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Title: Memorials of Old Dorset
Author: Various
Language: English
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Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_, bold thus =bold= and
superscripts thus y^{en}.
The repetition of the title immediately before the title page has been
removed.
The footnotes are at the end of the book.
[Illustration:
Ringstead and Holworth.
“Where one may walk along the undulating downs that skirt the Channel,
held in place by parapets of cliff that break down straight into the
sea; where one may walk mile after mile on natural lawn and not meet a
soul—just one’s self, the birds, the glorious scenery, and God.”
(_See page 109._)
_From a water-colour sketch by Mr. William Pye._]
MEMORIALS OF THE COUNTIES OF ENGLAND
General Editor: REV. P. H. DITCHFIELD, M.A., F.S.A.
MEMORIALS
OF OLD DORSET
EDITED BY
THOMAS PERKINS, M.A.
LATE RECTOR OF TURNWORTH, DORSET
AUTHOR OF
“_Wimborne Minster and Christchurch Priory_”
“_Bath and Malmesbury Abbeys_” “_Romsey Abbey_” _&c._
AND
HERBERT PENTIN, M.A.
VICAR OF MILTON ABBEY, DORSET
VICE-PRESIDENT, HON. SECRETARY, AND EDITOR
OF THE DORSET NATURAL HISTORY AND ANTIQUARIAN FIELD CLUB
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
BEMROSE & SONS LIMITED, 4 SNOW HILL, E.C.
AND DERBY
1907
[_All Rights Reserved_]
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LORD EUSTACE CECIL, F.R.G.S.
PAST PRESIDENT OF THE DORSET NATURAL
HISTORY AND ANTIQUARIAN FIELD CLUB
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
BY HIS LORDSHIP’S
KIND
PERMISSION
PREFACE
The editing of this Dorset volume was originally undertaken by the
Rev. Thomas Perkins, the scholarly Rector of Turnworth. But he, having
formulated its plan and written four papers therefor, besides gathering
material for most of the other chapters, was laid aside by a very
painful illness, which culminated in his unexpected death. This is
a great loss to his many friends, to the present volume, and to the
county of Dorset as a whole; for Mr. Perkins knew the county as few men
know it, his literary ability was of no mean order, and his kindness to
all with whom he was brought in contact was proverbial.
After the death of Mr. Perkins, the editing of the work was entrusted
to the Rev. Herbert Pentin, Vicar of Milton Abbey, whose knowledge of
the county and literary experience as Editor of the Dorset Natural
History and Antiquarian Field Club enabled him to gather up the threads
where his friend Mr. Perkins had been compelled to lay them down, and
to complete the work and see it safely through the press. As General
Editor of the series, I desire to express my most grateful thanks to
him for his kind and gracious services in perfecting a work which had
unfortunately been left incomplete; and all lovers of Old Dorset and
readers of this book will greatly appreciate his good offices.
Few counties can rival Dorset either in natural beauty or historic
interest, and it deserves an honoured place among the memorials of
the counties of England. In preparing the work the Editors have
endeavoured to make the volume comprehensive, although it is of
course impossible in a single volume to exhaust all the rich store of
historical treasures which the county affords. After a general sketch
of the history of Dorset by the late Editor, the traces of the earliest
races which inhabited this county are discussed by Mr. Prideaux, who
tells of the ancient barrows in Dorset, and the details of the Roman
occupation are shown by Captain Acland. Dorset is rich in churches,
and no one was more capable to describe their chief features than Mr.
Perkins. His chapter is followed by others of more detail, dealing
with the three great minsters still standing—Sherborne, Milton, and
Wimborne, the monastic house at Ford, and the memorial brasses of
Dorset. A series of chapters on some of the chief towns and “islands”
of the county follows, supplemented by a description of two well-known
manor-houses. The literary associations of the county and some of its
witchcraft-superstitions form the subjects of the concluding chapters.
The names of the able writers who have kindly contributed to this
volume will commend themselves to our readers. The Lord Bishop of
Durham, the Rev. R. Grosvenor Bartelot, Mr. Sidney Heath, Mr. Wildman,
Mr. Prideaux, Mr. Gill, Mrs. King Warry, and our other contributors,
are among the chief authorities upon the subjects of which they treat,
and our thanks are due to them for their services; and also to Mr.
William Pye for the beautiful coloured frontispiece, to Mr. Heath for
his charming drawings, and to those who have supplied photographs for
reproduction. We hope that this volume will find a welcome in the
library of every Dorset book-lover, and meet with the approbation of
all who revere the traditions and historical associations of the county.
P. H. DITCHFIELD,
_General Editor_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
Historic Dorset By the Rev. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A. 1
The Barrows of Dorset By C. S. PRIDEAUX 19
The Roman Occupation of Dorset By Captain J. E. ACLAND 28
The Churches of Dorset By the Rev. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A. 44
The Memorial Brasses of Dorset By W. DE C. PRIDEAUX 62
Sherborne By W. B. WILDMAN, M.A. 75
Milton Abbey By the Rev. HERBERT PENTIN, M.A. 94
Wimborne Minster By the Rev. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A. 117
Ford Abbey By SIDNEY HEATH 131
Dorchester By the LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM, D.D. 145
Weymouth By SIDNEY HEATH 157
The Isle of Portland By Mrs. KING WARRY 177
The Isle of Purbeck By A. D. MOULLIN 187
Corfe Castle By ALBERT BANKES 200
Poole By W. K. GILL 222
Bridport By the Rev. R. GROSVENOR BARTELOT, M.A. 232
Shaftesbury By the Rev. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A. 240
Piddletown and Athelhampton By Miss WOOD HOMER 257
Wolfeton House By ALBERT BANKES 264
The Literary Associations of Dorset By Miss M. JOURDAIN 273
Some Dorset Superstitions By HERMANN LEA 292
Index 307
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS
Ringstead and Holworth _Frontispiece_
(_From a water-colour sketch by Mr. William Pye_)
PAGE, OR
FACING PAGE
Bronze Age Objects from Dorset Round Barrows 20
(_From photographs by Mr. W. Pouncy_)
Part of the Olga Road Tessellated Pavement, Dorchester 38
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
Tessellated Pavement at Fifehead Neville 41
St. Martin’s Church, Wareham 48
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
The Chapel on St. Ealdhelm’s Head 50
(_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_)
Brass to William Grey, Rector of Evershot 70
(_From a rubbing by Mr. W. de C. Prideaux_)
Sherborne Abbey (_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_) 76
The Entrance to Sherborne School 86
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
Milton Abbey (_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_) 94
The Paintings in Milton Abbey 95
Milton Abbey: Interior (_From a photograph by Mr. S. Gillingham_) 96
The Tabernacle in Milton Abbey ” ” ” 97
Abbot Middleton’s Rebus 101
St. Catherine’s Chapel, Milton Abbey 104
(_From a photograph by Mr. S. Gillingham_)
Holworth Burning Cliff in 1827 106
(_From a coloured print by Mr. E. Vivian_)
Liscombe Chapel (_From a photograph by Mr. S. Gillingham_) 107
Milton Abbey in the year 1733 110
(_From an engraving by Messrs. S. and N. Buck_)
The Seal of the Town of Milton in America 116
Wimborne Minster (_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_) 118
The Chained Library, Wimborne Minster 128
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
Ford Abbey (_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_) 132
Details from Cloisters, Ford Abbey 134
(_From drawings by Mr. Sidney Heath_)
The Chapel, Ford Abbey 136
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
Panel from Cloisters, Ford Abbey 136
(_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_)
The Seal of Ford Abbey (_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_) 140
High Street, Dorchester 146
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
Judge Jeffreys’ Lodgings, Dorchester 149
(_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_)
Cornhill, Dorchester (_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_) 153
“Napper’s Mite,” Dorchester ” ” ” 155
The Quay, Weymouth ” ” ” 158
Chest in the Guildhall, Weymouth ” ” ” 164
Sandsfoot Castle, Weymouth ” ” ” 166
Doorway, Sandsfoot Castle ” ” ” 167
Some Weymouth Tokens ” ” ” 169
The Arms of Weymouth ” ” ” 170
Old House on North Quay, Weymouth 171
(_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_)
An Old Chair in the Guildhall, Weymouth 172
(_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_)
The Old Stocks, Weymouth (_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_) 176
Portland Cottages ” ” ” 185
“Kimmeridge Coal Money” 192
(_From a photograph by Mr. A. D. Moullin_)
Corfe Castle (_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_) 200
The Town Cellars, Poole ” ” ” 222
Shaftesbury ” ” ” 240
Gold Hill, Shaftesbury ” ” ” 248
Piddletown Church ” ” ” 258
Athelhampton Hall ” ” ” 262
Wolfeton House ” ” ” 264
The East Drawing Room, Wolfeton House 268
(_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_)
William Barnes (_From a photograph by Messrs. Dickinsons_) 280
Thomas Hardy (_From a photograph by the Rev. T. Perkins_) 284
Came Rectory (_From a drawing by Mr. Sidney Heath_) 291
HISTORIC DORSET
BY THE REV. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A.
The physical features due to the geological formation of the district
now called Dorset have had such an influence on the inhabitants and
their history that it seems necessary to point out briefly what series
of stratified rocks may be seen in Dorset, and the lines of their
outcrop.
There are no igneous rocks, nor any of those classed as primary, but,
beginning with the Rhætic beds, we find every division of the secondary
formations, with the possible exception of the Lower Greensand,
represented, and in the south-eastern part of the district several of
the tertiary beds may be met with on the surface.
The dip of the strata is generally towards the east; hence the earlier
formations are found in the west. Nowhere else in England could a
traveller in a journey of a little under fifty miles—which is about the
distance from Lyme to the eastern boundary of Dorset—cross the outcrop
of so many strata. A glance at a geological map of England will show
that the Lias, starting from Lyme Regis, sweeps along a curve slightly
concave towards the west, almost due north, until it reaches the sea
again at Redcar, while the southern boundary of the chalk starting
within about ten miles of Lyme runs out eastward to Beechy Head. Hence
it is seen that the outcrops of the various strata are wider the
further away they are from Lyme Regis.
Dorset has given names to three well-known formations and to one less
well known: (1) The Portland beds, first quarried for building stone
about 1660; (2) the Purbeck beds, which supplied the Early English
church builders with marble for their ornamental shafts; (3) Kimmeridge
clay; and (4) the Punfield beds.
The great variety of the formation coming to the surface in the area
under consideration has given a striking variety to the character of
the landscape: the chalk downs of the North and centre, with their
rounded outlines; the abrupt escarpments of the greensand in the
neighbourhood of Shaftesbury; the rich grazing land of Blackmore Vale
on the Oxford clay; and the great Heath (Mr. Hardy’s Egdon) stretching
from near Dorchester out to the east across Woolwich, Reading, and
Bagshot beds, with their layers of gravel, sand, and clay. The chalk
heights are destitute of water; the streams and rivers are those of
the level valleys and plains of Oolitic clays—hence they are slow and
shallow, and are not navigable, even by small craft, far from their
mouths.
The only sides from which in early days invaders were likely to come
were the south and east; and both of these boundaries were well
protected by natural defences, the former by its wall of cliffs and the
deadly line of the Chesil beach. The only opening in the wall was Poole
Harbour, a land-locked bay, across which small craft might indeed be
rowed, but whose shores were no doubt a swamp entangled by vegetation.
Swanage Bay and Lulworth Cove could have been easily defended. Weymouth
Bay was the most vulnerable point. Dense forests protected the eastern
boundary. These natural defences had a marked effect, as we shall see,
on the history of the people. Dorset for many centuries was an isolated
district, and is so to a certain extent now, though great changes
have taken place during the last fifty or sixty years, due to the two
railways that carry passengers from the East to Weymouth and the one
that brings them from the North to Poole and on to Bournemouth. This
isolation has conduced to the survival not only of old modes of speech,
but also of old customs, modes of thought, and superstitions.
It may be well, before speaking of this history, to state that the
county with which this volume deals should always be spoken of as
“Dorset,” never as “Dorsetshire”; for in no sense of the word is Dorset
a shire, as will be explained further on.
We find within the boundaries of the district very few traces of
Palæolithic man: the earliest inhabitants, who have left well-marked
memorials of themselves, were Iberians, a non-Aryan race, still
represented by the Basques of the Pyrenees and by certain inhabitants
of Wales. They were short of stature, swarthy of skin, dark of hair,
long-skulled. Their characteristic weapon or implement was a stone
axe, ground, not chipped, to a sharp edge; they buried their dead in a
crouching attitude in the long barrows which are still to be seen in
certain parts of Dorset, chiefly to the north-east of the Stour Valley.
When and how they came into Britain we cannot tell for certain; it was
undoubtedly after the glacial epoch, and probably at a time when the
Straits of Dover had not come into being and the Thames was still a
tributary of the Rhine. They were in what is known as the Neolithic
stage of civilisation; but in course of time, after this country had
become an island, invaders broke in upon them, Aryans of the Celtic
race, probably (as Professor Rhys thinks, though he says he is not
certain on this point) of the Goidelic branch. These men were tall,
fair-haired, blue-eyed, round-skulled, and were in a more advanced
stage of civilisation than the Iberians, using bronze weapons, and
burying their dead, sometimes after cremation, in the round barrows
that exist in such large numbers on the Dorset downs. Their better
arms and greater strength told in the warfare that ensued: whether the
earlier inhabitants were altogether destroyed, or expelled or lived
on in diminished numbers in a state of slavery, we have no means of
ascertaining. But certain it is that the Celts became masters of the
land. These men were some of those who are called in school history
books “Ancient Britons”; the Wessex folk in after days called them
“Welsh”—that is, “foreigners”—the word that in their language answered
to βάρβαροι and “barbari” of the Greeks and Romans. What they called
themselves we do not know. Ptolemy speaks of them as “Durotriges,”
the name by which they were known to the Romans. Despite various
conjectures, the etymology of this word is uncertain. The land which
they inhabited was, as already pointed out, much isolated. The lofty
cliffs from the entrance to Poole Harbour to Portland formed a natural
defence; beyond this, the long line of the Chesil beach, and further
west, more cliffs right on to the mouth of the Axe. Most of the
lowlands of the interior were occupied by impenetrable forests, and the
slow-running rivers, which even now in rainy seasons overflow their
banks, and must then, when the rainfall was much heavier than now, have
spread out into swamps, rendered unnavigable by their thick tangle of
vegetation. The inhabitants dwelt on the sloping sides of the downs,
getting the water they needed from the valleys, and retiring for safety
to the almost innumerable encampments that crowned the crests of the
hills, many of which remain easily to be distinguished to this day.
Nowhere else in England in an equal area can so many Celtic earthworks
be found as in Dorset. The Romans came in due course, landing we know
not where, and established themselves in certain towns not far from the
coasts.
The Celts were not slain or driven out of their land, but lived on
together with the Romans, gradually advancing in civilisation under
Roman influence. They had already adopted the Christian religion: they
belonged to the old British Church, which lived on in the south-west
of England even through that period when the Teutonic invaders—Jutes,
Angles, Saxons—devastated the south-east, east, north, and central
parts of the island, and utterly drove westward before them the Celtic
Christians into Wales and the south-west of Scotland. Dorset remained
for some time untouched, for though the Romans had cleared some of the
forests before them, and had cut roads through others, establishing at
intervals along them military stations, and strengthening and occupying
many of the Celtic camps, yet the vast forest—“Selwood,” as the English
called it—defended Dorset from any attack of the West Saxons, who
had settled further to the east. Once, and once only, if we venture,
with Professor Freeman, to identify Badbury Rings, near Wimborne, on
the Roman Road, with the Mons Badonicus of Gildas, the Saxons, under
Cerdic, in 516, invaded the land of the Durotriges, coming along the
Roman Road which leads from Salisbury to Dorchester, through the gap
in the forest at Woodyates, but found that mighty triple ramparted
stronghold held by Celtic Arthur and his knights, round whom so much
that is legendary has gathered, but who probably were not altogether
mythical. In the fight that followed, the Christian Celt was
victorious, and the Saxon invader was driven in flight back to his own
territory beyond Selwood. Some place Mons Badonicus in the very north
of England, or even in Scotland, and say that the battle was fought
between the Northumbrians and the North Welsh: if this view is correct,
we may say that no serious attack was made on the Celts of Dorset from
the east. According to Mr. Wildman’s theory, as stated in his _Life of
St. Ealdhelm_—which theory has a great air of probability about it—the
Wessex folk, under Cenwealh, son of Cynegils, the first Christian King
of the West Saxons, won two victories: one at Bradford-on-Avon in
652, and one at the “Hills” in 658. Thus North Dorset was overcome,
and gradually the West Saxons passed on westward through Somerset,
until in 682 Centwine, according to the English Chronicle, drove the
Welsh into the sea. William of Malmesbury calls them “Norht Walæs,”
or North Welsh, but this is absurd: Mr. Wildman thinks “Norht” may be
a mistake for “Dorn,” or “Thorn,” and that the Celts of Dorset are
meant, and that the sea mentioned is the English Channel. From this
time the fate of the Durotriges was sealed: their land became part of
the great West Saxon kingdom. Well indeed was it for them that they had
remained independent until after the time when their conquerors had
ceased to worship Woden and Thunder and had given in their allegiance
to the White Christ; for had these men still been worshippers of the
old fierce gods, the Celts would have fared much worse. Now, instead
of being exterminated, they were allowed to dwell among the West Saxon
settlers, in an inferior position, but yet protected by the West
Saxon laws, as we see from those of Ine who reigned over the West
Saxons from 688 to 728. The Wessex settlers in Dorset were called by
themselves “Dornsæte,” or “Dorsæte,” whence comes the name of Dorset.
It will be seen then, that Dorset is what Professor Freeman calls a
“ga”—the land in which a certain tribe settled—and differs entirely
from those divisions made after the Mercian land had been won back
from the Danes, when shires were formed by shearing up the newly
recovered land, not into its former divisions which the Danish conquest
had obliterated, but into convenient portions, each called after the
name of the chief town within its borders, such as Oxfordshire from
Oxford, Leicestershire from Leicester. The Danes did for a time get
possession of the larger part of Wessex, but it was only for a time:
the boundaries of Dorset were not wiped out, and there was no need to
make any fresh division. So when we use the name Dorset for the county
we use the very name that it was known by in the seventh century. It
is also interesting to observe that Dorset has been Christian from the
days of the conversion of the Roman Empire, that no altars smoked on
Dorset soil to Woden, no temples were built in honour of Thunder, no
prayers were offered to Freya; but it is also worth notice that the
Celtic Christian Church was not ready to amalgamate with the Wessex
Church, which had derived its Christianity from Papal Rome. However,
the Church of the Conquerors prevailed, and Dorset became not only
part of the West Saxon kingdom, but also of the West Saxon diocese,
under the supervision of a bishop, who at first had his bishop-stool
at Dorchester, not the Dorset town, but one of the same name on the
Thames, not far from Abingdon. In 705, when Ine was King, it received a
bishop of its own in the person of St. Ealdhelm, Abbot of Malmesbury,
who on his appointment placed his bishop-stool at Sherborne: he did
not live to hold this office long, for he died in 709. But a line
of twenty-five bishops ruled at Sherborne, the last of whom—Herman,
a Fleming brought over by Eadward the Confessor—transferred his see
in 1075 to Old Sarum, as it is now called; whereupon the church of
Sherborne lost its cathedral rank.
The southern part of Dorset, especially in the neighbourhood of Poole
Harbour, suffered much during the time that the Danes were harrying
the coast of England. There were fights at sea in Swanage Bay, there
were fights on land round the walls of Wareham, there were burnings of
religious houses at Wimborne and Wareham. Then followed the victories
of Ælfred, and for a time Dorset had rest. But after Eadward was
murdered at “Corfes-geat” by his stepmother Ælfthryth’s order, and
the weak King Æthelred was crowned, the Danes gave trouble again. The
King first bribed them to land alone; and afterwards, when, trusting
to a treaty he had made with them, many Danes had settled peacefully
in the country, he gave orders for a general massacre—men, women and
children—on St. Brice’s Day (November 13th), 1002. Among those who
perished was a sister of Swegen, the Danish King, Christian though she
was. This treacherous and cruel deed brought the old Dane across the
seas in hot haste to take terrible vengeance on the perpetrator of the
dastardly outrage. All southern England, including Dorset, was soon
ablaze with burning towns. The walls of Dorchester were demolished,
the Abbey of Cerne was pillaged and destroyed, Wareham was reduced
to ashes. Swegen became King, but reigned only a short time, and his
greater son, Cnut, succeeded him. When he had been recognised as King
by the English, and had got rid of all probable rivals, he governed
well and justly, and the land had rest. Dorset had peace until Harold
had fallen on the hill of Battle, and the south-eastern and southern
parts of England had acknowledged William as King. The men of the west
still remained independent, Exeter being the chief city to assert its
independence. In 1088 William resolved to set about to subdue these
western rebels, as he called them. He demanded that they should accept
him as King, take oaths of allegiance to him, and receive him within
their walls. To this the men of Exeter made answer that they would pay
tribute to him as overlord of England as they had paid to the previous
King, but that they would not take oaths of allegiance, nor would they
allow him to enter the city. William’s answer was an immediate march
westward. Professor Freeman says that there is no record of the details
of his march; but naturally it would lie through Dorset, the towns of
which were in sympathy with Exeter. Knowing what harsh and cruel things
William could do when it suited his purpose, we cannot for a moment
doubt that he fearfully harried all the Dorset towns on the line of his
march, seeking by severity to them to overawe the city of Exeter.
In the wars between Stephen and Maud, Dorset was often the
battle-ground of the rival claimants for the throne. Wareham,
unfortunate then, as usual, was taken and re-taken more than once,
first by one party, then by the other; but lack of space prevents the
telling of this piece of local history.
King John evidently had a liking for Dorset. He often visited it,
having houses of his own at Bere Regis, Canford, Corfe, Cranborne,
Gillingham, and Dorchester. In the sixteenth year of his reign he put
strong garrisons into Corfe Castle and Wareham as a defence against his
discontented barons.
In the wars between his son, Henry III., and the Barons there was
fighting again in Dorset, especially at Corfe. Dorset, among other
sea-side counties, supplied ships and sailors to Edward III. and Henry
V. for their expeditions against France.
The Wars of the Roses seem hardly to have touched the county; but one
incident must be mentioned: On April 14th, 1471, Margaret, wife of
Henry VI., landed at Weymouth with her son Edward and a small band of
Frenchmen; but she soon heard that on the very day of her landing her
great supporter, though once he had been her bitterest enemy, Warwick
the King-maker, had been defeated and slain at Barnet. This led her to
seek sanctuary in the Abbey at Cerne, about sixteen miles to the north
of Weymouth; but her restless spirit would not allow her long to stay
in this secluded spot, and she started with young Edward, gathering
supporters as she went, till on May 4th her army was defeated at
Tewkesbury, and there her last hopes were extinguished when King Edward
IV. smote her son, who had been taken prisoner, with gauntleted hand
upon the mouth, and the daggers of Clarence and Gloucester ended the
poor boy’s life.
We hear nothing of resistance on the part of Dorset to the Earl of
Richmond when he came to overthrow Richard III. Probably, as the
Lancastrian family of the Beauforts were large landowners in Dorset,
Dorset sympathy was enlisted on the side of the son of the Lady
Margaret, great-granddaughter of John of Gaunt.
Like all the rest of England, Dorset had to see its religious houses
suppressed and despoiled; its abbots and abbesses, with all their
subordinate officers, as well as their monks and nuns, turned out of
their old homes, though let it in fairness be stated, not unprovided
for, for all those who surrendered their ecclesiastical property to the
King received pensions sufficient to keep them in moderate comfort, if
not in affluence. Dorset accepted the dissolution of the monasteries
and the new services without any manifest dissatisfaction. There was no
rioting or fighting as in the neighbouring county of Devon.
Dorset did not escape so easily in the days of the Civil War. Lyme,
holden for the Parliament by Governor Creely and some 500 men, held
out from April 20th to June 16th, 1644, against Prince Maurice with
4,000 men, when the Earl of Essex came to its relief. Corfe Castle and
Sherborne Castle were each besieged twice. Abbotsbury was taken by Sir
Anthony Ashley Cooper in September, 1644. Wareham, also, was more than
once the scene of fighting. In the north of Dorset a band of about
5,000 rustics, known as “Clubmen,” assembled. These men knew little and
cared less for the rival causes of King and Parliament which divided
the rest of England; but one thing they did know and greatly cared for:
they found that ever and again bands of armed horsemen came riding
through the villages, some singing rollicking songs and with oaths on
their lips, others chanting psalms and quoting the Bible, but all alike
treading down their crops, demanding food, and sometimes their horses,
often forgetting to pay for them; so they resolved to arm themselves
and keep off Cavaliers and Roundheads alike. At one time they encamped
at Shaftesbury, but could not keep the Roundheads from occupying the
Hill Town; so they, to the number of 4,000, betook themselves to the
old Celtic camp of Hambledon, some seven or eight miles to the south.
Cromwell himself, in a letter to Fairfax, dated August 4th, 1645, tells
what befell them there:
We marched on to Shaftesbury, when we heard a great body of them was
drawn up together about Hambledon Hill. I sent up a forlorn hope of
about 50 horse, who coming very civilly to them, they fired upon
them; and ours desiring some of them to come to me were refused with
disdain. They were drawn into one of the old camps upon a very high
hill. They refused to submit, and fired at us. I sent a second time to
let them know that if they would lay down their arms no wrong should
be done them. They still—through the animation of their leaders, and
especially two vile ministers[1]—refused. When we came near they let
fly at us, killed about two of our men, and at least four horses. The
passage not being for above three abreast kept us out, whereupon Major
Desborow wheeled about, got in the rear of them, beat them from the
work, and did some small execution upon them, I believe killed not
twelve of them, but cut very many, and put them all to flight. We have
taken about 300, many of whom are poor silly creatures, whom, if you
please to let me send home, they promise to be very dutiful for time
to come, and will be hanged before they come out again.
From which we see that “Grim old Oliver,” who could be severe enough
when policy demanded it, yet could show mercy at times, for throughout
this episode his dealings with the Clubmen were marked with much
forbearance.
Charles II., after his defeat at Worcester, September 3rd, 1651,
during his romantic wanderings and hidings before he could get safe
to sea, spent nearly three weeks in what is now Dorset, though most
of the time he was in concealment at the Manor House at Trent, which
was then within the boundaries of Somerset, having only recently been
transferred to Dorset. This manor house belonged to Colonel Francis
Wyndham. Hither on Wednesday, September 17th, came Jane Lane, sister
of Colonel Lane, from whose house at Bentley, Worcestershire, she had
ridden on a pillion behind one who passed as her groom, really Charles
in disguise, with one attendant, Cornet Lassels. Jane and the Cornet
left Trent the next day on their return journey, and Charles was
stowed away in Lady Wyndham’s room, from which there was access to a
hiding-place between two floors. His object was to effect his escape
from one of the small Dorset ports. Colonel Wyndham rode next day to
Melbury Sampford, where lived Sir John Strangways, to see if either of
his sons could manage to hire a boat at Lyme, Weymouth, or Poole, which
would take Charles to France. He failed in this, but brought back one
hundred pounds, the gift of Sir John Strangways. Colonel Wyndham then
went to Lyme to see one Captain Ellesdon, to whom he said that Lord
Wilmot wanted to be taken across to France. Arrangements were then made
with Stephen Limbrey, the skipper of a coasting vessel, to take a party
of three or four royalist gentlemen to France from Charmouth. Lord
Wilmot was described as a Mr. Payne, a bankrupt merchant running away
from his creditors, and taking his servant (Charles) with him. It was
agreed that Limbrey should have a rowing-boat ready on Charmouth beach
on the night of September 22nd, when the tide was high, to convey the
party to his ship and carry them safe to France, for which service he
was to receive £60. September 22nd was “fair day” at Lyme, and as many
people would probably be about, it was necessary that the party should
find some safe lodging where they could wait quietly till the tide was
in, about midnight. Rooms were secured, as for a runaway couple, at a
small inn at Charmouth. At this inn on Monday morning arrived Colonel
Wyndham, who acted as guide, and his wife and niece, a Mrs. Juliana
Coningsby (the supposed eloping damsel), riding behind her groom
(Charles). Lord Wilmot, the supposed bridegroom, with Colonel Wyndham’s
confidential servant, Peters, followed. Towards midnight Wyndham and
Peters went down to the beach, Wilmot and Charles waiting at the inn
ready to be called as soon as the boat should come. But no signs of the
boat appeared throughout the whole night. It seems that Mrs. Limbrey
had seen posted up at Lyme a notice about the heavy penalty that
anyone would incur who helped Charles Stuart to escape, and suspecting
that the mysterious enterprise on which her husband was engaged might
have something to do with helping in such an escape, she, when he came
back in the evening to get some things he had need of for the voyage,
locked him in his room and would not let him out; and he dared not
break out lest the noise and his wife’s violent words might attract
attention and the matter get noised abroad. Charles, by Wyndham’s
advice, rode off to Bridport the next morning with Mistress Coningsby,
as before, the Colonel going with them; Wilmot stayed behind. His horse
cast a shoe, and Peters took it to the smith to have another put on;
and the smith, examining the horse’s feet, said: “These three remaining
shoes were put on in three different counties, and one looks like a
Worcester shoe.” When the shoe was fixed, the smith went to a Puritan
minister, one Bartholomew Wesley, and told him what he suspected.
Wesley went to the landlady of the inn: “Why, Margaret,” said he, “you
are now a maid of honour.” “What do you mean by that, Mr. Parson?” said
she. “Why, Charles Stuart lay at your house last night, and kissed you
at his departure, so that you cannot now but be a maid of honour.”
Whereupon the hostess waxed wroth, and told Wesley that he was an
ill-conditioned man to try and bring her and her house into trouble;
but, with a touch of female vanity, she added: “If I thought it was the
King, as you say it was, I should think the better of my lips all the
days of my life. So, Mr. Parson, get you out of my house, or I’ll get
those who shall kick you out.”
However, the matter soon got abroad, and a pursuit began. Meanwhile,
Charles and his party had pressed on into Bridport, which happened
to be full of soldiers mustering there before joining a projected
expedition to capture the Channel Islands for the Parliament. Charles’s
presence of mind saved him. He pushed through the crowd into the
inn yard, groomed the horse, chatted with the soldiers, who had no
suspicion that he was other than he seemed, and then said that he must
go and serve his mistress at table. By this time Wilmot and Peters had
arrived, and they told him of the incident at the shoeing forge; so,
losing no time, the party started on the Dorchester road, but, turning
off into a by-lane, got safe to Broadwinsor, and thence once more to
Trent, which they reached on September 24th. On October 5th Wilmot
and Charles left Trent and made their way to Shoreham in Sussex. But
they had not quite done with Dorset yet; for it was a Dorset skipper,
one Tattersal, whose business it was to sail a collier brig, _The
Surprise_, between Poole and Shoreham, who carried Charles Stuart and
Lord Wilmot from Shoreham to Fécamp, and received the £60 that poor
Limbrey might have had save for his wife’s interference.
Dorset was the stage on which were acted the first and one of the
concluding scenes of the Duke of Monmouth’s rebellion in 1685. On June
11th the inhabitants of Lyme Regis were sorely perplexed when they saw
three foreign-looking ships, which bore no colours, at anchor in the
bay; and their anxiety was not lessened when they saw the custom house
officers, who had rowed out, as their habit was, to overhaul the cargo
of any vessel arriving at the port, reach the vessels but return not
again. Then from seven boats landed some eighty armed men, whose leader
knelt down on the shore to offer up thanksgiving for his safe voyage,
and to pray for God’s blessing on his enterprise. When it was known
that this leader was the Duke of Monmouth the people welcomed him, his
blue flag was set up in the market place, and Monmouth’s undignified
Declaration—the composition of Ferguson—was read. That same evening the
Mayor, who approved of none of these things, set off to rouse the West
in the King’s favour, and from Honiton sent a letter giving information
of the landing. On June 14th, the first blood was shed in a skirmish
near Bridport (it was not a decisive engagement). Monmouth’s men,
however, came back to Lyme, the infantry in good order, the cavalry
helter-skelter; and little wonder, seeing that the horses, most of them
taken from the plough, had never before heard the sound of firearms.
Then Monmouth and his men pass off our stage. It is not for the local
Dorset historian to trace his marches up and down Somerset, or to
describe the battle that was fought in the early hours of the morning
of July 6th under the light of the full moon, amid the sheet of thick
mist, which clung like a pall over the swampy surface of the level
stretch of Sedgemoor. Once again Dorset received Monmouth, no longer
at the head of an enthusiastic and brave, though a badly armed and
undisciplined multitude, but a lonely, hungry, haggard, heartbroken
fugitive. On the morning of July 8th he was found in a field near
Horton, which still bears the name of Monmouth’s Close, hiding in a
ditch. He was brought before Anthony Etricke of Holt, the Recorder
of Poole, and by him sent under escort to London, there to meet his
ghastly end on Tower Hill, and to be laid to rest in what Macaulay
calls the saddest spot on earth, St. Peter’s in the Tower, the last
resting-place of the unsuccessfully ambitious, of those guilty of
treason, and also of some whose only fault it was that they were too
near akin to a fallen dynasty, and so roused the fears and jealousy of
the reigning monarch.
Everyone has heard of the Bloody Assize which followed, but the names
and the number of those who perished were not accurately known till a
manuscript of forty-seven pages, of folio size, was offered for sale
among a mass of waste paper in an auction room at Dorchester, December,
1875.[2] It was bought by Mr. W. B. Barrett, and he found that it was
a copy of the presentment of rebels at the Autumn Assizes of 1685,
probably made for the use of some official of the Assize Court, as no
doubt the list that Jeffreys had would have been written on parchment,
and this was on paper. It gives the names of 2,611 persons presented
at Dorchester, Exeter, and Taunton, as having been implicated in the
rebellion, the parishes where they lived, and the nature of their
callings. Of these, 312 were charged at Dorchester, and only about
one-sixth escaped punishment. Seventy-four were executed, 175 were
transported, nine were whipped or fined, and 54 were acquitted or were
not captured. It is worth notice that the percentage of those punished
at Exeter and Taunton was far less than at Dorchester. Out of 488
charged at Exeter, 455 escaped; and at Taunton, out of 1,811, 1,378 did
not suffer. It is possible that the Devon and Somerset rebels, having
heard of Jeffreys’ severity at Dorchester, found means of escape.
No doubt many of the country folk who had not sympathized with the
rebellion would yet help to conceal those who were suspected, when they
knew (from what had happened at Dorchester) that if they were taken
they would in all probability be condemned to death or slavery—for
those “transported” were really handed over to Court favourites as
slaves for work on their West Indian plantations. It is gratifying to
know that it has been discovered, since Macaulay’s time, that such of
the transported as were living when William and Mary came to the throne
were pardoned and set at liberty on the application of Sir William
Young.
Monmouth was the last invader to land in Dorset; but there was in the
early part of the nineteenth century very great fear among the Dorset
folk that a far more formidable enemy might choose some spot, probably
Weymouth, on the Dorset coast for landing his army. Along the heights
of the Dorset downs they built beacons of dry stubs and furze, with
guards in attendance, ready to flash the news of Napoleon’s landing,
should he land. The general excitement that prevailed, the false
rumours that from time to time made the peaceable inhabitants, women
and children, flee inland, and sent the men capable of bearing arms
flocking seaward, are well described in Mr. Hardy’s _Trumpet Major_.
But Napoleon never came, and the dread of invasion passed away for ever
in 1805.
In the wild October night time, when the wind raved round the land,
And the back-sea met the front-sea, and our doors were blocked with
sand,
And we heard the drub of Dead-man’s Bay, where bones of thousands
are,
(But) knew not what that day had done for us at Trafalgar.[3]
The isolation of Dorset, which has been before spoken of, has had much
to do with preserving from extinction the old dialect spoken in the
days of the Wessex kings. Within its boundaries, especially in “outstep
placen,” as the people call them, the old speech may be heard in
comparative purity. Let it not be supposed that Dorset is an illiterate
corruption of literary English. It is an older form of English; it
possesses many words that elsewhere have become obsolete, and a grammar
with rules as precise as those of any recognised language. No one not
to the manner born can successfully imitate the speech of the rustics
who, from father to son, through many generations have lived in the
same village. A stranger may pick up a few Dorset words, only, in all
probability, to use them incorrectly. For instance, he may hear the
expression “thic tree” for “that tree,” and go away with the idea that
“thic” is the Dorset equivalent of “that,” and so say “thic grass”—an
expression which no true son of the Dorset soil would use; for, as
the late William Barnes pointed out, things in Dorset are of two
classes: (1) The personal class of formed things, as a man, a tree, a
boot; (2) the impersonal class of unformed quantities of things, as a
quantity of hair, or wood, or water. “He” is the personal pronoun for
class (1); “it” for class (2). Similarly, “thëase” and “thic” are the
demonstratives of class (1); “this” and “that” of class (2). A book
is “he”; some water is “it.” We say in Dorset: “Thëase tree by this
water,” “Thic cow in that grass.” Again, a curious distinction is made
in the infinitive mood: when it is not followed by an object, it ends
in “y”; when an object follows, the “y” is omitted:—“Can you mowy?” but
“Can you mow this grass for me?” The common use of “do” and “did” as
auxiliary verbs, and not only when emphasis is intended, is noteworthy
(the “o” of the “do” being faintly heard). “How do you manage about
threading your needles?” asked a lady of an old woman engaged in
sewing, whose sight was very dim from cataract. The answer came: “Oh,
he” (her husband) “dô dread ’em for me.” In Dorset we say not only
“to-day” and “to-morrow,” but also “to-week,” “to-year.” “Tar’ble” is
often used for “very,” in a good as well as a bad sense. There are
many words bearing no resemblance to English in Dorset speech. What
modern Englishman would recognise a “mole hill” in a “wont-heave,” or
“cantankerous” in “thirtover”? But too much space would be occupied
were this fascinating subject to be pursued further.
National schools, however, are corrupting Wessex speech, and the
niceties of Wessex grammar are often neglected by the children.
Probably the true Dorset will soon be a thing of the past. William
Barnes’ poems and Thomas Hardy’s Wessex novels, especially the latter,
will then become invaluable to the philologist. In some instances Mr.
Barnes’ spelling seems hardly to represent the sound of words as they
are uttered by Dorset, or, as they say here, “Darset” lips.
THE BARROWS OF DORSET
BY C. S. PRIDEAUX
The County of Dorset is exceedingly rich in the prehistoric
burial-places commonly called barrows. At the present time considerably
over a thousand are marked on the one-inch Ordnance Map, and,
considering the numbers which have been destroyed, we may surely claim
that Dorset was a populous centre in prehistoric times, owing probably
to its proximity to the Continent and its safe harbours, as well as to
its high and dry downs and wooded valleys.
The long barrow is the earliest form of sepulchral mound, being the
burial-place of the people of the Neolithic or Late Stone Age, a period
when men were quite ignorant of the use of metals, with the possible
exception of gold, using flint or stone weapons and implements, but who
cultivated cereals, domesticated animals, and manufactured a rude kind
of hand-made pottery. Previous to this, stone implements and weapons
were of a rather rude type; but now not only were they more finely
chipped, but often polished.
The round barrows are the burial-places of the Goidels, a branch of the
Celtic family, who were taller than the Neolithic men and had rounder
heads. They belong to the Bronze Age, a period when that metal was
first introduced into Britain; and although comparatively little is
found in the round barrows of Dorset, still less has been discovered in
the North of England, probably owing to the greater distance from the
Continent.
Hand-made pottery abounds, artistically decorated with diagonal lines
and dots, which are combined to form such a variety of patterns that
probably no two vessels are found alike. Stone and flint implements
were still in common use, and may be found almost anywhere in Dorset,
especially on ploughed uplands after a storm of rain, when the
freshly-turned-up flints have been washed clear of earth.
In discussing different periods, we must never lose sight of the fact
that there is much overlapping; and although it is known that the
long-barrow men had long heads and were a short race, averaging 5 ft.
4 in. in height, and that the round-barrow men had round heads and
averaged 5 ft. 8 in.,[4] we sometimes find fairly long-shaped skulls in
the round barrows, showing that the physical peculiarities of the two
races became blended.
Long barrows are not common in Dorset, and little has been done in
examining their contents. This is probably due to their large size,
and the consequent difficulty in opening them. They are generally
found inland, and singly, with their long diameter east and west;
and the primary interments, at any rate in Dorset, are unburnt, and
usually placed nearer the east end. Some are chambered, especially
where large flat stones were easily obtainable, but more often they
are simply formed of mould and chalk rubble. Their great size cannot
fail to impress us, and we may well wonder how such huge mounds were
constructed with the primitive implements at the disposal of Neolithic
man. One near Pimperne, measured by Mr. Charles Warne, is 110 yards
long, and there are others near Bere Regis, Cranborne, Gussage, and
Kingston Russell; and within a couple of miles of the latter place,
besides the huge long barrow, are dozens of round barrows, the remains
of British villages, hut circles, stone circles, and a monolith.
[Illustration: _PLATE I._ Figs. 1 3 2 4 6 5
BRONZE AGE OBJECTS FROM DORSET ROUND BARROWS
(IN THE DORSET COUNTY MUSEUM).
_⅕ Scale._]
[Illustration: _PLATE II._ Figs. 1 3 2 4
BRONZE AGE OBJECTS FROM DORSET ROUND BARROWS
(IN THE DORSET COUNTY MUSEUM).
_⅕ Scale._]
The late Lieut.-General Pitt-Rivers, in 1893, removed the whole of Wor
Barrow, on Handley Down,[5] and made a very exhaustive examination of
its contents, which presented many features of peculiar interest. This
barrow, with ditch, was about 175 feet long, 125 feet wide, and 13½
feet high; inside the mound on the ground level was an oblong space,
93 ft. by 34 ft., surrounded by a trench filled with flints. The earth
above the trench bore traces of wooden piles, which were, no doubt,
originally stuck into the trench with the flints packed around to keep
them in place, thus forming a palisade; the wooden piles in this case
taking the place of the stone slabs found in the stone-chambered long
barrows of Gloucestershire and elsewhere.
Six primary interments by inhumation were discovered at the south-east
part of the enclosure, with a fragment of coarse British pottery. Three
of the bodies were in a crouched position. The remaining three had been
deposited as bones, not in sequence, the long bones being laid out by
the side of the skulls; and careful measurement of these bones shows
that their owners were the short people of the long-headed or Neolithic
race, which confirms the first part of Dr. Thurnam’s axiom: “Long
barrows long skulls, round barrows round skulls.” Nineteen secondary
interments of a later date were found in the upper part of the barrow
and in the surrounding ditch, with numerous pieces of pottery, flint
implements, fragments of bronze and iron, and coins, proving that the
barrow was used as a place of burial down to Roman times.
In Dorset the round barrows are generally found on the summits of the
hills which run through the county, more particularly on the Ridgeway,
which roughly follows the coast line from near Bridport to Swanage,
where may be seen some hundreds of all sizes, from huge barrows over
100 feet in diameter and 15 feet in height to small mounds, so little
raised above the surface that only the tell-tale shadows cast by the
rising or setting sun show where a former inhabitant lies buried.
In the western part of the county they may be traced from Kingston
Russell to Agger-Dun, through Sydling and Cerne Abbas to Bulbarrow, and
in the east, from Swanage Bay to Bere Regis; and also near Dorchester,
Wimborne, Blandford, and other places.
In the Bronze Age cremation and inhumation were both practised; but
in Dorset burials by cremation are the more common. The cremated
remains were sometimes placed in a hole or on the surface line, with
nothing to protect them from the weight of the barrow above; at other
times they were covered by flat slabs of stone, built in the form
of a small closed chamber or cist. Often they were placed on a flat
piece of stone, and covered with an inverted urn, or put in an urn,
with a covering slab over them; and they have been found wrapped in an
animal’s skin, or in a bag of some woven material, or even in a wooden
coffin.
The inhumed bodies are nearly always found in a contracted posture,
with the knees drawn up towards the chin; and a larger number face
either east, south or west, than north. In the case of an inhumation,
when the body was deposited below the old surface level, the grave
was often neatly hewn and sometimes lined with slabs of stone, and
it was the common custom to pile a heap of flints over it, affording
a protection from wild animals; above the flints was heaped the main
portion of the mound, which consisted of mould and chalk rubble.
A ditch, with or without a causeway,[6] usually surrounds each barrow,
but is so often silted up that no trace of it can be seen on the
surface; it probably helped to supply the chalk rubble of the barrow.
Bronze Age sepulchral pottery, which is hand-made, often imperfectly
baked and unglazed, has been divided into four classes: the beaker or
drinking vessel, the food vessel, the incense cup, and the cinerary
urn. The two former are usually associated with inhumations; the two
latter with cremations.
As a type of prehistoric ceramic art in Britain, the Hon. J. Abercromby
says that the beaker is the earliest, and the cinerary urn the
latest.[7]
Plate II., fig. 2, is a typical drinking vessel or beaker which was
found in the hands of a skeleton during alterations to the Masonic
Hall at Dorchester. It is made of thin, reddish, well-baked pottery,
and from the stains inside it evidently contained food or liquid at
some time. The beaker is more often met with than the food vessel,
being found on the Continent as well as in England. The food vessel,
on the other hand, is a type unrepresented outside the British
Isles, and is entirely wanting in Wiltshire,[8] although common in
the North of England, Scotland, and Ireland. In the Dorset County
Museum at Dorchester there are several fine examples found in the
county, and Plate I., fig. 1, represents one taken from a barrow near
Martinstown.[9] It is of unusual interest, as one-handled food-vessels
are rare. In this inhumed primary interment the vessel was lying in
the arms of the skeleton, whilst close by was another and much smaller
vessel, with the remains of three infants.
The terms “drinking-vessel” and “food-vessel” may possibly be accurate,
as these vessels may have held liquids or food; but there is no
evidence to show that the so-called “incense cups” had anything to do
with incense. The more feasible idea seems to be that they were used
to hold embers with which to fire the funeral pile, and the holes with
which they are generally perforated would have been most useful for
admitting air to keep the embers alight.[10] These small vessels are
usually very much ornamented, even on their bases, with horizontal
lines, zigzags, chevrons, and the like, and occasionally a grape-like
pattern. They are seldom more than three inches in height, but vary
much in shape, and often are found broken, with the fragments widely
separated, as if they had been smashed purposely at the time of the
burial. Plate II., figs. 3 and 4, are from specimens in the Dorset
County Museum, which also contains several other Dorset examples.
There can be no doubt as to the use of the cinerary urn, which always
either contains or covers cremated remains. The urn (Plate II., fig. 1)
is from the celebrated Deverel Barrow, which was opened in 1825 by Mr.
W. A. Miles. The shape of this urn is particularly common in Dorset,
as well as another variety which has handles, or, rather, perforated
projections or knobs. A third and prettier variety is also met with,
having a small base, and a thick overhanging rim or band at the mouth,
generally ornamented.
