slow wearing of the waves. On the other
side of it is Burton Bradstock, nearly two miles from West Bay
station. This place is unremarkable in itself but must be mentioned
for its beautiful and picturesque situation. It has been found by the
holiday-maker, and houses of the red brick villa type are likely to
increase in number unless the local builder can be prevailed upon to
use local material. The restored cruciform church, Perpendicular in
style, has a modern addition in its clock, a relic of the old building
of Christ's Hospital in the City of London.

[Illustration: PUNCKNOLL.]

Away to the north beyond the small village of Skipton Gorge, is
Skipton Beacon, a hill with a striking and imposing outline. Equally
fine, though on a much smaller scale, is Puncknoll, away to the east
of Swyre. The hill or knoll is usually called Puncknoll Knob by the
country people and, very absurdly, Puncknoll Knoll by some of the
guide books. It commands a perfectly gorgeous view of the sea and
shore as far as Abbotsbury and over West Bay to the hills around Lyme.
The village that takes its name from the hill is behind it to the
north. In the small church is an old Norman font covered with carvings
of interlaced ropes and heads; also some memorials of a local family,
the Napiers, one of which is a refreshing change in regard to its
inscription, which runs:

READER, WHEN THOU HAST DONE ALL THAT THOU
CANST, THOU ART BUT AN UNPROFITABLE SERVANT.
THEREFORE THIS MARBLE AFFORDS NO ROOM FOR
FULSOME FLATTERY OR VAINE PRAISE.

SR. R.N. (Robert Napier).

Behind the church is a beautiful old manor house, and the village has
some delightful examples of the unspoilt and typical thatched stone
cottage of Dorset.

A lane to the north leads down to the valley of the Bride and the
direct road back to West Bay. A mile to the east is Litton Cheyney
and, a mile farther, Long Bredy up among the hills where the Bride
rises. Turning west from the lane end, the road descends the valley
toward the sea amid beautiful surroundings, and reaches Burton
Bradstock in a short three miles.

Bradpole village is a mile north of Bridport Town station. The rebuilt
church is hardly worth the short journey, but mention must be made of
the monument in the churchyard wall to W.E. Forster, who was born in a
cottage not far away. Another tablet commemorates the flight of
Charles II through the village. Loders, a mile farther, and Uploders,
a continuation on the other side of the Dorchester railway, are worth
a visit. The former was once the seat of a Benedictine priory founded
in the reign of Henry I. The church has a hagioscope and a square
Norman font. A doorway and window of this period in the chancel were
uncovered during restorations. The winding stairway to the chamber
over the porch will be noticed and a representation of the Crucifixion
on the lower stage of the tower.

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