It is rare to find curved lines in the ornamentation of Bronze Age
pottery, but sometimes concentric circles and spiral ornaments are met
with on rock-surfaces and sculptured stones. Mr. Charles Warne found in
tumulus 12, Came Down, Dorchester, two flat stones covering two cairns
with incised concentric circles cut on their surfaces.[11]
There is no clear evidence of iron having been found in the round
barrows of Dorset in connection with a Bronze Age interment; but of
gold several examples may be seen in the County Museum, and one, which
was found in Clandon Barrow, near Martinstown, with a jet head of a
sceptre with gold studs, is shown in Plate I., fig 2. Others were
discovered in Mayo’s Barrow and Culliford Tree.[12] Bronze, which is
an alloy of copper and tin, is the only other metal found with primary
interments in our Dorset round barrows.
The County Museum possesses some excellent celts and palstaves; a set
of six socketed celts came from a barrow near Agger-Dun, and look as
if they had just come from the mould. They are ornamented with slender
ridges, ending in tiny knobs, and have never been sharpened (two of
them are figured in Plate I., figs. 3 and 4); another celt, from a
barrow in the Ridgeway, is interesting as having a fragment of cloth
adhering to it. Daggers are found, generally, with cremated remains,
and are usually ornamented with a line or lines, which, beginning
just below the point, run down the blade parallel with the cutting
edges. The rivets which fastened the blade to the handle are often in
position with fragments of the original wooden handle and sheath.[13]
These daggers seem to be more common in Dorset than in the northern
counties, and many examples may be seen in the County Museum, and two
are illustrated in Plate I., figs. 5 and 6.
Bronze pins, glass beads, amber and Kimmeridge shell objects, bone
tweezers and pins, slingstones and whetstones, are occasionally met
with; but by far the most common objects are the flint and stone
implements, weapons, and flakes.
In making a trench through a barrow near Martinstown,[14] more
than 1,200 flakes or chips of flints were found, besides some
beautifully-formed scrapers, a fabricator, a flint saw, most skilfully
notched, and a borer with a gimlet-like point.
Arrow-heads are not common in Dorset, but six were found in a barrow in
Fordington Field, Dorchester. They are beautiful specimens, barbed and
tongued; the heaviest only weighs twenty-five grains, and the lightest
sixteen grains. Mr. Warne mentions the finding of arrow-heads, and also
(a rare find in Dorset) a stone battle-axe, from a barrow on Steepleton
Down.
Charred wood is a conspicuous feature, and animal bones are also met
with in the county, and in such positions as to prove that they were
placed there at the time of the primary interment. Stags’ horns, often
with the tips worn as though they had been used as picks, are found,
both in the barrows and in the ditches.
So far only objects belonging to the Bronze Age have been mentioned;
but as later races used these burial-places, objects of a later date
are common. Bronze and iron objects and pottery, and coins of every
period, are often found above the original interment and in the
ditches. This makes it difficult for an investigator to settle with
certainty the different positions in which the objects were deposited;
and unless he is most careful he will get the relics from various
periods mixed. Therefore, the practice of digging a hole into one of
these burial-mounds, for the sake of a possible find, cannot be too
heartily condemned. Anyone who is ambitious to open a barrow should
carefully read those wonderful books on _Excavations in Cranborne
Chase_, by the late Lieut.-General Pitt-Rivers, before he puts a spade
into the ground; for a careless dig means evidence destroyed for those
that come after.
Most Dorset people will remember the late curator of the County Museum,
Mr. Henry Moule, and perhaps some may have heard him tell this story,
but it will bear repeating. A labourer had brought a piece of pottery
to the Museum, and Mr. Moule explained to him that it not only came
from a barrow, but that it was most interesting, and that he would like
to keep it for the Museum. The man looked surprised, and said, “Well,
Meäster, I’ve a-knocked up scores o’ theäsem things. I used to level
them there hipes (or heäps) an’ drawed awaÿ the vlints vor to mend the
roads; an’ I must ha’ broke up dozens o’ theäse here wold pots; but
they niver had no cwoins inzide ’em.” Those who knew Mr. Moule can
imagine his horror.
Much more remains to be done by Dorset people in investigating these
most interesting relics of the past, for we know little of the builders
of these mounds; and, as Mr. Warne says in his introduction to _The
Celtic Tumuli of Dorset_:—
If the Dorsetshire barrows cannot be placed in comparison with many
of those of Wiltshire ... or Derbyshire, they may, nevertheless,
be regarded with intense interest, as their examination has
satisfactorily established the fact that they constitute the earliest
series of tumuli in any part of the kingdom; whilst they identify
Dorset as one of the earliest colonised portions of Britain.
THE ROMAN OCCUPATION
BY CAPTAIN J. E. ACLAND
_Curator, Dorset County Museum_
Although we are dealing with historic and not prehistoric times in
describing the occupation of the County of Dorset by the Romans, it is
to the work of the spade and not of the pen that we must turn for the
memorials of that most interesting and important period, which lasted
nearly four hundred years; when the all-powerful, masterful race, the
conquerors of the world, held sway, enforced obedience to their laws,
and inaugurated that system of colonisation which was perhaps the best
the world has ever seen—a system designed and developed according
to exact regulations, which savoured more of military discipline
than of that civil liberty which we associate with the profession of
agriculture.
The Roman occupation was indeed an admirable combination of military
and civil rule; and the memorials fall naturally into two distinct
classes, corresponding with two distinct periods. There is, first, the
period of conquest, embracing the years during which the Roman Legions
drove back the native levies, and captured their strongholds; not in
one summer campaign we may well believe, but year after year, with
irresistible force, until the subjugated tribes laid down their arms
and yielded the hostages demanded by the conquerors. Then followed the
period of peace, of civilisation, and of colonising; of improving the
roads, and marking out of farms; the days of trade and commerce, and
of building houses, temples, and places for public amusement.
Now both aspects of the occupation are to be seen as clearly at this
day as if they were described in the pages of a book; and yet what is
the fact? Scarcely a sentence can be found of written history which
deals with it. General Pitt-Rivers, who, living in Dorset, devoted
many years of his life to antiquarian research, asserts that having
read with attention all the writings that were accessible upon that
obscure period of history, some by scholars of great ability, nothing
definite can be found to relate to the Roman Conquest. It is, however,
generally assumed that it fell to the lot of Vespasian, in command of
the world-famous “Legio Secunda,” to commence, if not to complete, the
subjugation of the Durotriges, the people who are believed to have
inhabited the southern portion of the county. The only reference to
Vespasian’s campaign by contemporary historians is made by Suetonius.
He says that Vespasian crossed to Britain, fought with the enemy some
thirty times, and reduced to submission two most warlike tribes and
twenty fortified camps, and the island (Isle of Wight) adjacent to
the coast. In this statement, which is all too brief to satisfy our
curiosity, may lie the main facts of the passing of Dorset into Roman
power. The work begun by Vespasian may, indeed, have been completed by
others—by Paulinus Suetonius, the Governor of Britain about the year
60, and by Agricola; and where so much is left to conjecture, it is
at least worth while to give once more the theory propounded by the
well-known antiquary, the late Mr. Charles Warne, F.S.A. In a paper
read before the Society of Antiquaries in June, 1867, he suggests that
as the south-eastern parts of Britain had been previously visited by
Roman armies, Vespasian directed his course further to the west, and
either made the Isle of Wight the base of his operations or anchored
his ships in the harbours of Swanage or Poole. Close by is the
commencement of the long range of hills, The Ridgeway, which, with few
interruptions, follows the coast line, and still shews by the number of
the burial-mounds the district inhabited by the British.
Mr. Warne proceeds to enumerate the various camps along this route,
all at convenient distances from one another, some of which shew by
their construction that they were Roman camps, and others British
camps, captured by the conquering legions, as narrated by Suetonius.
If Vespasian had pursued this plan of campaign, it would have had
the additional advantage of enabling him to keep in touch with his
transports. As one hill fortress after another was captured in the
march westward along the Ridgeway heights, so the fleet might have
changed its anchorage from Swanage Bay to Lulworth, from Lulworth to
the shelter of Weymouth and Portland, and finally to the neighbourhood
of Charmouth or Lyme Regis.
There is this also to be said in favour of Mr. Warne’s conjecture.
An attacking force must find out and capture the strongholds of the
defenders, which would naturally be made more strongly, and therefore
last longer than the camps of the invaders. And this is what we see in
the suggested line of the Roman advance. First, on the east, Flowers,
or Florus Bury Camp, and Bindun, then Mai-dun (Maiden Castle), after
that Eggardun, and finally, at the western limit of the county, Conig’s
Castle and Pylsdun. All these are (as far as can be seen now) British
camps of refuge; all of them must have been captured before the Roman
generals could feel secure in their own isolated position on a foreign
shore. That they were one and all occupied by the conquerors is also
most probable, and would account for the discovery of Roman relics
within their areas. No Roman camps can be seen at all approaching in
strength or size these magnificent hill fortresses. It is, of course,
well known that the armies of Rome never halted for a night without
forming an entrenchment of sufficient size to include not only the
fighting men, but the baggage train, and though traces of these still
remain on the hills of Dorset, the majority have long ago disappeared.
Perhaps the most interesting example of the military occupation of
the two races is to be seen at Hod Hill, near Blandford, where a
well-defined Roman Camp is constructed within the area of a previously
occupied British fortress, and here have been found spear heads, arrow
heads, spurs and portions of harness, rings and fibulæ, and fragments
of pottery, all indicating the Roman occupation; iron was found more
generally than bronze, and the coins are those of the earlier emperors,
including Claudius, in whose reign Vespasian made his conquests.
Badbury, four miles north-west of Wimborne, Woodbury, near Bere Regis,
and Hambledon, five miles north of Blandford, may be referred to as
memorials of the time of the Roman occupation, though not of Roman
construction.
Poundbury Camp, with its Saxon appellation, deserves special mention,
for, being situated on the outskirts of Dorchester, it has been studied
more frequently perhaps than any other earthwork in the county. It
has the form of an irregular square, with a single vallum, except on
the more exposed west side, where it is doubled, and traces have been
discovered of other ramparts now obliterated. On the north the camp
overhangs the river and valley, once probably a lake or morass, and
here the defences are slight. The area within the vallum is about
330 yards from east to west, and 180 yards from north to south.
Some authorities affirm that it was raised by the Danes about A.D.
1002, when they attacked Dorchester. Stukeley regards it as one of
Vespasian’s camps when engaged in his conquest of the Durotriges, while
other antiquarians claim for it a British origin, prior to the Roman
invasion. Mr. Warne, whose opinions are always worthy of most careful
consideration, “holds it to be a safer speculation to regard it as a
Roman earthwork,” and, no doubt, in form and general outline and size
it is very similar to other Roman camps, and altogether different to
the magnificent British fortress Maiden Castle, not two miles away.
Many Roman relics have been found, including coins ranging from the
times of Claudius to Constantine, and a tumulus is still to be seen
within the vallum, which alone would be an argument against its Celtic
origin.
Poundbury is insignificant indeed when compared with Mai-dun, and it
is impossible by mere description to convey an adequate impression
of this great earth fortress, singled out by many as the finest work
of its kind. It certainly surpasses all others in the land of the
Durotriges, and probably nowhere in the world can entrenchments be
seen of such stupendous strength. This camp, which is said to occupy
120 acres, is in form an irregular oval, embracing the whole of the
hill on which it stands; its length is nearly 800 yards, and width
275 yards. On the north, facing the plain, there are three lines of
ramparts, with intervening ditches, the slopes being exceedingly steep,
and measuring over 60 feet from apex to base. On the south the number
of ramparts is increased, but they are not so grand, and, indeed, as
Mr. Warne remarks, they appear to have been left in an unfinished
condition. At the east and west ends are the two principal entrances,
and here the ingenuity of the designer is manifested in a surprising
manner. At one end five or six ramparts, at the other as many as seven
or eight are built, so as to cover or overlap one another; vallum and
fossa, arranged with consummate skill, to complete the intricacies of
entrance, and to compel an enemy to undertake a task of the utmost
difficulty and danger.
In later times this camp was, no doubt, occupied by Roman troops as
summer quarters, its healthy position rendering it very suitable
for the purpose. Perhaps, still later, it became the residence of
some Roman magnate, who selected that fine eminence for his country
villa; at any rate, there should be no difficulty in accounting for
the discovery of Roman coins and implements, or even of villas, on
the sites of the camps and castles of the British. Many a hard fought
battle must have raged around their earthen walls.
Ever and anon, with host to host,
Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn,
Shield breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash
Of battle axes on shattered helms.
Many a shout of victory must have been heard as the conquering legions
forced their way over the ramparts and planted their eagles on the
summit of the captured fortress. And once captured they must have
been retained, at first perhaps by a fairly large garrison sufficient
to prevent re-capture, then as the tide of battle ebbed from the
neighbourhood the numbers might have been reduced; but the sites,
always in some commanding position, would have been long utilised as
points of observation and centres of control over the conquered tribes.
No revolt is recorded as taking place in the west of Britain such as
that led by Queen Boadicea in the east, in the year 61; so in looking
back to the Roman occupation, it is reasonable to suppose that before
the end of the first century it was reduced to the condition of a Roman
province. Trade would soon commence with this, the latest, addition to
the Empire, and the soldiers, no longer necessary except as garrisons
and guardians of the peace, would be employed in improving the means
of communication. The warlike Briton (in these parts at any rate) was
transformed into a peaceful husbandman, who sowed and reaped, and paid
his taxes, grumbling perhaps, but on the whole contented with his lot.
Roads, or trackways, of some kind there certainly were in use by the
British, linking tribe to tribe, or camp to camp, and, judging by the
line of what we now term Roman roads, it is most probable that to a
very great extent the ancient routes were taken as the foundation of
the new system developed by the Romans. The details of this system
are given by an authority of contemporary date in _The Itinerary
of Antonine_, which is believed to have been compiled in the third
century, and possibly corrected and added to later. In this work we
find, as regards the County of Dorset, a description of roads which
are easily recognised to-day, roads which are still in use throughout
a considerable portion of their length. It must not be lost sight
of that these roads are in very close connection with some of the
principal British hill-fortresses, which fact would stamp them as being
originally constructed by the British race, though to all appearance
they are grand examples of Roman skill and energy. The main road, the
Via Principalis, of the third and fourth centuries, comes to Dorset
from Old Sarum, in Wiltshire, one of the grandest of British camps;
it passes close to Badbury Camp, and then makes for Maiden Castle,
and onwards to Eggardun, all of earlier date than the Roman invasion.
But notwithstanding this obvious connection, the roads as we see them
now bear witness to the power of Rome, and are, perhaps, some of the
most obvious of the memorials of the past. They are described in the
_XV. Iter._ of Antoninus, with the names of the Roman stations and the
distances between them along the road from Silchester (Calleva) to
Exeter (Isca Dumnoni), which forms a portion of the great Via Iceniana.
After passing Old Sarum, this road crosses the north-east border of
the modern county of Dorset at a small hamlet called Woodyates (near
Cranborne), taking a south-westerly course; it passes over Woodyates
and Handley Down, and is described by Sir R. Colt Hoare as being at
that point “the finest specimen of a Roman road I know.” It runs by
Badbury Camp, and thence to Dorchester, where the direction changes to
due west, parallel with the coast line, and after leaving the county
near Lyme Regis proceeds towards Exeter.
It must not be supposed that this, or any other Roman road, can be
traced exactly throughout its whole course. Far from it: the hand of
the destroyer has been heavy indeed on these relics of the past, built
with a prodigal expenditure of time and material. It is often the
case that the modern “turnpike,” or county, road has been made on the
very site of the ancient road, the old embankment being levelled to
gain additional width. In other places cultivation and the demands of
agriculture may have proved the cause of its obliteration. Here and
there, especially on waste land and heather-clad downs the true Roman
work may still be seen, though covered, perhaps, by grass; but with the
aid of the Antonine _Itinerary_ much may be learnt and many a portion
be recognised. He names, however, only two stations within the county,
and the mileage is short by nearly twenty miles, so in all probability,
through error in copying, one other station has been omitted. The two
stations mentioned are Vindogladia and Durnovaria. Authorities differ
greatly as to the true position of the former of these places; the
other station, however, is remarkable for the proofs of its former
importance. Here we find no less than four roads meeting, from north,
south, east, and west, the east and west roads being the Via Iceniana;
the others are roads of less importance, that to the south leading
to the sea and towards the Roman settlement, Clavinio (or Jordan
Hill), near Weymouth, and that to the north passing Stratton and on to
Ilchester.
Other branch roads were made as necessity required in different
parts of the county. Thus we find traces of a road leaving the Via
Principalis, near Badbury, to connect with the harbour of Poole, and
another, starting from the same point, running northwards. Mr. Warne is
considered to have made a very interesting and clever discovery of a
station which is missing in the _XV. Iter._ of Antoninus. The distance
there given between Vindogladia and Durnovaria is quite obviously too
short by some fourteen miles. But on Kingston Down, near Bere Regis,
the cultured eyes of the learned Dorset antiquarian discovered traces
of a Roman settlement, and on due investigation being made, it was
considered that there was sufficient proof to establish at this point
a station called Ibernium, referred to by other writers as existing in
the county.
The position of Vindogladia, though a subject of long and frequent
debate, and though stated by some to have been at Badbury, by others
at Wimborne Minster, has now been accepted as on Gussage Down, not
far from the north-west border of the county where crossed by the Via
Iceniana. This is due to the researches of Sir R. C. Hoare, and stands
on a par with Mr. Warne’s discovery of the other Roman station on the
great military road.
* * * * *
We come now to a very interesting period of the Roman occupation,
when we may imagine the military operations at an end, a firm and
beneficial government established, and the colonists (at any rate),
who usually obtained a third part of the conquered territory, becoming
rich and enabled to build those houses that must have been the envy and
admiration of the native population, with their decorative floors and
walls, and ample comforts for seasons of heat or cold.
Still, as we have said before, it is not to any printed records that
we can turn for its history, but rather to the result of careful
excavation and the relics unearthed after fifteen centuries’ burial
in the soil: in a word, we trust to the use of the spade for bringing
before our minds the life of the past and restoring the memorials of
ancient Dorset.
In Warne’s map of the county, prepared in the year 1865 after most
patient research and personal investigation, there are more than fifty
sites given where relics of the Roman colonisation have been found,
exclusive of Durnovaria. Mr. Moule, writing in 1893, says: “Roman work
of one kind and another has been found here in Dorset in eighty places,
and that for the most part casually.” But year after year this number
is increased, and, truth to tell, so frequent are the discoveries that
in Dorchester the ordinary labourer, when excavating in the streets,
or elsewhere, is ever on the alert, and many a treasure rewards his
watchful care; and even children whose eyes have been trained aright
will find, when digging in some neglected corner of garden or field,
a bit of common pottery, a fragment of Samian ware, or perhaps a coin
bearing the image of an Emperor of Rome. And thus our history is
written: a word discovered here, a sentence there, until the story of
the life of those days may be once more told afresh. The frequency of
these discoveries is so far interesting that it draws attention to the
large area over which the Roman settlers were distributed. No doubt
they found this land of the Durotriges a pleasant land to dwell in, as
we do now in this twentieth century. But here may be said, in passing,
that Roman colonists were partly at least a Roman garrison. They were
frequently old soldiers intended to keep in check the conquered nation,
and liable to be called back to active service. But if there was no
fear of a hostile rising, the military character of the colony would
gradually be lost. And that, no doubt, soon happened here, for the very
great majority of the relics of the Roman occupation are signs of its
peaceful character.
The discovery of the sites of Roman villas scattered in more or less
isolated positions throughout the county tend also to prove this, and
especially when the villa is shown to have possessed one of those
beautiful mosaic floors which can only have belonged to a prosperous
and wealthy colonist or to a British landowner left undisturbed in
his possessions, and who employed the Roman craftsmen to build him
a house. These tessellated floors have been frequently exposed to
view in various parts of Dorset, and too frequently, alas! through
ignorance or carelessness, been neglected or destroyed; others,
again, have been examined, plans or drawings made, and been covered
up once more. Among those which have been described may be mentioned:
Thornford and Lenthay Green, near Sherborne; Halstock, six miles south
of Yeovil; Rampisham, twelve miles north of Dorchester; Frampton,
six miles north of Dorchester; Preston, near Weymouth; Creech, near
Wareham; Fifehead Neville, north-west of Blandford; Hemsworth, five
miles north of Wimborne; and in Dorchester itself no less than twenty
different pavements, either complete or in portions, besides one on the
upper area of Maiden Castle. It is difficult to assign a date, even
approximately, to these villas, for the coins found amidst the _débris_
cover practically the whole period of Roman occupation, and the other
objects generally discovered on the site are not of much assistance.
There are no records of inscribed stones being found, which might
have helped; and, as a rule, the more valuable part of the building
materials, such as cut stones, roof slabs, and timbers, must have been
taken away when the houses were left; but the wells and refuse pits are
the happy and profitable hunting-ground of the antiquary.
The tessellated pavements are so interesting and attractive that it is
worth while to describe them in detail. The system adopted in their
construction seems to have been as follows:—If no provision was made
for heating the rooms by means of a hypocaust or hot-air flues, the
ground was prepared by rough levelling, and 6 to 8 inches thick of
flints rammed, or coarse, gravelly mortar or concrete laid; on this 3
or 4 inches of better class white cement, and above some fine cement to
take the tessellæ; and after these were laid a liquid cement would be
run into the interstices before the final polishing was commenced. The
system of laying is well shewn in the annexed illustration, taken of
a pavement _in situ_, before removal to the Dorset County Museum.
[Illustration: PART OF THE OLGA ROAD TESSELLATED PAVEMENT, DORCHESTER.]
The tessellæ themselves, as generally found in Dorset, consist of
small cubes of stone or brick, but vary in size from about ⅜ or ½
inch to 1½ inch; the smaller are used for the decorative portions;
the larger for the borders, or for passages, or for the floors of
houses of a humbler character. The colours are for the most part only
four—namely: white, dark slate (or blue-black), red, and a sort of drab
or grey; occasionally yellow is found, but not often.
The materials of which the tessellæ are composed has given rise to much
discussion and, indeed, much difference of opinion; but, as a general
principle, it may be assumed that, wherever possible, local stone was
used. The red tessellæ are merely brick or tile of a fine description;
but, as a means of obtaining a scientific opinion of the other stones,
microscopic sections have been cut from the tessellæ and submitted
to an expert mineralogist, who has given them the following names.
The very dark stone is a fine-grained ferruginous limestone; the grey
is also a fine-grained limestone; the drab or yellow is an oolitic
limestone; and the white is a hard chalk, showing foraminifera very
well. It is believed that the colour may be altered by submitting the
stone to heat, an opinion held by Professor Buckman, and explained in a
very interesting chapter of his book, _Roman Art in Cirencester_.
The mosaic floors found in Dorchester are, as a rule, of very simple
but effective design, consisting of geometrical arrangements of the
single guilloche, the twist or plait, the double guilloche (which is
extremely handsome in mosaic work), and the ordinary fret. These, being
arranged as outlines of intersecting squares and circles, leave spaces
of varying dimensions, spandrels, or trefoils, which are utilised
for the introduction of many diverse emblems, such as the fylfot or
swastika, the duplex, sprays of foliage, urns, and interlacing knots.
In the County Museum may be seen laid on the floor (in which position
alone can full justice be done to the skill of the Italian artist) two
nearly complete mosaic pavements. One of these shows the area of three
adjoining rooms, with entrances or vestibules; the other pavement,
found in 1905, is in excellent preservation, measuring 21 feet by 12
feet 6 inches, and is remarkable for two ornamental vases, with two
serpents issuing from each.
The pavement at Preston, near Weymouth, still _in situ_, was discovered
in 1852, the coins found near the villa dating from the middle of the
third century. At Jordan Hill, close by, is the Roman settlement,
Clavinio, which has been productive of a large number of very
interesting relics.
At the entrance to the village of Preston, coming from Weymouth, may be
seen an arch spanning a small stream. The form and masonry of the arch,
as well as its proximity to the other remains here noticed, point to
the probability of Roman construction, and is of special interest, as
examples of Roman masonry are but rarely found still existing in the
county.
The pavement at Lenthay Green was discovered in 1836, and was carefully
removed to the dairy of Sherborne Castle. It contains a representation
of a sitting figure playing on a lyre, and a second figure dancing and
playing a pipe.
The villa on Maiden Castle was discovered by Mr. Cunnington in 1882,
and as a result of his excavations he sent to the County Museum many
interesting objects: fragments of mosaic floor, wall-plaster, and roof
tiles, a curious bronze plate (repoussé work) representing a helmeted
figure holding a spear, and coins from Helena, A.D. 290, to Arcadius,
A.D. 408.
A mosaic floor at Frampton is remarkable for the introduction into the
design of the Christian monogram ☧, known as the Labarum. Extensive
excavations were made here at the end of the eighteenth century,
and four different pavements were found. They contain numerous
representations of heathen deities, Neptune being especially favoured;
a motto worked into one of the borders runs: “_Neptuni vertex regmen
sortiti mobile ventis_,” and some other words partly lost. The
introduction of the monogram of Christ is probably of a later date than
the original work. The pavement is now covered up, but Mr. Lysons,
who superintended the excavations in 1797, obtained accurate drawings
of the whole site, the mosaic work being shown in correct colours on
seven large plates which were published, together with an accurate
description.
[Illustration: TESSELLATED PAVEMENT AT FIFEHEAD NEVILLE, DORSET.]
The pavements uncovered at Fifehead Neville are also of great interest.
The first was discovered in 1881, measuring about 14 feet by 12 feet,
the design consisting of an urn, or vase, in the centre, around which
seven small fish are depicted, and outside them are four sea-monsters,
like dolphins. Coins found here date from A.D. 270 to 340. The second
pavement, found in 1903, requires no description, as we are permitted,
by the Editor of the Dorset Field Club, to reproduce an illustration
which appears in the Club’s _Proceedings_. The general plan of the
design is almost identical with a pavement found in Dyer Street,
Cirencester, though the details are altogether different. They may well
have been designed by the same artist.
* * * * *
Very little has been said, so far, of Dorchester itself, and yet the
modern town is full of memories of the Roman Durnovaria. It lies within
the boundaries of the ancient walls, their position, still plainly
discernible in many places, being marked by broad walks and avenues of
trees. One small portion of the masonry of the wall itself may still be
seen in the West Walk. The position of the gates is also fairly easy to
decide, though no vestige of them remains. The roads which issued from
them have been referred to at a previous page.
It has been asserted recently—and, indeed, proved to the satisfaction
of many local authorities—that the course of a Roman aqueduct can be
traced here and there to the west of Dorchester skirting the adjacent
valleys and hills. It is believed to have been an open water-course,
obtaining its supply from the source of a small stream some twelve
miles distant.
Perhaps, however, the most remarkable relic of the Roman occupation
is the amphitheatre, said to be the best preserved in Britain. It is
larger than the so-called “Bull Ring” of Cirencester, and, being quite
free from trees and bushes, stands out more boldly than the similar
work at Silchester. It is built of chalk, now covered with grass,
somewhat elliptical in plan, the height of the sides being given as
about 30 feet, and the internal measurements 218 feet by 163 feet. On
each side of the entrance there are walks which ascend gradually to the
centre of the mounds, where there are small platforms as if for seating
the principal spectators or judges, but there are no traces of steps
or ledges for the accommodation of the general public; and, judging by
the remarks of early Roman writers, it is very probable that the people
were obliged to stand throughout the public games.
But in addition to these more obvious relics of a bygone age, the
subsoil of Dorchester is full of treasures that emphasise the Roman
occupation. It would be impossible to describe in these pages even
the most interesting of the objects that have been brought to light
in recent years, but it is fortunate that they find their way very
frequently to the County Museum, of which the people of Dorset are
justly proud. It must suffice at the present time to mention that in
its cases may be seen a fine collection of objects made of Kimmeridge
shale; glass hairpins, brooches and bracelets, and a metal mirror;
pottery of all kinds; many examples of mosaic floors, fragments of wall
plaster retaining their brilliant colouring, three curious antefixæ, a
Roman sword handle, which is believed to be almost unique, and a base
and capital of a column of a temple. In looking at these memorials of
the past, and stepping the while on the ancient pavements, the mind is
taken back with irresistible force to the men and women who made use of
them in their daily occupations—the Romans, who for a period of four
hundred years exercised their wise and beneficial influence over the
people of Britain.
THE CHURCHES OF DORSET
BY THE REV. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A.
Out of about three hundred churches which are to be found in Dorset,
three stand out as far ahead of all the rest—the church (once
collegiate, now parochial) of Wimborne Minster; the church of the
Benedictine Abbey at Sherborne, now the parish church; and the great
Benedictine Abbey Church at Milton, now in parochial use. These three,
which receive separate treatment in the present volume, are the only
three Dorset churches that can rank with the great parish churches of
England.
There were before the Reformation many religious houses, each with
its own church, in the county, but at the time of the Dissolution,
in the reign of Henry VIII., most of these, as being of no further
use, fell into decay, and their ruins were regarded as quarries of
hewn stone whenever such material was needed in the neighbourhood.
Of the Benedictine nunnery of Shaftesbury, once one of the most
wealthy religious foundations in the kingdom, nothing remains save
the foundations, which recent excavations have disclosed to view; of
Cistercian Bindon, only the gatehouse and a few ivy-clad walls, rising
only a few feet above the ground; of Benedictine Cerne, a splendid
barn and a beautiful gatehouse, and a few fragments incorporated in
some farm buildings; of its daughter abbey at Abbotsbury, a still
larger barn, testifying to the wealth of the community, and some
ruined walls—this is all that remains to mark the spots where day
after day through many centuries the words of prayer and praise rose
almost without ceasing, and monks and nuns lived their lives apart from
the busy world, spending their time in meditation, in adorning their
churches with the carving of capital and boss or miserere, in copying
and illuminating manuscripts, in teaching the young, in giving alms to
the needy, in tilling their lands in the days while yet they cherished
the high ideals of the founders of their orders, before they lapsed
into luxury and riotous living.
A few monastic barns remain in other places, as at Tarrant Crawford
and Liscombe. These owe their preservation to the fact that they could
at once be utilized; for those who received grants of abbey lands, no
less than their predecessors, required buildings wherein to store their
corn; whereas the refectory, dormitory, cellars, and other domestic
buildings designed for a community of monks or nuns were useless when
such communities no longer existed; and the churches, unless they could
be turned to account as parish churches, would also be of no use.
After the three great ministers already mentioned there is a wide gap,
for though many of the Dorset parish churches are of architectural
or archæological interest, either generally or because they contain
some special object—a Saxon font, a Norman doorway, a Decorated Easter
sepulchre, a canopied tomb, or the effigy of a noble who fought in
the French wars of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries—yet as a
rule the churches are comparatively, if not actually, small, and are
for the most part built in the Perpendicular style, the most prosaic
and uninteresting of the mediæval styles of architecture, though in
mason-craft it can hold its own against all the rest. And, moreover,
Dorset Perpendicular is not equal to that which is to be found in the
neighbouring county of Somerset. We look in vain for the splendid
fifteenth century towers which are the glory of the Somerset churches;
here and there in isolated places, and, strange enough, not on the
Somerset border, we find traces of the Somerset influence; but for the
most part the Dorset towers are utilitarian appendages, not structures
carefully designed with a view to beauty of outline and richness and
appropriateness of ornament, as the finest of the Somerset towers are.
Spires of mediæval date are rare in Dorset. There are but two—one at
Winterborne Steepleton, near Dorchester, and one at Trent, a parish
added for administration purposes to the County of Dorset in 1895;
there is a spire also at Iwerne[15] Minster, but it cannot be called
a mediæval one, for though the tower of this church was formerly
surmounted by a beautiful spire, yet that to be seen to-day is only a
reproduction, built of some of the stones of the old spire, which was
taken down at the beginning of the nineteenth century. The upper part
above the lower of the two moulded bands, preserves the original slope;
the lower has a different slope, as the builder had, in a vertical
distance of about ten feet, to connect the base of the original spire
with the horizontal section of the upper part, which was originally
about thirty feet above the base. The original spire was forty feet in
height; the present one is only twenty feet. The stone not used in the
rebuilding was sold to a road contractor for metalling the roads.
The hand of the restorer has been laid very heavily on Dorset
churches. In some cases, where there was absolutely no necessity for
it, old churches were entirely destroyed to make room for smart new
buildings; others have been restored—a few judiciously, the majority
injudiciously; a few only, so far, have entirely escaped. Many causes
in Dorset, as elsewhere, have led to extensive restoration—the desire
to adapt the building to the form of worship fashionable at the time,
or to put back, as it is called, the church into what was supposed
to be its original form, as if such a thing were possible; the
love of uniformity, which has led to the removal of seventeenth and
eighteenth century additions, such as pulpits and galleries, which were
supposed to be out of keeping with the main portion of the church;
by which removals much interesting history has been destroyed. Oak
pews, sometimes carved, have been swept away in order to put in more
comfortable benches of pitch pine; encaustic tiles have taken the
place of the old stones, which, if they had become uneven, might have
been relaid; ancient plaster has been stripped from walls, and the
stones pointed; churchyards have been levelled, and, in some cases, the
paths have been paved with old headstones. Unfortunately for Dorset,
there has been found no lack of money to carry out these supposed
“improvements,” so that the work of “restoration” has been done most
thoroughly throughout the length and breadth of the county, and there
is now little more that is likely to be done. It is, indeed, almost too
late to utter the prayer of Thomas Hardy:—
From restorations of Thy fane,
From smoothings of Thy sward,
From zealous churchmen’s pick and plane,
Deliver us, good Lord![16]
But despite the fact that Dorset is architecturally much poorer at
the beginning of the twentieth century than at the beginning of the
nineteenth, there is still much that the archæologist may take joy in,
though his joy may be mingled with regret at treasures of old time that
have vanished for ever.
One of the most interesting ecclesiastical buildings in Dorset is the
little church, disused for many years save for an occasional service,
of St. Martin, at Wareham. Some of it is probably of Saxon date; in
size and proportion it bears a remarkable likeness to St. Ealdhelm’s
recently re-discovered church of St. Lawrence, at Bradford-on-Avon.
This is specially interesting, as it is said that St. Ealdhelm founded
a monastery or nunnery at Wareham, and the similarity of this church
to that which he built at Bradford gives some confirmation to the
belief that this church also was built by him during the time of his
episcopate at Sherborne (705-709). Some authorities, while recognising
the church as of Saxon foundation, would date it approximately 1050.
The chancel arch is low, like that at Bradford, but not so narrow; the
nave, though subsequently lengthened, is short, narrow, and high—long
and short work may be seen in the coigns of the walls; all these seem
to indicate its Saxon origin. The church, however, has been enlarged
from time to time; the north aisle is divided from the nave by
round-headed arches; the windows at the east of the chancel and aisle,
now walled up, are of the Perpendicular period; and a window in the
south wall of the nave is of Decorated date; but an early Norman one
may be seen on the north side of the chancel. The tower, with a gabled
roof, is an early addition to the building. When, in 1762, a great fire
destroyed about a third of the town of Wareham, many of those whom
this disaster rendered homeless found a refuge within the walls of
the little church, which even then had ceased to be used for service.
Beneath the church a vast number of burials took place; it would seem
that the limited space within the walls was used over and over again
for this purpose.
Among other examples of Saxon work to be found in Dorset may be
mentioned a walled-up doorway, with triangular head, on the south
wall of Worth Matravers church, in the Isle of Purbeck; a fragment of
herring-bone work in Corfe Castle, which may possibly be a portion
of a wall of the chapel founded here by St. Ealdhelm, though it may,
on the other hand, be of Norman date; and fonts at Toller Fratrum
and Martinstown; and the carved stone over the doorway of Tarrant
Rushton, the chancel arch of which church is also probably of
pre-Conquest date.
[Illustration: ST. MARTIN’S CHURCH, WAREHAM.]
Norman work is naturally more abundant. The church at Studland, in the
Isle of Purbeck, is no doubt the most complete example to be met with
in the county. It is also a fine example of restoration at its best.
The church was in great danger of falling, owing to the sinking of an
artificial bed of clay on which the foundations of some of the walls
were laid; wide cracks had opened in the walls, in the chancel arch,
and other places; the mortar of the core of the walls had perished;
but by underpinning the walls, grouting with cement, the insertion of
metal tie-beams, and stopping the cracks, the church has been made
safe. There is little work of post-Norman date, but it is by no means
certain that the Norman builders built the church from its foundations;
there is good reason to suppose that a previous church of rude rubble
masonry existed here, and that a great part of the original walls was
left standing, and that the Norman builders cut out portions of the old
walls to insert their own more perfect work in various places. It is
a long, narrow church, without aisles; a low central tower, probably
never completed, covered with a gable roof, stands between the nave and
chancel. The tower arches are low, and the roof is vaulted. The Norman
work probably dates from about 1130. The church bears some resemblance
to the well-known church at Iffley, but the decoration is not so
elaborate.
Next to Studland in interest comes the church of Worth Matravers,
also in the Isle of Purbeck. Here, however, the tower stands at the
west end. The chancel is Early English, the roof is of wood; but the
chancel arch is elaborately carved, as is also the door within the
south porch. In the parish of Worth stands a unique building—the chapel
of St. Ealdhelm, on St. Ealdhelm’s (or, as it is often incorrectly
called, St. Alban’s) Head. It shares with the later chapel of St.
Catherine, near Abbotsbury, the peculiarity of being built, within and
without, walls and roof alike, of stone. The chapel of St. Ealdhelm
stands four square, with a pyramidal roof, now surmounted by a cross,
which has taken the place of the cresset in which the beacon fire
blazed on nights of storm or national danger. No doubt it showed
one of the “twinkling points of fire” of Macaulay’s ballad when the
Armada had been sighted off Alderney. There is a legend that it was
built by St. Ealdhelm, who, finding that he could not by land get at
the heathen of what we now call Dorset, came in a boat and climbed
the cliff, and afterwards founded this chapel to mark the spot where
he landed. That he landed here is probable enough, but the style of
architecture—Norman—shows that it was built long after St. Ealdhelm’s
time. It is far more likely that his chapel was built on the hill at
“Corfes-geat,” now crowned with the ruins of Corfe Castle. Another
more romantic story tells us that this chapel on St. Ealdhelm’s Head
was founded by the Norman Lord of the Manor, who, when his daughter,
who had just been married, set out from Poole Haven to sail down
channel to her home, came to this high spot to watch the vessel that
bore her pass, and saw it wrecked on the rocks below. Hence it is said
that he built this chapel so that masses might be said there for her
soul’s rest. Be this as it may, it is certain that for many centuries
the chaplain received his yearly stipend of fifty shillings from the
Royal Treasury, and the chapel was a seamen’s chantry, where prayers
for their safety might be offered, and whose flaming beacon served
as a lighthouse. A narrow Norman window, or, rather, a slit, near
the north-west corner of the east wall, alone admits light. A Norman
doorway, in the opposite wall, is the only entrance. The stone vault is
supported by ribs springing from a central pier, an arrangement similar
to that common in polygonal chapter houses. The local name for the
building was at one time “The Devil’s Chapel,” and people sought to
gain their objects by some process of incantation, one part of the rite
being the dropping of a pin into a hole in the central pier, a custom
not altogether abandoned even now. On Worth “club walking day,” in
Whitsun week, the building was used as a dancing room; at other times
of the year as a coastguard store. It has, however, been refitted as a
chapel, and service for the coastguard station is held at stated times
by the rector of Worth.
[Illustration: THE CHAPEL ON ST. EALDHELM’S HEAD.]
It is neither possible nor desirable to mention all the Norman work
which is to be found in Dorset, but attention must be called to that
at Bere Regis. In this church may especially be noticed some curious
carved heads on some of the capitals; on one, an arm comes down from
above, and the hand raises the eyelids—evidently the gift of sight
is here indicated; on another in like manner the fingers open the
mouth—probably the gift of speech is here represented, although the
carving might be intended to represent the gift of taste.
Work of the Early English period (thirteenth century) is not very
common in Dorset. We meet with it, however, in the east end of Wimborne
Minster, in the churches of Knighton, Cranborne, Corfe Mullen,
Portesham, and Worth, among others.
Nor is the Decorated style more fully represented. The best examples
are Milton Abbey Church, which is almost entirely in this style, and
the aisles of Wimborne Minster; but it may also be seen in Gussage St.
Michael, Tarrant Rushton, and Wooton Glanville, and at St. Peter’s,
Dorchester, a well-preserved arch for the Easter sepulchre of this
period may be seen. It was customary in such arches to set up at Easter
a movable wooden structure representing the grave in Joseph’s garden,
where certain rites commemorating the Burial and Resurrection were
performed. These sepulchres were very elaborate, and associated with
them were figures, of course of small size, representing Christ, the
Father, the Holy Ghost, the armed guard, and angels and devils.
The great majority of the Dorset churches are of Perpendicular date,
and in churches of earlier date there are few that do not contain
some addition or insertion made after the time when this peculiarly
English style had had its birth in the Abbey Church at Gloucester, and
had been adopted by William of Edington and William of Wykeham in the
transformation of the Norman Cathedral Church at Winchester during the
latter half of the fourteenth century.
Why was it that so many churches were built during the fifteenth
century? Probably because conditions had changed, and the building
was no longer the work chiefly of the bishops or of the religious
orders as it had been up to the thirteenth century, or of the nobles
as it had been in the fourteenth, but of the people. The French wars
of Edward III. emptied the purses of the nobles and the monasteries;
the Black Death also counted many monks among its victims, and had
entirely swept away many of the smaller religious houses, and decreased
the numbers of brethren in the larger;[17] and the middle class rose
after the Black Death to a position that it had never occupied before.
This class demanded parish churches, as well as trade halls and guild
chapels, and built them, too—that is, supplied money to pay masons.
Architecture became more of a trade and less of an art. Norfolk and
Somerset were especially rich districts at a time when England exported
the raw material, wool, and not, as now, manufactured goods; and hence
in these two counties some of the largest and grandest parish churches
were built. And Dorset, lying as it does on the Somerset border,
showed, though in less degree, the results of the new conditions. It
has no churches of this period to match in size St. Mary Redcliffe at
Bristol, or St. Mary Magdalene’s at Taunton; it has no Perpendicular
towers to rival those of Shepton Mallet, St. Cuthbert’s at Wells, or
Huish Episcopi; but it has some fine examples, nevertheless, distinctly
traceable to Somerset influence. The parent design in Dorset may
perhaps be seen in Piddletrenthide, 1487; Fordington St. George,
the top of which tower has not been very wisely altered of late, is
a little more in advance; St. Peter’s, Dorchester, and Charminster
are still further developed; the two last probably are the finest
individual towers in the county. Bradford Abbas may be thought by some
more beautiful, but the builder borrowed details from the Quantock
group of churches. The tower at Cerne is probably by the same builder
as Bradford, judging from the similarity of the buttresses and
pinnacles in the two churches. Beaminster also has a fine tower, and
so has Marnhull, though the general effect of the latter is ruined by
the clumsy modern parapet. Milton Abbey tower has good details. In all
these cases, excepting Cerne, there are double windows in the belfry
stage; but this arrangement is not so common in Dorset as in Somerset,
and the writer knows no instance of triple windows. A Somerset feature
that is very commonly met with in Dorset is an external stair-turret,
an arrangement not found in the East of England. The Somerset builders
often placed pinnacles on the offsets of their buttresses; these are
rarely seen in Dorset. Generally, the Dorset towers are not so richly
ornamented as those of Somerset.
It has been said before that there are only two Dorset churches with
spires built before the Reformation. A few words may not be out of
place descriptive of the two. Steepleton is a long, narrow church,
with nave and chancel, but no aisle. A blocked-up Norman arch, and a
pointed one, similarly blocked, in the north wall of the nave, indicate
that originally a chapel, or chapels, stood here. A curious stone,
carved with the figure of a floating angel, probably taken from the
interior, was at some time built into the exterior of the south wall
of the nave. It has by this means escaped destruction, but the damp
has caused lichen to grow on it. It bears a strong resemblance to the
angel to be seen over the chancel arch of St. Lawrence’s Church at
Bradford-on-Avon. It is not unlikely that the corresponding angel is
on a stone that has been used in blocking one of the arches mentioned
before. They possibly date from pre-Conquest days, or, at any rate,
from a time before the pre-Conquest style had died out in this
remote village, and may have formed part of a representation of the
Ascension. The western stone may possibly date from the fourteenth
century, as a window in its east face, now covered by the raised roof,
shows geometrical tracery; the windows in the other faces are much
later—probably they have been altered. The main octagonal spire that
rises from the tower does not seem to have been part of the original
design. On the four spaces between the corners of the tower and the
spire are four spirelets; these do not stand as pinnacles of the tower,
nor are they used, as sometimes spirelets were used, to hide the
awkward junction of a broad spire with a square tower, for this is not
a broad, but rises, as fourteenth century spires generally do, from the
tower roof, though here a parapet hardly exists.
Trent Steeple, standing midway on the south side of the church,
is a very beautiful one; the tower has double-light windows, with
geometrical tracery, and a pierced parapet, with pinnacles, from
which rises a very graceful spire, the edges of which have a circular
moulding. The spire is slightly twisted from some subsidence, and
cracks have occurred in the tower. The church has no aisles, but the
projecting tower, the lower part of which serves as an entrance porch,
on the south, and the chapel and organ chamber on the north, give
it a very picturesque appearance. A modern addition is a distinctly
pleasant feature, namely, an octagonal baptistery, which stands
beyond the church at the west end of the nave. The interior is also
pleasing. There are bench ends of oak, black with age, a reading desk
on the north side, of like material, and a fine oak chancel screen.
The carved wooden pulpit, if not entirely modern, is very largely so.
In the churchyard are the steps and base of a churchyard cross. It is
an exceedingly beautiful church, and the few houses in its immediate
neighbourhood, with stone mullioned windows, are all in keeping with
the church. The straggling cottages, the winding lanes, render it one
of the most picturesque villages in the county. It was a distinct loss
to Somerset and gain to Dorset when this parish was transferred from
the former to the latter county.
This sketch of the Dorset churches would be incomplete without
reference to some of the noteworthy features to be met with in the
fittings of some of them. The cast-lead font of St. Mary’s, Wareham,
on which figures of the Apostles are still distinguishable from each
other, despite the rough usage to which they have been subjected, may
possibly date from Saxon days, and from the resemblance it bears to
the font in Dorchester Abbey, Oxfordshire, they may well have been
contemporaneous. If so, it gives countenance to the belief that this
font dates from the time when, as yet, the whole Wessex kingdom was one
diocese with its Bishop-stool at the Oxfordshire Dorchester—that is,
sometime between the conversion of Cynegils by St. Birinus in 635 and
the division of the diocese into the two separate sees of Winchester
and Sherborne in 705; as after this event the Oxfordshire Dorchester
would have little to do with Dorset.
The church at Piddletown has escaped the drastic restoration that has
destroyed the interest of so many of our Dorset churches. Archæologists
may well rejoice that the gallery and pews have not been swept away
with ruthless zeal, and will pray that they may, for many years to
come, stand as witnesses of what was being done in Dorset at a time
when the storm was gathering that was destined for a while to overthrow
the power of king and priest.
In Bloxworth Church there still remains in its stand the hour-glass by
which the preacher regulated the length of his sermon. This probably
was placed in its position about the middle of the seventeenth century.
The people in those days liked sermons, and expected to be able to
listen to one for at least an hour, though sometimes the preacher, when
all the sand had run into the lower half of the hour-glass, would give
his congregation another hour, turning the glass; and sometimes yet
once again the glass was turned. As we look on this relic of sermon
loving days, we cannot help thinking of the eyes of the weary children,
doomed to sit under these long-winded preachers, turned on the slowly
trickling sand, and the sense of relief they must have felt when the
last grain had run down, and the hour of their enforced listening was
at an end.
To this same seventeenth century may be ascribed many of the
elaborately carved oaken pulpits which are to be found in Dorset, as,
for instance, those at Beaminster, Netherbury, Charminster, Iwerne
Minster, and Abbotsbury. In the last may still be seen two holes caused
by bullets fired by Cromwell’s soldiers when the church was garrisoned
by Royalists under General Strangways.
At Frampton a stone pulpit, of fifteenth century date, much restored,
still exists. At Corton Chapel a fine pre-Reformation stone altar
stands, which escaped destruction when the order for the removal of
stone altars was issued in 1550, because Corton was one of those free
chapels which had been suppressed and deprived of its revenue three
years before by the Chantry Act of 1 Edward VI.
In the neighbouring church at Portesham a window on the north side
of the nave shews signs of the influence which on the Continent led
to the Flamboyant style. A fine Jacobean screen may be seen at West
Stafford Church, which was removed from its original position and put
further to the east when the church was lengthened a few years ago.
In Hilton Church there are twelve noteworthy mediæval panel paintings,
each more than six feet high, representing the Apostles. These once
belonged to Milton Abbey.
When Tarrant Rushton Church was restored, on the eastern face of the
chancel arch were found two earthenware vases. Their use is a matter of
doubt, but an idea formerly prevailed that such vessels gave richness
to the voice, and from this idea they were sometimes let into the
walls, and were known as acoustic vases.
Dorset is fairly rich in monumental effigies in stone and alabaster.
One of the most beautiful and best preserved of the latter is that
erected in Wimborne Minster by the Lady Margaret, in memory of her
father and mother, John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and his wife.
Cross-legged effigies are to be seen in Wareham, Bridport, Piddletown,
Wimborne Minster, Dorchester, Trent, Horton, Wimborne St. Giles, and
Stock Gaylard. The first four bear a close resemblance to one another.
The knight wears a sleeved tunic or hauberk of mail, a hooded coif, and
over this a helmet. This costume indicates a date before the middle
of the twelfth century. The feet rest upon an animal. At one time the
fact that the legs were crossed was held to indicate that the person
represented was a Crusader; if the legs were crossed at the ankles it
was supposed that he had made one pilgrimage to the East; if at the
knees, two; if higher up, three. But all this is probably erroneous,
for on the one hand some known Crusaders are not represented with their
legs crossed, while others who are known not to have gone to the Holy
Land are so represented. And even a stronger proof may be adduced,
namely, that some of the crossed-legged effigies represent knights
who lived after the Crusades were over; for example, that found on
the tomb of Sir Peter Carew at Exeter, who died in 1571. In Mappowder
Church there is a miniature cross-legged effigy, about two feet long.
This is often spoken of as a “boy crusader”—a child who is supposed to
have gone with his father to the Holy Land, and to have died there.
But this is probably a mistake. Similar diminutive effigies are found
in divers places; for instance, that at Salisbury which goes by the
name of the “Boy Bishop,” and Bishop Ethelmer’s (1260) at Winchester.
Many authorities think that, as it was customary in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries to bury different parts of the body in different
places, these effigies mark the spot where the heart was buried. The
figure at Mappowder holds a heart in its hands, and this certainly
lends countenance to this theory. A similar monument formerly existed
at Frampton, but it has disappeared. At Trent is a crossed-legged
effigy of a “franklin”—a civilian who was allowed to wear a sword.
There are two figures in St. Peter’s, Dorchester, laid on the sills of
windows; it is said they were removed from the old Priory Church. These
are of later date, namely, the end of the fourteenth century. They wear
plate armour, and on their heads pointed bassinets, while the great
helms that were worn over these serve as pillows for their heads to
rest on.
At West Chelborough there is a curious monument without date or name:
a lady lies asleep on a bed with a child enveloped in the folds of
her drapery; probably this indicates that she died in giving birth to
the infant. Another curious monument is met with in Sandford Orcas
Church, whereon may be seen William Knoyle kneeling with one of his
wives in front, and one behind him, and behind the latter, four corpses
of children; the knight and first wife have skulls in their hands, to
indicate that they were dead when the monument (1607) was erected;
the second wife is dressed in black to show her widowhood; her seven
children are also represented, the four girls by her, and the three
boys behind the father. It will be noticed that the recumbent figures
of earlier time gave place to kneeling figures in the sixteenth
century, when the husband and wife were often represented opposite to
each other, with their children behind them in graduated sizes. These
are far less pleasing than the monuments of earlier date; but worse
was to come, an example of which may be seen at St. Peter’s Church,
Dorchester, in the monument of Denzil, Lord Holles, so well known in
the history of the reign of Charles I.
A bare mention must suffice for other monuments. In Marnhull, Thomas
Howard (1582), a man of huge stature, lies between his two wives, small
delicate women, who are absolutely alike in person and dress. It would
seem as if their effigies were mere conventional representations. In
the neighbouring church of Stalbridge lies an emaciated corpse in a
shroud without date or name.
In Netherbury is a mutilated alabaster figure with “S.S.” on the
collar; at Melbury Sampford the alabaster effigy of William Brounyng,
who died 1467, wears plate armour and the Yorkist collar. At
Charminster are several canopied tombs of the Trenchards, in Purbeck
marble, of a form found in many Wessex churches, and the figure of a
daughter of Sir Thomas Trenchard, wife of Sir William Pole, who died
in 1636. She kneels before a book lying open on a desk, and wears a
fur tippet. In Chideock Chapel may be seen a knight in plate armour,
possibly Sir John Chideock, who died in 1450. In Came Church are the
recumbent figures of Sir John Miller and his wife Anna (1610).
In Farnham, over the altar, is a plain stone in memory of one Alexander
Bower, a preacher of God’s Word, who is said to have died “in the year
of _Christes_ incarnation (1616).” This is interesting as showing the
unabridged form of the possessive case.
Built in the wall over the door of Durweston Church is a piece of
carving, which originally was above the altar and beneath the east
window, representing a blacksmith shoeing a horse; and over the west
door of Hinton Parva is a carving of an angel, a cross, and a butterfly.
The finest timber roof in the county is undoubtedly that of Bere Regis
nave. It is said that Cardinal Morton placed this roof upon the church
when he was Archbishop of Canterbury. He was born near, or in, this
village, and after the battle of Towton was attainted. In the central
shield on the roof the arms of Morton are impaled with the arms of
the See of Canterbury; this gives the date of the erection somewhere
between 1486 and 1500, but a Cardinal’s hat on one of the figures
limits the date still further, as it was not until 1493 that Morton
became a Cardinal. The figures, which project from the hammer beams
and look downwards, are popularly known as the Apostles, but the dress
precludes this idea, as one is habited as a Deacon, and one, as said
above, wears a Cardinal’s hat. The painting of the roof is modern, done
when the roof was restored.
One of the most remarkable buildings of the fifteenth century is St.
Catherine’s Chapel, on the lofty hill which overlooks the sea near
Abbotsbury. In the construction of this, wood plays no part—all is
solid stone. The roof is formed of transverse ribs, richly bossed where
ridge and purloin ribs intersect them, and each of the two rectangular
compartments between every pair of ribs on either side thus formed is
simply foliated like blank window lights. There is not a thin stone
vault below a stone outer roof above with a space between them, but it
is stone throughout, and on St. Catherine’s wind-swept hill the chapel
has stood uninjured since the Benedictine Monks of Abbotsbury built
this chantry nearly five hundred years ago. The massive buttresses,
from which no pinnacles rise, the parapet pierced by holes for letting
out the water, the turret with its flat cap, in which once the beacon
fire used to be lighted in its iron cresset, render the chapel still
more unique. Nowhere else in England, save on St. Ealdhelm’s Head, can
such a solidly-built structure be found. The simple tracery of the
windows remains, but the glass has disappeared. The windows are boarded
up to keep out the rain and the interior is bare. Resting on a hill
top, washed by the pure breezes, such a chapel is fitly dedicated to
St. Catherine of Alexandria.
THE MEMORIAL BRASSES OF DORSET
BY W. DE C. PRIDEAUX
Dorset is by no means rich in the number of its monumental brasses.
Haines, in his list (1861), gives their number as thirty-three,
distributed over twenty-four churches; but recent researches and
alterations in the county boundaries have rendered his list no longer
strictly accurate. Yet only about one hundredth of the brasses to be
found in England are preserved in Dorset, though its area is about
one fiftieth of the area of England; and so it will be seen that the
number of its brasses is considerably below the average, although it
must be remembered that brasses are very unequally divided, the Eastern
counties having by far the largest proportion.
The earliest known brasses in England date from the latter part of the
thirteenth century; and for three centuries this form of memorial was
in great favour. Brasses had many advantages over carved effigies in
stone; they occupied less space, formed no obstruction in the churches,
were more easily executed, and possibly cheaper. Fortunately, also,
they have lasted longer, and have preserved a wealth of valuable detail
relating to costume and heraldry far in excess of any other form of
monument.
Monumental brasses may be divided roughly into two classes: those in
which the figure is engraved on a rectangular plate, the background
being plain or filled in with diapered or scroll work, which is seen to
such great advantage on many Continental brasses, and those in which
there is no background, the plate being cut around the outline of the
figure, and fastened down into a similarly shaped shallow matrix or
casement in the stone slab. Examples of both kinds are found in Dorset;
but none of our examples are of very early date. One of the oldest,
commemorating Joan de St. Omer, dated 1436 (an engraving of which may
be seen in Hutchins’ _Dorset_, vol. ii., p. 380, and a rubbing by the
late Mr. Henry Moule in the library of the Society of Antiquaries,
London[18]), has disappeared from St. Peter’s Church, Dorchester,
although the matrix still remains. The Oke brass at Shapwick, if of
contemporary workmanship, may be older.
Sometimes brasses were pulled out and sold by the churchwardens for
the value of the metal.[19] Sometimes, indeed, brasses which had
commemorated some warrior, priest, or worthy of former times were taken
up, turned over, re-engraved, and made to do duty in honour of someone
else, as may be seen in the retroscript brasses at Litton Cheney; but
in several cases the brass, after weathering the stormy times of the
civil wars, and escaping the greed of those whose business it was to
guard their church from the mutilation, were lost through the gross
neglect of the nineteenth century restorer. The writer knows of several
specimens now loose and in danger.
The following is a list of all the known brasses in Dorset:—
_Beaminster._—Ann, the wife of Henry Hillary, of Meerhay, 1653.
Elizabeth, the wife of William Milles, and daughter of John Hillary,
of Meerhay, 1674.
Mrs. Ann Hillary, died 1700.
William Milles, Esq., of Meerhay, and Mary, his wife. He died 1760,
aged 82; she died 1771, aged 95.
And outside the wall of south aisle, inscriptions to—
Elizabeth Smitham, 1773, aged 61.
Rev. Edmund Lewis, 1766, aged 40.
Joseph Symes, gent., 1776, aged 75; also Frances, his wife, 1737, aged
47.
And on a large slab in the floor of south aisle, formerly on an altar
tomb—
Pray for the soule of S^{r} John Tone,[20]
Whose bodye lyeth berid under this tombe,
On whos soule J’hu have mercy A Pat’nost’ & Ave.
All small inscriptions only.
_Bere Regis._—J. Skerne and Margaret, his wife, 1596. Kneeling figures,
with heraldic shield and an eight-line engraved verse, on altar tomb.
Robert Turberville, 1559. Inscription only.
_Bryanston._—John Rogers and Elizabeth, his wife, 1528. Inscription
below matrices of their effigies and heraldic shields.
Cecilia Rogers, wife of Sir Richard Rogers, of Bryanston. A ten-line
verse below matrices of her effigy and heraldic shields, 1566.
_Bridport._—Edward Coker, gent. Inscription only, 1685.
_Caundle Purse._—William Longe, 1500; Elizabeth Longe, 1527; Richard
Brodewey, rector, 1536. All small effigies, the two latter with
inscriptions; and all loose when seen by the writer, with the exception
of a small plate to Peter Hoskyns, 1682, above Longe altar tomb.
_Compton Valence._—Thomas Maldon, rector, rebuilder of church, 1440.
Half effigy, from which issue two scrolls, with words from Ps. li. 1.
_Chesilborne._—A small inscribed brass to John Keate, 1552, and
Margaret, his wife, 1554.
_Corfe Mullen._—A small effigy of Richard Birt. Below this there is a
mutilated inscription to Ricardus Birt and Alicia, his wife, 1437.
_Crichel, Moor._—Isabel Uvedale, 1572. An effigy with a ten-line
engraved verse.
William Cyfrewast, Esquyer, 1581. Inscription and two six-line verses.
_Crichel, Long._—Johan’ Gouys. A small inscription only.
_Cranborne._—Margaret, daughter of Henry Ashelie, the wife of William
Wallop, 1582. Inscription only. There is another inscribed plate
bearing date 1631; otherwise illegible.
_Dorchester, St. Peter._—Inscription and scroll to the lost figure of
Joan de St. Omer, widow of Robert More, 1436.
William and Johanna Sillon. Part of inscription. Inscription to John
Gollop.
_Evershot._—William Grey, rector, 1524, with chalice and host.
Inscription below effigy composed of quite a different alloy.
_Fleet Old Church._—Robert and Margaret Mohun, with seventeen children,
1603.
Maximillian Mohun, his son, showing his wife and thirteen children.
_Holme Priory._—Richard Sidwaye, gent., 1612.
_Knowle._—John Clavell, 1572, and two wives; the first with three sons
and one daughter; the second wife, Susan, daughter of Robert Coker, of
Mappowder, is kneeling alone.
_Litton Cheney._—Ralph Henvil, of Looke, 1644. Anne Henvill, daughter
of Richard Henvill, of Looke, 1681. Inscriptions only.
There is also an interesting retroscript brass, in two pieces, having
three inscriptions:—
1.—Johes Chapman, ffysch mōger, 1471.
2.—Alexandriam (?) Warnby, 1486.
3.—Johis Newpton et Thome Neupto.
_Lytchett Matravers._—Thomas Pethyn (_als._ Talpathyn), rector, in
shroud, _c._ 1470.
Margaret Clement, “generosa, specialis benefactrix reedificacionis
huius ecclesie,” 1505.
A matrix of a very large fret (the arms of Matravers), with marginal
inscription, to Sir John Matravers, 1365.
_Langton._—John Whitewod, gent., and his two wives, Johanna and Alicia;
three effigies, with inscription, bearing dates 1457, 1467, and portion
of scrolls.
_Melbury Sampford._—Sir Gyles Strangwayes, 1562, in tabard. Two
shields, with thirteen and fourteen quarterings respectively, and
inscriptions to Henry Strangwayes, Esq., who “died at the syege of
Bolleyne,” and his wife, Margaret, daughter of Lord George Rosse; and
to Sir Gyles Strangwayes and his wife, Joan, eldest daughter of John
Wadham, Esq. There are also strip brasses around recumbent marble
effigies of Sir Gyles Strangwayes the elder, and William Brunyng, and a
rectangular brass plate to Laurencius Sampford, _miles_, and another to
John and Alicia Brounyng, with three coats of arms.
_Milton Abbey._—Sir John Tregonwell, D.C.L., 1565, in tabard, with
heraldic shields and inscription.
John Artur, a monk of the Abbey. A small brass of about the middle of
the fifteenth century.
_Milborne St. Andrew._—John Morton, Esq., 1521, son of Richard Morton,
and nephew of John Morton, Cardinal. Brass plate on altar tomb, below
matrix of a knight in armour.
_Moreton._—James Frampton, 1523. He is shown kneeling, with text on
scrolls.
_Owermoigne._—John Sturton, Esq., 1506. Inscription, “causyd this
wyndowe to be made.”
On a loose plate, now lost, Nicholas Cheverel, Esq., and Jane, his
wife, who both died in the year 1548.
_Piddlehinton._—Thomas Browne, parson for 27 years, in hat and clerical
habit, having staff and book, with a twelve-line verse and inscription,
1617.
There was formerly a brass inscription to John Chapman, 1494, in the
north aisle.
_Piddletown._—Roger Cheverell, 1517. Half effigy, with inscription and
two shields of arms.
Christopher Martyn, Esq., 1524. Kneeling effigy, in tabard, with
shield of arms and partial representation of the Trinity.
Nicholas Martyn, Esq., and wife, 1595, with three sons and seven
daughters, with armorial brass and inscription between effigies, on
back of altar tomb.
_Pimperne._—Mrs. Dorothy Williams, wife of John Williams, curate, 1694.
A very curious effigy, with skeleton below. “Edmund Colepeper fecit.”
_Puncknowle._—William Napper, Esq., brother of Sir Robert Napper, in
armour; by his wife, Anne, daughter of Wm. Shelton, Esq., of Onger
Park, he had six sons. Brass engraved _c._ 1600, before his death.
_Rampisham._—Thomas Dygenys and his wife Isabel. Two figures, with
inscription at their feet, “gud benefactors to this churche.” Both died
in 1523.
_Shaftesbury, St. Peter._—Inscription to Stephen, son and heir of
Nicholas Payne, steward of the Monastery, 1508. On the slab are
matrices of four brass shields. This was removed from the Abbey.
In Holy Trinity churchyard is half a large blue slab, having thereon
the matrix of a large brass which local tradition says was to King
Edward the Martyr.
_Shapwick._—Inscription to Richard Chernok, _als._ Hogeson, vicar, 1538.
A fine effigy of Maria, heiress of Lord de Champneys, and wife of
John Oke. The inscription is to the latter; the former has a dog at
her feet. Her first husband was Sir William Tourney, and she married
William Oke in the reign of Richard II.; so it is quite likely that
this brass is of the fourteenth century.
_Sturminster Marshall._—An effigy of Henry Helme, vicar, in gown, with
moustache and pointed beard. He was the founder of Baylye House (the
vicarage), 1581. The inscription is a ten-line verse. The brass is
fastened on a black marble slab.
Also, “Here lyeth Wylla’ Benett, on whose sowle Gode have merci.” (No
date.)
_Swanage, als. Swanwich._—William Clavell (effigy lost), with Margaret
and Alicia, his wives, _c._ 1470.
John Harve, 1510. Inscription only:—
Suche as I was, so be you, and as I am, so shall you be,
And of the soule of John Harve God have mercy.
Henry Welles, of Godlinstone, 1607, and Marie, his first wife, 1560.
Inscriptions only.
Susan Cockram, wife of Brune Cockram, parson of Swanw^{ch}, 1641.
Thomas Serrell, the sonn of Anthony Serrell, of Swanwhich, 1639.
_Swyre._—John Russell, Esq., and Elizabeth, his wife, daughter of John
Frocksmer, Esq., 1505. Inscription, with arms.
James Russell, Esq. (son of John Russell), and Alys, his wife,,
daughter of John Wise, Esq., 1510. Inscription, with arms.[21]
George Gollop, of Berwick, tenth son of Thomas Gollop, of Strode,
Dorset; brass, _c._ 1787. Long inscription only, to many of this
family.
_Tincleton._—Inscription to Thomas Faryngdon, _armiger_, 1404.
_Tarrant Crawford._—In the year 1862, a small brass plate was found on
the Abbey site in memory of “d’ns Joh’es Karrant.”
_Thorncombe._—Sir Thomas and Lady Brook. Two fine effigies, with long
inscription. Sir Thomas died 1419; Lady Brook, 1437; “on whose soules
God have mercy and pite that for us dyed on the rode tree. Ame’.”
_Upwey._—William Gould, 1681. Inscription only, on outer side of north
wall of chancel, opposite altar tomb.
_West Stafford._—Inscription to Giles Long, 1592, “then Lord of Frome
Bellett and patrone of the parsonage and Stafford.”
_Wimborne Minster._—St. Ethelred, King of the West Saxons, martyr,
“Anno Domini 873 (871?) 23 die Aprilis per manus dacorum paganorum
occubuit.” Half effigy, engraved _c._ 1440; inscription restored _c._
1600.
_Woolland._—Mary, daughter of Robert Williams, of Herringston, and wife
of Robert Thornhull, and then of Lewis Argenton, 1616. The inscription
of twelve lines is curious and descriptive, beginning:—
Here lyeth our landladie loved of all,
Whom Mary Argenton last wee did call.
_Yetminster._—John Horsey, Esquire, 1531, Lord of the Manor of Clifton,
and Elizabeth, his wife, Lady of the Manor of Turges Melcombe. Two fine
effigies, with scrolls at sides and inscription at foot.
Of the foregoing brasses, the following deserve a longer notice:—
_Bere Regis._—J. Skerne and Margaret, his wife. This monument consists
of two kneeling figures, fourteen inches high, cut round the outline,
and represented as kneeling on the pavement; between them is a
rectangular plate, with coat of arms (Skerne impaling Thornhull), and
an inscription on another plate below. Skerne wears a long gown, with
sleeves nearly touching the ground; his wife, a dress, with ruff and a
widow’s wimple. The inscription states that the memorial was erected by
the aforesaid Margaret in 1596.
In the same church there is an inscription to Sir Robert Turberville,
1559. There are also remains of three altar tombs, all with empty
matrices; two in the south aisle probably mark the last resting-places
of members of the Turberville family. It is of these that John
Durbeyfield, in Thomas Hardy’s _Tess_, boasted, “I’ve got a gr’t family
vault at Kingsbere and knighted forefathers in lead coffins there.”
[Illustration: WILLIAM GREY, 1524. RECTOR OF EVERSHOT.]
_Caundle Purse._—The brass of W. Longe, 26 ins. high, represents a man
in armour, with long flowing hair; the head is inclined to the right.
Its matrix was found by the writer in the North, or Longe, Chantry.
The brass is heavy, being ⅜-in. thick; it is poor in execution, and
is, unfortunately, away from its slab.
The monument of Richard Brodewey, rector, is far more interesting. The
head has been broken off; the figure, only ten inches high, represents
the priest as laid out for burial, clad in eucharistic vestments. This
brass is specially noteworthy, because it is the only known memorial
in England in which the maniple is represented as buttoned or sewn, so
as to form a loop to prevent it from slipping off the wrist. This was
the final form that the maniple assumed; in earlier times it simply
hung over the arm without attachment.
_Evershot._—The brass commemorating William Grey is rather larger than
that at Caundle Purse, and is in better condition. Like Brodewey,
Grey is represented as laid out in his eucharistic vestments—amice,
alb, maniple, stole, and chasuble; between his raised hands he holds
a chalice, with the host (similar to Henry Denton, priest, Higham
Ferrers, 1498). There are only about a dozen representations of
chaliced priests in England, so that this memorial may be classed among
rare examples. It was customary to bury a chalice (usually of some
secondary metal) with all ecclesiastics in priests’ orders.[22]
_Fleet._—The two brasses in this church are engraved on rectangular
plates. In each, the husband kneels on the opposite side to the wife
(he dexter, she sinister), with a _prie Dieu_ between them. Their many
sons and daughters kneel behind the father and mother respectively.
_Milton Abbey._—Sir John Tregonwell is represented, kneeling, in a
tabard; and this is the latest tabard brass in England.
Another very interesting and almost unique brass in the Abbey is
that to John Artur, of this place “_monachus_.” Brasses to monks are
exceedingly rare.
_Moreton._—The inscription on the monument of James Frampton is
unusual; the letters are raised above the background, instead of being
sunk in it.
_Piddletown._—The effigy of Roger Cheverell has only the upper part
left—10½ in. by 6 in. in size. The dress is that of a civilian of
good standing, for the cloak is lined with fur; the head is bare and
the hair long.
Christopher Martyn’s brass is engraved on a rectangular plate. The
lower half is occupied by the inscription; above it kneels the figure
in conventional armour, with a tabard bearing arms over. A scroll
comes from the mouth, bearing, in abbreviated form, the prayer,
“Averte faciem tuam a peccatis meis, et omnes iniquitates meas dele.”
Two shields, one low on the right side of the figure, another high
above the left shoulder, bear the well-known Martyn arms; and above
the former, the All Father sits on a throne, with two fingers of
the right hand raised in blessing, and the left hand holds between
the knees a Tau-shaped cross, on which the Son is nailed. There
is, however, no dove, so that it cannot be regarded as a complete
representation of the Trinity. At Bere Regis there is a matrix of an
enthroned figure of almost identical outline.
The memorial to Nicholas Martyn and his wife belongs to the other
type of brass. In the centre, indeed, are two rectangular plates,
one bearing the heraldic shield (Martyn impaling Wadham), the other
the inscription; but the other plates are cut round the figures, and
have little background. On the right or dexter side, the husband,
clad in armour, but not wearing a helmet, kneels, with hands clasped
in prayer, before an altar covered with a fringed cloth, on which
lies an open book; behind him kneel his three sons, wearing cloaks,
with ruffs around their necks. On the left-hand side, Margaret, his
wife, kneels before a similar altar and book; behind her are her
seven daughters, all engaged in prayer. They all wear Elizabethan
costume—hoods, large ruffs, long bodied peaked stomachers and skirts,
extended by farthingales of whalebone.
_Thorncombe._—The brasses to Sir Thomas and Lady Brooke, of Holditch
and Weycroft, are two of the most distinguished to be found of the
fourteenth century. He was sheriff of Somerset, 1389, and of Devon,
1394, and is shown clad in a long gown with deep dependent sleeves,
guarded with fur around the skirt, and pulled in at the waist by a belt
studded with roses; within the gown a second garment appears, with four
rows of fur around the skirt. His hair is short, and his feet rest on a
greyhound couchant, collared. Lady Brooke wears a long robe, fastened
across the breast by a cordon with tassels, over a plain gown; her
hair is dressed in semi-mitre shape, and confined by a richly jewelled
net, over which is placed the cover-chief, edged with embroidery and
dependent to the shoulders. At her feet is a little dog, collared and
belled. Sir Thomas and his wife each wear the collar of SS.; their arms
are in tightly-fitting sleeves, and the hands are raised in prayer.
The inscription around the effigies has been restored, and plain
shields inserted in place of originals, which would have shown Gules
on a chevron argent a lion rampant sable; Brooke with, among others,
Cheddar, Mayor of Bristol, 1360-1, and Hanham.
_Wimborne Minster._—The Ethelred effigy here is only half length.
The king is represented, in part, in priestly vestments. (“As kings
by their coronation are admitted into a sacred as well as a civil
character, the former of these is particularly manifested in the
investiture with clerical garments.”) Though the brass commemorates
a king of the West Saxons, it dates only from 1440. The inscription
is on a copper plate, and the king’s death is said thereon to have
occurred in 873, two years too late. A brass plate on which the date
is correctly given is preserved in the Minster Library. It is supposed
that the figure and the plate bearing the inscription were removed
from the matrix and hidden for safety in the time of the Civil Wars,
and that the plate could not be found when the figure was replaced, so
that the copper one now on the slab was engraved to take the place of
the one lost, which, however, was afterwards found, but not laid on the
stone. It is a noteworthy fact that the effigy is fastened to the stone
with nails of copper, not of brass; doubtless these are contemporary
with the copper plate which bears the inscription. The Ethelred brass
is the only brass commemorating a king that is to be found in England,
and is so illustrated in Haines’ _Manual_, p. 74.
_Wraxall._—Elizabeth Lawrence, wife of Mr. William Lawrence, 1672. A
six-line verse and an impaled coat of arms.
_Yetminster._—This brass, one of the finest in Dorset, was at one time
loose at East Chelborough Rectory, but it has now been fixed to a slab
on the south wall of the church. It was originally laid on a large
stone in the floor of the chancel. John Horsey is represented in full
and very richly ornamented armour; his wife is in a graceful gown and
mantle, with dependent pomander, and fine head-dress.
SHERBORNE
BY W. B. WILDMAN, M.A.
Sherborne, as far as we can tell, owes its existence as a town to the
fact that it was chosen in 705 to be the site where the bishop-stool
was fixed of St. Ealdhelm, the first bishop of Western or Newer Wessex.
Sherborne, like its daughter-towns Wells and Salisbury, is a Bishop’s
town; but, unlike them, it was also, from 998 to 1539, the seat of a
Benedictine Monastery. Thus Sherborne has suffered two distinct shocks
in its career; the first came upon it when it lost its bishop in 1075;
the second, when its Abbey was dissolved in 1539.
Another point worth mentioning concerning the past dignity of the town
is this, that Sherborne, or at any rate, a part of it—Newland—was
once actually a borough, as was also what we may call the suburb of
Castleton.
This part of Sherborne is still called the Borough of Newland; it was
given burghal privileges by Richard Poore, Bishop of Sarum, in 1228,
and, according to Hutchins, it actually sent members to the House of
Commons in 1343. But long after Newland got rid of this then burdensome
privilege it still kept the name and other privileges of a borough,
and both it and Castleton were for administrative purposes outside
the Hundred of Sherborne; they kept their own tourns twice a year,
and their own courts every three weeks; they had their own view of
frank-pledge quite apart from the rest of the town and Hundred. It
is not known to what bishop Castleton owed its title and dignity of
_burgus_.
When Sherborne came into being, the surrounding country bore a very
different look from that which we see to-day. It lay on the western
edge of the great forest of Selwood, a fragment of which still
remains to us here in Sherborne Castle Park. There were then no trim
water-meadows, and the course of our river was marked by moor and
marsh. Here, in the last fold of the Wessex hills, under which lies the
great plain of Somerset, Ealdhelm’s seat was fixed, in a site central
and convenient for the new district, which had barely a quarter of a
century before been added to the West Saxon realm.
Sherborne was never a walled town; it lay under the protection of the
fortified palace of its bishop, and in troublous times of Danish inroad
its site was a safe one. The story that Swegen ravaged the town rests
on nothing like contemporary evidence; on the other hand, the safety
of its position, coupled with the fact that it was once the second
city of Wessex, accounts for its being chosen by King Æthelbald for
his capital, so to speak, when Winchester, in 860, was laid waste by
the Danes; indeed, the change may have taken place soon after 856.
Sherborne continued to be the capital of Wessex till about the year
878. During a considerable part of that time we may well believe
that King Alfred spent his boyhood here, almost certainly during
King Æthelberht’s reign; and here, in this centre of education which
Ealdhelm had founded, he may well have received such education as he
got during his boyhood. There is no other centre of education which has
so good a claim to him; here were buried his two brothers, Æthelbald
and Æthelberht, who successively reigned before Æthelred and himself.
Æthelberht was his guardian after his father’s death. Alfred must have
known Sherborne well; he was a benefactor of our church, and we claim
his boyhood.
[Illustration: Sherborne Abbey
_Sidney Heath_]
But besides Alfred and Ealdhelm, early Sherborne claims other heroes;
Ealhstan, our bishop, the first West Saxon general to win a decisive
victory over the Danes, was the right-hand man of Kings Ecgberht,
Æthelwulf, Æthelbald, and Æthelberht; he was the most powerful man
of his time. Here, in Sherborne, he lies buried beside Æthelbald and
Æthelberht.
We claim, too, among our Sherborne bishops, St. Heahmund, who fell
fighting against the Danes at Merton (probably Marden, Wilts.);
Asser, the biographer of King Alfred, who is said to lie buried among
us; Werstan, another warrior who fell in battle; St. Wulfsy and St.
Alfwold, names rather forgotten now, but great and famous in their day.
St. Osmund, who compiled the _Use of Sarum_, was one of our abbots; and
St. Stephen Harding, the author of the _Carta Caritatis_, and the real
founder of the Cistercian Order, is the earliest scholar of Sherborne
School whom History records as such.
Nor can Sherborne forget what it owes to the great Roger Niger, that
dark, stalwart Bishop of Sarum, who built the Norman Castle here and
the Norman part of our Abbey Church, who organized the English Court
of Exchequer, was the trusted adviser of the “Lion of Justice,” Henry
I., and deserved a better end than to break his heart in a contest with
such a poor creature as King Stephen.
Our Abbot, William Bradford, will not be forgotten by lovers of
architecture, for under his rule in the fifteenth century the choir of
our Abbey Church was rebuilt; while to another Abbot, Peter Ramsam, we
owe, later in the same century, the restoration of our nave. To Abbot
Mere we are indebted for a little building, which every visitor to
Sherborne knows, the Conduit, which stands in our old market-place, now
called by the somewhat affected name of the “Parade.” This conduit,
though it was built, as we have said, by Abbot Mere (1504-1535), is
described by one of those omniscient gentlemen who have lately been
enlightening us about the beauties of Wessex, as “a structure of the
fourteenth century.” It originally stood on the north side of the nave
of the Abbey Church, inside the Cloister Court, which is now a part of
Sherborne School; but it was removed to its present site, or nearly
its present site, by the school governors in the latter part of the
sixteenth century. It is to this day the property of the school.
And so we are brought to the time when our ecclesiastical lords, the
Bishop of Sarum and the Abbot of Sherborne, passed away from us, and
their places were taken by lay lords. Here, too, we meet with famous
names. We have the Protector Somerset, to whom, indirectly, Sherborne
School may owe its post-Reformation endowment. We have, also, Henry,
Prince of Wales, that “young Marcellus of the House of Stuart,” the
eldest son of James I., whose hatchment, as that of a squire of
Sherborne, still hangs in our Abbey Church; we have Walter Ralegh,
that restless, strenuous soul, whose dearly-loved home Sherborne was,
where he would gladly have been buried; we have John Digby, first Earl
of Bristol, whose name stands high among those of English worthies in
the reigns of James I. and Charles I., a man worthy to have lived in a
better age, and to have hazarded his all in a better cause. And another
name insistently presents itself to anyone who has followed Sherborne
history—that of Hugo Daniel Harper. To him Sherborne town and school
owe much that is precious and enduring. That a little town like ours
has kept something of its ancient state, that here we can still so
easily call back the past of Wessex, can still see standing in beauty
and dignity these buildings which the Middle Age has left us—all this
is in no small degree owing to that famous headmaster of Sherborne
School and to his successors.
We now proceed to write more particularly of the most interesting of
these ancient buildings and institutions. They are four in number: the
Abbey Church, the School, the old Castle, and the Almshouse.
With the exception of a small part of the west front of the Abbey
Church, there is, so far as we can tell, not a single piece of wall
standing now in Sherborne which was standing in the year 1107, when
Roger of Caen became Bishop of Sarum and Abbot of Sherborne. We know
that the doorway, now blocked up, on the north side of the west front
of the church, and, therefore, also some of the adjoining wall, is
older than Bishop Roger’s time; but with that exception, we are
forced to admit that the Norman from Caen pulled down all the rest of
Ealdhelm’s church. If he left any more of it, either time has destroyed
this, or he so used the walls that they cannot now be recognised with
any certainty. At the same time there is a piece of outside wall at the
north end of the north transept, in the old slype, which looks very
like pre-Norman work.
The church which Roger built extended as far east as the present church
does, excluding the lady chapels; for the lady chapel of the thirteenth
century must have abutted on the Norman east end, just as it now does
on the Perpendicular ambulatory. The church extended probably rather
further to the west than the present church does, for there exists
evidence to show that, before the parish church of All Hallows was
built on to the west end of the Abbey Church in the fourteenth century,
the west front of the Abbey Church was embellished with a large porch
of Norman work.
The chief traces of Roger’s work still existing in the church are the
piers and arches that carry the tower, the transept walls, the arches
leading from the transept into the side aisles of the nave, and the
walls of these aisles. Other interesting traces of Roger’s work will
be found in the little chapel which projects eastwards from the north
transept; also in the south and west walls of the early English chapel
on the north side of the north aisle of the choir, commonly called
Bishop Roger’s Chapel, and now used as the vestry; these Norman walls
were outside walls of Roger’s church before this early English addition
was made. There is also the jamb of a window to be seen on the outside
of the east wall of the south transept, the only relic which gives us
an idea of what the Norman clerestory was like.
The choir of Roger’s church extended west of the central tower, and to
allow room for the stall-work, the shafts of the east and west tower
arches were corbelled off above the line of the stalls, as may still
be seen in the existing church. That part of the Abbey nave which lay
to the west of the Norman choir was used, until the building of All
Hallows, as the parish church; and the fine Norman south porch, which
has been rather over-restored in the nineteenth century, was, no doubt,
a parochial porch, for it faces the town, not the monastic buildings,
which are on the north side of the church.
The tower up to the floor of the bell-chamber is Norman. Over the
pier-arches which carry it, except on the east side, there is a passage
in the thickness of the wall, with an arcade of semi-circular arches
resting on circular and octagonal shafts, eleven inches in diameter.
On the east side the Norman pier-arch was removed at the rebuilding of
the choir in the fifteenth century, and the removal of this arch so
weakened the tower that its condition in the course of years became
dangerous. The tower was made secure in 1884-5, and these shafts on the
north-west and south sides of the lantern, which had been concealed by
the fifteenth century masonry, were again displayed to view.
A large lady chapel was added in the thirteenth century; the fine Early
English arch, by which it was entered from the church, may still be
seen in the east wall of the ambulatory. The centre of this arch is to
the south of that of the fifteenth century arch, and hence the corbels
of the Perpendicular vaulting do not correspond at all with the Early
English arch; one of them is actually constructed to hang as a pendant,
free of this arch altogether.
The changes made inside the church in the fourteenth century were so
slight as to need no mention. Outside the church, however, a great
change took place, for towards the end of this century the church of
All Hallows was built. The great west porch was pulled down so that
All Hallows might stand directly against the west front of the Norman
church. There are still to be seen remnants of All Hallows, viz., the
lower part of the north wall of the north aisle, and four responds
built into the west wall of the Abbey Church. When All Hallows was
standing with its pinnacled western tower, one would have seen a church
some 350 feet long, with a central and a western tower. This latter
tower had a ring of bells of its own, at least five in number; and it
was to this ring of the parish, not to the Abbey, that Wolsey gave our
great bell.
In the fifteenth century Sherborne saw great things in the way of
building; not only was the Almshouse then built, but the church also
underwent those changes which gave it the appearance it keeps to-day.
The choir was taken down during the last year or two of Abbot John
Brunyng’s rule, and rebuilt from the ground by his successor, William
Bradford (1436-1459). During this same century the smaller lady chapel,
called the Bow Chapel, was built, and the nave restored in the style
of the time by Abbot Peter Ramsam (1475-1504). To these two men we
owe our present splendid fabric. Any visitor to Sherborne Abbey can
for himself easily perceive the differences which mark off the choir
as a building from the nave. The choir from floor to vault is one
harmonious piece of work, so lovely, so complete, that the wit of man
could scarcely design anything finer; while the nave is a compromise,
for in the nave yet stand the old Norman piers cased in Perpendicular
panelling, and the effect which the nave gives us is that of two
stories distinctly marked off the one from the other, the lower story
bearing strong traces of its Norman origin, the upper or clerestory
plainly a Perpendicular work, and worthy of the companion clerestory
of the choir. The pillars of the southern arcade of the nave are not
opposite those of the northern arcade, and the arches are of different
widths; the clerestory arches of the nave, on the other hand, are of
equal widths, and hence the clerestory arches are not directly above
the arcade arches. This compromise has, however, been effected so
cleverly that few people notice the irregularity.
The rebuilding of the Abbey Church choir in the fifteenth century
recalls to our mind the great quarrel between the Abbey and the
townsfolk, which came to a head in the year 1437. It has already been
noted that in ancient times the townsfolk had been allowed by the Abbot
and Convent to use the western part of the Abbey Church nave as a
parish church. Thus the Abbey Church had become a divided church—part
was conventual, part parochial. But as time went on this arrangement
ceased to please one or other, or both, parties, and the consequence
was that All Hallows was built at the west end of the Abbey Church
for the use of the parishioners. After this addition was made, the
large Norman doorway at the west end of the south aisle of the Abbey
Church nave was narrowed by the insertion of a smaller doorway. Now,
All Hallows had not the _status_ of a parish church; technically, the
parish church was still the western part of the Abbey Church nave, and
here it was still necessary for all Sherborne children to be baptised
in the font, which originally stood where the present font stands. The
parishioners, to get to the font, had to enter All Hallows’ Church, and
pass thence into the Abbey Church through the Norman doorway, which
had been narrowed. This the parishioners regarded as a grievance. It
appears, also, that the Abbot had moved the font from the place where
it now stands to some other site which the parishioners regarded as
inconvenient. The parishioners, therefore, in 1436, took the law into
their own hands, and eight of them are charged before the bishop with
having set up a font in All Hallows. The Abbot, of course, regarded
this as a usurpation of the rectorial rights of the Convent; he
complained, also, of another grievance, to wit, that the parish bells
rang to matins at too early an hour, and disturbed the morning slumbers
of the monks. For though they got up at midnight to sing matins and
lauds, they went to bed again, and slept till the hour for prime,
somewhere between 6 and 7 a.m. Abbot Bradford, therefore, appealed to
the Bishop of Sarum, Robert Nevile, who came to Sherborne and held
an inquiry on the 12th November, 1436, in what is now the chapel of
the school, but was then the Abbot’s hall. He examined one hundred
or more of the parishioners, many of whom had not approved of the
high-handed course taken in the matter of the font. After a thorough
investigation, the Bishop, by the advice of his counsel learned in the
law, gave his decision from his manor of Ramsbury, on the 8th January,
1437. It was to this effect—(_a_) that the font in All Hallows was to
be at once utterly destroyed and removed and carried out of the church
by those who had caused it to be set there; (_b_) that the ringing of
the bells to matins for the parishioners throughout the year was not
to be made till after the sixth hour had struck on the _clocka_ or
_horologium_ of the monastery, except on the following solemn feasts:
All Saints, Christmas, Epiphany, and Easter; (_c_) that the font of
the Abbey Church was to be replaced in its old accustomed position,
and all infants born or to be born in Sherborne were, as of old, to be
baptised therein; (_d_) that the intermediate door and entrance for the
procession of parishioners to the font was to be enlarged and arched
so as to give ample space and bring it to its original form; (_e_)
that the manner of the procession and other ceremonies about the font
were to be observed in the old and wonted way; (_f_) that there must
be made, at the expense of the monastery, in the nave of the monastic
church, close to the monks’ choir, a partition, so that there should be
a distinct line of separation between the monks and the parishioners;
(_g_) that the replacing of the Abbey Church font in its wonted place,
and the enlarging of the door, must effectually be completed before the
following Christmas.
This admirable judgment was not received by the disputants with the
respect which it deserved; delays and evasions on both sides brought
about a violent termination of the dispute. The monks induced “one
Walter Gallor a stoute Bocher dwelling yn Sherborne” to enter All
Hallows, where “he defacid cleane the Fontstone; the townsmen, aided
by an Erle of Huntindune lying in these Quarters ... rose in playne
sedition ... a Preste of Alhalowes shot a shaft with fier into the
Toppe of that part of St. Marye Church that divided the Est Part that
the monks usid; and this Partition chauncing at that tyme to be thakked
yn the Rofe was sette a fier, and consequently al the hole Chirch, the
Lede and Belles meltid, was defacid.” After the fire the monks were
induced to agree to the legal transformation of All Hallows’ _Chapel_
into the parish _Church_, in order to get rid of the parishioners
altogether.
The monks never removed the smaller doorway by which the old Norman
entrance was narrowed; there it stands to this day, a monument of that
stormy time, and connected with it there is still a curious tale to
tell. Among the eight parishioners who, “casting behind them the fear
of God,” set up the obnoxious font in All Hallows, and complained of
the narrowed doorway, there was a certain Richard Vowell. Anyone who
now examines this doorway will notice that the wall, which now blocks
it up, is almost wholly occupied by a large monumental tablet to the
memory of Benjamin Vowell, who died in 1783, and to his three wives;
thus, as Professor Willis neatly showed, the doorway which in the
fifteenth century Richard Vowell felt to be too narrow, Benjamin Vowell
in the eighteenth blocked up altogether. The “partition” referred to,
which was being thatched, must have been the tower, which was being
raised in height, and was covered with a temporary roof of thatch to
keep out the rain; no doubt, also, the new choir, which was already
built as high as the springing-stones of the vault, was also thatched
for the same purpose. The reddened stones in the choir and tower still
bear witness to this fire.
John Barnstaple, last Abbot of Sherborne, surrendered the Abbey into
the hands of King Henry VIII. on the 18th March, 1539. He received a
pension of £100 a year, and the Rectory of Stalbridge in 1540; this
living had been in the patronage of the Abbot and Convent. He died in
1560; we know neither the place of his death nor of his burial, but
he certainly was not buried at Stalbridge; he left a small legacy to
Sherborne School.
Henry VIII. sold the Abbey Church, and the demesne lands of the
Abbey, to Sir John Horsey, of Clifton Maybank; Sir John, in 1540,
sold the Abbey Church to the parishioners; the lead, however, with
which the church was roofed, had not been granted to Sir John, and
the parishioners had to buy that through him from the King. The
parishioners appear to have begun at once to sell All Hallows for
building stone. The parish accounts for 1540 and 1541 are missing, but
that for 1542-3 shows the process of selling going merrily on, until,
finally, in the account for 1548-9, we get the last of it in such
entries as these: “George Swetnam, for vi. yerds off one syde off the
Tower, xxs.; Robert ffoster, for foundation stones of ye Northe Syde of
ye Tower, xiiis.; Mr. Sergyer, for a yard off the grace table off the
sowthe syde and for the dore yn the north syde off ye Tow^{r}, xs.”!
It may be interesting to set down here what the parishioners paid
for the Abbey Church and lead. We have already noted that the parish
accounts for 1540 and 1541 are missing. They were not missing,
however, in the eighteenth century, as is evident from an entry in
the parish account book in use from 10th April, 1721, to 4th April,
1809. This entry is due to Francis Fisher, a Sherborne attorney, who
was steward to the Governors of the School during the years 1720-1730.
He tells us that by an indenture made the 28th September, 1545,
between the King on the one part and Sir John Horsey on the other, the
parishioners paid £230 for the body of the church and tower and for
the lead. He adds that the parish account rolls give us the following
information: In 1540 the parish paid £40 for the church, in 1541 £26
13s. 4d. for the same, in 1541 £17 17s. 6d. for the bells of the
Abbey, in 1542 £100 for the lead, in 1544 £80 in full payment for the
church and lead. So that, if the King got in 1545 £230, and the parish
actually paid £264 10s. 10d., Sir John put into his pocket the balance.
However we may regard this matter, the parishioners of Sherborne made
an excellent bargain.
No man can doubt but that the dissolution of the monastery meant
serious loss to Sherborne. Its Abbots had ruled wisely and well, as
far as we can judge, a strip of territory stretching, though not in an
unbroken line, from Stalbridge to Exmouth. Anyone who will make for
himself a map of the manors in Dorset and Devon belonging to our Abbey,
will see that this is so; and besides these, our Abbey held other lands
as well, so that when Sherborne ceased to be the _caput_ of this fair
estate, much that had once come our way ceased to come hither any more.
Though the presence of the school here has in later times done much to
redeem this loss, one cannot say that it has entirely done so.
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE TO SHERBORNE SCHOOL.]
Of all the ancient institutions in Sherborne, that one which has kept
its dwelling-place longest, which is to-day what it was before Wessex
became one with England, is Sherborne School. The old Castle is a ruin,
the Almshouse dates only from the fifteenth century, the Abbey
Church became the parish church only in 1540. But the School, though it
suffered pecuniary loss in 1539 by the dissolution of the monastery,
suffered no breach of continuity; it was in existence when the
Almshouse was founded, it educated St. Stephen Harding in the eleventh
century, and we have no reason to think that its existence suffered
any break from Ealdhelm’s day till then. A school with such a history
may well call forth some reverence from those who love Wessex and know
something of its history. Our school has roots which stretch down into
the very beginnings of things Christian among the West Saxons, and
there is certainly no existing school in Wessex that can rival its
claim to antiquity.
Sherborne School is fortunate in possessing many ancient documents
illustrative of its history; among these special mention must be made
of a series of accounts commencing in 1553 and continuing to the
present time. Only eleven are missing. Till towards the end of the
eighteenth century they are written on rolls of parchment, and are for
the most part in excellent condition. Besides these there are a few
early court rolls of the school manors at Bradford Bryan and Barnesby,
Lytchett Matravers and Gillingham, and schedules and leases of its
other lands. Among these documents, too, are records belonging to the
old chantries, with the lands, of which Edward VI. endowed the school;
some of these go back to the reign of Henry VII.
There is no existing minute book of the governors’ proceedings older
than that which begins in 1592; but, luckily, a draft of minutes exists
relating to the years 1549 and 1550, relating, that is to say, to the
time of transition from the old condition of things which obtained
before the dissolution of the monastery, to the new condition created
by the charter granted to the school by Edward VI. The series of minute
books from 1592 onward is complete.
From the school statutes much can be gathered about the character
of the education given in the school. The oldest statutes of the
post-Reformation epoch are lost; they were based, as we learn from the
accounts, on those drawn up by Dean Colet for his school, once attached
to St. Paul’s Cathedral. In 1592, however, a new set was drawn up for
the School of Sherborne by its visitor, Richard Fletcher, Bishop of
Bristol, who, as Dean of Peterborough some years before, had imposed on
him the terrible task of attending Queen Mary Stuart on the scaffold.
Great stress is laid in these statutes on the “abolishing of the Pope
of Rome and all fforrein powers superiorities and authorities.” From
time to time after this new statutes were made to suit the changing
educational and political views. The statutes all still exist, except
those made in 1650 by the Puritans; of these all trace is lost, except
the bill for engrossing them, which amounted to 25s. Statutes were
drawn up in 1662 by Gilbert Ironside, Bishop of Bristol, which the
Governors were unwilling to accept, because by these statutes the
headmaster was protected from arbitrary interference on the part of the
Governors. It was not till 1679 that Bishop William Gulston succeeded
in making them accept a new body of statutes, which contain almost all
that Gilbert Ironside proposed, together with some additional matter.
In Bishop Ironside’s draft and Bishop Gulston’s statutes, it is laid
down that it is never lawful “for subjects to take up armes ag^{t}
theire Soveraigne upon any pretence w^{t}soever.” The language used in
and out of school in all official matters was Latin, and no scholar was
to go about the town alone, but with “a companion one of the Schollars
that may be a witness of his conversation and behaviour under penalty
of correction.” The system of monitorial rule has always been in
vogue in the school; in 1592 these rulers are called _Impositores_—a
somewhat awkward term one must admit; in 1662 and 1679 they are called
_Prepositores_; nowadays they are called _Prefects_. In 1679 they were
four in number: “One for discipline in the Schoole, to see all the
Schollars demeane themselves regularly there, the Second for manners
both in the Schoole and abroad any where, the Third for the Churche and
Fields, the Fourth to be _Ostiarius_, to sitt by the doore, to give
answere to strangers and to keepe the rest from running out.”
When the assizes were held at Sherborne, the judge sat in what is now
the schoolhouse dining-hall—it was then the big schoolroom; and just
before the assizes took place, we get from time to time an entry of the
following kind in the school accounts: “for washinge of ye King, 6d.”
The King referred to is the statue of Edward VI., which still adorns
the room; it is of painted Purbeck marble, and is the work of a certain
Godfrey Arnold; it cost £9 5s. 4d., and was set up in 1614.
The two royal coats of arms, which may still be seen on the south wall
of the old house of the headmaster, and over the south door of the
schoolhouse dining-hall, were taken down by order of a Commonwealth
official in 1650; but they were carefully preserved, and were restored
to their old positions at the Restoration. That on the old house dates
from 1560; that on the dining-hall from 1607. They used to be bright
with tinctures and metals, but since 1670 they have been “only washed
over with oil or some sad colour, without any more adorning.” The
chronogram on the dining-hall is unique, for it can be made to give two
different dates, according to the ways in which the significant letters
are taken. Mr. Hilton, our chief authority on chronograms, knows of
no other which gives two dates in this fashion. The first date which
our chronogram gives is 1550, the date of the granting of the charter;
the second date which it gives is 1670, that of the rebuilding of the
dining-hall.
Among other school buildings of ancient date we must not omit the
library, partly of the thirteenth century, but certainly restored in
the fifteenth; and the school chapel, with its undercroft of the
twelfth century, and its upper story of the fifteenth. The undercroft
is a very precious relic of the past, but the school chapel, which was
once the Abbot’s Hall, has undergone changes and additions; it still
keeps its fine fifteenth century timber roof. The library, on the other
hand, has gone through little change. It was the Guest House of the
Monastery, and has kept its timber roof of the fifteenth century. It
is curious that the windows on the east side of the room are not quite
opposite those on the west side, nor is the divergence uniform; the
large window in the south end of the room is not in the middle of the
wall, but rather towards the west side.
The modern buildings of the school harmonize well with the older work,
for they are all built of the same lovely stone, and the style in which
they are built, though it is in no sense an imitation of this older
work, is yet in harmony with and worthy of it. One of these buildings
deserves more than passing notice, viz., the new big schoolroom,
completed in 1879. The whole group of buildings, with its surroundings,
classrooms, museum, laboratory, drawing school, music house, Morris
tube range, bath and fives courts, deserves more attention than it
usually gets from visitors to Sherborne. These sojourners often forget
that the north side of the exterior of the church is likely to be as
interesting as the south side; if once they take the trouble to get to
this north side, they will be surprised to find how much fine work,
ancient and modern, is to be seen there.
Sherborne Old Castle is situated on an elevated piece of ground to the
east of the town; this ground is about 300 yards long by 150 yards
broad; the surface has been made level, and an oval area, 150 yards
long by 105 yards broad, has been traced out, and its edges scarped
to a steep slope, with a ditch about 45 feet deep. The material taken
away in forming this scarp and ditch has been thrown outward, so that
the counter scarp is formed of a mound more or less artificial. It was
within this area, above described, that our Pageant of 1905 was given.
The remains of the Castle are as follows: parts of the curtain wall,
with the gatehouse, the keep, the chapel and hall, along with other
parts of the domestic buildings—all ruinous. The builder of this
castle was Bishop Roger; and William of Malmesbury, who knew it well,
has described the masonry in glowing terms. All that remains is of
this Norman period, though it was somewhat restored and altered
in the fifteenth century. The keep belongs to the class of square
keeps. To judge from two windows of the chapel which still remain
in a fragmentary condition, that building must have been of a very
ornate character. The barrel vaulting of the basement of the keep is
worth study, and a Norman pillar, still standing and supporting a
quadripartite vault, is well known to students of architecture. There
is also a Norman chimney with three flues in the gatehouse.
The ruinous condition of the Castle is not so much due to time as to
gunpowder, for in 1645, after the Castle was taken by Fairfax, it was
blown up by order of the Long Parliament, so as to be no longer tenable
as a fortress. After this, while the troops of the Parliament occupied
Sherborne, their barracks were the school, and their “Court of Guard”
the schoolhouse dining-hall.
This is not the place to deal with the vicissitudes in the tenure of
Sherborne Castle—how the Bishops of Sherborne lost and regained it.
It finally passed from Bishop Henry Cotton into the hands of Queen
Elizabeth in 1599. Sir Walter Ralegh had, however, been tenant of it
since 1592, and when Queen Elizabeth got the fee-simple of it, she
gave it to Ralegh. Ralegh, however, did not care to live in it; other
magnates in this part of the world were building fine modern houses,
and he followed their example. Thus arose the modern Castle, known in
former days as Sherborne Lodge, on the other side of the lake, the
central and loftier part of which is due to Ralegh. There is no trace
of any evidence that Sherborne Castle was ever besieged before the
great Civil War. It was used at times in the Middle Ages as a prison;
for example, in King John’s reign. King John himself stayed here in
1207 and in 1216.
After some tragic vicissitudes the Sherborne estate came to the Digbys
in 1617, and since this date, with the exception of the troublous
period of the great Civil War, it has remained with them.
Sherborne Castle was twice besieged during the Civil War, first
in 1642, and again in 1645. The first siege was uneventful and
unimportant. In 1644 Charles I. had been here after his successful
campaign in the West; Prince Rupert, too, had come, and there had
been great doings with reviews of men in Sherborne Park, after which
followed the second battle of Newbury and the self-denying ordinance
and the creation of the New Model. The second siege, that of 1645, was
more important; not only was Fairfax drawn hither by it, but Cromwell,
too, came as general of cavalry. Though the Parliamentary troops
destroyed much of the old castle that we should like to see standing
now, we must, on the whole, acquit them of having done any great injury
to the buildings of the church or school.
In 1688, King William III.—then Prince of Orange—on his advance from
Exeter to London, stayed in the modern castle here; his proclamation to
the English people is said to have been printed in the drawing-room at
a printing-press set up on the great hearth-stone, which was cracked by
it.
Let us now turn to the last of our four ancient institutions, viz., the
Almshouse. This institution is certainly older than the year 1437, in
which year, by a license from King Henry VI. to Robert Nevile, Bishop
of Sarum, to Humfrey Stafford, Kt., Margaret Goghe, John Fauntleroy,
and John Baret, it was refounded in honour of St. John the Baptist and
St. John the Evangelist. It is actually older than this, because some
accounts of the charity exist for a few years prior to this date. Some
day, no doubt, the history of the institution will be more fully worked
out than it is at present. Plenty of material exists in its account
rolls which could hardly fail to throw light on old Sherborne life.
According to the deed of foundation, there were, we are told, to be
twenty brethren, called the Masters of SS. Johns’ House—they are now
called master and brethren—together with a perpetual priest to pray
for the good estate and the souls of the founders and inmates. The
house was to contain twelve poor men and four poor women, who were
to be governed by one of themselves, called the Prior, of their own
election, and a woman of domestic ability was to buy their food and
dress it, wash their clothes and make their beds, who should be called
the Housewife of SS. Johns’ House. The older part of the building was
finished in 1448, and here still stand, not much altered from what
they were then, the chapel, ante-chapel, and dining-hall, with a long
dormitory over the dining-hall; this dormitory used to open into the
chapel, so that the sick and infirm might hear the service, and, so far
as they could, join in it. The chapel contains an interesting triptych
of the fifteenth century by a Flemish artist, name unknown. One cannot
imagine a more desirable haven of rest than this for those who are
fortunate enough to become its inmates.
Enough has now been told to show that among old English towns Sherborne
holds a peculiarly interesting place. It still keeps much of its
old-world look and ancient dignity, and its inhabitants, many of whom
bear the names of the old stock who were living here in in the time
of Henry VI., are a kindly race, among whom it is a pleasure and a
privilege to live.
MILTON ABBEY
BY THE REV. HERBERT PENTIN, M.A.
The county of Dorset is one of the few counties in England that contain
three great minsters in good repair and in parochial use—Sherborne,
Wimborne, and Milton. And each of these minsters is of Saxon and
Royal foundation. King Athelstan, the grandson of Alfred the Great,
founded the Monastery and Collegiate Church of Milton for Secular
Canons, in or about the year 938. In the year 964 King Edgar and
Archbishop Dunstan of Canterbury converted the monastery into an abbey,
with forty Benedictine monks, and chose a very able man, Cynewearde
(or Kynewardus), as the first Abbot. This Cynewearde, a few years
afterwards, to the loss of Milton, was made Bishop of Wells.
The original minster built by Athelstan was a noble stone building of
its time, and was very rich in shrines and relics. The King gave a
piece of our Saviour’s Cross, a great cross of gold and silver with
precious stones, and many bones of the saints, which were placed in
five gilt shrines. The bones of his mother were also brought to the
church (for burial). We also know that the Saxon Minster was restored
and enlarged, if not rebuilt, in Norman times. It has been reasonably
conjectured that the size of the Norman Abbey was that of the choir
and presbytery of the present church. Some large fragments of Norman
masonry have been dug up,[23] which show that the Norman Abbey was a
building of some considerable architectural pretensions; and encased
in the south wall of the present choir and presbytery are the remains
of two enriched Norman arches which escaped destruction in the fire of
1309. In that year the church was struck by lightning, and was almost
entirely burnt to the ground. Thirteen years later, however, under
Abbot Walter Archer, the present Abbey Church was commenced on the same
site, but on a much larger and grander scale; and building operations
went on, from time to time, until within a short period before the
Dissolution in 1539.
[Illustration: MILTON ABBEY.]
[Illustration: KING ATHELSTAN.
Founder of Milton Abbey.
(_From a Painting in the Church._)]
[Illustration: “ATHELSTAN’S MOTHER.”
Buried in Milton Abbey.
(_From a Painting in the Church._)]
The following styles of architecture are represented in the main
portions of the church, built of stone from Ham Hill and Tisbury:—First
Decorated, the choir and presbytery of seven bays, with aisles; Second
Decorated, the south transept; Third Decorated, the two western piers
of the “crossing”; Perpendicular, the north transept and central tower.
The Perpendicular work was undertaken by the penultimate Abbot, William
de Middleton, assisted by Bishop Thomas Langton, of Salisbury and of
Winchester, the Abbey of Cerne, and the families of Bingham, Coker,
Latimer, Morton, and others.
At the Dissolution, the Abbey estates were granted by Henry VIII. to
Sir John Tregonwell, who had helped to procure the King’s divorce from
Catharine of Aragon; but the whole of the Abbey Church was preserved
for the parishioners, with the exception of the Ladye Chapel, which
was pulled down, although some of its vaulting shafts can still be
seen outside the east end of the church. The last of the Abbots (John
Bradley, B.D.), after leaving Milton in Tregonwell’s hands, was
consecrated Suffragan Bishop of St. Asaph, with the title of Bishop
of Shaftesbury,[24] and the Abbey Church of Milton then passed under
the sole spiritual control of Richard Hall, Vicar of Milton, and his
successors.
[Illustration: MILTON ABBEY: INTERIOR.]
Unfortunately, the Abbey underwent a “restoration” in 1789, when the
church was despoiled of many of its fittings; and chantry chapels
and other valuable objects of interest went down under the hand of
the “restorer.” But Sir Gilbert Scott, in 1865, restored the church
at the expense of the late Baron Hambro, and left the Abbey in
its present beautiful condition, and, as far as was possible, in its
original state.
[Illustration: THE TABERNACLE.]
The view of the church at the beginning of this chapter will save the
necessity of a description of its exterior. But the interior contains
many things which demand notice.
And first of all must be mentioned the “ornament,” which many
antiquaries consider to be a Tabernacle for reserving the Eucharist.
This very beautiful and richly carved “Sacrament-house” dates from the
fifteenth century, and is made of oak in the form of a spire composed
of four storeys, the lowest containing the opening through which the
reserved elements may have been passed. It is not in its original
position, but is now fastened to the west wall of the south transept
beneath the triforium.
The great altar-screen is a very lofty, beautiful, and peculiarly rich
construction, even though the two long rows of ornamental niches now
lack the statues of the saints that once stood in them—saints with
“very bluff countenances, painted in very bright colours and heavily
gilded.” On its lower portion there is a Latin inscription, which bids
prayers for the souls of William Middleton, Abbot of Milton, and Thomas
Wilken, Vicar of the parish, who worthily decorated (“_honorifice
depinxerunt_”) the screen in 1492. The three stone sedilia in the
sanctuary are fine specimens. The bosses throughout the church are of
very rich design.
The Abbey also contains two fifteenth century oil paintings of a
crude description, one of which represents Athelstan, the founder,
giving to the first head of the monastery a model of the minster
(with three spires)[25] over which he was to preside. The other
painting is supposed to represent Athelstan’s mother—Egwynna, “_femina
illustris_.”[26]
The tombs of the abbots within the Abbey are most interesting. In
front of the altar steps there is a Purbeck marble grave-slab of the
fourteenth century, which was once inlaid with the brass figure of an
abbot clad in _pontificalia_, with a marginal Latin inscription in
Lombardic capitals:
ABBA : VALTERE : TE : FATA : CITO : RAPVERE : TE : RADINGA : DEDIT :
SED : MORS : MALE : NOS : TVA : LEDIT.
This is the slab of an Abbot of Milton whose Christian name was Walter,
and who was formerly a monk of Reading, probably Walter de Sydelinge,
who died in 1315. In the north transept there is a thirteenth century
grave-slab of another abbot. This slab is also of Purbeck marble, but
the upper portion is broken off. The remaining portion shows part of
an incised figure of an abbot, with pastoral staff, chasuble, stole,
maniple, alb, and an imperfect marginal inscription in Norman French:
VVS ⁝ KI ⁝ PAR ⁝ I ⁝ CI ⁝ PASSET ⁝ PVR ⁝ LEALME ⁝ PRIE...
...RCI ⁝ LISET ⁝ LE ⁝ PARDVN ⁝ I ⁝ CI[27]
There are other large marble grave-slabs, without inscriptions, in the
church, which are supposed to cover abbots, monks, and benefactors.
On some there are the matrices of missing brasses. One, in front of
the altar steps, shows the outline of a civilian in a plain gown, and
his wife wearing a “butterfly” head-dress, with their five sons and
four daughters, _circa_ 1490. In St. John the Baptist’s Chapel, at the
east end of the north aisle of the church, there is a small fifteenth
century brass to John Artur, one of the monks of the Abbey, with a
Latin inscription, which bids God have mercy on his soul. In the same
chapel, a very fine coloured armorial brass over Sir John Tregonwell’s
altar-tomb contains the latest tabard example on a brass in England
(1565).[28]
But to mention all the ancient or modern memorials (some of wondrous
beauty, such as those of Lord and Lady Milton, and Baron Hambro) would
take far too much space. A marble tablet in the vestry informs the
reader that John Tregonwell, Esquire, who died in the year 1680, “by
his last will and testament gave all the bookes within this vestry to
the use of this Abby Church for ever, as a thankfuld acknowledgement of
God’s wonderfull mercy in his preservation when he fell from the top
of this Church.” This incident happened when he was a child; he was
absolutely uninjured, his stiff skirts having acted as a parachute.[29]
The chained library of sixty-six leather-bound volumes comprises the
works of the Latin and Greek Fathers and other early Christian writers,
and some standard theological works of the seventeenth century. The
books have been kept at the vicarage for many years.
[Illustration: ABBOT MIDDLETON’S REBUS.]
The abbey now contains very little painted glass.[30] There is a
large “Jesse window” by the elder Pugin in the south transept, and
some coloured coats of arms and devices of kings, nobles, and abbots
in some of the other windows. The dwarfed east window contains the
only pre-Reformation glass in the church.[31] The Abbatial Arms are
emblazoned in several parts of the building. They consist of three
baskets of bread, each containing three loaves. On one of the walls in
the south aisle, near the vestry, there is the carved coloured rebus of
Abbot William de Middleton, with the date 1514 in Arabic numerals—the
4 being represented by half an eight. It comprises the letter W with a
pastoral staff, and a windmill on a large cask—in other words, a mill
and a tun (Mil-ton). The old miserere seats still remain in the choir,
but the carving thereon is not very elaborate, and many of them have
been renewed. The inscriptions on the Communion plate (which consists
of two large silver barrel-shaped flagons, a bell-shaped chalice, and
a large and a small paten) tell us that “John Chappell, Sitteson and
Stationer of London, 1637,” and “Mary Savage, 1658,” and “Maddam Jane
Tregonwell, widdow, 1675,” gave these to “Milton Abby.”
There are several other interesting things in the church, albeit not
ancient—_e.g._, the rood-loft, the font, and the pulpit.
The rood-loft, although not entirely ancient, is composed of ancient
materials. When the party-walls of St. John the Baptist’s Chapel,
the chantry of Abbot William de Middleton, and other side-chapels,
were destroyed or mutilated at the “restoration” in 1789, some of the
materials were used to reconstruct the rood-loft. The eastern cornice,
for instance, is probably a portion of Abbot Middleton’s chantry, and
bears thirteen coats of arms, including those of the Abbeys of Milton,
Sherborne, and Abbotsbury, and the families of Chidiock, Latimer, Lucy,
Stafford of Hooke, Thomas of Woodstock, and others.
The font of the Abbey, in the south transept, is modern, but of unusual
design. It is composed of two beautiful life-sized white marble female
figures, representing Faith and Victory, with a baptismal shell at
their feet.
Near the font is an oak case containing a fourteenth century coffin
chalice and paten, and fragments of a wooden pastoral staff and
sandals, discovered during the restoration of the church in 1865.[32]
The pulpit is also modern, of carved oak; but it is interesting,
because it contains statues of all the patron saints connected with the
Abbey and the parish, and of these there are no fewer than six, viz.:
St. Sampson of Dol, St. Branwalader,[33] St. Mary the Blessed Virgin,
St. Michael the warrior-archangel, St. Catherine of Alexandria, and St.
James the Great.
St. Catherine of Alexandria is the patron-saint of “King Athelstan’s
Chapel,” which stands in the woods at the top of the hill to the east
of the Abbey. And this little church has also had a history well worth
the telling. When Athelstan was fighting for his throne he had to pass
through the county of Dorset, and he encamped on Milton Hill, and threw
up an earthwork, or made use of one already existing there, the remains
of which can still be seen beyond the east end of the chapel. During
the night he believed that some supernatural revelation was made to
him, assuring him that he would conquer his many enemies and become
King of all England. He pushed on, and at Brunanburh, “Christ helping
him, he had the victory, and there slew five kings and seven earls”
(_Saxon Chronicle_). The song commemorating this important and decisive
victory is given in the _Old English Chronicle_; and the first stanza
of Professor Freeman’s version and that of Lord Tennyson reads thus:
Now Æthelstan King,
Of Earls the Lord,
In warriors the ring giver
And his brother eke,
Eadmund Ætheling,
Eld-long glory
Won in the fight
With the swords’ edge
By Brunanburh,
The boardwall they clave,
And hewed the war-linden,
With hammer’s leavings
Offspring of Eadward.
_Freeman._
Athelstan King,
Lord among Earls,
Bracelet bestower and
Baron of Barons,
He, with his brother
Edmund Atheling
Gaining a life-long
Glory in battle,
Slew with the sword-edge
There by Brunanburh,
Brake the shield-wall,
Hew’d the linderwood,
Hack’d the battle-shield,
Sons of Edward, with hammer’d brands.
_Tennyson._
[Illustration: ST. CATHERINE’S CHAPEL.]
Athelstan, being a thoroughly religious man, as well as a great
warrior, expressed his thankfulness to God in the way usual in
those times. He founded the monastery at Milton, and erected the
_ecclesiola_, afterwards dedicated to St. Catherine, within the
entrenchment where he received the remarkable revelation. Chapels on
the top of hills were often dedicated to St. Catherine of Alexandria,
on account of the legend which tells that St. Catherine’s body was
buried by angels on Mount Sinai. Other instances, in many places,
of this dedication with its connection still remain—in Dorset, for
example, at Abbotsbury and Holworth. The little church at Milton did
its work in Saxon times, and then underwent a considerable restoration
in Norman days. It also underwent a lesser restoration in the early
part of the sixteenth century. As it stands at present, it consists
of a nave and chancel. The main walls, which are very thick, and the
door arches are Norman. On the west jamb of the south door there is
a curious and rare inscription in Lombardic capitals relating to an
indulgence:
INDVLGENCIA ⁝ H’ ⁝ SC̄I ⁝ LOCI ⁝ C ⁝ E ⁝ X ⁝ DIES ⁝[34]
The windows in the nave are Early Norman and Perpendicular. The old
west front was taken down for some reason in the eighteenth century,
and at this time an effigy of a monk in his habit (lying along and
resting on his hands, looking down at the Abbey below) was destroyed.
Some paintings also perished at the same time. The chancel was also
partly rebuilt, and the roof raised, but the Transition-Norman
chancel-arch was preserved. On the south side of the altar is a
pedestal, on which the statue of St. Catherine may have formerly
stood. The encaustic tiles in the chancel were removed from the Abbey
Church in the year 1865. Some of these mediæval tiles are heraldic,
and contain the arms of the See of Exeter, the Earls of Cornwall,
Gloucester and Hertford, and others. A tile manufactured at Malvern has
an inscription and date, 1456.
In pre-Reformation days King Athelstan’s Chapel was possibly used as
the _capella extra portas_—the chapel, that is, outside the gates of
the monastery, at which strangers and women who were not admitted
within the gates might hear Mass. That women used St. Catherine’s
Chapel for another purpose is also possible. St. Catherine is the
patron-saint of spinsters, and in days gone by she was supposed to
have the power of finding a husband for those who sought her aid. The
following Milton rhymes in use to-day may be echoes of the mediæval
Latin doggerels:—
St. Catherine, St. Catherine, O lend me thine aid,
And grant that I never may die an old maid.
A husband, St. Catherine,
A _good_ one, St. Catherine;
But arn-a-one better than
Narn-a-one, St. Catherine.
Sweet St. Catherine,
A husband, St. Catherine,
Handsome, St. Catherine,
Rich, St. Catherine,
_Soon_, St. Catherine.
After the Reformation the chapel was allowed to decay and to become
desecrated. In the eighteenth century there is a record that it was
being used as a pigeon-house. Then, when more houses were needed
in the parish, the “Chapel Royal” was turned into a labourer’s
cottage—the interior was whitewashed, and a ceiling added; the chancel
became a bedroom, and the nave a living room, with a kitchen grate
and chimney affixed. Afterwards the little church was used as a
carpenter’s workshop, and then as a lumber store. But, in 1901, the
neglected building was cleaned out, and a service was held there on
St. Catherine’s night (November 25th). The parishioners assembled in
the building, the roof of which was full of holes (admitting ivy,
wind and wet), the windows had long been broken, and the south wall
was dangerously bulging. Confession of wrong was made for the past
desecrations, and prayers were offered that the Church of St. Catherine
might for the future be reverently treated as a “holy place” (as the
Indulgence-inscription calls it); and, happily, the building has since
been most conservatively restored by Mr. Everard Hambro, the lord of
the manor. Thus, the little church which commemorates a very critical
event in the early history of England has been saved from further
desecration and
[Illustration: THE SEA-SIDE HAMLET OF MILTON.
_Holworth, in 1827, showing the Burning Cliff._]
decay; and King Athelstan’s Chapel is once again used for the service
of God, while remaining a valuable historic relic of Saxon days.
[Illustration: LISCOMBE CHAPEL.]
Another _capella_ belonging to the Abbey, but now in private ownership,
has been less fortunate. Liscombe Chapel,[35] in the parish of Milton,
five miles from the Abbey Church and two miles from Chesilborne, is
still desecrated. This little building, built principally of flint,
stone, and large blocks of rock chalk, is entire, and consists of
chancel and nave, divided by a handsome Transition-Norman arch, with
massive rounded columns. The east window and the two other chancel
windows are Norman, with some later work inserted. But the chapel of
Liscombe has been desecrated for a long time. The nave thereof is now
used as a bakehouse (there is a large open grate, oven, and chimney in
the centre), and the chancel is used as a log-house. A flight of stone
stairs has been erected in the chancel, which leads to the bedrooms
over the bakehouse and log-house. The bedrooms have been ceiled, and
the whole interior of the little church has been whitewashed, including
the handsome chancel arch; the roof of the building is of thatch. An
old stone sundial is preserved in the west wall. Warne, in his _Ancient
Dorset_, states that the chapel is credited with being “tenanted by
a supernatural visitor”; and this is still believed by the country
folk. The house adjoining this desecrated sanctuary is also ancient,
and built chiefly of flint and stone. It possesses several interesting
windows of various dates (including a _loup_ in the east wall), and
an old stone sundial on its south wall. The interior contains some
oak-work, portions of which may be pre-Reformation. This house is now
used as a labourer’s cottage; but there is a tradition that it was
formerly inhabited by the monks, who ministered (“_Divina celebrant_:”)
in the little church. And the building itself, from its position and
evident antiquity, lends colour to the tradition; but there are marks
that it became the manor farmhouse after the Dissolution. There is
also a tradition that the stream which now runs through the hamlet
of Liscombe was formerly larger than it is now, and that there were
fish-ponds close by, and that the monks at Liscombe supplied their
overlord, the Abbot of Milton, with fresh-water fish.
Milton Abbey also possessed three other Norman _capellae_—in Woolland,
Whitcombe, and Holworth respectively; but Woolland is now a separate
ecclesiastical parish; Whitcombe is a donative held by the Rector
of Came (it was held for many years by William Barnes, the Dorset
poet); and Holworth, alone of the three, still remains a part of the
ecclesiastical parish of Milton.
Holworth is sixteen miles from the Abbey Church, and now possesses a
modern chapel, on a hill near the “Burning Cliff,” known as the Chapel
of St. Catherine-by-the-Sea. It is said that in days gone by the monks
at Holworth supplied their Abbot, at Milton, with salt-water fish.
The hamlet of Holworth, overlooking Weymouth Bay and Portland Roads,
has been well described as resting in “a most lonely and most lovely
valley by the sea, an earthly paradise, which those who have discovered
cherish and dream about. It is far away from the haunts of men, and
remote from the cares of life; where the newspaper is two days’ old
before it invades the religious calm of a mind attuned by the most
exquisite scenery to rise to thoughts above this world; where one may
walk along the undulating downs that skirt the Channel, held in place
by parapets of cliff that break down straight into the sea; where one
may walk mile after mile on natural lawn and not meet a soul—just one’s
self, the birds, the glorious scenery, and God.”[36]
The hamlet of Holworth is, indeed, worthy of being a portion of the
parish that is acknowledged to be one of the most beautiful places
in Dorset. The village of Milton lies enfolded between richly-wooded
hills, at the foot of a wonderfully picturesque descent. Sir Frederick
Treves, in his _Highways and Byways in Dorset_, says that “there is
nothing like to it in any part of England.” He calls it a “surprising”
village, “a toy town.” The first impression on seeing it “is one of
amazement, for the place is both extraordinary and unexpected.” Each
of the houses is of the same pattern, and each is separated from the
others by a chestnut tree. The builder of this unique village, as will
be seen, was Joseph, Lord Milton (afterwards Earl of Dorchester). The
old town of Milton lay near the south side of the Abbey Church; but
the ancient town was pulled down by Lord Milton about the year 1780,
as it was too close to his new mansion (in which he had incorporated
the magnificent fifteenth century monastic refectory), and proved an
annoyance to him. The death, in 1775, of his wife (“the most noble and
most excellent Lady Caroline, Lady Milton, daughter of Lyonel, Duke
of Dorset, the wisest and most lovely, the best and most virtuous of
women”), to whom he was passionately attached, and the suicide, in
the following year, of his eldest son (the husband of “the beautiful
Anne Seymour Damer”[37]), probably had a hardening influence on Lord
Milton’s character, and made him use his giant’s strength tyrannously
like a giant. At any rate, he swept away the old town, and the “new
town” was then built, further off, as a substitute. Some fragmentary
particulars of the old town of Milton have been gathered together,[38]
which perhaps are of sufficient interest to be reproduced here.
The old town was one of the most ancient in Dorset. It grew up with the
Abbey, and was known as Middleton (of which Milton is a contraction),
because it was the middle town of the county. It contained shops of all
kinds, four inns, a pre-Reformation Grammar School, almshouses built in
1674, and a brewery, which helped to supply Weymouth, Poole, and other
large towns in Dorset. Milton Abbey ales were at one time among the
most famous in the county; they could also be obtained in London. The
tradesmen of old Milton were prosperous, but the “working classes” were
very poor. Their staple food was barley cake; and to keep down expenses
they saved every morsel of fat and made their own candles in pewter
moulds. Two, if not more, of the leading shopkeepers issued “tokens” in
the seventeenth century,[39] specimens of which exist; and among the
old parish papers are a number of apprenticeship indentures which bound
poor boys to various tradesmen in the place. The girls of the parish
were taught to spin.
[Illustration: MILTON ABBEY, IN THE YEAR 1733.
_Showing the old Monastic house on the left, and the old town on the
right of the church._]
The handsome fifteenth century market cross was one of the finest in
the kingdom, quite worthy of its position near the Abbey Church. It
had an ascent of no fewer than thirty steps. Its site is marked in the
present park by a very massive octagonal socket stone, which is said to
be a portion of the original cross. The parish registers state that,
in the days of the Commonwealth, banns of marriage were published “in
the markett.”[40] The weekly market was well attended, it being the
central market of the county, and was held around the market cross.
The annual fair was held on St. Sampson’s Eve and Day, July 27th and
28th, St. Sampson being the chief patron saint of the Abbey. This fair,
like the market, was granted by King Athelstan; but it was practically
discontinued when the old town was pulled down.
The sports in old Milton were badger-baiting under the cedar trees
in the Abbey churchyard; cock-squailing, cock-fighting, and “fives,”
outside the west end of the church; bowls were played on the bowling
green, and ringing was very popular. The ringers only claimed “bread
and beare” for their services each year—on the Restoration Day of
Charles II. (May 29th), on Guy Fawkes’ Day (November 5th), and on
Christmas Day. They were also paid on special occasions, such as “for
ringing ye Bishope throu Towne”; but episcopal visits were rare. During
Lent the children went “shroving” and “Lent crocking.” On Shrove
Tuesday the children, carrying sticks, knocked at the doors of the
principal residents and repeated this doggerel verse:
Please I’ve come a-shroving
For a piece of pancake,
Or a little ruckle cheese
Of your own making.
If you don’t give me some,
If you don’t give me none,
I’ll knock down your door
With a great marrow bone
And a-way I’ll run.
The result of this threat was that the children were given hot
half-pence, apples, eggs, a piece of pancake, or a hunch of
ruckle-cheese. A ruckle-cheese was a small sour-milk home-made cheese,
weighing about one pound. It could be ruckled—_i.e._, rolled along
the ground. Hence its name. In the evening the “Lent-crocking” began.
Those people who had not given the children anything when they came
“a-shroving” were then punished by having pieces of crockery and pans
and other missiles thrown at their doors. In this way real damage
was often done, and the two parish constables do not seem to have
interfered. The practice of shroving is still continued in the present
village of Milton: it is one of the customs that have survived the
demolition of the old town. It obtains in other Dorset parishes, but is
gradually dying out.
The Abbey churchyard was a very large one. Its area was about three
times the area of the Abbey Church. The sports which took place
therein have been already mentioned. It was also used as a public
flogging-place for offenders against the law. Lord Milton, when he
decided to pull down the old town, had all the headstones in the
churchyard removed, broken up, or buried. In converting the churchyard
into lawns, many bones of parishioners were turned up and irreverently
treated; and the superstitious tradition in the present village is
that, in consequence of this, Lord Milton died of a gruesome disease.
There was an ancient cross in the churchyard called the “Druid’s
Cross,” and also a preaching cross.[41] It is hardly necessary to add
that these perished with the churchyard.
The old Grammar School, founded by Abbot Middleton in 1521, was also
pulled down. It was one of the chief public schools in the south-west
of England, and was known as “the Eton of the West.”[42] It had, as
a rule, between eighty to one hundred boys, mostly boarders, sons of
the leading county families. There were several boarding-houses for
the boys in Milton, and the existence of the school helped on the
prosperity of the town. Two of its most distinguished _alumni_ were
Thomas Masterman Hardy, Nelson’s favourite captain, who in after life
did not forget his old friends at Milton[43]; and Thomas Beach, a
native of Milton, the famous Dorset portrait painter, who from 1772 to
1800 “limned the features of everybody who was anybody.”
It must be admitted, reluctantly, that the Grammar School boys were an
undoubted nuisance to Lord Milton. They lived within a stone’s throw of
his mansion, they broke into his privacy and seclusion, they scoured
his gardens and plantations in every direction, stole his fruit, and
disturbed his game. Records exist of the expulsion of some boys bearing
the most honoured of Dorset names for persistent stone-throwing down
chimneys, and for stealing cucumbers from the Abbey gardens, and
game-fowl eggs for the purpose of rearing birds to compete in fighting.
In the Abbey Church the Grammar School boys sat in a large gallery
which stretched from the rood-loft to the west wall. This gallery was
pulled down by Lord Milton’s orders as soon as he had removed the
school. The headmaster and assistant-masters of the school, being in
Holy Orders, frequently held the position of Vicar or Curate of the
Abbey Church. Among them was John Hutchins, the Dorset historian, who
was Curate of the Abbey and “usher” of the school.[44]
It must not be thought that Lord Milton’s “fine quarter-deck
high-handedness” aroused no outcry. The parishioners regarded his
action as a cruel piece of tyranny, and they resisted it with stubborn
and obstinate opposition.[45] For over twenty years his lordship was
involved in considerable trouble and expense while gradually getting
all the houses into his possession, in order that he might raze them
to the ground. Mr. Harrison, a resident solicitor, refused to sell his
lease, although he was offered three times its value; so Lord Milton
let the water from the “Abbot’s Pond” (a small pond which then lay just
below the Abbey Church) creep around the premises. Mr. Harrison at once
entered an action against his lordship for flooding his house, and the
lawyer won the case. A few days afterwards Lord Milton went to London,
and on his way to Blandford he heard the Abbey bells ringing. This he
interpreted as a sign of parochial joy at his defeat and departure;
and nothing would satisfy him but the sale of the offending bells.
The bells were really ringing to commemorate Guy Fawkes’ Day: it was
November 5th. But the bells had to go: “the autocrat” had spoken.
And his friend, the Dean of Norwich, had said that “bell-ringing
caused much idleness and drinking.” There is a record that, when
the parishioners saw their bells carted away, they stood at their
house-doors weeping, even though two of the bells were saved for the
new Church of St. James.
In pulling down the old town Lord Milton preserved the Abbey Church,
and employed James Wyatt to restore it. Much havoc was then wrought
in the interior, but at the same time the vast building underwent a
thorough repair, which it needed very badly. There is a tradition that
this restoration cost Lord Milton no less than £60,000; but this seems
a fabulous sum.
With the materials from the demolished buildings of the old town
Lord Milton built the present village of Milton (he also built some
ecclesiastical-looking sham “ruins” in the park, which are still
standing);[46] and the stone and timber from the old Abbey tithe-barn
were used to construct a new church in the new village. The few
interesting things in this church, which is dedicated to St. James
the Great, were originally possessions of the Abbey—two bells of the
fourteenth and sixteenth centuries respectively, a thirteenth century
Purbeck marble octagonal font, an old pulpit, two pewter plates, two
oak coffin-stools, and three elaborately-bound volumes, in black
letter, of Fox’s _Acts and Monuments of the Christian Martyrs_ (1632),
which aforetime were chained in the Abbey to a desk covered with “red
shagg” and studded with 200 brass nails.
But although St. James’ Church suffers loss by comparison with the
other more ancient churches in the parish, its churchyard is remarkable
in that it is higher than the church itself. The dead are buried not
below the level of the church, but above the level of its roof. This is
certainly unusual.
Yet it may be regarded as a fitting _finale_ for the inhabitants of a
parish that has been described truly as “a curiosity, surprising, and
remarkable.”
[Illustration:
THE SEAL OF THE TOWN OF
MILTON IN AMERICA.
_Incorporated 1662._]
WIMBORNE MINSTER
BY THE REV. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A.
Wimborne Minster, as it is called to distinguish it from the village
of Wimborne St. Giles and Monkton-up-Wimborne, is at the present day
a bright, clean, prosperous-looking little market town, showing few
remains of olden times save in its church. There is no doubt that its
name is connected with the little river or “bourne” on which it stands,
for the two villages mentioned above, bearing names of which Wimborne
forms a part, stand on the same stream, which, like some other Dorset
rivers—the Var or Frome, the Piddle or Trent—bears two names, the Wim
or the Allen.
And yet it is an ancient place. Here, early in the eighth century,
Cudburh, or Cuthberga, sister of Ine, the famous King of the West
Saxons, whose laws were the foundation of the liberties of his
subjects, and show a spirit of tolerance hitherto unknown towards the
conquered Celts, founded a nunnery. Here, in 851, the then Earl of
Devon is said to have defeated the Danes; here Æthelred, the brother
and immediate predecessor of Ælfred on the West Saxon throne, having
died of a wound received in battle with the Danes, we know not where,
was buried in 871. Hither came the Danes again, plundering the town
and destroying the convent. Hither, too, after the death of Ælfred, in
901, came Æthelwold, the Ætheling (son of Ælfred’s brother, Æthelred,
who had been passed over as too young to rule when his father died)
rebelling against the new King, Ælfred’s son, Eadward the Unconquered,
and possessed himself of Wimborne. Eadward marched from the south
against him, and encamped within the rampart of Badbury Rings, a few
miles to the west of Wimborne; hence he sent a message to Æthelwold,
bidding him surrender. To this Æthelwold returned stout answer that
he would either live or die in Wimborne. But after the messenger had
gone back he took counsel with himself, and decided that as the first
alternative was impossible, and the second unpleasant, he would see if
a third course were not open to him—namely, to live elsewhere. So he
fled to Normandy, and thence to Northumberland, which was then under
Danish rule, and, throwing in his lot with the enemies of Wessex, he
collected a band of freebooters from beyond the sea, and received some
assistance from the East Anglian Danes. But all to no purpose, for the
“Unconquered” King overthrew him and his Danish allies in many fights,
and recovered all the booty they had carried off.
But it is the church that is the centre of interest of Wimborne.
Ine, King of the West Saxons, had two sisters, perhaps more, but
only two are connected with Wimborne. Cuthberga was betrothed to the
Northumbrian King, Æcgfred, or Osric, as he is often called, but when
she met him she found his rough northern manners and his intemperate
habits little in harmony with her more refined disposition and mode of
life. Therefore, she persuaded him to allow her to devote herself to a
religious life, and retired to the nunnery at Barking; and afterwards,
at what exact date we do not know, but probably not later than 705, she
founded a nunnery at Wimborne, her sister being associated with her in
the work. Both of these royal ladies were buried within the precincts,
and in due time canonised as St. Cuthberga and St. Cwenberga; the
former was commemorated as a virgin on August 31st. A special service
appointed for the day may still be read in a Missal kept in the
Cathedral Library at Salisbury.
[Illustration: WIMBORNE MINSTER.]
The convent of Wimborne can boast of another illustrious lady among
those who took the veil within its walls—St. Walburga, or Walpurgis.
Somewhere about the end of the seventh or beginning of the eighth
century, she was born in Sussex, and was educated at the newly-founded
nunnery at Wimborne, and became in due course a nun; here she stayed
for yet another twenty-seven years. Then, by the desire of her uncle,
St. Boniface, and her brother Wilibald, she set out with thirty other
nuns to found religious houses in Germany. She first settled at
Bischofsheim, in the diocese of Maintz, and in 754 became Abbess of the
Benedictine house at Heidenheim, which was situated within the diocese
of Eichstädt, in Bavaria, of which her brother, Wilibald, was Bishop.
Another brother, Winebald, was head of the Benedictine monastery in
the same place; and when he died, in 760, Walburga received the charge
of this house in addition to her own, and continued to rule both until
her death in 779. She was buried in a hollow rock at Eichstädt, from
which a bituminous oil, afterwards called Walpurgis’ oil, exuded. This
was supposed to possess miraculous powers of healing, so that her grave
was much visited by pilgrims, and a church was built over it. She is
commemorated at different times in different places, but chiefly on May
1st, a day originally celebrated with heathen ceremonies, emblematical
of the birth of Summer. Hence some of the heathen rites still lingered
on, just as certain of our Christmas customs are of heathen origin. The
readers of Göethe’s _Faust_ cannot help remembering the revels of the
witches on the Brocken on Walpurgis’ night.
The nunnery at Wimborne perished in some plundering raid of the Danes
some time during the ninth century. Whether Ælfred did anything to
restore it we do not know, but a king of the name of Eadward, either
Ælfred’s son, the “Unconquered,” or the Confessor, founded a college
of secular priests at Wimborne. Again, we know not whether the church
of this college occupied the site of the old convent church or not. The
names of the deans from 1224 until the Dissolution, in 1547, have come
down to us. The only one of these whose name is known in history is the
last but one—Cardinal Pole, who held this position from 1517 till 1537,
being only seventeen years of age at the time of his appointment. When
the deanery was abolished, Wimborne Minster became a Royal Peculiar,
under the administration of three priest-vicars. The arrangement was
a somewhat unusual one; each of the three was responsible for the
services for one week, one of the other two acted as his curate in
the Minster, and the other took charge of the chapelry of Holt. The
next week they changed places; and so on continually. This curious
arrangement continued in force till 1876, when one vicar retired on
a pension, another removed to Holt, where a parsonage had been built
for him, and the third became sole vicar of the Minster and the parish
attached to it.
The history of the church is best read in its stones; written records
are scanty. The central part, all in Norman style, the work of the
twelfth century, is the oldest; from this the building gradually
extended north, south, east, and west, as well as upwards, in the
course of the next three centuries; but the builders who enlarged did
not wantonly destroy the work of their predecessors. Probably the
chief cause of this was lack of funds; there was no shrine of saint,
nor tomb of martyr, nor wonder-waking relic to attract pilgrims,
whose alms, had they come, would have enriched the church, as many
another church was enriched, and had to pay the penalty of over-much
wealth in the form of demolition and reconstruction. Wimborne Minster
was simply enlarged; the outer walls, of course, had sometimes to be
pulled down. Thus in the thirteenth century the Norman east end,
which was probably apsidal, had to be demolished to afford space for
eastward extension, and the date of this extension is determined by
the character of the east window; the windows of the aisles proclaim
themselves to be of fourteenth century date; the western tower is a
century later. The church is one of the few that possess two towers,
set tandem fashion, one at the crossing, the other at the west end.
It is not a very satisfactory arrangement from an artistic point of
view, and has in the few instances in which it has been introduced been
unfortunate. Hereford had two towers thus placed, but the western one
fell; Wymondham, in Norfolk, has two still standing, but the east end
of the church is a ruin; Wimborne central tower was once surmounted by
a spire, but this fell. Exeter and Ottery have two towers, but these
are placed in a different manner, their bases forming the north and
south ends of the transept.
The central tower at Wimborne is the older. It is supported on four
massive Norman piers; the east and west arches beneath it are wider
than the other two; to bring the capitals from which they spring all
into one horizontal plane and the crowns of the four arches all into
another horizontal plane, the builders made the wider arches segments
of a circle less than semi-circles, and the narrower ones segments
greater than semi-circles, giving them the shape of horse-shoes. Above
this lower stage are three others—the triforium stage, with a gallery
in the thickness of the wall; above this comes the clerestory, added
later; and above it another stage, still later, because here, in place
of the simple arches seen on the outside of the lower stages, we find
interesting arches forming lancet-headed openings; above this is a
heavy, ugly parapet and set of pinnacles, erected in 1608 after the
fall of the central spire. The western tower is higher than the central
one, contains the bells, and, just outside the easternmost window, on
the north side of the belfry stage, there stands the wooden figure of a
soldier, who strikes the quarter-hours on two bells, one on each side
of him, and is known as the “Quarter Jack.”
Inside this western tower, on the face of the south wall, is a curious
clock made by Peter Lightfoot, a monk of Glastonbury, in the early part
of the fourteenth century. It tells not only the time of day, but the
day of the month and the age of the moon. The earth is represented by a
globe in the centre; the sun by a ball on a disc, which travels round
it in twenty-four hours, showing the time of day; the moon as a globe
on another disc, which revolves once in a lunar month. Half of this
globe is painted black, the other half is gilt, and the age of the moon
is indicated by the respective proportions of black and gilt shown, for
the ball itself rotates on its axis; when the moon is full the gilt
half is entirely visible; when new, the black half. The clock is still
in working order. A screen separates the lower stage of the tower from
the nave, and forms a baptistry, in which stands an octagonal font of
Norman character, large enough for baptising an infant by immersion.
From the west end, the church presents a very imposing appearance. The
nearer pillars, it is true, are rather mean; they are of fourteenth
century date, and very plain. It has been, with some probability,
conjectured that they were brought from some other church which had
been pulled down just before the time when this church was extended
westward, possibly when the western tower was built. The pillars of
the original nave are cylindrical and massive, the arches of the
main arcading resting upon them are pointed; above is a plain wall;
the division between the original and the added work is shown by
the different character of the mouldings of the arches, and of the
string-course above them, and by the fact that to the east there are
the original Norman clerestory windows, while the walls to the west are
not broken by any openings whatever.
The floor of the presbytery is raised considerably above that of
the choir, and this is itself higher than the floor of the nave, so
that the altar stands at a considerable elevation. One peculiarity is
noteworthy—there are no altar rails, but their place is taken by three
massive oaken benches, covered at all times with the “houseling linen,”
fair white cloths—the use of which goes back to very early times. The
benches which now stand across the presbytery floor, close to the
topmost of the flight of steps leading up to it, are the remains of ten
such benches, which were made in Puritan times for communicants to sit
on as they received the sacred elements. When the custom of kneeling
was revived, these benches were placed on the steps; and on “Sacrament
Sundays,” the clerk, after morning prayer, went to the lectern and
bade those who were prepared to receive the Holy Communion to draw
near, whereupon intending communicants left the nave and knelt at the
benches, or in the choir stalls, until the officiating clergy brought
them the sacramental bread and wine. In 1852, when sundry changes were
being made in the arrangements of the church, all these benches except
three were removed—the three which were in use as altar-rails.
The beautiful triplet of windows, over the altar, end the long vista
seen from the west. Beneath the presbytery floor is a vaulted crypt.
This is not, as many crypts are, dark and gloomy, but well lit by
triangular windows, which from the outside are seen to be just above
the level of the churchyard. This crypt does not retain its original
altar, but its place is marked by a piscina on the southern side; two
arches open out into the choir aisles, through which those kneeling in
the aisles might look down on the priest officiating at the altar of
the crypt.
There are several monuments worthy of notice, but by far the most
interesting is the Beaufort altar-tomb on the south side of the
presbytery. This was erected, to the memory of her father and mother,
by the Lady Margaret, foundress of Christ’s and St. John’s Colleges,
at Cambridge, well known for her many benefactions, and from the fact
that she was the mother of Henry VII. As the history of this family—the
Beauforts—is interesting, and its details little touched on by the
writers of English history, it may not be out of place, especially
as they were connected with Wimborne, to give an outline of it here.
Everyone knows that John of Gaunt was the third son of Edward III.
and the father of Henry IV., but many know only in a general way that
the House of Tudor traced through him their claim to the English
crown. John of Gaunt married Blanche, great-granddaughter of Edmund
Crouchback, second son of Henry III., who was created Earl of Lancaster
in 1257. Her father, on account of his valour in the French wars of
Edward III., had been made a Duke—a new title as far as England was
concerned, for the only English Duke that had been previously created
was the Duke of Cornwall, better known as the Black Prince. Through
Blanche, his wife, John of Gaunt succeeded to the estates of the Duke
of Lancaster, among them to the Castle of Beaufort, in Anjou. He was
himself in 1362 created Duke of Lancaster. Among Blanche’s maids of
honour was one Kate, daughter of Sir Payne Roet, and widow of Sir Owen
Swynford. When Blanche died, John married Constance of Castile, but
took unto himself Kate Swynford as his mistress; by her he became the
father of four children, all born at Beaufort Castle. As they were
illegitimate, they took the name of their birthplace as a surname.
The eldest of these was John de Beaufort, and the second, Henry, the
celebrated Cardinal Beaufort. When Constance died, these four children
were legitimatised by a Bull of Urban VI., then by Richard II., then by
Act of Parliament. The Duke then married Kate. On January 13th, 1396,
John de Beaufort was created Earl of Somerset. He died in 1410, leaving
four sons and two daughters; the eldest, Henry, did not long survive
his father, and his title and estates passed to his next brother, John.
He greatly distinguished himself in the French wars, and was made Duke
of Somerset, Earl of Kendale, Lieutenant of the Duchy of Aquitaine and
Captain-General of the whole realm of France and Normandy. In 1436
the Duke of Bedford, the Regent, died, and as the King, Henry VI.,
was still a minor, another regent had to be appointed. The Duke of
Lancaster thought he should have obtained this important post, but it
was conferred on the Duke of York, and Lancaster therefore retired from
active service, and in 1440 married Margaret, widow of Oliver St. John,
and daughter of John, Lord Beauchamp, of Bletsoe Manor, Bedfordshire.
This John, Duke of Somerset, and Margaret, his wife, are they whose
figures lie side by side in alabaster on their altar-tomb at Wimborne.
Their right hands are clasped together; angels guard their heads; his
feet rest on a dog, hers on an antelope; he is clad in complete armour,
the face and right hand alone bare; the left hand holds the right-hand
gauntlet, which he has taken off before taking the lady’s hand. On
the apex of the arch, above the tomb, hangs the helm which he, during
his life, used to wear in tournaments. Their only child was born in
1441—Margaret, of whom mention has been made. Her father died in 1444,
aged thirty-nine years, and the Duchy of Somerset became extinct in the
Beaufort family. His death took place at Kingston Lacy, an estate close
to Wimborne, belonging to the Beaufort family. His widow and daughter
went to live on the Bedfordshire property. In about four years time,
the widow married her third husband, Lord Welles. Young Margaret, when
only nine years of age, was sought by the Duke of Suffolk as a wife
for his son, John de la Pole, and by King Henry VI. as wife for his
half-brother, Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, son of Catherine, the
Queen of Henry V., by her second husband, Sir Owen Tudor. Margaret was
a clever girl, well educated, knowing even then Latin and French; but
sorely distraught was she to know which of the two suitors to choose:
so she consulted an old gentlewoman, who advised her to commit the
matter to St. Nicholas. She took the advice, prayed to the saint, and
fell asleep, and about four o’clock next morning, whether sleeping or
waking she could not tell, saw one standing in her room, habited in
a bishop’s robes, who bade her accept Edmund Tudor as a husband. She
told her mother, and she was betrothed to the Earl of Richmond, and
they were married in 1455, when she was fourteen years of age and he
twenty-four. They lived at Pembroke Castle, which belonged to Jasper
Tudor, Earl of Pembroke. In 1456 her only son, Henry, afterwards Henry
VII., was born, and shortly after this her husband died. He was buried
at Caermarthen Abbey, and when the monastery was suppressed, his body
was removed to the Cathedral Church at St. David’s. His mother, anxious
to keep quite aloof from party strife (for the War of the Roses had
already broken out), lived on at Pembroke, educating her son. In 1459
she married her second husband, Sir Humphrey Stafford; widowhood, for
one of exalted rank, not being a desirable condition in those times of
war and turmoil. It has been seen that her mother was thrice married,
and Margaret followed her example, for when Sir Humphrey died in 1481,
she, at the end of a year, being then about forty years of age, married
Thomas, Lord Stanley. After fifteen years she separated from him with
his consent, in order to devote herself to a religious life, and
retired to the convent at Woking, in Surrey. It must not be supposed
that she had a peaceful or happy life. Her thoughts were centred on
her only son, and many were the years of separation from this son that
his mother had to endure. The story of his wanderings, his dangers,
his detention in Brittany, are too long to be told here—suffice it to
say that Richard III. became so odious to the chief nobles that at
last it was arranged that Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, Margaret’s
son, should be recognised by the Lancastrian party as their leader,
and should claim the throne; and that in order to gain the adherence
of those members of the Yorkist party who were opposed to Richard, a
marriage should take place between Henry and Elizabeth, the daughter
of Edward IV. Both the mothers agreed to the union: but the first
attempt at invasion by Richmond was a failure, and Richard seemed free
from all danger; and with a view to win over his Yorkist opponents,
he made up his mind to marry Elizabeth himself, although she was his
own brother’s child. This step led to a fresh invasion—this time a
successful one—and the death of Richard on Bosworth field virtually
placed the crown on Henry’s head (1485). So at last the Lady Margaret’s
troubles were at an end, and she saw her son crowned and wedded, and
the red and white roses twined together. It remains only to speak of
her benefactions. Those at Cambridge are well known; and the writer of
this chapter, who once held at Christ’s College one of the scholarships
she founded, cherishes the memory of the royal and pious lady with all
due gratitude. But it is of her benefactions at Wimborne that mention
must now be made. About 1498 she built the beautiful monument to her
father and mother in the Minster; founded a chantry, where, for her own
soul, and for those of her son, her parents, and ancestors, Mass was
to be duly said. She founded and endowed the Grammar School, though,
as its endowments were greatly added to by Queen Elizabeth, its name
was afterwards changed from the Lady Margaret’s to that of Queen
Elizabeth’s Free Grammar School.
The Lady Margaret just outlived her son; both died in the same year,
1509, but she rather later than he.
Of the other monuments space forbids mention of any, save that of
Anthony Etricke, if it can be called a monument, for it is really the
sarcophagus that contains the body of this eccentric magistrate, who
lived at Holt, and was recorder of Poole. He desired, for some reason,
to be buried neither above the ground nor under it, neither within
the church nor outside of it; and in order to carry out this strange
wish, he got permission to cut a niche in the south wall, partly below
the level of the surface of the churchyard, and in it fixed a slate
sarcophagus. In this he ordered his coffin to be deposited when he
died; and he made all the preparations he could beforehand, even to the
painting of the date of his death on the side of the slate coffin. He
had a presentiment that he should die in 1691, but he lived till 1703,
so that the real date of his death had to be placed on the coffin. The
other date was not obliterated, but the new one was painted on the
other, and the two may be seen there to-day. The arms of his family are
painted on the lid, and, as he left twenty shillings per annum to keep
coffin and niche in good repair, the sarcophagus is bright and smart as
paint, gilding, and varnish can make it.
[Illustration: THE CHAINED LIBRARY, WIMBORNE MINSTER.]
The chained library, as it is called, is placed in a chamber above the
vestry, rebuilt when the church was restored. It was formed by the Rev.
William Stone, Principal of New Inn Hall, Oxford, afterwards one of
the “three vicars” of the church. By his will he left some land to St.
Margaret’s Hospital, and his collection of books to the Minster. These
were brought from Oxford in 1686, and placed in what was then known
as the Treasury. They were chiefly the writings of the Fathers, with
certain other theological books, and were intended for the free use
of the people of Wimborne. In these days few would care to pore over
these dry and heavy tomes, or make use of the library, for it does not
contain any novels, standard or ephemeral; but there were days when it
was used for study. In 1725 a catalogue was made, and the number of the
books was then two hundred; when next catalogued, about one hundred
and fifty years later, the number had dropped to one hundred and
eighty-five, despite the fact that ten books not mentioned in the
former catalogue were on the shelves. There is but one MS., bearing
date 1343, “Regimen Animarum,” written on vellum, and containing some
illuminated initials. The majority of the books were printed between
1520 and 1710. The most interesting are: a Polyglot Bible (1657), a
Breeches’ Bible (1595), and Sir Walter Ralegh’s _History of the World_
(1614). No less than one hundred and four pages of this _History_ have
had a hole burnt through them. Tradition says that Matthew Prior, the
poet, was reading this book by candle light, and fell asleep; when he
awoke he found that some snuff from his candle had fallen on the book
and done the mischief. He stuck small pieces of parchment over the
hole in every page, and inserted the missing letters or words with pen
and ink. But the interesting tradition has been controverted in modern
times.
The books were originally chained to the shelves, one end of the chain
being fastened to the edge of the binding, the other to a ring which
would slide along a rod. Many of the books had got loose in the course
of years, and lay dusty and uncared for; but at the restoration, new
rods were fastened along the new shelves, and the old chains repaired
and put to their former use.
In two oaken chests in this room many deeds relating to the Collegiate
Church (the earliest dating from the time of Henry III., the latest
from that of Henry VIII.) are preserved. Among them is the deed
founding the Chantry and Grammar School, drawn up by the executors of
the Lady Margaret’s will; and also the charter granted by Charles I.
to the Governors of the church, from which they derive the powers of
appointing clergy, choristers, clerk, vergers, etc., which powers they
use to-day.
There is one other ancient ecclesiastical foundation in the
neighbourhood of Wimborne, about a quarter of a mile from the town
on the road to Blandford. It is now an almshouse, where three poor
married couples, three poor single men, and the same number of
unmarried women, are maintained; but its original purpose was to
relieve only such of the poor as were suffering from leprosy. It is
generally said to have been founded by John of Gaunt, and so to have
been another connection between that family and Wimborne. There is, it
may be said, an old kitchen at Canford which is still called “John of
Gaunt’s Kitchen”; whether he had anything to do with the building of
the kitchen or the endowment of the Lazar-house we do not know, but
it is certain that he did not found the latter, for, in the reign of
King John, Hugo of Lingiveria gave to it an acre of land, and in 1282
the Bishop of Exeter gave an indulgence to any who would contribute
to its support. A deed of the date of Henry VIII. refers to a Bull of
Innocent IV., dated 1245, in which this hospital is mentioned. Various
gifts of land, vestments, plate, etc., were bestowed on the hospital,
to which a small chapel dedicated to St. Margaret and St. Anthony is
attached. A chantry was founded here by one John Redcoddes, in order
that a priest might daily say masses for his soul’s welfare. The
chapel, the architecture of which shows that it was originally built
in the thirteenth century, still stands, and is fitted up for service.
Hither once a week one of the clergy comes from the Minster to conduct
a service, which the almshouse people attend.
Other than the buildings already mentioned, there is little mediæval
work to be seen in Wimborne. The old Free Grammar School buildings
have given place to modern ones erected in 1851, and the school is now
managed by a governing body appointed under a scheme drawn up by the
Charity Commissioners. So “the old order changeth, giving place to the
new”; but, seen from far or near, the two-towered Minster, with its
parti-coloured walls of deep red and drab stone, rises grand and old
amid its modern surroundings—a noble memorial of the mediæval builder’s
art.
FORD ABBEY
BY SIDNEY HEATH
Various authorities agree with Camden in stating that Ford Abbey
(originally in Devon, but now included in the county of Dorset),
near Chard, was founded in the year 1140, for Cistercian monks, by
Adeliza, daughter of Baldwin de Brioniis, and a grand-niece of William
the Conqueror. The circumstances of its origin are interesting and
romantic. It appears that Adeliza’s brother, Richard of Okehampton,
had given, in 1133, certain lands at Brightley, within his barony,
to an Abbey of the Cistercian Order, and had secured twelve monks
to dwell therein from Gilbert, Abbot of Waverley, in Surrey. This
small community remained at Brightley for five years, when they, “by
reason of great want and barrenness, could abide there no longer,”
and commenced a return journey to their original home in Surrey. On
their way they passed through Thorncombe, the parish wherein Ford is
situated, where they encountered Adeliza, who, hearing with great
regret of the failure of her brother’s enterprise, exclaimed: “Behold
my manor where you now are, which is very fruitful and well wooded,
which I give you for ever in exchange for your barren lands at
Brightley, together with the mansion-house and other houses. Stay there
until a more convenient monastery may be built for you upon some other
part of the estate.” The site selected by the monks for the erection
of the Abbey was in a valley, on the left bank of the river Axe, at a
place called, according to Leland, “Hertbath” (_balneum cervorum_),
and which, from its nearness to a ford crossing the river at this
spot, subsequently became known as _Ford_.
Such is the accepted origin of the splendid pile of buildings which
sprang up in this fertile and sequestered valley in 1148, and which
still, notwithstanding the pillage at its dissolution, and its many
structural alterations, commands our admiration and our attention;
although, if we except some small portion of what is known as “the
chapel,” at the eastern end of the south front, nothing now remains of
the original foundation erected by the pious Adeliza.
The original purpose of this ancient part of the building, known as
“the chapel,” is somewhat obscure. It has been commonly regarded as
that portion of the religious house which its name indicates, and
as being the burial-place of its founder and other benefactors. Dr.
Oliver, however, in the supplement to his _Monasticon_, speaks of it
as the “Chapter House”—a likely suggestion. In his _Memoir of Thomas
Chard, D.D._, Dr. J. H. Pring writes:
That except in the deed of surrender, and a short reference made to it
by Hearne, I have not been able to discover the slightest notice of
“the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Ford” in any of the numerous
accounts which have been given of the abbey; though when we read of
frequent interments, some on the north, others on the south side of
the choir—others, such as that of Robert Courtenay, who, we are told,
was buried on the 28th July, 1242, in the chancel, before the high
altar, under a stately monument exhibiting the figure of an armed
knight—there can be little doubt, I think, that these took place, not
in what is now known as the Chapel, but in the Abbey Church, which
stood at the east end of the abbey, about two hundred feet above the
chapel.
[Illustration: FORD ABBEY.]
This portion of the edifice, whose original uses are conjectural,
shows, both inside and out, considerable vestiges which appear to
suggest a Norman origin, and which we may assume were possibly
erected under the immediate auspices, if not under the personal
superintendence, of the Lady Adeliza. The exterior angles of the
eastern end exhibit the quoins so characteristic of the Norman style of
building, and the interior has many fine examples of Anglo-Norman
work, in the pillars, the groined stone roof, the arches at either end,
of a slightly pointed character, with the well-known zig-zag or chevron
moulding. The eastern window is of much later date, being Perpendicular
in style, and it is believed to have been inserted by Thomas Chard, the
last Abbot, as the upper panel of the left-hand side depicts a stag’s
head, whilst the companion panel, parallel to it, contains faint traces
of the oft-repeated monogram, T. C.
The next feature in point of antiquity is what is now termed the
“Monks’ Walk,” a range of ivy-clad buildings running back for nearly
four hundred feet from the eastern end of the Abbey in a northerly
direction, and it is thought that a similar range ran parallel to it.
The remaining wing is on the eastern side, and consists of two storeys,
the lower of which possesses some beautiful Early English work, and
the upper one was probably the monks’ dormitory. In the centre is an
archway of fourteenth century date, and along the entire length of the
wing is a series of lancet windows, almost perfect on the western side,
but destroyed or built up on the eastern. Hearne thus notices this wing:
But now, though one of the chief uses of the cloisters was for
walking, yet in Religious Houses they had sometime galleries for the
same end. We have an instance of it in Ford Abbey in Devonshire,
which is one of the most entire abbeys in England; in the east front
whereof, which is the oldest of the two fronts (though the south front
be the chiefest), there is a gallery called the Monks’ Walk, with
small cells on the right hand, and little narrow windows on the left.
Great as is the antiquarian interest of these fragments of what we may
reasonably presume to have formed part of the original foundation, the
greater part of the existing fabric is the work of Abbot Chard, of whom
we shall have something to say later. The best view of the building is
obtained from the front, where nearly all that meets the eye affords a
striking instance of the consummate taste and devoted perseverance of
this remarkable man under circumstances that may well have discouraged
the boldest. The storm which culminated in the dissolution of the
monastic houses was gathering; but instead of being filled with dismay,
as were so many of his fellow-churchmen, Thomas Chard spared no effort
to beautify his beloved abbey, perhaps that the very glamour of her
loveliness might enchant the eyes of the spoilers and turn them from
their purpose of ruthless spoliation. To a great extent, his work was
preserved, for, although the abbey did suffer, and that grievously,
yet it escaped the wanton wreckage by which most of these foundations
throughout the land were devastated.
[Illustration: Sidney Heath. 1907
Details from Cloisters. Ford Abbey.]
The first portion of Chard’s building to claim attention is the
cloister, late Perpendicular in style, with mullions and window tracery
which present an appearance at once good and bold, and show no signs
of the debasement and formality that are so characteristic of the late
buildings of this period. Above the windows a frieze of stonework
depicts on shields the arms of various benefactors to the Abbey—as
those of Courtenay quartering Rivers, Poulett, the Bishop of Exeter,
etc.; and on many shields appear either the monogram or the name of
Thomas Chard.
An excellent account of the cloister—and, indeed, of the whole Abbey—is
contained in a very rare little volume, entitled, a _History of Ford
Abbey_, written anonymously many years ago, but acknowledged by
ecclesiologists to be the work of one who for a long period must have
resided there, and who thus, by daily associations with the fabric,
became more familiar with its minute architectural details than
could possibly be the case with anyone who had not enjoyed a similar
privilege. As this volume is rare, as well as interesting and accurate
in regard to its architectural information, no apology is needed for
quoting certain passages from it here. In reference to the cloister we
learn that:
The cloister is divided by a suite of rooms and arcade from the
grand porch-tower, so conspicuous for its architectural beauty, and
which in days gone by was no doubt the original entrance. It is
richly ornamented with first-rate sculpture, some of it obviously
unfinished; the central boss in the vaulting uncut; and the blank
shield in the centre, below the basement window, encircled by the
garter, was doubtless intended for the royal arms. The uncut shield
on the sinister side, having the pelican and dolphin for supporters,
was for Courtenay. The two small shields cut are charged with a lion
rampant for De Redvers, and cheeky two bars for Baldwin de Brioniis.
Immediately over the arch of the door is a large scroll shield of a
more modern date, bearing the arms of Prideaux, impaling those of his
second wife, Ivery. On the upper part of this elegant specimen of Dr.
Chard’s taste, in the centre shield, are his initials, T.C., with the
crosier and _mitre_ (Dr. Chard was a Suffragan Bishop); and the two
smaller shields, with the T.C., crosier, and abbot’s cap, alternate
with the stag’s head cabossed—supposed to be the bearing of the then
Bishop of Exeter; and just below the battlement of the tower is the
following inscription:—
AN̄’O D’N̄I MILLESIMO QUINGESIMO VIC^{MO} OCTA^O. A D’N̄O
FACTUM EST THOMA CHARD, ABB.
Now, while there is no doubt that Chard united in his own person the
offices of Abbot and Suffragan Bishop, the above account is at fault in
attributing “the stag’s head cabossed” to the then Bishop of Exeter,
for it formed no part of the armorial bearings either of Bishop Oldham
or of his successor, Veysey. In a letter from Dr. Chard to Cardinal
Wolsey “the stag’s head cabossed” is used as the _seal_, and is
expressly referred to in the body of the letter as “_sigillum meum_,”
and we find the same device associated with his name or monogram in
various parts of the Abbey buildings; the most probable solution
being that it relates to the ancient cognizance of the Abbey, or the
site whereon it stands, which, as we have already seen, was Hertbath
(_balneum cervorum_).
[Illustration: Panel from Cloisters. Ford Abbey.]
Further confirmation of Dr. Chard’s double office of Bishop and Abbot
is found in a remarkable panel in the frieze (_see illustration_),
which appears to have been designed for the purpose of attesting this
fact, if not in actual words, yet in unmistakable and appropriate
symbolism. The small top corner shields of this panel contain the
letters T. C., and the lower ones an abbot’s and a bishop’s staff,
respectively; whilst on the hatchment-shaped panel in the centre
occurs the stag’s head and bishop’s staff, the name “Tho. Chard” on a
scroll entwined round an abbot’s staff; and above these, as a fitting
termination to the whole, appears the abbot’s cap, surmounted by the
bishop’s mitre.
[Illustration: THE CHAPEL, FORD ABBEY.]
The entrance porch contains a fine west window of the same character as
those of the adjoining great hall, which in their turn correspond with
those of the cloister, and above them is a frieze of grotesque animals.
To quote once more from the book already referred to:
This part of the building has been shorn of its length, as, on minute
inspection, will appear. The royal arms are not in the centre, as they
no doubt originally were. They consist of a rose crowned, encircled
with a garter, and supported by a dragon and greyhound, the badges of
Henry VII.... Although the remaining portion of this wing has been
altered, it was built by Thomas Chard, the battlements corresponding
with the tower and chapel; and as a more decisive proof that it was
so, there is, at the western end of the building, but hid by ivy, the
portcullis cut in stone, another of the badges of Henry VII.; and to
the north, or back side, are the initials T. C., with the crosier and
cap.
The ancient guest-chamber, so integral a part of these old foundations,
appears to have been at right angles to the great hall, as it was
noticed some years ago on the collapse of portions of the ceiling that
the ancient timber roof was still _in situ_. We shall have a little
to say later about the alteration and adaptation of the interior for
the purposes of a modern mansion, when, happily, much of Dr. Chard’s
work was not disturbed; but we have, unfortunately, no record of the
condition of the fabric prior to the restorations of the above prelate,
and his task seems to have been little less than the rebuilding of the
greater part of the edifice. The antiquary Leland, visiting the Abbey
during Dr. Chard’s alterations, writes: “_Cœnobium nunc sumptibus plane
non credendis abbas magnificentissime restaurat_.”[47] This beautiful
structure had scarcely had its delicate stonework mellowed by the soft
winds from the Devonshire moors, when the Dissolution, long impending,
burst in fury upon the larger religious houses, and on March 8th, 1539,
Thomas Chard was induced to sign the surrender of his beloved Abbey
of Ford, which was endeared to him by many sacred associations, and on
which he had lavished his own private fortune and the artistic genius
of a master mind. The following is a translation (according to Dr.
Pring) of the document of surrender, the wording of which, we may be
sure, accorded ill with the reluctant hands that attached the names and
seals:—
To all the faithful in Christ, to whom this present writing shall
come: Thomas Chard, abbot of the monastery or abbey, and of the
Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, of Ford, in the county of Devon,
of the Cistercian order, and the same place and convent, everlasting
salvation in the Lord.
[Sidenote:
Per me Thomā abbem
Willūs Rede, prior
John Cosen
Robte Yetminster.
Johēs Newman.
Johēs Bridgwat^{r}.
Thomas Stafford.
Johēs Ffawell.
W. Winsor.
Elizeus Oliscomb.
William Keynston.
William Dynyngton.
Richard Kingesbury.
]
Know ye that we, the aforesaid abbot and convent, by our unanimous
assent and consent, with our deliberate minds, right, knowledge,
and mere motion, from certain just and reasonable causes especially
moving our minds and consciences have freely, and of our own accord
given and granted, and by these presents do give, grant, and surrender
and confirm to our illustrious prince, Henry VIII., by the grace of
God, king of England, lord of Ireland, supreme head of the Church
of England in this land, all our said monastery or abbacy of Ford
aforesaid. And also all and singular manors, lordships, messuages,
etc. In testimony whereof, we, the aforesaid abbot and convent, have
caused our common seal to be affixed to these presents. Given at our
Chapter House of Ford aforesaid, on the 8th day of the month of March,
and in the thirtieth year of the reign of King Henry aforesaid. Before
me, William Petre, one of the clerks, etc., the day and year above
written.
By me, Willm̄n Petre.
No sooner had the document been signed than the work of pillage
commenced; but one is inclined to agree with the Devonshire historian
Prince, that, “by what lucky chance he knew not, Ford Abbey escaped
better than its fellows, and continueth for the greatest part standing
to this day.” At the same time, there is little doubt that much havoc
took place, although, perhaps, not to the extent recorded by Risdon,
who says it now merely “somewhat showeth of what magnificence once it
was.”
It is just possible that Thomas Chard’s beautiful work softened the
hearts of the spoilers, and its very wealth of ornament caused it to be
retained as too valuable a prize to be utterly demolished; but, whether
standing entire or razed to the ground, it appears to have been an
encumbrance, for on October 28th, in the year of its surrender, it was
granted by the King, “with all and singular its manors, lordships, and
messuages, etc.,” to Richard Pollard, Esq.
At the time of its dissolution the annual revenues of the Abbey were
computed at £374 10s. 6¼d. by Dugdale, and at £381 10s. 6d. by
Speed, and the net revenue was, no doubt, somewhere between these two
sums.
Born probably at Tracy, near Awliscombe, Honiton, about the year 1470,
Thomas Chard was one of the most distinguished ecclesiastics of his
day, and evidently, as his works attest, an accomplished architect and
a most munificent man. The highly ornamental façade of the institution
over which he presided as last abbot is considered to be the finest
example of its kind in the West of England. On entering holy orders,
Chard appears to have held several livings in Somerset, Devon, and
Cornwall, and was elected Abbot of Ford about 1520. Previous to this,
in 1508, he was appointed Suffragan to Bishop Oldham by the title
“Episcopus Solubricencis,” in 1513 Warden of the College of Lady St.
Mary, at Ottery, and in 1515 Prior of the Benedictine or Cluniac Priory
of Montacute. It has been suggested that as Dr. Chard was Warden of
Ottery College about the time that the beautiful Dorset Chapel was
built (1513-18)—one of the most lovely pieces of Perpendicular building
we possess—the inspiration of this eminent architect may have done much
to influence the splendid design of this portion of the Church of Lady
St. Mary at Ottery.
It was Bishop Chard who officiated for Bishop Veysey, of Exeter, at the
noble obsequies of Katherine Courtenay, daughter of Edward IV., and
widow of William Courtenay, Earl of Devon, buried at Tiverton in 1527.
It is thought that his choice for this office was determined by his
headship of the Monastery of Ford, of which foundation the Courtenays
had always been great patrons and benefactors.
The burial place of Thomas Chard is unknown, but may possibly be in
the chapel of the Hospital of St. Margaret, near Honiton. Dr. Oliver,
who visited this chapel many years ago, writes: “The west door is
secured by a large sepulchral slab, to which was formerly affixed a
brass plate.” This has long since disappeared, but many writers agree
that there is little doubt that this slab covered the dust of the
Abbot-Bishop.
[Illustration: Seal of Ford Abbey.
Full Size]
The old abbey seal,[48] which had eluded the research of many
antiquaries, including the editors of Dugdale’s _Monasticon_, was
discovered by Mr. Davidson, of Sector, near Axminster. It is of oval
form, the usual shape for monastic seals, and is divided into three
compartments, in the uppermost of which is a bell suspended in a
steeple, and in the canopy beneath we see the Blessed Virgin with the
Divine Infant on her knee. On one side is the shield of Courtenay,
bearing—_or_, three torteaux, with a label of three points. On the
other side is the shield of Beaumont—barry of six, _vair_ and _gules_.
The lowest compartment occupies rather more than half the seal inside
the inscription, and shows an abbot standing, in his right hand a
pastoral staff, and holding in his left hand a book; and at his feet
are three monks kneeling, with their hands together in supplication.
With this description of the seal the claims of Ford Abbey to figure in
this volume of “Memorials” are practically finished, yet it may be of
interest to continue a little further in the personal and architectural
history of this wonderful old house. As we have seen, Henry VIII.
granted the abbey and all its appurtenances to Richard Pollard, Esq.,
who was subsequently knighted by Henry VIII., and from this gentleman
it passed to his son, Sir John Pollard, who sold it to his cousin,
Sir Amias Poulett, of Hinton St. George, and Curry Mallet, who had
held the office of head steward of the abbey under the _régime_ of Dr.
Chard (as had his father, Sir Hugh Poulett, before him), and who was
for a short time the custodian of Mary Queen of Scots. From Sir Amias
Poulett, the abbey and estates passed by purchase to William Rosewell,
Esq., Solicitor-General to Queen Elizabeth, and thence to his son, Sir
Henry Rosewell, who, in 1649, conveyed them to Sir Edmund Prideaux,
Bart., of Netherton, county Devon. He was educated at Cambridge, and
after being admitted a student of the Inner Temple was called to the
Bar, 23rd November, 1623. He was returned as Burgess for Lyme Regis and
took part against the King. He appears to have been a man of marked
abilities, as in 1643 we find him appointed one of the Commissioners of
the Great Seal, and three years later he was granted the privileges of
a King’s Counsel, the combined offices being worth some £7,000 a year.
It is somewhat singular that, while holding the first-named office he
was allowed to retain his seat in Parliament, and when he relinquished
the Great Seal, the House of Commons, as an acknowledgment of his
valuable services, ordered that he should practise within the Bar,
and have precedence next after the Solicitor-General, to which office
he himself was raised in 1647. Although attached to the Parliamentary
cause he took no part in the King’s trial, nor in the trials of the
Duke of Hamilton and others. Nevertheless, he shortly afterwards
accepted from the dominant party the office of Attorney-General, a
post which he retained for the remainder of his life. His remarkable
organising abilities were shown in 1649, when, as Master of the Post
Messengers and Carriers, a post he had acquired in 1644, he established
a weekly conveyance to every part of the kingdom, a great improvement
on the system he had found in vogue, and under which letters were sent
by special messengers, one of whose duties it was to supply relays of
horses at a given mileage. It is said that the emoluments accruing to
his private purse from this improved postal service were not less than
£15,000 a year. Sir Edmund was twice married, and by his first wife
Jane, daughter and sole heiress of Henry Collins, Esq., of Ottery St.
Mary, he had a daughter Mary. His second wife was Margaret, daughter
and co-heir of William Ivery, of Cotthay, Somerset, and by her he had
three daughters, and a son Edmund, who succeeded him at Ford Abbey.
It was Sir Edmund Prideaux who brought Inigo Jones to the Abbey to
carry out certain alterations, which he did by inserting square-headed
windows in the walls of the state rooms, and by adding these and other
classical affectations on to the old Gothic building he destroyed the
harmonious composition of the whole, and it is not, perhaps, a matter
of regret that this architect died in 1654, before his designs for
converting this fine old house into a sham “classical” building were
carried out, although the interior of the house was embellished with
magnificent decorations and the whole place made into a beautiful,
comfortable, and habitable mansion.
Edmund Prideaux, the younger, had for his tutor John Tillotson,
who afterwards became Archbishop of Canterbury. Although he took
but little part in the grave political troubles of his day, he is
remembered in history as the entertainer of the ill-starred Duke of
Monmouth, who visited Ford in 1680, on his journey of pleasure to the
west country, where he was royally entertained by his host, whose
connection with his noble guest did not end here, as after the Rye
House affair he was suspected of favouring the Duke, and the house was
searched for arms. When the Duke subsequently landed at Lyme Regis in
1685, Mr. Prideaux, like a prudent man, remained quietly at home, but
was visited at night by a small party of rebels requiring horses, and
it is said that one of them while in the house drank to the health of
Monmouth, which indiscretion becoming known in London, a warrant was
issued for Mr. Prideaux’s arrest, and he was taken to the Tower on a
charge of high treason. Notwithstanding that nothing could be proved
against him, he was kept a close prisoner until he had paid the sum of
£15,000 to the infamous Jeffreys, when his pardon was signed on March
20th, 1685. On the accession of William III. he petitioned Parliament
for leave to bring in a Bill to charge the estates of Jeffreys with the
restitution of this money, but the Act failed to pass.
The sole surviving daughter of Edmund Prideaux (and his wife, Amy
Fraunceis), in 1690, married her cousin, Francis Gwyn, Esq., of
Llansandr, co. Glamorgan, who thus inherited Ford Abbey, and was
succeeded in the estates by his fourth son, Francis Gwyn, who, dying
without issue in 1777, devised this house and all his other lands
to his kinsman, John Fraunceis, or Francis, of Combe-Florey, on
condition of his taking the name of Gwyn, and in this family the
Abbey remained until the decease of a John Francis Gwyn, in 1846,
when it was purchased by G. F. W. Miles, Esq., and afterwards by Miss
Evans. It is now the property of Mrs. Freeman Roper. The famous Jeremy
Bentham rented the abbey early in the nineteenth century and here he
entertained James Mill and other social and literary magnates. One of
the numerous Francis Gwyns was Queen Anne’s Secretary for War, and to
him Her Majesty presented the magnificent tapestries now hung in the
saloon. They are worked from original cartoons by Raphael, said to have
been designed at the request of Pope Leo. Charles I. is said to have
purchased the cartoons on the advice of Rubens, and to have removed
them from Brussels in 1630. They were first placed, it is thought, at
Whitehall, and William III. had them hung at Hampton Court Palace,
where they remained until 1865, when they were taken to their present
home, the Victoria and Albert Museum. These designs were the property
of His Majesty King Edward VII., who has, I think, recently bequeathed
them to the nation.
It was in 1842 that, for the convenience of county business, the parish
of Thorncombe, containing Ford Abbey, was transferred to the county of
Dorset.
DORCHESTER[49]
BY THE LORD BISHOP OF DURHAM, D.D.
If Bede is right, the Roman armies did not leave our shores till A.D.
452. Whether it was then, so near the end of the old Western Empire,
or a little earlier, it must have been a dark hour for Dorset, which
no doubt saw something of the embarkation; some considerable force,
in that strict order which to the last the legions maintained, would
no doubt march from Durnovaria to Clavinio (Weymouth) to take ship.
The light of history falls faint over Dorset and Dorchester for many
a year from that Roman exodus. But it is interesting to find that the
“Saxons,” to use the familiar term, took a century and a half to master
Dorset; our fathers must have made a stubborn fight against endless
raids. It is at least possible that the victory of Badon Hill—in
which, says the Arthurian legend, the Saxon hordes were ruinously
beaten by the “Britons,” led perhaps by a Rome-trained chief—was
won in Dorset; Badbury, near Wimborne, in the belief of Edwin Guest
of Cambridge, was Badon. But Wessex in due time absorbed Dorset and
Dorchester; and now our fields and woodlands were well sprinkled with
royal manors, while our town, beyond a doubt, still kept much of its
old dignity and culture; for the Saxons left the walled cities largely
alone, after disarming their inhabitants. Durnovaria, with its name
changed to Dorceastre, still stood fenced with its massive wall and
still contained many a stately house, tessellated and frescoed. Kings
of Wessex doubtless visited Dorset often, for the chase, and for
sustenance on their manors, and to keep state at Dorceastre. Alfred,
in all likelihood, was known by sight in the town. His grandson,
Athelstan, allowed it the right of coinage—a sure testimony to its
importance.
It suffered sorely from the Danes a century later. Sweyn, in 1002,
taking awful revenge for the massacre wrought by Ethelred the
“Unredy”—that is to say, the “Counsel-less”—marched from Devon to Wilts
by Dorset, and left Dorchester a desolation. It is said that he tore
down the walls, but this, almost for certain, was not so; they were
too massive to be wrecked without long labour, which the rovers would
not care to spend; and there is large evidence for their existence
far into the seventeenth century. However, Danish fire and sword must
have left the town black and blood-stained within its ramparts. Half a
century later, under the Confessor, Dorchester counted 172 houses; the
number is recorded in _Domesday Book_ (1085-6) as large, in contrast to
the eighty-eight at the date of the survey. Very likely the building
of the Norman Castle (where now stands the Prison) had to do with the
shrinkage; the castle was sure to be a centre of spoliation.
The restless John was in the town in 1201, and often later—hunting, no
doubt, and taking his “one night’s firm,” the statutable sustenance due
to the King and his men. Under Edward I., in 1295, we sent burgesses to
the first English Parliament. Our last burgess sat from 1874 till 1885.
Dorchester is now only the centre of an electoral division.
In that same reign appears the first mention of our town churches:
Holy Trinity, St. Peter’s, and All Saints’. Not that the parishes are
no older than that date; indeed, the porch of St. Peter’s contains a
twelfth century fragment.
[Illustration: HIGH STREET, DORCHESTER.]
The reign of Edward III. experienced the terror of the Great Plague,
carried from China over Asia to Europe, where literally millions of
people perished. It burst into England, alas! from a ship which put
in at the Dorset shore, and no doubt our town owed to that awful
scourge the low state of industry recorded a little later. Things had
mended by the time of Henry VI., and from then, upon the whole, the
place has been prosperous. In the seventeenth century it was busy with
cloth-making and, as now, with the brewing of beer. In the old times of
farming it was a great centre of grain commerce. Stories are told of
Dorchester fair-days, when wheat-laden wagons stood ranged in long file
from Cornhill, along South Street, and far out upon the Weymouth road.
The town had its troubles in “the great century.” In August, 1613, a
fierce fire swept it almost clean away. The old churches of Trinity and
All Saints vanished, with nearly every other building within the walls
(and some outside their circuit, in Fordington), save only St. Peter’s
and the houses near it—among which would be that now almost solitary
relic of picturesque Old Dorchester, “Jeffreys’ lodgings.”
But the rebuilding must have been energetic, for in the Civil Wars we
find Dorchester populous and active enough to be a troublesome focus of
“malignity.” “A place more entirely disaffected to the King, England
had not,” says Clarendon. One probable cause of this attitude lay in
the commanding influence of John White, Rector of Holy Trinity from
1606 to 1648. White was an Oxonian, a man of culture and piety, and
evidently of strong personal influence. Preachers to-day may envy, if
they please, the pulpit privileges given him by the town. The borough
records show, for example, that in 1630 one Nycholls was brought
to justice for having “offered speeche concerning Mr. John White’s
preaching.” White helped to plan the colony of Massachusetts, but
he did not join the emigration. His power was felt at home, in the
Westminster Assembly, and in the politics of Dorchester.
In 1642 the walls were solidly repaired, and outside works thrown
up at, among other points, Maumbury Ring. Watch was kept day and
night at the gates and on St. Peter’s Tower. But the spirit of the
town strangely failed when, on the approach of the enemy, one Master
Strode predicted that the walls would hold off the King’s men for
just half-an-hour. The Governor, Sir Walter Erle, hearing that Lord
Carnarvon was coming with two thousand men, and Prince Maurice’s
artillery besides, promptly left the place, and the citizens opened the
gates on a promise that they should be spared violence. Carnarvon would
have kept the promise with chivalrous fidelity, but Maurice let his men
loose, and Dorchester was so badly handled that Carnarvon threw up his
command and went to serve the King in person. A little later the town
behaved much more bravely, and baffled a small Irish force under Lord
Inchiquin till help from Weymouth completed the rout of the Royalists.
Later again Essex occupied the town in force; and then Sir Lewis Dives,
for the King, surprised it with brilliant success, but was badly beaten
on a second attempt. Yet later there was a skirmish at Dorchester, when
the royalist _Mercurius_ says that no less a captain than Cromwell
himself was put to flight by Lord Goring; but the account lacks full
confirmation. A story of that skirmish clings to a corner of lower
Fordington, a curve in the road near Grey’s Bridge, known as Tupp’s, or
Tubb’s, Corner; it is said that a Cromwellian hero of that name fled
thereby at a speed memorable for all time.
A still darker experience than that of war awaited Dorchester not
long after. When Monmouth fought at Sedgemoor (1685) our Dorset
peasants were among the bravest of his rude but heroic army. And when
the abortive rising was over, the Bloody Assizes began, and Jeffreys
sat at Dorchester. His lodgings are still shown, the most striking
house-front in the town, with its black timbers and long, low windows;
and still, in the Town Hall, is kept the chair from which the terrible
Chief Justice, in a court hung with red, dealt out death with grim
smiles and ghastly jests. Nearly three hundred men, told that it was
their only hope, pleaded guilty, but for most of them the only result
was a few days’ respite. Seventy-four were executed at Dorchester,
with all the horrible circumstances of death for treason. For years
afterwards grim human relics of that evil time still clung to the
railings round St. Peter’s, greeting the entering worshippers.
[Illustration: JUDGE JEFFREYS’ LODGINGS]
This was not quite the last scene of horror at Dorchester, though
it was alone in its dreadful kind. As late as within the eighteenth
century an unhappy woman, convicted of the murder of her husband, was
hanged and then burned within Maumbury, amidst a vast gazing multitude.
It is a relief to think that about the same time the town put on a
beauty of a sort unique, I think, in England. The walls had somehow
largely disappeared within the last half of the seventeenth century;
and now it was proposed to plant double rows of trees all along the
line of their foundations. By 1712 the planting was complete, and for
nearly two complete centuries Dorchester has been surrounded by the
noble range of avenues which we call The Walks, renewed from time to
time, and kept with increasing care. From close to Glide Path Hill
(“Glippath”) the visitor can walk under long successive aisles of
sycamores or chestnuts on a well-laid gravel road, now facing east,
now south, now west, now north, till he finds himself close to the
foot of High Street, within ten minutes of his point of departure. I
have seen the noble avenues at King’s Lynn, and those of the Backs at
Cambridge are only less dear to me than our Walks. But I do not think
that anything even there can quite equal these bowery ramparts of our
ancient town—certainly not when we put together the natural charm and
the historical interest.
The Walks were still young about the year 1730, when a poet, in the
course of a tour from London to Exeter with a group of friends, rode
through Dorchester. It was Pope’s intimate, John Gay. The travellers
first saw the town, of course, from Stinsford Hill, over a foreground
which then, no doubt, was less full of trees. The reaches of the Frome
and the broad water-meadows pleased Gay, as well they might, and in his
delightful verse-journal we read his impression:
Now the steep hill fair Dorchester o’erlooks,
Border’d by meads and wash’d by silver brooks.
In 1762 we find recorded as noteworthy the paving and fencing of a
side-walk in the lower High Street; and in 1774 came the first public
lighting of the streets. A decade later Miss Burney (Mme. D’Arblay)
gives a lively picture of Dorchester as she saw it when travelling in
the suite of George III. to Weymouth: “The city had so antique an air,
I longed to investigate its old buildings. The houses have the most
ancient appearance of any that are inhabited that I have happened to
see; and inhabited they were indeed! There was an amazing quantity of
indigenous residers—old women and young children,” who, as she shrewdly
remarks, could not have come in from a distance, and so formed an index
of population. Yet the town could not have counted then more than 3,000
inhabitants. It contains now just 10,500.
We reach at last the nineteenth century. The town, like the county,
and like all rural England, was in grave alarm in 1830 at the time
of the “rick-burnings.” Mrs. Mary Frampton’s _Journal_ speaks much
of the scenes of riot and of wild alarms. I possess letters written
by my mother, then the young mistress of Fordington Vicarage,[50] in
which she speaks of the nightly watch and ward kept all around, and of
her husband’s active share in it, and the relief, under the terrible
strain, which was given by the friendly attitude of Fordington towards
him. Just later the Frampton _Journal_ describes the battle royal of
an election scene on Poundbury (Pummery, as I must be allowed still to
call it), when the greatest of all Dorset’s sons, the seventh Earl of
Shaftesbury, then Lord Ashley, stood for the county.
That date brings me to times only a little previous to my own memory,
and well within the memory of my brothers and friends, and familiar of
course to my father, who from 1829 to 1880, as Vicar of Fordington,
laboured alike for the spiritual and social good of his parishioners.
I may be allowed to close my narrative with a small sheaf of
reminiscences from his and other memories. Then, after a brief glance
of the mind’s eye over my native town, my task of love is done.
My father knew very old people who “remembered when rooms were first
carpeted at Dorchester.” One aged parishioner could recall the change
of style in the calendar in 1752; the children were taken to _a stile_
in the Great Field as a memento. He and my mother saw, from Maumbury,
about 1832, the Princess Victoria with her mother, passing in their
carriage on the way to Weymouth. My brother, since 1880 Bishop in
Mid-China, recalls the bringing into the town, in carts, about 1834, of
loads of saplings sent to be planted along the London Road; and a noble
avenue they made, which now, alas! is no more than a relic of itself.
I just remember the days of the stage coaches in Dorchester. I see
the old _Emerald_ still, and hear the bugle of the guard. In 1852 I
travelled by coach to Dorchester from Bath. And how vividly I can see
the excitement of the crowd on the arrival of the first South-Western
train, in 1847! An old woman still runs across my field of view,
crying out: “There, I did never zee a coach avore goo wi’out ’osses!”
I remember, two years later, Prince Albert’s arrival at the station,
where he took carriage for Weymouth, there to lay the first stone of
the Breakwater. Very vividly I recall the thousands of lamps festooned
along the Walks to illuminate an entertainment for old people after
the Crimean peace. Two years earlier, a few weeks before the Alma,
I remember the awful outburst of the cholera in Fordington; it was
brought from London in tainted clothing which was sent to the wash in a
Fordington cottage. My father “stood between the dead and the living”
at that dark time, and, with admirable assistance, was able, under God,
to bar the pestilence from entering the town.
[Illustration: CORNHILL]
But I must not ramble further into narrative. Dorchester, with its
integral neighbour, Fordington (incorporated into the borough in 1835),
is very dear to my heart, and it is not easy to put narrow limits upon
reminiscence. Yet scarcely a word has been said here about our chief
architectural features of the place. I have but named Trinity Church,
the third structure in succession to that which perished in 1613, as
All Saints’ Church is the second in like sequence—All Saints’, whose
fine spire, raised in 1852, gave a wholly new feature to the town. St.
Peter’s is the ecclesiastical crown of Dorchester—a noble Perpendicular
church, with a dignified tower, vocal with eight fine bells; in its
churchyard stands a bronze statue of our Dorset poet, William Barnes.
At the head of High Street, where the tree-vaulted Bridport road
runs out westward, stands the modern St. Mary’s, the church of West
Fordington; the pretty original church, Christ Church, now the chapel
of the Artillery Barracks, was built by my father’s efforts in 1847,
when the parish was divided from old Fordington. The County Hall
and Town Hall are leading features of the High Street. The present
Town Hall, in 1849, took the place of a building visible still to my
memory, under which opened an archway leading into North Square, and
which itself succeeded, in 1791, “The Cupola,” near the Town Pump. The
Museum, where my brother, Henry Moule, long superintended and developed
the excellent geological and antiquarian collections, is a handsome
modern feature of the middle High Street; it stands at a point where,
almost within the oldest living memory, projecting houses so narrowed
the roadway that the stage-coach could pass up and down only with great
caution. The County Hospital, founded in 1841, has grown into abundant
usefulness, and makes, with its beautiful little chapel, a dignified
feature of the place. In South Street the quaint front of the “Napper’s
Mite” almshouses, and the Grammar School, are conspicuous.
[Illustration: “NAPPER’S MITE”]
With Fordington Church, St. George’s, let me close. As I write[51] it
is about to be largely rebuilt, for Fordington has grown fast; and the
north aisle of 1833 is, indeed, very far from beautiful. But, whilst
I rejoice that space and form should be added to the church, my mind
must still and always see it as it was, with its simple chancel of
1750; its rude, partly Norman, north aisle; its pulpit of 1592, now
approached by a rood-stair re-opened in 1863; its remarkable eleventh
century _tympanum_ at the south door, which shows (probably) St. George
routing the Saracens at Antioch, in armour of the Bayeux type; and
its very noble fifteenth century tower, a model of proportion. Let us
climb that tower, by the stairs familiar to me all my days, and from it
bid farewell to Dorchester. Beautiful is the prospect, near and far.
Below us lies the spacious churchyard, a burial-place, in parts, ever
since the Roman period. Westward you see Dorchester, tower, spire, and
bowery Walks, with Poundbury beyond them. South-westward lies expanded
the vast field of Fordington, which till 1870 was unbroken by fence,
and was tilled by the farmers on a system of annual exchange, older,
probably, than the Christian era. Beyond it stretches the green,
massive rampart of Maiden Castle, and, more distant still, the aerial
dome of Blackdown, crowned by the monumental tower which commemorates
Nelson’s Hardy. North-westward we can almost see beautiful Wolfeton
House, cradle of the greatness of the Bedfords. Northward, we look down
on the roofs and lanes of dear old Fordington; and eastward lie the
long, fair levels of the Swingbridge meadows, where Frome is sluiced
into hundreds of channels, bright with living water. The bowery slopes
of Stinsford and Kingston flank the meadows; and then, eastward, the
broad valley leads the eye away to the vanishing yet abiding line of
the Purbecks, a cloud of tenderest blue. South-eastward, over the
village and its bartons, the woods of Came appear, and the sea-ridge
runs above them with its long line of Danish burial-mounds. Almost in
sight are Max Gate, the home of Mr. Hardy, our renowned novelist, and
the thatched roof of Came Rectory, once the home of our poet, William
Barnes—deep student, true pastor, clear and tender seer of nature and
of man.
O fields and streams, another race
Already comes to take our place,
To claim their right in you,
Our homes to hold, our walks to rove—
But who shall love you with our love,
Shall know you as we knew?
WEYMOUTH
BY SIDNEY HEATH
It has become customary in recent years for topographical and other
writers to depict Weymouth, if not exactly as a town of mushroom
growth, at least as one whose history and antiquity date no further
back than from the time when George III. found its salubrious air so
suited to his health. True, the aspect of the modern town has little
left of its pre-Georgian days to tempt the archæologist or allure the
casual literary worker; but a few hours spent among the old records
of the town would speedily remove this first impression of modernity,
and convince even the most sceptical antiquary that the old town of
Weymouth is one of the most ancient in the county of Dorset. The casual
visitor may, therefore, be forgiven his impression that Weymouth was
founded by George III.; for so nearly were the older buildings swept
away at the time of this royal invasion that even loyal Weymouth
citizens now find it difficult to realise how living a thing was the
ancient past of their town, since whatever was left untouched by the
Georgian builders has been well-nigh destroyed in more recent times to
make way for what is called modern convenience and improvement.
The word Weymouth is derived directly from the Saxon “Waegemuth,”
_waeg_ meaning a wave, that is the sea; and _mutha_, an opening. The
Celtic name for the river Wey, allied to the Welsh word _gwy_, meaning
water, seems to have caused some confusion in the Saxon mind, and have
led them to regard the mouth of the estuary (the Backwater) as the
inlet of the sea rather than the outlet of a small stream.
[Illustration: The Quay Weymouth]
The earliest beginnings of the town are lost in obscurity; yet, even
if we are not prepared to accept the assertion of certain historians
that the Tyrian and Phœnician merchants traded here in their numerous
visits to these shores, we have evidence of a more than respectable
antiquity in some traces and memorials of the Roman occupation, in the
way of roads, coins, and pottery; while at Preston, an almost adjoining
village, remains of a Roman villa may still be seen, and considerable
Roman remains have been found at Radipole.
There are very few records or official documents antecedent to the
reign of William I., and naturally many chasms occur in the continuity
of the recorded history of Weymouth. The earliest mention of the
place is in Saxon annals, which state that King Athelstan, A.D. 938,
granted to the Abbey of Middleton (Milton), in Dorset, in order that
masses might be said for his soul and the souls of his ancestors and
successors, Kings of England:
All that water within the shore of Waymuth, and half the stream of
that Waymuth out at sea: twelve acres for the support of the wear and
its officer, three thaynes and a saltern by the wear, and sixty-seven
hides of land in its neighbourhood.
The next mention of the place occurs in a Saxon charter of King
Ethelred II., wherein the King gives land to his minister, Atsere,
during his life, and licence to leave the inheritance of it as he
wills. The charter is signed by the King with the sign of the cross;
by Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Oswald, Archbishop of York;
and the Bishops Athelwold, Living, and Hirwold. The date of this
interesting document is either obliterated or was never inserted; but
in 980 Dunstan was Grand-Master of the fraternity of free and accepted
Masons in England, and both he and Oswald died about 988.
We find no further record of Weymouth until 1042, when Edward the
Confessor caused a charge to be brought by Robert, Bishop of London,
accusing his mother, Queen Emma, of consenting to the death of her son
Alfred, of endeavouring to poison Edward, another of her sons, and of
maintaining an infamous connection with her kinsman, Alwin, Bishop of
Winton, to the King’s and her own dishonour. The Queen was ordered to
purge herself by “fiery ordeal,” which she did at Winchester Cathedral
in the presence of the King and his nobles; and, having passed
barefooted and blindfold over nine red-hot ploughshares without harm,
she was adjudged to have cleared herself of the accusations and to have
furnished her accusers with an example of what female chastity is able
to accomplish. The King publicly solicited his mother’s pardon; but
the Church of Winton was not so easily appeased at the charge brought
against its Bishop, and forced the repentant King to submit to severe
penance, and to give nine manors to Holy Mother Church, accordingly—“Ex
libello donatorium Wintoniæ Ecclesiæ, S. Edwardus rex, dedit Portelond,
Wikes, Hellwell, et Waimuth maneriis, cum ceteris aliis, ad Wintoniæ
ecclesiæ”; and this grant was confirmed by a bull of Pope Innocent II.
In _Domesday_ there are several parcels of land separately surveyed
under the name of _wai_ and _waia_, with no additional name to
distinguish them, and they are held by different individuals.
Henry I. granted by a charter (without date) to the Prior and Monks of
St. Swithun, Winton, the ports of “Waimuth and Melecumb, with all their
appurtenances, together with the manors of Wike and Portelond,” which
King Edward gave them, and that they might enjoy all the liberties,
wrecks, and all free customs, by sea and by land, as they had ever
enjoyed them. This charter was confirmed by Henry II.
In the reign of Henry III. the manor appears to have been considered
as a dependency of Wyke, and again as appertaining to Portland, but
it is certain that in the early part of this reign it was granted to
Henry Blois, Bishop of Winchester, and his successors, as appears by
the entry on the Charter Rolls. The Bishops did not keep the manor
long, for it soon became the property of the opulent family of Clare,
from whom was descended Edward IV. It would be tedious to trace the
varying fortunes of the Clare family, who were for centuries among the
most powerful in the kingdom; and although much could be written of
the subsequent holders of the manor, the following brief records must
suffice for several decades:—
* * * * *
40 Edward III.—Lionel, Duke of Clarence, held the boroughs of Weymouth
and Wareham, the manors of Portland and Wyke, with many others.
22 Richard II.—Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, held the borough of
Weymouth, the manors of Portland and Wyke, with many others.
11 Henry V.—Anna, wife of Edward, Earl of March, held the borough of
Weymouth, etc.
* * * * *
By the marriage of Ann Mortimer, sister of the Earl of March, with
Richard de Conysburgh, Earl of Cambridge, the manor fell to the house
of York, for their son, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, succeeded
them; and in 11 Henry VI., the King granted to Richard, Duke of
York, livery of Weymouth, and all the castles, manors, lands, etc.,
which Ann, late wife of Edmund, _Comes Marchiæ_, held in dower of the
inheritance of the Duke.
The town is mentioned by Leland (1538), Coker (1630 _circa_), and
Camden. The first-named writes:
The Tounlet of Waymouth lyith strait agayn Milton (Melcombe) on the
other side of the haven, and at this place, the Trajectus is by a bote
and a rope, bent over the haven, so that yn the fery-bote they use no
ores.
In another part of the Itinerary we read:
Waiymouth Town rite agen Milton, on the other side of the Haven yt is
bigger than Miltoun ys now. The Est South Est point of the Haven of
Waymouth ys caulid St. Aldelm’s point, being a litl foreland. Ther ys
a Chapelle by on the Hille. The Paroch Chirch ys a mile of—a Kay for
shippes in the town—the Haven Mouth almost at hand. Half a mile and
more to the New Castelle—an open Barbecane to the Castelle. Weimouth
is counted 20 miles from Pole.
Camden states that in the reign of Edward III., the King got together
a powerful army and fleet for the purpose of invading France, and the
town provided twenty ships and 264 mariners for the siege of Calais;
but these figures are disputed by Hackluit, who says there were but
fifteen ships and 263 mariners. In March, 1347, the bailiffs of
Weymouth seized all the goods, chattels, jewels, and armour of Geoffry,
Earl of Harcautly, who had joined the army of the French King. In 1377
the town suffered considerably from the fleet of Charles V., when great
portions of the ports of Dartmouth, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Hastings, and
Weymouth were destroyed.
The next event of importance was the landing here, on April 14th, 1471,
of Margaret of Anjou, the consort of Henry VI., on her return from
France with her son, Prince Edward.
So the tide of history swept on, with periodical ravages from pirates
and enemies, until the appearance off the harbour of a large foreign
fleet of eighty sail, which had voyaged from Middleburg on January
10th, 1505, to escort Philip and Johanna to their Kingdom of
Castile; but a violent hurricane caused the ships to run to Weymouth
for shelter. The inhabitants, being unaware of the quality of their
visitors, and alarmed at so formidable an array of vessels, speedily
armed themselves, and sent word to Sir Thomas Trenchard, at Wolfeton,
who, with Sir John Carew, marched into the town at the head of some
hastily improvised troops. On the rank of the visitors becoming known,
Sir Thomas invited them to his house at Wolfeton until he could advise
the King, Henry VII., of the fortuitous circumstance. As soon as Henry
had notice of the arrival of these royal visitors, he despatched the
Earl of Arundel with a troop of 300 horse, carrying torches, to escort
them to London.
There is much in the minor history of the town that one would fain
linger over, but we must confine ourselves to those larger and more
far-reaching historical events with which the old life of Weymouth was
so closely bound up.
In 1544 the bailiffs of Weymouth received the following letter from the
King, Henry VIII.:—
(By the King.)
Henr. R.
Trustie and well beloved, we greate you well. And whereas betweene us
and the Emperor upon provocation of manyfolde injuries committed by
the Frenche Kyng unto us both particularlie; And for his confederation
wyth the Turke, against ye whole commonwealthe of Christendome. It ys
agreede that eche of us aparte, in person, with his puissant Armie in
several parties this soommer, shall invade the Realme of Fraunce; and
beyng not yet furneyshed as to our honour appertayneth:—
We have appoynted you to send us the nombre of xv hable fotemen, well
furneyshed for the warres as appertayneth, whereof iii to bee archers,
every oone furneyshed with a goode bowe in a cace, with xxiii goode
arrows in a cace, a goode sworde, and a dagger, and the rest to be
billmen, havyng besydes theyre bill, a goode sworde, and a dagger, to
be levyed of your owne servants and tenants.
And that you put the saide nombre in such a redyness, furnished with
coats and hosen of such colours as is appointed for the battel of our
Armey.
As they faile not within oone houres warnyng to march forward to such
place as shall be appoynted accordinglie:—
Yeven under our Sygnete at our palace of Westmr., the v^{th} daie of
June, the xxxv yere of our reigne.
Henr. R.
Weymouth had been created a borough in the reign of Edward II., at the
time that his nephew, Gilbert of Clare, Earl of Gloucester, was lord
of the manor (one of whose sisters had married Piers Gaveston, and the
other sister was the wife of Hugh le Despencer); and although the town
is styled a “burg” in several documents relating to previous reigns, it
was not until the nineteenth year of the reign of Edward II. that it
returned a representative to Parliament.
The borough of Weymouth and the adjoining one of Melcombe (which
together now make up modern Weymouth) had long viewed each other
with jealous eyes; and so many complaints being made through their
respective members, the Parliament prepared a charter, at the
suggestion of Cecil, it is said, which was approved by Queen Elizabeth
in the thirteenth year of her reign, which united these two discordant
elements into one borough.
The merchants of the town, like all those of our southern ports, played
a zealous and active part in fitting out ships to fight the Armada; and
from a MS. in the Cottonian Library we learn that the following vessels
set out from Weymouth in 1588, with instructions to guard the coast and
seek out the Invincible Armada:—
Name. Tonnage. Master. Men.
_The Gallion_ 100 Richard Miller 50
_The Catherine_ 60 30
_The Heath Hen_ 60 30
_The Golden Lion_ 120 60
_The Sutton_ 70 Hugh Preston 40
_The Expedition_ 70 50
[Illustration: A Relic of the Armada.]
Notwithstanding that their largest vessel was only of 120 tons, the
Weymouth contingent captured two of the galleons and brought them as
prizes into the harbour. The only other vessels sent by the county
on this occasion were two from Lyme Regis—_The Revenge_, of 60 tons,
and _The Jacob_, of 90 tons—and four from Poole. In the Guildhall
there is a memorial of the event in the shape of a massive iron-bound
chest (_see illustration_), believed to have been brought from one
of the captured galleons; and many other relics are scattered over
the county, as at Bingham’s Melcombe, where there is a magnificent
oval dining-table, of massive form and marvellous workmanship, with
the crest of a Spanish grandee in the centre, the whole mounted on a
sea-chest in lieu of legs. Many Spanish coins have been washed ashore
on the Chesil Bank, and it is possible that others of the ill-fated
ships sank in the vicinity of Portland, or that the dons threw their
money and valuables overboard rather than let them fall into the hands
of their captors.
Little is recorded during the next fifty years, save the building of a
wooden bridge of seventeen arches to unite the two towns, in 1594; and
thirteen years later the town was visited by one of those great plagues
which periodically swept over mediæval England.
The outbreak of the Civil War in 1642 found the county fairly evenly
divided in support of the rival parties, and Corfe Castle became the
headquarters of the Royalist, and Bingham’s Melcombe that of the
Parliamentary forces. In 1643 the Earl of Carnarvon seized and held
for the King, Weymouth, Melcombe, and Portland, and left them in
charge of Prince Maurice, whose troops are said to have pillaged and
ravaged the district. The following year the Earl of Essex defeated
the Royalist troops, and took the town for the Parliament, when he
was assisted by a fleet under the Lord High Admiral, the Earl of
Warwick. The towns proved a rich prize for the captors, as, in addition
to much ammunition, etc., no less than sixty ships fell into their
hands. The troubles of the inhabitants, however, were far from over,
as in 1645 Sir Lewis Dyves received orders from the King to make
an attempt to re-capture Weymouth, which, with the help of Sir W.
Hastings, the Governor of Portland, he succeeded in doing, and drove
the defenders across the harbour into Melcombe. On June 15th, 1644, the
town surrendered to the Parliamentary Commander, Sir William Balfour,
the final overthrow being largely due to the Earl of Warwick, who
appeared off the harbour with a large fleet, originally mobilised
for the relief of Lyme Regis. The spoils of war which fell into the
hands of the captors included 100 pieces of ordnance, 2,000 muskets,
150 cases of pistols, 200 barrels of powder, and 1,000 swords, in
addition to sixty ships of various tonnage lying in the harbour. The
losses sustained by the combined towns in the Civil War amounted to
£20,000, as a certificate from the Justices, in the Parliamentary Roll,
testifies. The town to-day shows no trace of the fierce bombardments it
underwent, but a house in Maiden Street has a “bogus” memento in the
shape of a cannon ball foolishly inserted in the masonry some decades
since.
[Illustration: Sandsfoot Castle]
In 1649 the inhabitants petitioned Parliament for a grant of £3,000, to
enable them to enlarge Melcombe Church, build a new bridge, and free
the harbour from rubbish.
[Illustration: Doorway Sandsfoot Castle]
The “Old Castle,” otherwise Sandsfoot Castle, situated about half a
mile from Weymouth proper, is to-day nothing but a mere shell of the
former stronghold. It was built by Henry VIII., about 1539, and was
part of his scheme for the fortification of various parts of the coast,
particularly Portsmouth, Portland, and Weymouth, against a possible
invasion on the part of Papal Europe on his throwing off the Roman yoke
in 1540. Leland calls it “a right goodlie and warlyke castel, havyng
one open barbicane.” The existing masonry shows its form to have been
a parallelogram, and from its commanding position it, no doubt, was a
fortress of considerable strength. It is difficult to identify, from
its crumbling remains, the various portions of the castle, but that
portion to the north, from its vaulted character, appears to have been
the Governor’s apartment; while fronting south was the gun platform, as
the embrasure shows. This platform would also flank its east and west
sides, which were also pierced for big guns, while almost level with
the ground was the barbican, with two tiers of loop-holes for small
arms.
On a tombstone at Whitchurch Canonicorum is the following inscription:—
Here lyeth Iohn Wadham of Catherstone, Esquyer, who deceased A.D.
1584, who was dewring his life time Captayne of the Queene’s Ma^{ties}
castell called Sandesfote, besides Waymouth in the countye of Dorset.
Among its other Governors were George Bamfield, 1631; Sir Anthony
Ashley Cooper, 1643; Colonel Ashburnham and Colonel William Sydenham,
1644; and Humphrey Weld, of Lulworth, 1685. It is a matter for regret
that this old building should have been so neglected, as each year sees
large masses of its masonry falling over the cliff. As a writer as long
ago as 1829 said:
Its remains even now attract many an inquisitive enquiry as to why it
has been so neglected, as where the neighing of hostile steeds, and
the busy clang of arms once sounded to the battle’s din, the humble
grass now grows, its walls are the dormitories of the birds of the
air, and its rooms afford pasturage to the cattle; a change certainly
more gratifying to us as a nation; but still its bold towering
appearance, as seen ascending the hill, or viewing it from the hill,
reminds us of some bygone tale.
In addition to the castle, the town was further protected by several
forts. Probably none of these were in the nature of permanent
fortifications, except the Blockhouse, which stood near the east end
of Blockhouse Lane. The New Fort, or Jetty Fort, was erected at the
entrance of the harbour, at the end of the old pier, and was dismantled
in 1661, although in Hutchins’ time three guns were placed in position
on the same site. Then there was Dock Fort, under the hill, west of
the Jetty Pier, St. Nicholas’ Chapel converted into a fort by the
Parliamentary troops, and a small fort called the Nothe Fort.
Few events seem to have occurred during the Protectorate that need
recording beyond the great naval victory gained by Blake over Van
Tromp, off Portland; and, as some compensation for the damage done to
their property during the reign of his father, Charles II. granted the
town in 1660 an annuity of £100 a year for ten years from the Customs’
dues. It was during this reign that tradesmen coined small money or
tokens for the convenience of those wishing to buy small quantities
of goods, as but little small money was coined by authority. In 1594
the Mayor of Bristol was granted permission to coin a token, and the
benefit to the community proved so great that the custom spread to
other towns. Weymouth coined many of these tokens (_see illustration_),
which were made of copper, brass, or lead, and decorated as fancy
dictated. Every person and tradesman in the town was obliged to take
them, and they undoubtedly answered the purpose of providing the people
with small money. In 1672, however, Charles II. ordered to be coined
a sufficient number of half-pence and farthings for the exigencies
of the State, and these _numorum famuli_ were prohibited as being an
infringement of the King’s prerogative.
[Illustration:
The Town Token
Thomas Hyde
Bartholomew Beer
James Stanley
James Budd
Some Weymouth
Tokens]
The grant of armorial bearings to Weymouth and Melcombe Regis bears the
date of May 1st, 1592. The seals of the town were eight in number, a
description of which is recorded in Ellis’s _History of Weymouth_.
When the ill-starred Duke of Monmouth landed at Lyme Regis in 1685,
no Weymouthians seem to have flocked to his standard. Upon the
failure of the rebellion the participants of the neighbourhood were
quickly disposed of by Judge Jeffreys, who opened his Bloody Assize
at Dorchester, and ordered them to be hanged at Greenhill, and their
bodies to be dismembered and exhibited throughout the county as a
warning to rebels.
[Illustration: Arms of Weymouth]
So we come down to the close of the seventeenth century with little to
record save devastating fires, plagues, and storms. A general period of
poverty and depression seems then to have overtaken the two towns. The
causes leading to this change, which had begun to show itself in the
reign of Elizabeth, were many and various, and may be briefly ascribed
to the concrete result of the vicious rule of the Stuarts, the removal
of the wool trade to Poole, the loss of the Newfoundland trade, and
the injury received during the Civil War. Ellis tells us that, at the
beginning of the eighteenth century, “scarcely any idea can be formed
of the general devastation and depression that everywhere prevailed.
Houses were of little value ... the population had dwindled to a mere
nothing ... old tenements fell down ... the inhabitants consisted
chiefly of smugglers and fishermen.”
Before we turn to the brighter days which set in towards the middle
of the reign of George III., a short account must be given of the
larger memorials of the town—_e.g._, the old bridge, the priory, and
the parish church, although it must be confessed that of important
antiquities dating before the Georgian era the town has little to show
beyond a few remnants of Jacobean houses, part of one solitary pillar
of the chapel, and possibly a few old doorways; and in later and minor
memorials the town is little better off. There is, in the Guildhall,
the fine iron-bound chest before mentioned, and another, said to be
of similar origin, bequeathed by the late Sir Richard Howard. There is
also an ancient chair with a cardinal’s hat carved on the back, and
the old stocks and whipping-post; but for the most part nothing has
survived save the truly Georgian, such as round windows, picturesque
doorways, and part of the old Gloucester Lodge, now an hotel—an
altogether disappointing record in comparison with the long and varied
history of the place.
[Illustration: Old House on North Quay. Weymouth]
Of the old chapel,[52] the one remaining stone is preserved in the
wall of a school. The chapel was a chapel of ease to Wyke Regis, the
mother-church of Weymouth, and was dedicated to St. Nicholas. It stood
on the summit of a hill overlooking the old town of Weymouth, and its
site is commemorated in the name “Chapelhaye,” by which the district is
known. There are several documents extant relating to this chapel, and
among extracts from the _Liceirce_ is the following:—
None shall fail at the setting forth of the procession of Corpus
Christi day, on pain of forfeiting one pound of wax, and each brother
shall pay six pennies to the procession, and pay yearly.
This relates to the fraternity or guild in the Chapel of St. Nicholas,
which was founded by a patent granted in 20 Henry VIII. to Adam
Moleyns, Dean of Sarum, and certain parishioners of Wyke Regis, and
known as “The Fraternity or Guild of St. George in Weymouth.”
[Illustration: Old Chair at Weymouth.]
Before the building of a bridge across the harbour the means of direct
communication between the two towns was, so Leland says in 1530, by
means of a boat, drawn over by a rope affixed to two posts, erected on
either side of the harbour, a contrivance which was in use at Portland
Ferry as late as 1839. In 1594 this primitive method of crossing gave
way on the erection of the wooden bridge before referred to, erected
at the expense of several wealthy merchants of London, who appear to
have had trading interests here. This, in its turn, was so seriously
injured during the Civil Wars, that it fell to pieces, and was rebuilt
in 12 Anne by Thomas Hardy, Knt., William Harvey, James Littleton,
and Reginald Marriott, the towns’ Parliamentary representatives, and
it continued in use until 1741, when a bridge sixty yards long, with
a draw-bridge in the centre, took its place. The celebrated Bubb
Dodington, the first and only Lord Melcombe, contributed largely to its
cost. In 1770 another bridge was erected some seventy yards westward,
thus increasing the length of the harbour; but as the inhabitants were
forced to make a considerable detour to reach it, they petitioned
against the proposed alteration, but to no purpose. In 1820 it was
determined to erect the first bridge of stone,[53] which is still in
use, and only calls for mention here from the fact that on pulling down
some adjacent houses an urn filled with silver coins of Elizabeth,
James I., and Charles I. was found; and it is said that some of the
inhabitants had a fine haul of “treasure trove” on this occasion. More
interesting, perhaps, was the discovery of a gilt brass crucifix,
four inches long; and on the wall of one of the demolished houses was
painted the following verse:—
God saue our Queene Elizabethe,
God send hir happie dayes;
God graunt her grace to
Persevir in his most holie wayes.
A. Dom. 1577.
The old priory, or, as it was more commonly called, the “Friary,” stood
in Maiden Street. It was a house of the Dominican Friars, dedicated
in the name of St. Winifred, although Speed gives Dominic as the
dedicatory saint. Leland writes of it as “a fayre house of Freres in
the est part of the town.” The ancient chair now in the Guildhall
came from this priory, and it was said to possess miraculous powers of
healing the sick, and otherwise blessing the devout who were privileged
to sit upon it. The priory shared the fate of the other monastic
foundations at the Dissolution.
Of churches which can be rightly considered as memorials, Weymouth
has no example, as the oldest is that of St. Mary, the parish church.
The foundation-stone was laid on October 4th, 1815; this church was
erected partly on the site of a former church. It is a large, simple,
and unpretentious building, of which some hard things have been said
and written, but it is at least well built and free from sham, although
of its architecture the less said the better. It is, however, somewhat
redeemed by an excellently designed cupola containing one bell. Inside,
an altar-piece by Sir James Thornhill, a native of the town, whose
daughter married his pupil Hogarth, claims attention; as also does the
following curious inscription, in which the artist, by contracting
the word “worthiest,” has conveyed the very opposite estimate of the
deceased’s character to that intended:—
UNDERTH LIES YE BODY OF
CHRISR. BROOKS ESQ. OF JAMAICA
WHO DEPARD. THIS LIFE 4 SEPR. 1769
AGED 38 YEARS, ONE OF YE WORST. OF MEN
FRIEND TO YE DISTRESD.
TRULY AFFECTD. & KIND HUSBAND
TENDER PART. & A SINCR. FRIEND.
An old chalice belonging to the former church which stood on this site
was in the possession of Mr. Ellis. It was made of pewter, weighed
(without the lid, which was missing) 4½ lbs., and held four pints.
On the front was engraved:
HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD,
ZACH. XIV., VER. 20.
JOHN STARR,
CHURCHWARDEN,
1633.
About the middle of the eighteenth century a gentleman of Bath, Ralph
Allen (the original of Fielding’s “Squire Allworthy”), having been
recommended sea-bathing for his health, found the shore of Melcombe so
suitable for his purpose that he spoke of it to the Duke of Gloucester.
His Royal Highness came, sampled the salt water, and built Gloucester
Lodge, to which house he shortly afterwards invited the King, George
III., who spent eleven weeks here, with his Queen and family, in the
summer of 1789. The result of this and subsequent visits was that His
Majesty purchased the house and converted it into a royal residence. A
great stimulus was thus given to the town, which entered upon a period
of prosperity; for here George III. held court, and heard the news of
some of Nelson’s and Wellington’s victories. Very gay, indeed, was
the life of those days, with music, feasting, and dancing, which took
place in what is now called “the Old Rooms” (formerly an inn), across
the harbour. It was at Gloucester Lodge that His Majesty received his
ministers, and from whence he and Queen Charlotte used to walk to the
little theatre in Augusta Place to witness the performances of Mrs.
Siddons and her contemporaries. Queen Charlotte’s second keeper of
robes was Fanny Burney (Madame D’Arblay), the chronicler of George
III., and the author of _Evelina_ and _Camilla_, for which last she
received 3,000 guineas, with which sum she built Camilla Cottage, at
Mickleham, near Dorking.
At Weymouth, in 1785, was born Thomas Love Peacock, the author of _The
Monks of St. Mark_, and other works. He was Under-Secretary to Sir
Home Popham, and afterwards Chief Examiner and Clerk to the East India
Company, from which post he retired in 1856 with a pension of £1,333
per annum. He was a friend of Shelley, whom he had met on a walking
tour in Wales in 1812. He died in 1866, aged eighty years.
In the long list of eminent men who have represented the towns in
Parliament we find the names of Francis Bacon (Lord Verulam), Sir
Christopher Wren, and the celebrated political adventurer, Bubb
Dodington.
One of the most interesting studies for the topographer lies in tracing
the origin of the names of the streets of a town; and the names of
the principal streets of Weymouth are distinctly traceable to their
origin. St. Nicholas’ Street derives its name from the patron-saint
of maritime towns; Francis Street comes probably from Franchise; Boot
Lane (formerly Buckler’s), from an inn called “The Boot”; Helen Lane,
from Queen Eleanor, who held the manor of Melcombe; Maiden Street, from
Queen Elizabeth, who united the boroughs; and St. Edmund’s Street, St.
Thomas’ Street, and St. Mary’s Street, possibly from chapels dedicated
in honour of these saints.
[Illustration: The Old Stocks, Weymouth.]
THE ISLE OF PORTLAND
BY MRS. KING WARRY
To the stranger of antiquarian or geological tastes Portland must ever
be of interest; but the casual visitor—seeing it for the first time
in the glare of the noonday sun, amidst eddying clouds of stone-dust
tossed hither and thither by blustering winds, or when the over-charged
atmosphere settles like a misty cap on the Verne Heights—is apt, if
he have formed expectations, to be woefully disappointed. The fact is
that nowhere, perhaps, is the Spirit of Place more coy and difficult
of access than in modern Portland, having retreated before barracks,
fortifications, and prison, before traction-engines and signs of
commercial prosperity. But, properly wooed, it can still be won, and
once found, how well it repays the trouble of seeking! A mere cycle
run or drive through the island is emphatically _not_ the way to see
Portland Isle, especially the Portland of the past. The visitor needs
to walk, saunter, and lounge idly for at least a few days, and then,
if he have a well-stored mind and fail to experience the subtle,
indefinable sensation called “charm,” he must be strangely lacking in
that spiritual perception which alone makes man feel at one with the
universe and with God.
The convict establishment and Government quarries have displaced much
which lent an interest to the island; the barracks and harbour works
have displaced still more—but fortunately we retain a few records
which, scanty though they be, reveal a something of the past. Gone
is the barrow of that king whose very name is lost; and this supposed
last resting-place of a mighty chieftain, swept through long centuries
by pure sea-laden breezes, is now desecrated by quarrying operations:
the barrow of Celtic Bran is but an empty name, though Mound Owl still
remains in part, a silent witness of Saxon prowess and possibly of the
fierceness of the contest maintained so long in Royal Dorset.
Gone, also, is the sometime well-preserved earthwork on the Verne
Hill, formerly attributed to Roman or Dane, and now believed to have
been older than either. Only a slight vestige of the double fosse-way
remains; though an old man, but lately passed away, has told us that
in the days of his youth he could stand on that part of the West Cliff
known as Priory and distinctly trace it throughout its length as it
tended downwards towards the harbour, once the scene alike of peaceful
commercial intercourse or sanguinary combats. Looking across Portland
Mere from the hill-top, one can imagine it all—from the probable
peaceful Phœnician trader and Roman trireme to the Viking rovers and
much-dreaded “long ships,” even as can be pictured in some degree the
character of the opposite coast before the altered tidal action inside
Portland breakwater had caused beautiful Smallmouth Sands to vanish
and Sandsfoot Castle to stand perilously near the crumbling cliff-edge
in ruinous state; whilst the opposite Portland Castle still remains,
casting much of its original reflection in the Mere waters, a standing
witness to the uneasy conscience of Henry VIII. respecting French
designs.
Page upon page of unwritten history lay open to the observant eye
as recently as some sixty years or so ago, all traces of which are
rapidly vanishing before modern requirements. Barrows, earthworks,
and so-called Druidical circles were then so strongly in evidence
(especially one well-preserved circle near where the prison Governor’s
house now stands) as to make one think that religious observances of
one kind or another must have been strongly marked during those early
days. Indeed, the Bill itself—cleaving the clear waters within sight
of the foam-tossed Race and equally dangerous Shambles, its point
accentuated by the curious outstanding Pulpit Rock—is often termed
“Beel” by the old islanders, and is by some supposed to derive its name
from Baal.
The former bold outline of the West Cliff is in part lost, owing to
land-slides during the past century; and lost, likewise (owing to tidal
action), is the old pathway round the Weirs underneath, towards the
lighthouses, which formed a pleasant ramble seventy odd years ago.
But the view from the cliff-tops, both east and west, must be much
the same as in immediately-preceding centuries, and it is only those
who have watched the flickering lights and shadows and roseate glow
over-spreading the white coast-line in early day right away to St.
Ealdhelm’s, or faced the sunset on the West Cliff, who can appreciate
one of the chief charms of Portland, viz., the varying character of the
coast-line, both far and near—that coast which surely no Englishman can
survey without emotion, abounding as it does in memories of the deeds
which helped to make our England.
The Bay itself is glorious to look down upon, with its pebbly ridge
dividing it from that other water more like lake than sea; whilst
straight away, cloud-cleaving in the haze, is Blackdown, capped by
Hardy’s Monument, over which hover greyish-purple shadows, changing
into those tones and half-tones which are so charming in Dorset
“distances.”
The East Weirs, again, were an ideal place for a day’s ramble, with
their wild undergrowth, dog-roses and honeysuckle sending their
fragrance along the sea-laden breezes. Set off on one hand by the grey,
grim cliffs above, and the restless waters on the other, they merge
into a chaotic jumble of rocks and grass, terminating abruptly in a
ledge overlooking one of the gems of the isle—the beautiful little
cove of Church Hope. This cove is guarded above by weather-beaten Bow
and Arrow Castle, the old ruined church, and Pennsylvania Castle, the
latter lying at the head of a romantic grassy slope studded with trees,
and the whole forming a delightful rest for tired eyes in treeless,
stony Portland Isle.
Bow and Arrow, or Rufus Castle, is worth more than a mere passing
allusion, but space forbids. Its alternative name may show the period
of its erection; it was probably built about the same time as the
ancient church which preceded the adjacent ruined building. Its
original strength is apparent at a glance, and its position on the
summit of a crag overlooking the channel is distinctly striking. Old
Portlanders believed the above-mentioned crag to have once been near
the centre of the island, and the Shambles to have been the site of
butchers’ shops. When we recall the great historic land-slides on the
north-east in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and remember
how the old people are stated to have spoken of them with bated breath,
in reference to the terror they had caused the then living inhabitants,
who had believed the whole island to be slipping away, the tradition
does not seem so wildly impossible.
Recorded history is so silent respecting the early years of Portland,
that one fancies it must have inherited its full share of that
barbarism into which Britain relapsed after the departure of the
Romans, its very name having been lost; for that it was the “Vindilis,”
or “Vindilia,” of Roman times, is open to grave doubts, the latest
edition of the _Antonine Itinerary_ stating that place to have been
Belle Isle. It is much more generally accepted that Portland was
referred to in the _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_ as the landing-place of the
men “who came in three long ships from Hæretha Land (Denmark), A.D.
787.” Terrible, indeed, must have been the depredations of these wild
northmen during this and subsequent periods, for floating traditions
to linger on till past the middle of the nineteenth century. It is well
within the writer’s memory that rebellious children were sometimes
threatened with being carried off by “the cruel wild men, who come over
the beach in the middle of the night and carry away naughty children”—a
threat which was varied by references to “Old Arripay” or “Boney.” The
“wild men” seemed too remote, and “Arripay” too nebulous to a child’s
mind to cause much fear; but “Boney” was a real terror to the little
conscience-stricken individual, so familiar with frequent allusions
to the threatened French invasion under Buonaparte as to consider him
still living, and to regard him with a mighty dread.
There is a legend still extant that after the defeat of the Danes at
Charmouth they landed at Portland and carried off some maidens, whom
they imprisoned in the bottom of their ship. Owing to a fearful storm,
the Danes perished, whilst the ship containing the bound girls was
driven backwards during the night and cast ashore. When the light of
morning broke, to their great joy, they found themselves at the very
place from which they had been stolen.
Duke Æthelhelm defeated the Danes here in 837; and in 1052 Earl Godwin
landed and plundered the island.
Edward the Confessor granted the manor to the church at Winchester,
which grant must have been revoked by the Conqueror, as _Domesday Book_
states: “The King holds the island which is called Porland.” Later on
we find the Prior and Convent of Winchester held Portland, which may
account for certain lands there still being called Priory. It must not
be forgotten that the manor in ancient times included the dependencies
of Wyke, Weymouth, and Helwell. Interesting references to grants of the
Manor may be seen at the British Museum. Amongst the more noteworthy
names in this connection may be cited those of Gilbert de Clare,
Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, Lionel Duke of Clarence, and Cecilia
Duchess of York. Later still we find Henry VIII. granting the Manor
and Isle to Catherine Howard, and then to Catherine Parr, Portland
having formed part of Jane Seymour’s possessions. In a closet over the
gun-room at Portland Castle is the following inscription:—
God, save, Kinge, Henri, the viii, of, that, name, and, Prins, Edvard,
begottin, of, Quene, Jane, my, Ladi, Mari, that, goodli, Virgin, and,
the, Ladi, Elizabeth, so, towardli, with, the, Kinge’s, honorable,
counselers.
Amongst the Lansdowne MSS. in the British Museum is one entitled
“Remembrance for Lord Burghly as to certain fixtures of Sir W. Raleigh
relating to Portland Castle, 1587”; and in 1625 the name of Gilbert
Rawleigh is cited as Governor of the Castle.
We can fancy those stirring times in 1558, when Coker tells us that off
Portland, in full view of those on shore, was witnessed a great fight
with the Invincible Armada, two of whose treasure-ships were brought
into Portland Roads. For long years after, during a ground-swell,
dollars and “ducky-stones” were picked up on Portland Beach, and
were supposed to be a portion of that treasure which was to have
been used in subjugating England. _En passant_, it may be said that
the ducky-stone (a piece of solid silver about the size and somewhat
the shape of a small saucer) did not derive its name from the ducat,
but from the Portland game of “ducky,” which consisted in trying
to dislodge a stone poised lightly on the top of a larger stone—a
matter eliciting some of that skill in stone-slinging for which the
Portlanders (often termed the British Baleares) were once noted.
Again, in 1653, the celebrated running fight between Van Tromp and
Blake took place off Portland, memories of which, together with the
landing of the Duke of Monmouth “down Lyme way” some thirty odd years
later, lingered in the talk of the old people down to our own times.
Their memories were also very keen respecting the days of “good” Queen
Anne (when certain Portlanders were “touched” for “the Evil”), of
“forty-five,” and of the chief battles of Marlborough, Wellington,
and Nelson—the victory of the Nile, with its attendant rejoicings,
assuming a greater importance than any other, as perhaps was befitting
in a coast people who could recognise the value of this French defeat;
but most of all were their hearts stirred by tales of the long list
of brave ships which had met their doom on the rocks, of hair-breadth
escapes and thrilling rescues, and great was the indignation expressed
if any allusion were made to the old mainland belief, that the island
inhabitants had ever been wreckers.
The Portlanders, ever loyal at heart, probably sided wholly with the
King during the contests between Charles and his Parliament; but the
place changed hands several times during the struggle. Cromwell must
have felt assured of this loyalty, as he appears to have been in
vengeful mood towards the old Parsonage House, the “Island Ancient
Records” containing the following entry:—
One Personage House in the Villidge of Wakem Demolished and burnt down
by the Usurper Oliver Cromwell and hant been rebuilded every since.
The method of quarrying stone is too well known to need comment; but
one curious custom which prevailed among the quarrymen until quite
recent times may here be cited, known as “jumping the broomstick.” On
the marriage of one of their number, the quarrymen all adjourned to the
George Inn, where the bachelors were ranged on one side and the married
men on the other, a broomstick lying between. Chanting a doggerel
couplet, the married men had a tug-of-war with the single men, and,
pulling the newly-made bridegroom across the broomstick, he was made to
stand “drinks all round.”
The more closely the descent of the Portland people is investigated,
the more probable appears the persistent island tradition that three
families successively settled in the island amongst the original
inhabitants, viz.: the Combens (valley men?), the Pearces from Ireland,
and the Whites, “who came from the sea, Dover way.” This corresponds
in the main with the Belgic inroads, the Irish incursions in the west
during the third and subsequent centuries, and with the Jutish, or
mixed Jutish and Frisian settlement at Portland, of which there is
considerable proof. Anyway, one strong Frisian characteristic tallied
well with the intense independence of the old Portlander, coupled with
the occasional phrase, “as free as the air,” and the proudly-repeated
assertion, “None over us but the Sovereign; she” (in the case of the
late Queen) “is Lady of the Manor.”
The inbred distrust of strangers, called _kimberlins_ (pointing,
perhaps, to a comparatively pure-blooded community), coupled with his
insularity, gave a certain reserve to the old Portlander; but, once his
confidence won, none more communicative or hospitable than he. True
alike to his preferences and aversions, full of prejudices, but loyal,
brave and manly, proud of his word of honour, he was by no means to be
despised either as friend or foe. Quarrelsome he certainly was if his
sense of right were in any way disturbed; otherwise he was peaceful and
law-abiding, except as regards smuggling; and it was, perhaps, this
probable old Frisian love of freedom which made him consider that what
came by the sea was free to all, and to resent tax or toll thereon. Not
long since an underground passage was unearthed between two old houses,
one of which had secret recesses behind two sideboards. This may have
been a fair sample of many such houses in the old smuggling days.
The Portlander was also proud of his old Saxon customs, of his Court
Leet and his Reeve (Anglo-Saxon, _gerefa_), of his “share and share
alike” system (_gavel-kind_) regarding division of property, and of
his pre-feudal method of conveyance of land, viz.: by church-gift, a
method still frequently adhered to.
In a MS. account of Portland Isle (1696) Stowe has left an amusing
account of the way in which land was set apart for daughters during the
parents’ lifetime. The father, with some of the principal inhabitants,
would stand in the church porch after Evening Service, and declare
aloud his intention, naming his daughters in full, and specifying
the exact boundaries of each piece of land, after which all the
congregation would rise up and bless the daughters by name.
[Illustration: _Portland Cottages_]
An old-time Portland wedding was an amusing ceremony. The bride and
bridegroom always walked to church, followed by their friends in
couples. After the wedding-feast the whole party perambulated the
island, calling at their friends’ houses _en route_. The well-to-do
kept up festivities perhaps for two or three days. It was the proud
boast of an old lady of the last century that she had had more couples
follow her at her wedding in 1809 than had ever been known in the
island, and that her wedding had been kept up longer than any other.
She had been followed by nearly seventy couples, and the wedding
festivities had been celebrated for a week afterwards.
An island funeral was a peculiarly mournful sight, the coffin being
carried by relays of bearers, followed by a long procession of
mourners, walking slowly two by two, clad in garments of the deepest
woe. If, however, the deceased were an infant or very young child, the
bearers would consist of young girls dressed completely in white.
The fourteenth of May, when the cows were turned into the Common,
was kept as a gala day. Girls dressed in white, and club-walking,
and general rejoicing took place. There was also a very old custom
of keeping the household fires going from November to May, and not
permitting them to be lit again (except for necessary cooking) from May
till November. An old Portlander who died about 1830 was the last to
adhere rigidly to this rule.
Superstition of all kinds was rife, and so akin were some of the old
beliefs to those of Devon and Cornwall as to betray a common origin.
Numerous and varied were the healing remedies employed by the old
people; whilst, coupled with many cooking recipes, which would be
regarded to-day with feelings akin to disgust, are some which can still
be appreciated, such as Royal Pudding, roast Portland lamb, and the
most approved method of cooking wheat-ears—all dishes beloved by King
George III., and prepared for him at the old “Portland Arms,” when His
Most Gracious Majesty visited the Island.
THE ISLE OF PURBECK
BY A. D. MOULLIN
North of the irregular coast-line of Dorset, from Lulworth on the
west to Handfast Point and Old Harry Rocks on the east (a distance of
twelve miles), and extending inland for some five to eight miles, lies
a district of about a hundred square miles in area, known as the Isle
of Purbeck. It is an island only in the same sense as Thanet. It is
bounded on the north by Poole Harbour and the river Frome; on the west,
partly by Luckford Lake, a tributary of the Frome; and an imaginary
line running southward to the rugged coast-line forms its southern and
eastern boundary.
It is strange to tell that this more or less undefined limitation has
had a marked effect on the character and customs of the people who
inhabit the Isle of Purbeck, as compared with the dwellers in the other
portions of the county. They, like the people of Portland, claim for
themselves a distinct individuality, due, possibly, in some measure
to the hereditary rights of quarrying which have done much to keep
families together, and minimised the introduction of a foreign element
into their midst. These quarrying rights have always been jealously
guarded, and the unwritten laws regulating this industry stringently
enforced.
The centre of the island is dominated by Corfe Castle; and such
importance was centred in this old-world town and fortress that the
lord of the manor of Corfe was also Lord-Lieutenant of Purbeck.
Originally the whole of this interesting district was a royal
deer-warren, and much of it was covered with forest. Here Norman and
Plantagenet kings enjoyed the chase; and summary justice was meted out
to those who infringed the Forest laws.
In early times, one of the most important towns in the county was
Wareham; and although it is on the north bank of the river Frome,
one of the boundaries of Purbeck, still it is usually considered to
belong to the island. Of its great antiquity there is, fortunately,
ample record. King Alfred set up a mint in the town; and it was here
that, in 876, he attacked the Danes who had sailed up the Frome to
Wareham, where they soon took possession of the Castle and entrenched
themselves in a strong position behind the walls and earthworks, and
found it a convenient centre for ravaging the neighbourhood at their
leisure. Alfred had meanwhile defeated these Scandinavian pirates in
a sea-fight, which possibly was the first naval victory gained by the
English. Probably disheartened by this defeat, the Danes agreed to
terms of peace, promising to sail away quietly to their own country;
instead of which some of them rode off towards Exeter, hoping to be
joined by the rest of their men in the ships which lay off Wareham.
Their treachery was not destined to succeed, for a mighty storm arose,
and wrecked about a hundred of the Danish ships off Old Harry Rocks,
near Swanage. This loss temporarily broke the power of the northern foe.
The Church of Lady St. Mary in Wareham was in 978 the temporary
resting-place of the body of Edward the Martyr, although the
pre-Conquest Church which occupied the same site has passed away.
It is interesting to think that for more than a thousand years
religious services have been conducted on this spot. Of the several
ecclesiastical buildings once possessed by this town there remain
only three: St. Mary’s, just mentioned, and two others now no longer
regularly used for service.
The Purbeck Hills, which nearly bisect the Isle from east to west,
divide the heathland with its china clay and marshes on the north from
the stone measures known as the Purbeck beds on the south. The chalk
hills of the range attain in places to a height of nearly 700 feet,
and form an imposing barrier when viewed either from land or sea. The
Romans were not slow to discover the properties of the china clay, from
which they made pottery on an extensive scale, and tiles and tesserae
with which to adorn their houses.
Of the many old manor-houses with which this district abounds, space
will only admit the mention of a few. Some three miles to the south of
Wareham is Creech, a very ancient manor, with the house rebuilt in the
seventeenth century. According to Hutchins, the manor is mentioned as
early as Edward the Confessor’s time, and in the _Domesday Book_ it is
said to belong to the Earl of Morton; afterwards, until the dissolution
of the monasteries, it was held by Bindon Abbey, after which it was
given to Sir John Horsey, and towards the end of the seventeenth
century it was purchased by an ancestor of the Bond family, its present
holders. Crossing the densely wooded slope of the Purbeck Hills, and
descending on the other side towards the sea, we find another ancient
manor-house, that of Great Tyneham, built about 1570. It is one of the
largest of the many old manor-houses of that period.
East and West Lulworth, although, strictly speaking, outside the
confines of the Island, are so closely associated with it that a
passing comment may not be out of place. At West Lulworth is a Cove
almost encircled by the distorted and upheaved strata of the Purbeck
beds. These form a natural harbour, which, when once seen, is not
easily forgotten. There is a tradition, which forms the basis of one
of Mr. Hardy’s stories in _Life’s Little Ironies_, that the great
Napoleon was seen here in 1804 seeking a suitable landing-place for
the flat-bottomed barges in which he hoped to bring his legions across
the channel to invade England. If this story is true, how he must have
gazed with interest at the beacon-fires on each promontory and hill-top
ready to be lit to give warning of the impending peril.
About half a mile to the east of the Cove, well above the action of
the sea, are extensive remains of a “Fossil Forest,” with many of the
tree-trunks in position.
The village of East Lulworth, where once stood a monastery, is about
a mile inland from the sea. Near this is Lulworth Castle, the seat of
the Weld family, a conspicuous object looking like a fortress, with its
four massive corner towers, which give the grey stone structure a grim
appearance from the sea. It was built between 1588 and 1609, largely of
stone brought from the ruins of Bindon Abbey; and there is still to be
seen at the Castle an exquisitely carved oak door which is said to have
belonged to the Abbey. The Castle has had many royal visitors—James I.,
Charles II., the Duke of Monmouth, George III., and Queen Charlotte
among the number. The unhappy Mrs. FitzHerbert, morganatic wife of
George IV., was first married to Mr. Weld, and lived here; her portrait
and diamond and pearl necklace are still kept at the Castle.
From Tyneham towards St. Ealdhelm’s Head extend the shallows of
the dangerous Kimmeridge Ledge, with its interesting formation of
bituminous shale underlying the Portland Beds, a kind of coal which may
be easily burnt, and is, indeed, used for fuel by many of the cottagers
of the district, notwithstanding the unpleasant smell it emits when
burning, and the dense shower of soot that falls from the smoke. In the
early part of last century a fire broke out and smouldered for many
months, at Holworth, on a continuation of this outcrop further to the
west, and was known as the Burning Cliff. At times volumes of smoke
arose, the pungent smell of which was distinctly perceptible as far off
as Weymouth when the wind was blowing from the east.
From the days of Sir William Clavel, in the reign of Charles I., the
minerals of Kimmeridge have from time to time been worked, and many and
various have been the schemes for exploiting this bituminous deposit,
and even at the present day samples are occasionally sent for with the
view to extracting mineral oil. But one must go back to a much more
remote period for the first evidence of early workings. The Romans,
during their occupation of this part of the coast, were not slow to
discover the value of this supply of fuel, which may possibly have been
worked long before their arrival.
The expert Roman craftsmen found also that the shale was capable of
being turned and fashioned into various kinds of ornamental articles
resembling those made of jet; so they set up lathes on the spot to turn
out these articles, which, no doubt, met with a ready sale among the
fashionable dwellers in Durnovaria (Dorchester). That the existence of
these lathes was an actual fact is proved by the hundreds of discs or
cores which remain to this day, and are found in and with the Roman
pottery fashioned from the Wealdon clay of the district. These discs
are usually from 1¼ to 2½ inches in diameter, with central holes
to attach them to the lathe mandril, and were the discarded centres of
rings and other ornaments made from the shale. By local tradition these
discs have always been known as “Kimmeridge coal money,” and although
present-day antiquaries laugh at the idea of their ever having been
used as money, the writer ventures to suggest the possibility of the
correctness of such a theory. They are found in considerable numbers
securely hidden away a short distance below the surface of the ground,
usually between stones placed on edge and covered over by another flat
stone. The care with which they were secreted indicates that they
were considered of some value to the owner. May not the Celts have
collected and used them as tallies or tokens? These discs, bearing the
tool marks of the turner, would have been impossible to counterfeit by
the uncivilised races of that day, to whom the use of the lathe was
unknown. The value of local traditionary names is considerable, and the
foregoing appears to be a feasible suggestion as to the authenticity of
the name, “Kimmeridge coal money.”
This part of the coast has a desolate and forbidding appearance, due to
its black, shaley formation.
Looking eastward, St. Ealdhelm’s Head stands out in majestic grandeur,
rising out of the sea more than 350 feet in height, and crowned at
its seaward end by the Norman chapel dedicated to St. Ealdhelm, first
Bishop of Sherborne.
About a mile and a half inland we come upon the little church of
Worth Matravers, in the centre of the village of that name; it is
probably the most ancient building in Purbeck of which anything now
remains. Here we find traces of Saxon work, with that of Norman
added; the chancel arch is a good example of the latter. It is now
generally considered possible that here was one of the two sacred
edifices built by St. Ealdhelm in Purbeck and mentioned in ancient
records. The divided buttress on the north wall, and the grave-stone of
Benjamin Jesty are objects of interest. On the latter is the following
inscription:—
Sacred to the memory of Benjamin Jesty of Downshay, who departed
this life April 16th, 1816, aged 70. He was born at Yetminster in
this county, and was an upright honest man, particularly noted for
having been the first person (known) that introduced the cowpox by
inoculation, and who from his strength of mind made the experiment
from the cow on his wife and two sons in the year 1774.
From Worth Church to Swanage there is a track or path known still as
Priestway, originally used by the priests of Worth passing backwards
and forwards between Swanage and Worth churches, the latter of which
is said to have been the mother-church. Sir Charles Robinson says that
Worth is the Saxon word for village, and that the second half of the
name was added because it was owned by Sir John Matravers, who had
charge of Edward II. during his imprisonment at Corfe Castle.
[Illustration: “KIMMERIDGE COAL MONEY.”]
From the elevated road along the cliffs may be seen a series of
terraces, known locally as Lynchets, cut out on the slopes of the hills
facing the sea; as to the use and origin of these escarpments there
have been many theories and much discussion. That they are artificial
and not natural there can be little doubt, and the labour expended in
their formation must have been enormous. From their position, facing
south-east, south, and south-west, one may fairly assume that their
object was for agricultural purposes. They are to be found in several
other parts of Dorset, as well as in other counties.
Dr. Colley March[54] says the word lynchet is derived from the
Anglo-Saxon _hlinc_, meaning a ridge of land. He tells us that in the
reign of Henry VIII. an Act was passed compelling all farmers with
sixty acres of pasture or arable land to cultivate one rood, where the
soil was suitable, for growing flax or hemp for cordage for the needs
of the navy, and concludes as follows:—
In fine the law that compelled farmers to cultivate flax, the
permission to do so in any place they were able to secure, the
importance of suitable soil, and the necessity of prompt and efficient
drainage, that could but be obtained on a sloping surface will account
for a good many of the numerous lynchets of Dorset.
Fully to appreciate the rugged features of the cliffs between St.
Ealdhelm’s and Durlston Head, they should be viewed from the sea,
for the indentations and caverns of this iron-bound coast are indeed
wonderful. All along the sea-board quarrying was carried on for
centuries, and some of the caves are due to the hand of man. Many of
these caverns fulfilled a double duty, providing blocks of stone by
day and sheltering cargoes of smuggled goods by night. This part of
the coast enjoyed quite a notoriety for its contraband trading during
the early part of the last century, and the stories told of the daring
Purbeck smugglers would fill a volume.
Mr. William Hardy, of Swanage, has published an interesting little book
called _Smuggling Days in Purbeck_, in which he tells of many curious
hiding-places for the illicit goods; one he mentions, which long
remained undiscovered, was under the roof of Langton Church, a most
unlikely place to attract suspicion. It became necessary at one time
to double the number of revenue men, or coastguards; and it must have
been a strange sight to see these men setting out for the night’s vigil
carrying a one-legged stool, so that in the event of their falling
asleep they might topple over and wake up. Smuggling became such a
profitable business that most of the inhabitants of the district were
more or less engaged in it.
Although less exciting, and perhaps less profitable, the quarrying
industry was extensively carried on—as, indeed, it had been from very
early times. A walk over the hills from Swanage to Worth discloses
vast numbers of disused quarry shafts, and a few others still being
worked. These hills are literally honey-combed with old workings, which
occasionally fall in, leaving curious depressions on the surface. The
stone lies in thin beds of varying quality, some of the upper ones
being full of fossil remains. The higher stratum of Purbeck marble has
been extensively quarried, and in bygone ages provided the elegant
shafts which adorn the columns of many of our great monastic churches.
The outcrop of marble may be seen in the reef of rocks which extends
beyond Durlston Bay and forms Peveril Point.
Whilst on the subject of quarries, it is most interesting to note the
conditions said to have been granted to Purbeck by an ancient charter.
No man is allowed to open or work at a quarry who is not the son of
parents who were themselves both children of marblers, as they were
called, and this rule was rigidly enforced. Once a year, on Shrove
Tuesday, all the marblers of the district repaired to Corfe Castle
to register their names in the books of the Company of Marblers, and
to pay an annual tribute of a pound of pepper and a football to the
lord of the manor of Ower, as acknowledgment of a certain ancient
right-of-way to that place for the purpose of shipping stone, this
being necessary before there were any facilities at Swanage for so
doing. A good description of this ancient custom is given in Sir
Charles Robinson’s _Picturesque Rambles in the Isle of Purbeck_.
Looking down from the lofty hills upon the little town, a man who had
been absent for twenty or thirty years would hardly recognise in the
Swanage of to-day the village that he had left. Swanage, with its
up-to-date pier, its esplanade and sea-wall, its red-brick villas,
and the various requirements of the modern residents, resembles the
isolated little town of fifty years ago as little as the garden of a
London square resembles a primeval forest. The quaint old stone houses,
with porches supported by pillars, projecting over the foot-way, and
roofed with massive slabs of split stone, the narrow and winding
streets, have nearly all disappeared, but fortunately there are still
some few left to delight the eye of the artist.
The twelfth century tower of the parish church, built originally as
a refuge, and as a means of defence from sea pirates, was standing
long before the rest of the church was built. The Town Hall, although
erected in recent times, is of some historic interest, the front having
been partly built of stones taken from the old Mercers’ Hall in London,
pulled down for street alterations; and this edifice itself is said to
have been mainly composed of material taken from one of Wren’s early
churches, destroyed in the great fire of London in 1666. So, after many
vicissitudes, these weather-worn stones have found a resting-place very
near to the source from whence they were originally taken.
Immediately at the rear of the Town Hall is a curious little structure
of solid masonry, with an iron-studded oak door, resembling a powder
magazine. This formerly stood close to the south door of the parish
church within the graveyard, and was used as a lock-up. Over the door
is the following inscription:—“Erected for the prevention of vice and
immorality, by the friends of religion and good order. A.D. 1803.” A
small hole may be observed in the oak door, and it is said that through
this aperture the boon companions of the incarcerated man were in the
habit of inserting the stem of a long clay pipe, which they used as a
means of supplying him with strong drink, and the bowl of which they
also at times filled with tobacco, in order that he might find some
solace for his weary hours in smoking.
About a mile and a half from Swanage, in the direction of Corfe Castle,
is the manor of Godlingstone, with its interesting old house. This
estate is said to have been part of the hide of land given by William
I. to Durandus the Carpenter, in exchange for certain repairs to be
executed at Corfe Castle. The round tower at the western extremity of
the house is believed to be of Saxon origin, and was probably built as
a place of refuge from the ruthless Danes, who so frequently harried
this part of the coast. Sir Charles Robinson mentions Godlingstone
as having belonged successively to the families of Talbot, Rempston,
Chaunterell, Carent, Pole, Wells, and Frampton.
The manor-house at Whitecliff on the slope of Ballard Down is another
fine old building, and is sometimes credited with having been one of
King John’s hunting lodges; but no trace of so early a building now
remains, unless it be the massive garden walls, with the protecting
tower.
Forming one of the horns of Swanage Bay is Peveril Point, with its
coastguard signalling station, from which extends, in a south-easterly
direction for a considerable distance, a ledge of rocks composed of
Purbeck marble. These rocks follow the general dip of the formation
observable for some distance along the coast—viz., from the south,
sloping down towards the north; but at the extremity of Peveril Point
one observes that the strata to the north of the ledge slope in exactly
the opposite direction.
The beautiful and deeply indented bay of Swanage forms a harbour with
good anchorage, sheltered from all but easterly gales. The northern arm
of the bay, known as Ballard Head, is formed of lofty chalk cliffs,
rising nearly sheer from the sea. The convulsions of nature have
played some curious pranks in this locality, for side by side with the
natural horizontal stratification one may see the layers of chalk and
flints standing vertically. This has enabled geologists to estimate
the probable thickness of these chalk beds, which, according to some
authorities, was nearly a thousand feet. The human mind is staggered by
the contemplation of the ages necessary to accumulate this stupendous
deposit of microscopic foraminifera, of which the chalk is composed,
before it was upheaved from the bed of the sea. The upper greensand,
which is exposed at the western boundary of the chalk, contains many
interesting fossils. The cliffs of Ballard Head terminate at Handfast
Point with several chalk pinnacles and curiously formed caverns. Of the
former, “Old Harry and his Wife” are well known, but, unfortunately,
the upper half of “Old Harry’s Wife” was washed away some years ago,
leaving little more than the base remaining.
The old-world village of Studland, at the foot of the northern slope
of Ballard Down, still retains much of its primitive and picturesque
beauty, and the old manor-house and the little Norman church dedicated
to St. Nicholas are of great interest. This church, like many others,
no doubt took the place of an earlier building, for there are still
traces of Saxon work to be seen in the north wall.
A mile or so to the north-west of Studland, across the swampy
heathland, we come to a conical hill some eighty or ninety feet high,
surmounted by an irregularly shaped mass of sandstone, formed from the
neighbouring Bagshot beds, which, having been cemented together by some
ferruginous substance, has withstood the disintegrating action of the
elements better than its surroundings. It is known as the Agglestone
Rock. Sir Charles Robinson, in his _Rambles in the Isle of Purbeck_,
estimates the weight of this rock at four hundred tons, and gives the
probable derivation of the name from the Anglo-Saxon “hagge” (witch or
hag), or “heilig,” meaning holy, and “stan” (stone).
This barren heathland, spreading over the Bagshot sands, extends for
many a mile, and stretches out to the deeply indented coast-line of
Poole Harbour, forming the northern limit of the Isle of Purbeck. The
wild beauty of this low-lying district can only be enjoyed by those who
are prepared to explore it on foot, for carriage-roads there are none,
and the cart-tracks are not always passable.
The important deposit of china-clay found in this neighbourhood, which
is exported in considerable quantities to many parts of the kingdom,
and even to foreign countries, is chiefly shipped from the little quay
at Ower, which is on an arm of Poole Harbour. Hutchins says that Ower
was once the chief port in the Isle of Purbeck for the export of stone
and marble, and for the importation of timber from the New Forest; but
in 1710 Swanage seems to have superseded it.
The little village of Arne, near to which is Russell Quay, where clay
and peat are shipped by small trading vessels, is merely a cluster of
a few cottages and a plain-looking thirteenth century church, which,
however, contains an object of interest in its stone altar with the
five consecration crosses.
In the woods near Arne is one of the few heronries to be met with on
the south coast; and in the solitude of this remote spot the birds have
bred undisturbed probably for centuries.
From Arne to Wareham, a distance of some four miles, there is a rough
road, by following which we complete our circuit of this interesting
district—the Isle of Purbeck.
CORFE CASTLE
BY ALBERT BANKES
There is reason to believe that a castle existed at Corfe in the reign
of King Alfred, but in his time this structure, which afterwards became
so large as to vie with the noblest royal habitations in the kingdom,
consisted probably of only a single strong tower on the summit of the
hill constituting one of the defences of Wareham, which in Saxon times
was a very important town and port.
In 875 Wareham Castle, then the strongest place in all Wessex, was
surprised and taken by a Danish general, and it was not until 877, two
years later, that King Alfred succeeded in driving his Danish foes
out of Wareham. To prevent the return of the enemy was the object of
building a fortress at Corfe (“Corfes-geat,” as it was then called), a
break or pass in the lofty range of the Purbeck hills. To quote from
Hutchins’ _History of Dorset_:
Whatever may have been the size or construction of the castle in the
days of King Alfred, it was greatly extended and embellished in the
century next following under the direction of the magnificent King
Edgar.
With Elfrida, the infamous Queen of King Edgar, commences what is
important in the history of this castle. King Edgar, who died in the
thirty-third year of his age, bequeathed this Castle of Corfe to her
as a dowry mansion, and in this princely residence, which her royal
husband had with so much cost and care prepared for her, she plotted
and accomplished the murder of his son. On the death of Edgar
(975) there was a contest between two parties in the state, the one
supporting the claim to the throne of Edward, son of the late King by
his first wife, the other seeking to place the crown on the head of
Ethelred, the son of Elfrida. Edward’s cause, which was supported by
Dunstan, succeeded; but he only reigned, as we shall presently see,
four years.
[Illustration: CORFE CASTLE.]
King Edgar was twice married. By his first wife he had issue, Edward,
who at a very early age became his successor, and who is known in
history as King Edward the Martyr.
The second wife of Edgar was Elfrida, daughter of Ordgar, Earl of
Devonshire. It is related that the fame of her transcendent beauty
having reached the King’s ears, he sent one of his earls, named
Athelwold, to visit her father and ascertain privately whether her
charms were as great as they had been represented. Athelwold saw
her, and, immediately becoming enamoured, made a false report to his
sovereign, and won her for himself. Rumours, however, that he had been
deceived, soon reached the King, and he determined to ascertain the
truth with his own eyes. Alarmed at the impending danger, Athelwold
entreated his wife to adopt some means of disguising her charms;
but Elfrida had now an opportunity of gratifying her ambition. She
exerted all her powers to increase her natural beauty, and succeeded
in attracting the attention of the King. To get rid of Athelwold was
in those days the simplest of transactions, and King Edgar, having
caused Athelwold to be assassinated in a wood, Elfrida became his
Queen. So great was the King’s love for Elfrida that he is said to have
granted the whole county of Dorset for her dowry. But Elfrida had not
yet reached the height of her ambition. It was not sufficient for her
to have become a queen through assassination, for she scrupled not,
after her husband’s death, also by means of assassination, to make a
king of her own son. In the month of March (978) Edward the Martyr,
as he is now called, was hunting in a large wood near Wareham. Towards
evening he resolved to pay a visit to his brother, who resided at the
Castle with their royal mother. The attendants of the King had been
dispersed in the chase; he was alone, and Elfrida, having notice of
this favourable opportunity, came forth in a most affable and friendly
manner, inviting him to alight from his horse. This he declined to do,
and remained at the gate, expressing his desire to see his brother.
The Queen then called for wine, which he had scarce put to his lips
when one of her attendants, who had given the King the kiss of peace,
stabbed him in the back. Some of the ancient chroniclers affirm that
Elfrida herself gave him both the kiss and the mortal wound whilst he
was drinking. In any case, finding himself wounded, the King rode away;
but, fainting from loss of blood, he fell from his horse, and, his foot
being entangled in the stirrup, he was dragged a considerable distance,
until the horse stopped of its own accord at a bridge which crosses
the small river that flows at the foot of the hill on which the Castle
stands. A servant, sent by Elfrida to ascertain the result of her
treachery, found the murdered Prince dead, and terribly defaced by the
flints over which he had been dragged. The Queen, to conceal the fact,
ordered his body to be lodged in a house near where it was, and covered
with such mean clothes as were at hand.
Of course, there are plenty of miraculous stories attached to this true
history, of which we in this twentieth century may believe as much
or as little as we like. It is said, for instance, that in the house
where King Edward’s body lay lived a woman who was born blind, but at
midnight she found her sight restored, and, to her great terror, her
house was full of light. In the morning, the Queen, being informed of
these circumstances, and fearing a discovery, ordered the body to be
thrown into a well. She then retired to a mansion called Bere, ten
miles distant. Her own son, Ethelred, on expressing his grief at his
mother’s inhuman act, received a severe beating from her with some
large wax tapers, they being the first weapons which the royal mother
could lay her hands on wherewith to chastise her son.
In the year following, a second miracle is said to have taken place—a
pillar of fire descended from above and illuminated the place where the
body was hidden. Some devout people of Wareham brought it to the church
of St. Mary in that town, and buried it in a plain manner.
As for the once beautiful but now guilty Elfrida, it is related that
she became extremely penitent, and, abdicating her regal state, retired
to the Abbey of Wherwell, in Hampshire, which she had founded, and
there, having clothed her body in hair-cloth, for many years slept at
night on the ground without a pillow, and mortified her flesh with
every kind of penance.
We meet with few incidents of an important character connected with
Corfe Castle during the first six reigns after the Norman Conquest.
During the eventful reign of the tyrannical John (1199-1216) Corfe
Castle became again a royal residence. The King deposited within
its walls his treasure and regalia, using the Castle also for the
confinement of State prisoners, the objects of his jealousy and
revenge. In the year 1202 King John took prisoners at the Castle of
Mirabel in Poitou, in France, the youthful Prince Arthur, Duke of
Brittany, his nephew, together with his sister, the Princess Eleanor.
It must be remembered that this Prince Arthur, being the only son
of John’s elder brother, Geoffrey, was the real heir to the throne
after the death of Richard Cœur de Lion. Prince Arthur is supposed to
have been murdered at Rouen by order of King John; but the Princess
(sometimes called the “Damsel of Bretagne,” and sometimes from her
personal attractions, the “Beauty of Brittany”), having inherited her
brother’s legal right to the throne, was brought to England and kept
a close prisoner for the rest of her life. For some time she was a
prisoner in Corfe Castle, where she remained at the decease of her
uncle, King John. Two other princesses shared the captivity of the
beautiful and high-spirited Eleanor during her residence at Corfe,
and were her companions there. These were Margery and Isabel, the two
daughters of William, King of Scotland. Some curious and interesting
details have come down to us respecting articles supplied for the use
of the royal ladies whilst they remained at Corfe Castle, which show
that they enjoyed many indulgences. For instance, on June 29th, 1213,
the Mayor and Reeves of Winchester were commanded to supply to the
Queen, the King’s niece, and the two daughters of the King of Scotland
who were at Corfe Castle, such robes and caps and all other things
necessary for the vestment as should be demanded (the cost to be repaid
out of the King’s Exchequer). There is another interesting entry on
July 6th, 1213: The Mayor of Winchester was commanded to send in haste
to the King, for the use of his niece, Eleanor, and the two daughters
of the King of Scotland, robes of dark green, namely, tunics and
super-tunics, with capes of cambric and fur of Minever and twenty-three
yards of good linen cloth; also, for the King’s niece, one good cap
of dark brown, furred with Minever, and one hood for rainy weather,
for the use of the same; besides robes of bright green, for the use
of their three waiting-maids; also tunics and super-tunics and cloaks
with capes of Minever or rabbit-skins and furs of lamb-skins, and thin
shoes, for the use of the daughters of the King of Scotland, the King’s
niece, and her three waiting-maids; also, for the use of the King’s
niece, one saddle, with gilded reins; and the Mayor is to come himself
with all the above articles to Corfe, there to receive the money for
the cost of the same. A little later on, another cap for rainy weather,
a riding saddle, shoes, and sixty yards of linen cloth, are ordered to
be supplied from Winchester.
The prices paid give us an insight into the value of money at that
period:—
£ s. d.
A silken couch 1 10 1
2 coverlets of fine linen 2 2 1
6½ yards of scarlet for coverlets 1 3 0
1 fur of lamb-skin 0 4 0
Ten shillings a day were allowed to the Sheriff for the Princesses’
maintenance.
To return to Prince Arthur and his wicked uncle. King John captured at
the same time as Prince Arthur many barons and more than two hundred
knights of Poitou and Guienne, who were in arms with Prince Arthur.
These were all loaded with irons and sent to different prisons in
Normandy and England. Many of these poor prisoners perished in their
prisons, and no fewer than twenty-two of the noblest and bravest of
them were starved to death in Corfe Castle.
From the reign of King John to that of Queen Elizabeth allusion is
frequently made in history to Corfe Castle.
It was in 1587, in the days of Queen Elizabeth, that Corfe Castle
ceased to be a royal residence, she having sold it to Sir Christopher
Hatton for £4,761 18s. 7½d. Sir Christopher repaired and decorated
the Castle at vast expense.
During the “Invincible Armada” scare, Corfe Castle once more became a
fortress. Cannons were for the first time mounted on its walls, and
Queen Elizabeth for encouragement gave a charter to the inhabitants of
the Castle and borough, which conferred upon them all the same rights
and privileges as those enjoyed by the inhabitants of the Cinque Ports,
including the right of returning two members to Parliament. The Spanish
fleet did, in fact, pass within a short distance of the Dorset coast;
but, as the so-called Invincible Armada came utterly to grief, it gave
no further trouble.
As Sir Christopher Hatton died a bachelor, Corfe Castle passed to his
nephew Sir William Hatton, who, dying without children, left the Castle
to his widow, the Lady Elizabeth Hatton, who married Lord Chief Justice
Coke.
On the death of Sir Edward Coke, his widow and daughter found
themselves at liberty to dispose of a mansion whose gloomy grandeur and
position, remote from the busier scenes of life, did not well accord
with their tastes and habits; so that on Sir John Bankes making an
offer for the purchase of the Castle, the ladies were doubtless only
too glad to conclude the bargain.
Sir John Bankes was descended from a good Cumberland family living in
Keswick, where he was born in 1589. At the age of fifteen he went to
Oxford University, and in due course became a barrister in Gray’s Inn.
His extraordinary diligence in his profession recommended him early to
his sovereign, Charles I., and in 1640 he was made Chief Justice of the
Common Pleas. His wife, the brave Lady Bankes, was a daughter of the
very ancient family of the Hawtreys, of Rislip, in Middlesex.
To enter the Castle an ancient stone bridge, consisting of four
semi-circular arches, must be traversed. There is probably no bridge of
greater antiquity in the West of England.
The first ward forms an irregular triangle, containing eight towers,
at unequal distances, of amazing strength and durability. The gateway
leading to the second ward has provision for a portcullis of vast size
similar to that which is found in the grand staircase. Just within
the gateway, on the right hand, was a flight of steps which led up to
the Great or King’s Tower on the exterior summit of a very high hill.
Tradition says, and apparently with truth, that just at the entrance of
this second ward, under the archway, Edward the Martyr received his
death-blow from the hand of the assassin. The dungeon, an octagonal
tower, is said to have been the place of imprisonment for criminals
and captives of inferior rank. Near this tower a stone is visible,
projecting from the wall, with a deep notch cut into it, which is said
to have been the place of execution. The third and principal ward is
situate on the highest part of the hill, and on the west part, on the
very top of the hill, stood the Great, or King’s Tower, 72 ft. by 60
ft., and about 80 ft. high, with a wall 12 ft. thick. This seems to
have been the State prison, as the windows that remain are such a
height above the floors that they must have been thus arranged in order
to prevent the prisoners escaping. The fourth ward is the least of all
the wards; in it was a small garden at the east end, near which was the
Sally Port, where the enemy entered when the Castle was surprised; and
near it is a well, now stopped up, into which (tradition says) Lady
Bankes threw a considerable quantity of money and plate.
King Charles I. was a victim to circumstances. The Civil War was the
result of the reaction of the popular mind in favour of liberty from
its slavish submission to the tyranny of the Tudor Kings. It was
hastened by King Charles’ folly in enforcing subsidies to pay off
his father’s debts and to carry on his Continental wars, without the
consent of the people; also by his resolution to rule the kingdom
without a parliament.
King Charles came to the throne in 1625, but it was not until 1642
that the unhappy differences between the King and the two Houses of
Parliament grew so great that nothing but the sword could decide the
controversy. Poor Sir John Bankes found himself in a very unfortunate
position. He was upon the summer circuit, and when presiding at the
assizes at Salisbury he had, in his charge to the Grand Jury, denounced
the Earl of Essex, Lord Manchester, and others, as guilty of high
treason for continuing in arms against the King. Another serious
subject of offence consisted in the fact of his having subscribed
liberally to the necessities of the King—an acknowledgment of which,
in King Charles’ own hand-writing, is still preserved at Kingston
Lacy. These and various other causes were quite sufficient to induce a
furious assault upon Corfe Castle.
Prior to this, Lady Bankes, who is described as being a prudent lady,
resolved with her children and family to retire to Corfe Castle,
to shelter themselves from the storm which she saw was coming. She
remained undisturbed all the winter and a great part of the spring,
until May, 1643, when the rebels, under the command of Sir Walter Erle
and Sir Thomas Trenchard, of Wolfeton House, and others, had gained
possession of Dorchester, Lyme Regis, Melcombe, Weymouth, Wareham, and
Poole. Portland Castle being treacherously delivered to the rebels,
only Corfe Castle remained in obedience to the King. But the rebels,
wanting to add this castle to their other garrisons, and preferring to
try and gain it by treachery, resolved to lay hold of an opportunity
that they knew was just about to offer. To quote the language of the
old chronicler:
It seems that by an ancient usage the Mayor and the Barons (as his
Town Councillors were called) of Corfe Castle, accompanied by the
gentry of the Island of Purbeck, had permission from the Lord of the
Castle on May Day to course a stag, which every year was performed
with much solemnity and great concourse of people.
On May Day, 1642, some troops of horse from Dorchester and other places
came into the island under pretence of hunting the stag; but really
their intention was suddenly to surprise the gentlemen whilst hunting
and to take Corfe Castle. But the news of their coming reached the
Castle before them. The hunters dispersed, and Lady Bankes ordered the
great gates of the Castle to be closed against all comers. The troopers
accordingly found themselves cheated of their prey, whereupon the
common soldiers used threatening language; but the officers, who knew
better how to conceal their resolution, utterly disavowed any such
thought, denying that they had any orders to attack the Castle. Lady
Bankes was not deceived by the officers’ civil speeches; and, to quote
once more from the old chronicler:
She very wisely, and like herself, hence took occasion to call in a
guard to assist her, not knowing how soon she might have occasion to
make use of them, it being now more than probable that the rebels had
a design upon the Castle.
No one, of course, knows to what straits the poor lady and her few
faithful attendants were put; but provisions must have been at a
low ebb or Lady Bankes would never have delivered up the four small
cannons, the biggest carrying not above a 3-lb. shot. The result of
this compromise was that, having delivered up the four cannons, the
rebels agreed to permit her to enjoy the Castle in peace and quietness.
Having gained the four cannons, the rebels retired, and, growing weary
of watching the Castle gates, they grew negligent as to what was
brought in, nor did they take care, as before, to intercept supplies
which might enable the Castle people to hold out against a siege. Lady
Bankes, making use of this carelessness, furnished the Castle with
provisions of every description. A supply, too, of ammunition was
brought in; and, hearing that the King’s forces, under Prince Maurice
and the Marquis of Hertford, were advancing towards Blandford, Lady
Bankes sent a private messenger begging that some officers might be
sent to take charge of the Castle: whereupon Captain Laurence, son of
Sir Edward Laurence, a gentleman of the Isle of Purbeck, was sent.
There was likewise in the Castle one Captain Bond, an old soldier,
“whom,” says the chronicler, “I should deprive of his due honour not to
mention him as having shared in the honour of this resistance.”
On June 23rd, 1643, commenced a six weeks’ strict siege of Corfe
Castle, between 200 and 300 horse and foot, with two cannons; the
rebels faced the Castle, and from the hills surrounding played on the
fortress. At the same time they set on fire four houses in the town
of Corfe, and then summoned the Castle to surrender; but, receiving
a refusal, for that time they left it—but only for a time, as Sir
Walter Erle, accompanied by Captain Sydenham, Captain Henry Jervis, and
Captain Skuts, of Poole, with a body of between five and six hundred
men, came and took possession of the town of Corfe, taking advantage
of a misty morning, so as to find no resistance from the Castle. With
a small cannon, a culverin, and their muskets, they played on the
fortress. To bind the soldiers by tie of conscience, they administered
an oath to them, mutually binding themselves to most unchristian
resolutions—that if they found the defendants obstinate, they would not
yield; that they would maintain the siege to victory and deny quarter
unto all, killing without mercy men, women, and children. And to bring
on their own soldiers they deceived them with falsehoods, saying that
the Castle stood on a level, with good advantages of approach; also,
that there were only forty men within the fortress, of whom twenty
were ready to turn traitors. They also did their best to corrupt the
defenders of the Castle to betray it into their hands; but when all
these arts took no effect, the rebel commanders fell to stratagems and
engines. One of these machines they called a “sow,” and the other a
“boar”; they were made with boards lined with wool to deaden the shot.
The “sow” was a class of engine used as a protection for soldiers
attacking a fortress; it was constructed of strong timber, bound
together by hoop-iron, and roofed with hides and sheepskins to render
it proof against such musket-shot or other missiles as were then in
use. In front there were doors and windows, which were kept closed till
the walls were reached; but behind it was open for the admission or
retreat of the besiegers. Mounted on wheels, it was moved forward by
the occupants by means of levers.
The rebels used Corfe Church as their principal battery and
headquarters, and they seem to have desecrated the interior of the
sacred building in every possible way. Of the surplices they made
shirts for the soldiers; the organ pipes were torn down to serve as
cases for their powder and shot; and, not being furnished with musket
bullets, they cut off the lead of the church, and, rolling it up, they
shot it without ever casting it in a mould.
Sir Walter Erle and the other rebel commanders were earnest to press
forward the soldiers; but as prodigal as they were of the blood of
their men, they were sparing enough of their own. It was a general
observation, says the chronicler, sarcastically, that valiant Sir
Walter never willingly exposed himself to any hazard; and to the
eternal honour of this knight’s valour, be it recorded that, for fear
of musket-shot, he was seen to creep on all-fours on the side of Corfe
Castle hill to keep himself from danger.
This base cowardice of the assailants added courage and resolution to
the defenders; therefore, not compelled by want, but rather to brave
the rebels, they sallied out of the Castle, and brought eight cows and
a bull into the fortress without a single man being even wounded.
The rebels, having spent much time and ammunition, and some men, were
now as far from taking the Castle as on the first day they began. At
last the Earl of Warwick sent them 150 sailors, with several cart-loads
of ammunition and scaling ladders, to take the Castle by assault.
Rewards were offered to those who first should scale the walls: twenty
pounds to the first, and smaller sums to those who should follow; but
all this could not avail with these poor wretches, who were brought
hither like sheep to the slaughter. Some of the rebel party had
actually exchanged certain death by the rope for that of a chance death
by bullets, as some of them were actually condemned criminals let out
of prison.
On finding that money rewards and persuasion could not prevail with
such abject, low-spirited men, the rebel commanders resolved to give
their men strong drink, knowing that drunkenness makes some men fight
like lions, who when sober are as cowardly as hares. The only man who
was not the worse for drink, says the chronicler, with biting sarcasm,
was the commander of the party, Sir Walter Erle, who kept himself sober
lest he should become valiant against his will.
Being now possessed with a borrowed courage, the rebels divided
their forces into two parties, whereof one assaulted the middle
ward, defended by valiant Captain Laurence and the greater part of
the soldiers; while the other assaulted the upper ward, which Lady
Bankes—“to her eternal honour be it spoken,” says the chronicler—with
her daughter, women-servants, and five soldiers, undertook to defend
against the rebels. And what she undertook she bravely performed, for
by heaving over stones and hot embers, they repelled the rebels and
kept them from climbing the ladders. Thus repulsed, and having lost
one hundred men, Sir Walter Erle, on hearing that the King’s forces
were advancing, ran away, leaving Sydenham as commander-in-chief,
who, afraid to appear, kept sanctuary in Corfe Church till nightfall,
meaning to sup and run away by starlight; but, supper being ready
and set on the table, an alarm was given that the King’s forces were
coming. This news took away Sydenham’s appetite; so, leaving artillery,
ammunition, and last, but not least, his good supper, the rebels all
ran away to take boat for Poole, leaving on the shore about one hundred
horses, which proved a valuable prize next day to the soldiers of the
Castle.
Thus, after six weeks’ strict siege, Corfe Castle, the desire of the
enemy, by the loyalty and brave resolution of Lady Bankes, the valour
of Captain Laurence and some eighty soldiers, was delivered from the
bloody intentions of these merciless rebels on August 4th, 1643.
Few portions of the kingdom were now undisturbed, and civil war shook
the domestic happiness of both the highest and the lowest of the land.
Poor Sir John Bankes, on his return home from circuit, found his wife
ready to welcome him within the battered walls of his castle. His
wife had become a heroine during his long absence from home, and his
children had endless stories to relate of their invincible prowess
in the days of danger. He found his castle safe and his property
preserved; but Corfe Church had been desecrated and unroofed, the shops
in the little town had been plundered, and all that would burn of the
stone-built cottages around had been destroyed by conflagration.
There was much, however, at the moment to render this a joyful meeting
at Corfe Castle, for it seemed as if the sun of the King’s fortune was
about to ascend again. But in 1644 the tide of royal success, which
had flowed so steadily through the western counties in the preceding
year, was now ebbing fast in the county of Dorset. On June 16th, 1644,
Weymouth surrendered to the Earl of Essex, and three days afterwards
Dorchester followed suit. On August 10th, 1644, Colonel Sydenham and
Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper arrived with their troops before the town of
Wareham, and began to storm the outworks, whereupon the town agreed to
surrender.
Corfe Castle was now almost the only place of strength between Exeter
and London which still held out for the royal cause, and the constant
valour of Lady Bankes, who defended it, is to be estimated not so much
by her active enterprise and resistance in the hours of excitement and
attack as by her long endurance through tedious weeks and months of
anxiety, encompassed as she was by threats and dangers on every side.
She had now a second winter to look forward to. All the neighbouring
towns had become hostile, and the only encouragement and aid she could
expect (her husband being absent, and her sons quite young) was that of
a garrison to consist of soldiers brought from a distance, under the
command of officers who were little, if at all, known to her.
Early in the winter the misfortune which she had least reason to
anticipate befell her, for on December 28th, 1644, her husband, the
Chief Justice, died at Oxford. On October 28th, 1645, more effective
operations were taken against Corfe Castle. Colonel Bingham, Governor
of Poole, had two regiments placed at his disposal for this purpose,
and on December 16th further reinforcements were sent by General
Fairfax.
During the whole course of the Civil War no expedition more gallant had
occurred than that of January 29th by a young officer named Cromwell:
whether this young Cromwell was related to the Protector is uncertain.
Hearing of the distressed condition of a widowed lady shut up with her
daughters in a closely-besieged castle, Cromwell was resolved to make
an effort for their relief. Accompanied by a troop numbering 120 men,
who shared the gallantry of their commander, he set out, probably from
Oxford, and, marching with a degree of rapidity which anticipated all
intelligence of his design, he passed through the quarters of Colonel
Cooke undiscovered, and came to Wareham.
Colonel Butler, the Governor of Wareham, aware that no troops were
expected, took the alarm, barricaded his lodgings, firing from thence
upon his assailant; but the royalist troop had no time to bestow
on this attack. They therefore set fire to a house in the vicinity
which stood near the powder magazine, and the Governor, thoroughly
frightened, consented to yield himself a prisoner. He was carried,
together with others, mounted behind some of the triumphant troopers,
to the foot of Corfe Castle.
Here a large rebel force was drawn up to oppose their further progress;
but the brave bearing of this little troop, together with the shouts of
welcome from the besieged on the walls, induced the besiegers to give
way. The gallant band, having accomplished their purpose, tendered
their services to the lady, and presented also for her acceptance the
prisoners they had so bravely captured.
The object of this chivalrous action was probably an offer of escape to
the ladies from the Castle, which, however, was not accepted. And on
their return Colonel Cromwell, with some of his troopers, were taken
prisoners.
The course of events now shifted rapidly, and though Lady Bankes was
still as intrepid as at first, it was not so with all who were around
her; for the captive Governor of Wareham, Colonel Butler, prevailed
on Colonel Laurence (hitherto so trustworthy) not only to connive at,
but to accompany him in his flight. And there was within the walls
another traitor, Lieutenant-Colonel Pitman, whose conduct was still
more base, his treachery far more fatal in its consequences. This
officer in the Castle garrison, being weary of the King’s service, let
the enemy know that if he might have a protection he would deliver
Corfe Castle to the Parliament. This treacherous offer was accepted,
and a protection order was sent to him from London. On this, Pitman
proposed to Colonel Anketil, the Governor of the Castle, to fetch one
hundred men out of Somerset to add to the Corfe Castle garrison. This
proposal being approved, he formed a design with the rebel, Colonel
Bingham, who commanded the siege, that under this pretence he should
convey more than one hundred men into the Castle, and as soon as they
were entered the besiegers should make an attack. On this a hundred men
were drawn out of Weymouth garrison and marched to Lulworth Castle,
where they were joined by some thirty or forty more soldiers. Pitman
led them in the night to the port agreed upon for their entrance, where
Colonel Anketil was ready to receive them. Some of these men already
knew every part of the interior of the Castle; but when fifty of these
new soldiers had entered, Colonel Anketil, seeing more in the rear,
ordered the Sally Port to be closed, saying that there were as many as
he could dispose of. The crafty Pitman expostulated on his causing him
to bring these men so far and then to expose them to the cold and to
the enemy.
Those of the fresh soldiers who entered took possession of the King’s
and Queen’s towers and the two platforms, awaiting the time when
the besiegers would make an assault, it being then two hours after
midnight. The besieged, as soon as the fraud was discovered, fired and
threw down great stones upon these intruders, who, however, maintained
their posts. There were, in fact, only six men of the garrison in
the upper part of the Castle, for that was considered impregnable.
The remainder of the defending force was placed in the lower ward,
which had hitherto been the post of danger. The besieging forces, as
soon as they saw their friends on the towers and platforms, began to
advance; and it was then clear to the inmates of the Castle that they
had been most villainously betrayed. A parley was demanded, and an
agreement made that all lives should be spared, and those who belonged
to the town of Corfe should return quietly to their houses; and the
circumstance of a Parliamentary officer being there with others of
that party, prisoners in the Castle, induced the besiegers to offer
conditions, which were accepted. But the truce was broken almost at
once, for two of the besiegers, anxious for spoil, came over the wall
by means of a ladder, whereupon some of the Castle garrison fired on
them, and the risk of a free fight and general slaughter throughout the
Castle now began.
Colonel Bingham was a descendant of a family long known and highly
respected in the county of Dorset, and naturally could not but admire
the courage of the lady who was his foe, and he at once set about
preserving the lives of the 140 persons then within the Castle.
This last siege is said, in Sprigg’s _Table of Battles and Sieges_,
to have lasted forty-eight days, during which eleven men were slain
and five cannons taken. The exact date of the fall of Corfe Castle
is uncertain, but it was probably in the last week of the month of
February, 1646. Thus, after a resistance of nearly three years’
duration, brave Lady Bankes was dispossessed of the fortress, which she
continued to defend so long as a chance remained for the preservation
of the Crown.
On March 5th, 1646, a vote passed the House of Commons to demolish
Corfe Castle. The decree was ruthlessly carried into effect, and far
more was, unfortunately, done than was sufficient to render the Castle
utterly untenable for the future. Most of the towers were undermined,
whilst others had the soil removed from the foundation preparatory to
a similar process. Some were blown up with gunpowder, whilst others,
perhaps, sank down by their own weight into the mines without the aid
of gunpowder.
The work of plunder throughout the Castle was soon accomplished; and
there are not a few of the fair mansions in Dorset which have been
constructed in large measure of the stone and timber carried away
from Corfe Castle. The rebels not only plundered the Castle, dividing
amongst them its sumptuous furniture (some of which was traced by Sir
Ralph Bankes, after the Restoration, to the houses of county gentlemen,
and some to dealers in London), but even timber and stone were found to
have been appropriated by some gentlemen of the county who supported
the cause of Parliament. Most of the lead was sold to a plumber of
Poole.
The halls, galleries, and other chambers throughout the building were
nobly decorated with rich tapestry and carpeting and furniture, most of
which had probably remained since the splendid days of Sir Christopher
Hatton. And as to furniture and tapestry which existed in the Castle,
it is not a mere matter of conjecture, as several of the things taken
away are still extant. A _Perticular_ (_sic_) of the goods viewed at
Colonel Bingham’s house gives a long list of beautiful tapestry, silk
quilts, and carpets, _e.g._—
One piece of fine Tapestry to hang behind my Lady’s bed.
A rich ebony Cabinet with gilded Fixtures &c.
It is but fair to add that though Colonel Bingham carried off this
furniture from Corfe Castle to his own private residence, he was by Act
of Parliament of 1644 not only ordered to confiscate property, but was
threatened with confiscation of his own if he failed or refused to act
as sequestrator.
Lady Bankes’ death, as recorded on a monument of white marble at
Rislip, took place on April 11th, 1661. So little was her death
expected, that her eldest son was married on the morning of the day on
which she died.
The following letters, in their quaint spelling, as to the missing
furniture from Corfe Castle, are characteristic:
For my noble friend Sir Ralph Bankes at Chettle.
From John Bingham Esq^{r}. Bingham’s Melcombe.
Nobel sir,
My being in phisicke made me not to send an answer to your servant’s
letter last Sunday. I beseech you let it plead my excuse.
Sir, I have a large bed, a single velvet red chair and a suite of fine
damask; had not the horse plague swept away my horses I would have
sent these to you. I beg that you’ll please to command one of your
servants to come to Blandford next Friday morning by 10 o’clock there
these things shall be ready for him at the Crowne Hotel.
That yet a continual gale of happinefs may ever blow on you here below
the stars and that you may yet enjoy heaven hereafter is the real wish
of
Sir
Your very hearty servant
John Byngham.
Sir I humbly entreat the tender of my humbel service to my Ladey
Bankes.
One other letter, having the same address, appears to have been written
within a few days of the date of the former letter:—
Nobel Sir,
I have sent to Blandford to be delivered your servant one large bed,
2 blankets; the bed for 12 years since was opened by a wench at my
then house at Byngham’s Melcombe when I was in the Isle of Guernsey
and feathers stolne out and divers other such tricks done by her in my
being out of the land.
I take the boldness to hint this trick to you likewise I have sent
to Blandford a full sute (that is as many as ever I had) of old fine
damask table cupboard cloths and napkins in particular two long table
cloths a large cupboard cloth, 2 towels long, a red velvet chaire.
Sir, had I more as I promised yourself I would have sent it.
Sir, the Linnen was but once used by me, but whited once in 2 years.
Your humble servant
John Byngham.
One large bed, minus the feathers, and one red velvet chair, appear to
constitute the amount of furniture recovered by Sir Ralph Bankes from
the hands of the sequestrators; and Sir Ralph ought to have considered
himself very fortunate inasmuch as these sequestrators had not made
away with the estates themselves.
Sir Ralph Bankes did not live to witness another revolution, or to see
the final expulsion of the royal race in whose cause his family had
suffered so severely: he completed the mansion at Kingston Lacy, and
died when his son was under age.
* * * * *
The original MS. of the old Corfe Castle legend of the Christmas Pie
is still said to be in existence in the Muniment Room at Kingston Lacy
amongst the other Corfe Castle documents.
Lady Bankes’ grandmother, Mrs. Hawtrey, was happy in the birth of many
daughters, who were well instructed in all the maidenly duties of that
good and pious time. Of the use of the needle, and the Greek and Latin
tongues, none could surpass them; and as to playing on the virginals
and clavycorde, it was wonderful to listen to them. But Mistress
Hawtrey did most insist on every young maiden knowing the cookcraft
(for so did she style it) of the kitchen.
Beauty fadeth like a flower.
Music can little delight the husband
When he becometh hard of hearing,
she would say; and then solemnly add:
The best cook doth always secure the best husband.
Now, to preserve the early lessons so taught to her daughters, from the
day when they could first rest their little chins upon the dresser, she
did have them fully instructed in this art of cooking. And then did
she require of them all a promise, strictly to be observed, that on
every Christmas Day in every year these her daughters should themselves
prepare and set forth upon her table a number of mince-pies equalling
exactly in the sum of them the number of years since the day of her so
happy marriage; and so it was that when she had been married fifty-nine
years complete there did appear upon her table fifty-nine mince-pies.
But in the following year her daughters conspired how, for the yet
greater satisfaction and surprised pleasure of this their beloved
parent, they did, with great labour and curiosity of art, continue
one great and noble pie a born baby might rest therein; and this they
filled with those many and rare refections suitable to the great work
they had in hand: to complete the whole did they upraise on the crown
of the crust the letters L X—two letters large and noble—clearly
denoting thereby the three-score returns of that fertile marriage-day
from whence themselves were so happily sprung. The knowledge of this
rare structure is withheld from the good old dame until the hall is
decked with Christmas garnishings. The pie is placed upon the table,
and the old lady entereth and is seated, but the beholding of this pie
hath an effect on this good old lady far differing from that which then
her beloved offspring intended. Alas! she cannot touch a morsel. A
novelty so strange she cannot realise, nor can she digest the ancient
promise broken. Mayhap she did apprehend whether an ape should leap
forth, or a dwarf, or a Denmark owl, for such conceits had been known
at the banquets of persons of high condition. Be this as it may, the
old lady is carried to her chamber in a swoon; her daughters like
demented beings hurry to and fro—nothing is left unendeavoured on their
parts. The medicine chest is unclosed. Scores of healthful medicaments
are brought forth. They give to her of them all: yet did the good old
lady die, and was laid straight and quiet in her coffin, before the
mince-pie had sufficient time to cool.
POOLE
BY W. K. GILL
Some, even of those who know a little of Poole, may wonder at the
idea that a town so modern to all appearance should have anything of
antiquity about it. To the motorist, bound westward from Bournemouth,
Poole is a place with an irritating railway crossing at one end, and
an equally provoking bridge at the other. And even to a visitor it
will appear but as a commonplace business town—a town of tramcars and
electric lights, with a big gasworks on the most approved principles,
with wharves piled with timber and quays black with coal, where
the colliers come in and out through a fleet of red-sailed barges
and big white timber-ships; a town whose very Church and Guildhall
are modern, and to whose past only a neglected and mutilated stone
building on the Quay bears the slightest witness. But could we open
the jealously-guarded charter-chest, and unroll one ancient document
after another; could we summon the shadowy file of noble and royal
benefactors, from the famous Crusader, the Gordon of his age, who
granted the first charter, to that Queen of famous memory, who gave us
the last—then, indeed, we should have a pageant fit to compare with
that of any town in Dorset. But Poole’s true pageant would be on the
water, where, too, the harbour would give her an antiquity not her own.
Roman bireme and Saxon keel, Danish longship and Norman galley, quaint
craft of Plantagenet and Tudor, strong-stemmed Newfoundlander, and
raking privateer of the great French War—the shipping that has sailed
in that harbour would bring us down from the Roman period to the long
black destroyers of our own day which sometimes lie in main channel
from Stakes to Saltern’s Pier. The memories of Poole are not in her
ruins, but in her records; for the swift keel leaves no mark, and there
is no more trace of the destroyers that lay there last year than of
Knut’s long ships that lay there nine hundred years ago.
[Illustration: THE TOWN CELLARS, POOLE.]
But let us stroll slowly through the town from the railway station,
not by the High Street, but by way of the Guildhall and the Church of
St. James the Apostle, down to the Quay, noting, as we go, the signs
and vestiges of past days. A few paces from the station is the old
town boundary, denoted by a boundstone let into the wall, and this is
all that remains to mark the position of the embattled gate erected
by charter from Henry VI., and destroyed by order of Charles II.—the
embattled gate recorded by Leland that turned back Prince Maurice in
the great Civil War. It is amusing to note how Clarendon “veils his
wrath in scornful word” as he tells how “in Dorsetshire the enemy
had only two little fisher towns, Poole and Lyme.” Here was the main
entrance from the north through the fortified gate that gave the name
of Towngate Street. (The southern entrance was by ferry, and this way
came Leland, the great Tudor antiquary.) There was a sharp fight at
this point during the Civil War, mementos of which in the shape of
three small cannon-balls were dug up last year, and are now in the
local Museum. The story may be summarised thus: Poole as a seaport
was of great importance, and the King’s party were most anxious
to get hold of it. Attempts were made to corrupt a dashing young
partisan leader, Captain Francis Sydenham, of Wynford Eagle (brother
of the famous doctor, also a soldier then), who was constantly out on
raiding expeditions. Sydenham pretended to yield, but arranged with
the Governor, Captain John Bingham, of Bingham’s Melcombe, to have a
little surprise for the cavaliers. Accordingly, when Lord Crawford with
horse and foot came by night to the outworks that guarded the causeway
over the fosse, he was admitted within the half-moon, but found the
gates fast, while the cannon and musketry opened on him from the wall.
The darkness favoured him, however, and he escaped, but with some loss
of men, and more of horses. The small cannon-balls above mentioned
were in all probability some of those fired at the Royalists from the
wall. This wall, as has been said, was razed by order of Charles II., a
retaliation, possibly, for the part Poole had played in the destruction
of Corfe Castle. The fosse long remained, and, having been deepened
in fear of Prince Charlie as late as 1745, some portion was traceable
within the memory of living persons.
A few years after, the King had an opportunity of seeing how his order
had been carried out—for, the Court being at Salisbury, to avoid
the Plague in 1665, he and some of the courtiers went touring about
East Dorset, and one day was spent at Poole. So on September 15th a
brilliant company rode into the town by the old causeway. There was the
King himself, harsh-featured indeed, but easy and gracious in bearing;
Lauderdale, with his coarse features and lolling tongue; Ashley, with
his hollow cheeks and keen eyes; Arlington, another of the afterwards
infamous Cabal; and, among the rest, but the centre of all attraction,
the handsome, boyish face of Monmouth. Ashley was well known in Poole,
and many a grim Puritan soldier must have muttered Scriptural curses on
his old commander, who had turned courtier for the nonce, but who could
not foresee the day when the flags in the port should be half-mast for
him, and when his body should be brought from his place of exile in
Holland, and the hearse should pass along the very road he had just
ridden so gallantly to the old church of Wimborne St. Giles. Still
less could young Monmouth foresee the day when, twenty years later,
turning and doubling like a hunted hare, he should cross that road in
his desperate and vain effort to reach the shelter of the great Forest.
And little did his father think that Antony Etricke, “learned in the
laws of England,” whom he appointed Recorder of Poole, should be the
man before whom his favourite son would be brought for identification.
Down the street rode the gay cavalcade—plumed hats, curled wigs,
velvets and laces, gallant horses and all—over the open ground that
extended halfway down the town, till they came to the house of Peter
Hiley, which then stood about opposite where now is the National and
Provincial Bank. The house has long since gone, but there they were
entertained by Peter Hall, the Mayor; and afterwards the King went on
the water to Brownsea, “and took an exact view of the said island,
castle, bay, and this harbour, to his great contentment.” For many a
day this visit was remembered, and the cause of the hapless Monmouth
was popular in Poole, so that before his final attempt to reach the
Forest he had entertained the idea of escaping to Poole, and there
taking ship for Holland. A ghastly little note from the Deputy-Mayor of
Poole, instructing the tything-men of Higher Lytchett to take delivery
of certain heads and quarters of rebels executed in Poole, and to set
them up at the cross-roads, is still in existence, and testifies to the
executions of the Bloody Assize.
Further down the street comes a cluster of houses that belong to a
widely different period, both in the history of the town and of the
country. The almshouses, dated 1812, with Nile and Trafalgar Rows on
one side, and Wellington Row, 1814, a little way below on the other,
recall the great French War, when the open ground at this end of
Poole, still called The Parade, though now built over, was the place
of exercise for the troops constantly quartered here. In 1796, the
33rd, then Colonel Wellesley’s, regiment was here, and the Colonel’s
quarters were over the water at the old manor-house at Hamworthy.
But the almshouses, built by a famous Newfoundland merchant, George
Garland, bring back quite a different set of memories. Curiously
enough, the well-known trade with Newfoundland was at its zenith
during the later years of the great war. The English fleet had swept
the foreign flag off the seas, and the trade had fallen to the Union
Jack. But the trade dated from the time of Queen Elizabeth, and lasted
till the middle of the Victorian age. At first the little ships went
out year by year, in the season, and returned with their cargoes of
oil and fish and skins, without making any stay on the island—little
ships of forty to fifty tons, but manned by daring seamen, who faced
the Atlantic storms and the Turkish pirates, as well as French or
Spanish enemies, year in, year out, with no record save now and then
an incidental mention, as when the Mayor of Poole complains to the
Privy Council in 1625 of the danger that the fishing fleets ran from
the Turkish pirates, Sallee rovers, and the like. In after years
settlements were made, and the Poole merchants had their establishments
on the island, from which they supplied the fishermen; but the truck
system was the only one in vogue, and the oils and fish and seal-pelts
were paid for in goods only, the value of which was fixed by the
merchant, who thus got his cargoes at his own price, and, buying his
supplies wholesale in England, made, naturally, very large profits.
For many years Poole and Newfoundland were intimately connected,
but the trade gradually fell off as other countries entered into
competition, and the carelessness, bred by monopoly, made the Poole
merchants far too independent and unenterprising.
Not far down the street lived a merchant of another sort. Sir Peter
Thompson, born in Poole, but for the greater part of his life residing
in London, where he carried on a large trade with Hamburg, built for
his retirement the fine old Georgian house long used as a hospital.
The carved doorway, with its crest and motto, “_Nil conscire sibi_”
(not, by-the-bye, the one usually assigned to Sir Peter, which is
“_Nulla retrorsum_”); the arms and crest displayed above the doorway,
and the height and proportion of the street front, give an air of
dignity to the building strangely in contrast with the neat little
villas recently put up opposite. The house dates from the time
of Prince Charlie, who, indirectly, was the cause of Sir Peter’s
knighthood. As High Sheriff of Surrey, the fine old Whig presented
a loyal address to George II. when the throne was in danger after
Prestonpans, and received the honour of knighthood as a mark of the
King’s appreciation. It was in the next year, the year of Culloden,
that Sir Peter began the house in which he meant to spend the close
of an honourable life in the company of early friends, and in the
collection of rare manuscripts and objects of interest, scientific and
antiquarian, for he was both an F.R.S. and an F.A.S.; he also aided
Hutchins in his monumental _History of Dorset_. Respected for his
talents and loved for his kindness, he lived there for some years in
dignified ease, and died in 1770.
As yet it will be observed that we have had comparatively modern
memories of Poole; but as we go nearer to the Quay, which is the most
important element in Poole past and present, we come to older and
older buildings, or rather parts of buildings, for it is a feature in
the town that the constant, active life of the place has renewed, and
so covered up, the old buildings, unlike places whose vigour has long
ebbed away and left them with their antiquities unaltered to sleep away
the remainder of their allotted time,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
And so we pass the modern Guildhall—the old Guildhall was very
suitably placed in Fish Street, on the other side of the town, with
the gaol, in which John Wesley’s grandfather was imprisoned, under
it—and down the market till we pause before the oldest almshouses,
where the authorities have put up an inscription which tells all
that is certainly known of the buildings, viz., that they were first
erected about the time of Henry IV., were the property of one of the
mediæval religious guilds, the Guild of St. George, and were seized
by the Crown in the time of Edward VI., and afterwards sold to the
Corporation. The lower portion and the old wall at the back—in fact,
the stonework—may be as old as the days of Joan of Arc, but there has,
of course, been a great deal of alteration and rebuilding. Speaking of
Joan of Arc, it may be mentioned that John, Duke of Bedford, Regent
of France, under whose rule she was burned, was Lord of Canford and
of Poole, and a few years ago his seal was dug up in cleaning out a
ditch on the Hamworthy-Lytchett road. St. James’ Church is, of course,
new, though built on the site of the old church, a print of which,
with its “handsome tower, covered with a cupola of tin, quite round,
in the fashion of a cup,” is given in Sydenham’s _History of Poole_,
a work of special merit, written by a competent antiquary, and full
of information. Some of the old monumental inscriptions are preserved
in the church, notably one to Captain Peter Joliffe. This worthy
representative of the old Poole seamen distinguished himself in a
sea-fight off Purbeck as follows:—Cruising with only two men in a small
vessel, the “Sea Adventurer,” he saw a French privateer make prey of
a Weymouth fishing-boat. Though the Frenchman was vastly superior in
strength, he boldly attacked him, drove him off, recovered the prize,
and then, following up his first success, manœuvred so skilfully as
to drive him ashore near Lulworth, where the vessel was broken to
pieces and the crew made prisoners. King William III., hearing of this
brave deed, sent Captain Peter a gold medal and chain, with a special
inscription. This was not his only exploit, and in later years George
I. made him military commander of the town. His great-grandson, the
Rev. Peter Joliffe, of Sterte, is still remembered as the pattern of a
good rector.
Old Poole, as we have noted, clustered round St. James’ Church and
the old Guildhall, and, as the remains testify, was mainly of stone,
with the stone-flag roofs, that remind one of their Purbeck home.
Very near to the church, in the yard of the St. Clement’s Inn, is a
small battlemented gateway, supposed to have been a water-gate, a view
which has been lately confirmed by the traces of seaweed revealed
in digging. This is very probably the piece of wall of which Leland
speaks as having been built by Richard III., who “promised large
things to the town of Poole.” Hence, when “Richmond was on the seas,”
and his storm-driven ship appeared off Sandbanks, an attempt was made
to inveigle him on shore; but a warier man than Henry Tudor did not
breathe, and, to the disappointment of the authorities, “he weighed
up his anchor, halsed up his sails, and having a prosperous and
streeinable wind, and a fresh gale sent even by God to deliver him from
that peril, arrived safe in Normandy.”
Older than the piece of wall, older than the
almshouses, and older, indeed, than anything else in
Poole, is that much-battered, much-altered building
now known as the Town Cellars. The Great Cellar, or
King’s Hall, or Woolhouse, to give it the various
names it was once known by, was in all probability,
as the names import, a place in which goods were
stored. It was always manor property, rented by the
Corporation in later years, but more likely originally
a place used by the lords of the manor of Canford to
store the dues levied in kind, to which they were
entitled by the charter of Longespée. On the inner
side stood a small prison called the Salisbury, also
belonging to the manor, and by this were the stocks,
still remembered by old people. Modern conjecture,
catching at the ecclesiastical appearance of the
pointed doorways and cusped windows, and ignoring
the fact that such features were common to sacred and
secular buildings alike, has imagined a monastery
here, but the utter absence of evidence, the absolute
silence of all records, the fact, too, that Leland,
who visited Poole, and mentions all of importance from
the antiquary’s point of view, has nothing to say of
any such institution, and, finally, the authority of
Abbot Gasquet, whose note on the subject may be given
in full—“Poole, ‘A Friary,’ _No friary: the grant 3
Edward VI. seems to have been of gild property_”—seem
to be conclusive against the theory. The place has
been cut right through by the street from St. James’
Church to the Quay, and is so shown on the revised
Ordnance Map, while the original block is entire in
a plan of Poole dated 1768. It must have been very
narrow in proportion to its width, and parts of the
work are very roughly executed. Possibly this is the
“fair town house of stone on the Kay” of which Leland
speaks, unmutilated in his day. Old and battered
as it is, no inhabitant of the town should view it
without reverence, for it is part of the long past.
Built about the end of Edward the Third’s reign, it
must have played its part in stirring times. Poole,
during the Hundred Years’ War, was a place of much
importance, and shared in the ups and downs of that
long war—now helping to take Calais, and again
destroyed in the great raid of John de Vienne, who
paid with fire and sword in the declining years of
Edward the score run up at Cressy and Calais and
Poitiers. The old building was the centre of a fierce
struggle about five hundred years ago. At that time
the port of Poole was a thorn in the side of Frenchman
and Spaniard, and its leader, Henry Paye, was the
dread of the Channel and of the shores of the Bay of
Biscay. The Drake of his age, half admiral and half
pirate, he was commander of the King’s ships one
year and raiding the Spanish coast the next. It is a
Spanish chronicle that lifts the veil for a moment and
shows us the Poole of the Plantagenets clustering
round the Church of St. James and along the Quay,
its inhabitants ready at a moment’s notice for war;
archers and men-at-arms mustering to the warcry; the
very doors so constructed that they could be used as
“pavaisses,” or large shields, against the murderous
cross-bow bolts—everything betokening a population
living in a state of war, and revealing a lively
picture of the coast towns when there was no regular
fleet, and self-help was the order of the day. We owe
this glimpse to the Spanish _Cronica del Conde D. Pero
Niño_, the substance of which, as far as it affects
Poole, is given by Southey in his _Naval History of
England_. The attack on Poole was a revenge raid in
consequence of Henry Paye’s doings on the Spanish
coast. Early in the morning the joint Spanish and
French fleet entered the harbour, and the Spaniards
landed. Taken by surprise, with their leader away, the
men of Poole proved their mettle. A large building
(which we, without hesitation, identify with the Town
Cellars), full of arms and sea-stores, was fiercely
defended, and when this had been carried by assault
and set on fire, the fighting was continued in the
streets. So terrible was the hail of shafts that the
Spaniards recoiled, and only the landing of fresh men
enabled them at last to drive back the English. Henry
Paye’s brother led the townsmen with great gallantry,
but was killed on the spot, and then, apparently, his
men drew off. The Spaniards and their French allies,
who at first held aloof, but came bravely to help when
the first repulse took place, then returned to their
ships with a few prisoners; and the curtain again
falls.
And so we leave the old town while yet the smoke broods sullenly over
the Town Cellars, and the warcry of Spain yet echoes among the narrow
stone streets of the East Quay.
BRIDPORT
BY THE REV. R. GROSVENOR BARTELOT, M.A.
In the days when vikings, pirates, and roving sea-dogs ruled the waves
it was a decided advantage for the shipping merchant to reside in a
port which lay a mile or so up a river-mouth rather than on the coast
itself. Fourteenth century Weymouth folk knew this to their cost.
Dwellers they were in a growing hamlet on the sea-coast, with no church
of their own, so they had to walk over the hill to Mass at Wyke Regis.
Whilst thus employed in pious worship, down swooped the French ships on
their defenceless abodes, and when they returned to their Sunday dinner
their homesteads were a smouldering ash-heap. After that, they decided
to build a chapel of their own on high ground, whence the eye of the
watchman could sweep the horizon in search of strange craft.
Such a sudden surprise as this could never have occurred at Bridport.
Following Wareham’s good example, the builders of this ancient town had
an eye to communication by land and sea. They hugged the Roman Road,
and at the same time they lay snug up a river-mouth. The Brit, which
rises in the upland slopes of Axnoller Hill, amidst some of the finest
Wessex scenery, after a short course through Beaminster Town, past the
beautiful Tudor mansion of Parnham and the villages of Netherbury and
Melplash, unites with the Symene and the Asker streams at Bridport
Town, and thence flows into West Bay, a mile further on, at Bridport
Harbour.
Whether in Roman times this place had any importance cannot now
be definitely determined. If, however, the name of the station,
_Londinis_, on the Icen Way from Dorchester to Exeter, be but a
Latinised form of _Lyndaen_—_i.e._, “Broad Pool”—then there is reason
to believe that Bridport High Street, which runs along the edge of
Bradpole parish, is on the old Roman Road. That Bradpole was only a
hamlet of Bridport is shown by the fact that not until the year 1527
had the former parish any right to bury its parishioners anywhere
except in the churchyard of the latter place. The evidence of the name
of the town certainly favours Roman occupation; “port” in this case is
not derived from a personal source; this is the “door, or gate, of the
Brit.”
We have more clear evidence of its growing importance in the Saxon
period. The name of its western suburb, “Allington,” is always in
mediæval days written “Athelington,” “the town of the nobles.” Hence
the fashion in modern London of the aristocracy flocking to the “West
End,” is, after all, only an imitation of an example set by Bridport
long years ago. In Edward the Confessor’s reign one hundred and twenty
houses stood in this Dorset town, which, in comparison with the other
towns of the county, came next to Dorchester and Wareham. Bridport,
too, had a mint of its own, and its mint-master paid well for the
privilege of coining.
The Norman Conquest does not appear to have been an unmixed blessing
in these parts. In _Domesday Survey_ the town is shown to have gone
back considerably. Twenty houses are stated to be desolate, and the
people impoverished. All these bad times, however, had passed away
before the reign of King John, when Bridport was already famous for
its manufacture of rope, sailcloth, and nets, and these have been its
staple industries down to modern days. As early as the year 1211 the
Sheriff of Dorset paid the goodly sum of £48 9s. 7d. for 1,000 yards
“of cloth by the warp to make sails of ships, and for 3,000 weights of
hempen thread according _to Bridport weight_ for making ships’ cables,
and 39 shillings for the expenses of Robert the Fisher whilst he stayed
at Bridport to procure his nets.” Let us hope “Bridport weight” was, as
it is now, specially good for the price.
Residents in the town in these days are almost tired of the threadbare
witticism about the “Bridport dagger,” but, for the sake of the
uninitiated, it must be repeated here. When anyone wished to speak
tenderly of some person who died at the hangman’s hand, he described
him as being “stabbed with a Bridport dagger.” John Leland, the
itinerant chronicler of the days of Henry VIII., came here and heard
the joke, but it never penetrated his prosaic skull, so he gravely
recorded in his note-book: “At Bridporth be made good daggers.” Suffice
it to say that Newgate was duly supplied in those days (as the old
Morality play, _Hycke Scorner_, tells us) with:
Ones a yere some taw halters of Burporte.
Whilst an Act of Parliament of 1528 says that “time out of mind they
had used to make within the town for the most part all the great
cables, ropes, hawsers, and all other tackling for the Royal Navy.”
This industry has left its mark upon the architecture of the place.
The streets are broad, to allow every house its “rope walk.” Some fine
examples of mediæval domestic architecture are extant, notably the one
now used as the Conservative Club on the east side of South Street,
evidently a merchant’s house of Tudor days.
Few country towns were so rich in ecclesiastical foundations as was
Bridport in the Middle Ages. It possessed the present Parish Church of
St. Mary, which then had seven altars and numerous chantries; after
much restoration (during which the tomb of a great-grandson of Edward
I. perished), it is even now a noble example of the piety of prosperous
merchants. There were, besides, the churches of St. Andrew, where now
the Town Hall stands, and St. Swithun, in Allington. Other religious
foundations included the Priory, now the rope factory; the double
chantry chapel of St. Michael, where now is extant only the lane of
that name; the Hospital of St. John, at the East Bridge; the Mawdelyn
Leper House, in Allington; and the Chapel of St. James, in Wyke’s Court
Lane. One can well imagine that clerical interests might sometimes
clash amidst such a galaxy of places for worship. In fact, in the reign
of Henry VIII. Sir John Strangwayes, Steward of the Borough, lodged
a complaint with the Chancellor of the Diocese “against the disorder
of certain chantry priests residing at Bridport.” This was evidently
a harbinger of the coming dissolution of monastic foundations, which
confined the worship of the town to two churches under one rector.
By far the greatest interest of old Bridport is centred in its
immensely valuable Borough Records. These include a vast collection of
old deeds of Plantagenet times more or less connected with the history
of the whole county, whilst the copies of sixty-five mediæval wills,
ranging from 1268 to 1460, are of unique interest and importance,
dating, as so many of them do, before 1383, when the Records of the
Prerogative Wills of Canterbury commence. In addition to these, a very
complete series of borough charters is preserved amongst these records.
Bridport was a self-governing town, with the privileges of a Royal
Borough, long before 1252, when its first charter was granted by King
Henry III. This was probably soon lost, for the same King, on May 5th,
1270, affixed his seal to another, which recites its predecessor thus:
The King, having inspected the rolls of his Chancery, finds that at
the time when Peter de Chacepoler was keeper of his wardrobe, the men
of Bridport paid thirty marks, and in return received a charter, etc.
From that time onward each Sovereign seems to have extorted a nice
little donation for renewing the charter, each document growing in
size and verbosity compared with the one which it supplanted, right
down to the reign of James II.
Amongst the books possessed by the Corporation, the most ancient
carries us back to old Bridport from a legal point of vision. It is
the law-book of Richard Laurence, M.P., who lived from about 1300 to
1361. In it he has recorded copies of all the Acts of Parliament which
would be likely to come in useful to him in his legal profession.
Beginning from Magna Charta itself, he could turn to this volume, and
at a glance see what punishments were enacted against coin-clippers,
false measurers, brewers of too mild ale, or even against bigamists.
Many are the entries referring to nautical affairs, showing how often
he must have been consulted by busy Dorset mariners. How many a six
and eightpence this worthy lawyer of six centuries ago made out of
this book! On one page he records a matter less prosaic—his daughter’s
birthday. There were no parish registers then, so he writes:
Laurentia, the second daughter of Richard and Petronel Laurencz, was
born on the vigil of Saint Petronilla, being Whitsun Eve, in the 12th
year of King Edward III. (1338).
He who so often made other people’s wills at last made his own on July
26th, 1361, which is duly preserved amongst the muniments.
Another volume—the old dome-book of the borough—contains amidst solemn
minutes of meetings of the Corporation back in the days of the Edwards,
many quaint little quibbles. The writer evidently jotted down on a
fly-leaf the following as being a very good witticism which, in the
relaxation following a heavy session, some worthy Bridport alderman of
old told to beguile away the weariness of his fellow civic fathers:
“I will cause you to make a cross, and, without any interference, you
will be unable to leave the house without breaking that cross.” This
is how it was to be done: “Clasp a post fixed in the house, and make
a cross with your extended arms, and then how can you go out without
breaking that cross.” Here is another, after the “blind beggar’s
brother” pattern: “A pear tree bore all the fruit that a pear tree
ought to bear, and yet it did not bear pears. What is the answer?”
“Well, it only bore one pear.” Somewhat childish, certainly, but such
little “catches” as these delighted the mediæval conversationalist;
and do they not show that human nature has ever been the same? An
interesting sidelight is thrown upon the clock trade of those days by
a document dated 1425, whereby Sir John Stalbrygge, priest, was paid
three shillings and fourpence for “keeping the clock on St. Andrew’s
Church.” Matters horological in the Middle Ages were almost entirely in
the hands of the church. The clergy and monks were the clock-makers and
menders; witness the Glastonbury Clock in Wells Cathedral, the Wimborne
Clock, and others. Was not Pope Sylvester himself, when a priest, the
inventor of an improved timepiece? Hence it appears that for nearly six
centuries the townsmen have turned their eyes towards that same spot
where still the town clock chimes out the fleeting hours.
A word about the Bridport Harbour and its vicissitudes. In early days
there were numerous contentions between the citizens and the monks of
Caen, who owned the manor of Burton; at other times they were disputing
with the Abbot of Cerne or the Prior of Frampton, who apparently
wished to debar them from salving their own ships when wrecked outside
the harbour. Vessels were small enough to be beached in those days;
when ships were increased in size, the Haven was built, in the year
1385, but it proved not such a success as was anticipated. Apparently
during most of the next century every county in the south of England
was canvassed for subscriptions towards Bridport Harbour; all sorts
of expedients were devised to raise money. In 1446 was drawn up a
portentous document, still extant, known as an indulgence, granting
pardons to all those who should contribute to this object. It was
signed by one archbishop, two cardinals, and twelve bishops. Armed with
this deed, John Greve, Proctor for the town, started round collecting.
He writes a pitiful letter on May Day, 1448, from Dartford, in Kent,
detailing how his sub-collector, John Banbury, “sumtime bellman of
Lodres,” had decamped with six weeks’ collections, besides stealing his
“new chimere of grey black russet, and a crucifix with a beryl stone
set therein.” Nor could he find the rogue, for he says, “He took his
leave on St. George’s Day, and so bid me farewell, and I have ridden
and gone far to seek him—more than forty miles about—and I cannot hear
of him.”
A few interesting survivals of old Bridport have come down to modern
times in the shape of place-names. “Bucky Doo” passage, between the
Town Hall and the “Greyhound,” is suggestive of the rustic rabbit or
the rural roebuck; but it is simply the old name, “Bocardo,” originally
a syllogism in logic, which was here, as at Oxford, applied to the
prison because, just as a Bocardo syllogism always ended in a final
negative, so did a compulsory visit to the Bocardo lock-up generally
mean a closer acquaintance with the disciplinary use of “the Bridport
dagger,” and a final negative to the drama of life. Stake Lane has
been altered to Barrack Street in modern times. Gyrtoppe’s House, in
Allington, carries us back to the year 1360, when Sir Nicholas Gyrtoppe
was Chantry Priest of St. Michael’s, Bridport. It may be mentioned that
a pretty but utterly groundless story of the origin of this name has
been told, viz., that King Charles II., when a fugitive from Worcester
fight, had to “girth up” Miss Juliana Coningsby’s saddle trappings at
this spot in 1652: hence the term “girth up.”
Much could be written of the Civil War days concerning this place. How
the Roundheads voted £10 (November 29th, 1642) to fortify (!) the town.
How the Corporation met, and voted as follows:—
1642, 14th December.—It is agreed that the inhabitants that have
muskets shall watch at night in turn; that a watch house shall be
erected at each bridge; that eight of the Commoners shall watch at
night and eight by day, two at each of the three bridges, one in Stake
Lane, and one in Weak’s Lane.
On June 10th, 1643, Lieutenant Lee garrisoned the place for the
Parliament; on March 16th following, Captain Pyne, with a party from
Lyme, captured the town and took 140 horse. Waller was here six months
later (September 24th) raising the posse with 2,000 horse and 1,500
dragoons. Suffice it to say that Bridport preferred to keep as clear as
possible from civil turmoil.
As for the romantic story of the escape of Charles II. after the battle
of Worcester, and how he was nearly captured here, the reader is
referred to Chapter I. for the full account.
The Duke of Monmouth’s rebellion brings us to the end of our interest
in Old Bridport. It was on Sunday morning, June 13th, 1685, that the
whole place was thrown into a ferment by a surprise attack on the town
delivered by three hundred of Monmouth’s rebels from Lyme Regis. Lord
Grey commanded them, and after a night march and on arrival at dawn
having at the first volley routed the Dorset militia of 1,200 foot
with 100 horse, they started making prisoners of the officers who were
lodging at the “Bull” hotel. In this latter work, two Dorset men of
good family fell victims—Edward Coker and Wadham Strangwayes—being
slain by the rebels, who, after the first flush of victory, disregarded
ordinary precautions, and when the King’s troops rallied they had
to beat an ignominious retreat to Lyme. Judge Jeffreys finished
the work by ordering twelve of the condemned rebels to be executed
at Bridport. To any student of that period of history the unique
collection of autographs, broadsides, songs, and portraits, including
the pre-Sedgemoor letter from Lord Dumblane to his father, the Duke
of Leeds—all which are contained in the library of Mr. Broadley, of
Bridport—are absolutely indispensable.
SHAFTESBURY
BY THE REV. THOMAS PERKINS, M.A.
Shaston, the ancient British Palladour, was, and is, in itself the
city of a dream. Vague imaginings of its castle, its three mints, its
magnificent apsidal abbey, the chief glory of South Wessex, its twelve
churches, its shrines, chantries, hospitals, its gabled free-stone
mansions—all now ruthlessly swept away—throw the visitor, even against
his will, into a pensive melancholy, which the stimulating atmosphere
and limitless landscape around him can scarcely dispel. The spot
was the burial-place of a king and a queen, of abbots and abbesses,
saints and bishops, knights and squires. The bones of King Edward “the
Martyr,” carefully removed thither for holy preservation, brought
Shaston a renown which made it the resort of pilgrims from every part
of Europe, and enabled it to maintain a reputation extending far
beyond English shores. To this fair creation of the great Middle-Ages
the Dissolution was, as historians tell us, the death-knell. With
the destruction of the enormous abbey the whole place collapsed in a
general ruin; the martyr’s bones met with the fate of the sacred pile
that held them, and not a stone is now left to tell where they lie.
So does Thomas Hardy describe the ancient town of Shaftesbury.[55]
Truly, it is a town that appears to have seen its best days. Its
market-place is almost deserted, save on market-days, and when
some travelling wild beast show visits the town. On fair days the
round-abouts with galloping horses do a lively business, and their
steam-driven organs emit energetic music that may be heard far and
wide; and when a good circus pitches its tent on Castle Hill,
vehicles of every description stream in by hundreds from all the
surrounding villages, for there is nothing that the country folk
love better than a circus. But at other times Shaftesbury would be
considered by a stranger passing through it, fresh from city life,
as a quiet if not sleepy town. It has little to boast of save its
splendid site, its pure health-giving breezes, and the magnificent
views of the surrounding hills and downs and valleys that may be
obtained from several points of vantage. Of its four remaining
churches one only is of mediæval date; the three others are all
quite modern, entirely destitute of architectural interest, and with
little beauty to recommend them. All the others which once stood
here have disappeared, leaving nothing to remind us of their former
existence save, in some few cases, the name of a street or lane. Of
the glorious Abbey, probably the wealthiest nunnery that ever existed
in the kingdom, nothing but the walls that once enclosed the precincts
on the south-east, and the foundations of the church, long entirely
hidden from sight by surface soil, now happily opened out by recent
excavations, remain.
[Illustration: SHAFTESBURY.]
Left high and dry upon its hill-top it can watch the trailing steam
of the locomotives in the deep valley to the north as they hurry by,
taking no heed of the once royal burgh, the chief mint of Dorset in the
days of the West Saxon Kings, the burial-place of murdered Eadward, and
of Eadmund’s wife, Ealdgyth or Elgefu, the site of the nunnery founded
by Ælfred, and ruled at first by his “midmost daughter” Æthelgede or
Æthelgeofu. And yet this town has a real history that can be traced
back for more than 1,000 years, and a legendary one that carries us
back well-nigh to the days of King Solomon, for we read in a British
Brut or chronicle: “After Lleon came Rhun of the Stout Spear, his son,
and he built the Castle of Mount Paladr, which is now called Caer
Sefton, and there while he was building this stronghold there was
an Eryr that gave some prophecies about this island.” In Powell’s
_History of Cambria_ it is said:
... Concerning the word of Eryr at the building of Caer Septon on Mt.
Paladour in the year after the creation of the world 3048 some think
that an eagle did then speak and prophesie; others are of opinion
that it was a Brytaine named Aquila (Eryr in British) that prophesied
of these things and of the recoverie of the whole ile again by the
Brytaines.[56]
The Brut quoted was evidently written after Dorset was occupied by the
Saxons, because it says that the town was called Septon (a form of
Shafton), and implies that it was not so called when Rhun built it. It
is pretty certain that Caer Paladr was the Celtic name, and that the
Saxon name Sceaftesbyrig is a translation of it, the modern form of
which is Shaftesbury. If it was called after the name of the King who
built it, it was after part of his surname Baladr or Paladr (spear),
Bras (stout). Others think the spear or shaft was suggested by the long
straight hill on the point of which the town was built. At a later
date the name was contracted into Shaston, but this has become nearly
obsolete, save in municipal and other formal documents, where the
various parishes are called Shaston St. Peter’s, Shaston St. James’,
etc. The name also appears on the milestones, and the inhabitants of
the town are called Shastonians. No doubt the Romans captured this
Celtic hill-stronghold, and as proof of this, the finding of some Roman
coins has been alleged; but no written record of this period has come
down to us. The real history begins in Saxon times. Ælfred came to the
West Saxon throne in 871, and in 888 he founded a Benedictine Nunnery
at Shaftesbury, setting over it his “medemesta-dehter” as first Abbess.
This we learn from Asser, Ælfred’s friend, who tells us that he built
the Abbey near the eastern gate of the town. This shows that by this
time Shaftesbury was a walled town. An inscription on a stone in the
Abbey Chapterhouse, so William of Malmesbury tells us, recorded the
fact that the town was built by Ælfred in 880, by which he probably
means rebuilt after its partial or complete destruction by the Danes.
Shaftesbury was counted as one of the four royal boroughs of Dorset
(Wareham, Dorchester, and Bridport being the other three), and at the
time of the Norman Conquest it was the largest of the four. Æthelstan
granted the town the right of coining, and several scores of pennies
struck here in his reign were found in excavating a mediæval house
near the Forum in 1884-5. In the reign of Eadward the Confessor three
coiners lived in the town, each paying 13s. 4d. annually to the Crown,
and a fine of £1 on the introduction of a new coinage. The names, Gold
Hill and Coppice (that is, Copper) Street Lane, still speak of the old
mints of Shaftesbury.
On March 18th, 978, as everyone knows, King Eadward was treacherously
slain at the house of, and by the order of, his stepmother. The body
of the murdered King was dragged some distance by his horse, and when
found was buried without any kingly honour at Wareham. On February
20th, 980, Ælfere, Eadward’s ealdorman, removed the body with all due
state from Wareham to Shaftesbury, and here it was buried, somewhere in
the Abbey Church. Doubtless the reason why Shaftesbury was chosen as
the place of his burial was because he was of Ælfred’s kin, and this
religious house had been founded by Ælfred.
Miracles soon began to be worked at his tomb. He appeared, so it was
said, to a lame woman who lived at some distant spot, and bade her go
to his grave at Shaftesbury, promising that if she went she should be
healed of her infirmity. She obeyed his injunction, and received the
due reward for her faith. The grave in which the King was laid did not,
however, please him as a permanent resting-place. First he indicated
his dissatisfaction by raising the tomb bodily, and then when this
did not lead to an immediate translation of his relics, he appeared in
visions and intimated his desire to have a fresh grave. This was about
twenty-one years after his burial in the Abbey. The grave was opened,
and, as was usual in such cases, a sweet fragrance from it pervaded the
church. His body was then laid in the new tomb in a chapel specially
dedicated to him. Possibly this chapel stood over the crypt on the
north side of the north choir aisle. The day of his death, March 18th,
and the days of the two translations of his relics, February 20th and
June 20th, were kept in honour of the King, who, for what reason we
cannot tell, was regarded as a saint and martyr. His fame spread far
and wide, and brought many pilgrims and no small gain to the Abbey. At
one time the town was in danger of losing its old name, Shaftesbury,
and being called Eadwardstowe, but in course of time the new name
died out and the old name was revived. Pilgrims were numerous, and
possibly sometimes passed the whole night in the church. In order to
make a thorough cleansing of the floor after their visits more easy, a
slight slope towards the west was given to the choir pavement, so that
it might be well swilled. A similar arrangement may be seen in other
churches.
At Shaftesbury, too, was Eadmund Ironside’s wife buried; and on
November 12th, 1035, Knut the Dane died at Shaftesbury, but was not
buried in the Abbey, his body being carried to the royal city of
Winchester and laid to rest within the Cathedral Church there. Up to
the time of the Conquest the Abbesses bore English names; after that
time the names of their successors show that Shaftesbury Abbey formed
no exception to the rule that all the most valuable church preferments
were bestowed on those of Norman and French birth. Through every change
of dynasty the Abbey of Shaftesbury continued to flourish, growing
continually richer, and adding field to field, until it was said that
if the Abbot of Somerset Glaston could marry the Abbess of Dorset
Shaston they would together own more land than the King himself. The
Abbess held a barony, and ranked with the mitred Abbots, who had the
privilege of sitting in Parliament, and it was said that her rank
rendered her subject to be summoned by the King, but that she was
excused from serving on account of her sex. At last the time came for
the Abbey to be dissolved. More prudent than Whiting, the last Abbot of
Glastonbury—who refused to surrender and was hanged on St. Michael’s
Hill, overlooking his wide domains—Elizabeth Zouche, the last Abbess
of Shaftesbury, gave up to Henry VIII., on March 23rd, 1539, the Abbey
with all its property, valued at £1,329 per annum, and received in lieu
thereof the handsome pension of £133 a year for her own use. At this
time there were fifty-four nuns within its walls, each of whom received
a pension varying from £7 down to £3 6s. 8d.; the total amount given in
pensions was £431.
From the day of the Dissolution the glory of Shaftesbury began to pass
away. In an incredibly short space of time the Abbey was demolished,
and when Leland visited the place a few years later the church had
entirely disappeared. There was much litigation between the town and
those to whom the Abbey lands had been granted—the Earl of Southampton
and Sir Thomas Arundel—and this dispute continued for fifty years,
greatly impoverishing the town.
Shaftesbury received its first municipal charter in the second year
of James I.; a second charter was granted in 1666 by Charles II. From
that time Shaftesbury led an uneventful life, broken at times by
the excitement of contested elections, which were fought with great
bitterness, and the consumption of much beer and the giving of much
gold. The town was originally represented by two members; the two first
of these sat in the Parliament of the twenty-fifth year of Edward
I. At the time of the Reform Bill of 1832 it lost one member, and
in 1885 it ceased to be a Parliamentary Borough, and was merged in
the Northern Division of Dorset. At the election of 1880 a singular
incident took place, which will show how high party feeling ran in the
ancient borough. The candidate who had represented the constituency in
the previous Parliament was defeated, and after the declaration of the
poll, about nine o’clock in the evening, his disappointed partizans
indulged in such violent and riotous conduct that the successful
candidate and his friends could not leave the room in the Town Hall
where the votes had been counted. Stones were thrown at the windows,
some of the police were injured, but the besieged barricaded the doors
of the building, closed the shutters, and waited with patience, while
the angry mob outside, for the space of four or five hours, yelled
like wild beasts disappointed of their prey. At last, finding that
they could not effect an entrance and make a fresh vacancy in the
constituency by killing the new member, the crowd began to drop off one
by one, and by two o’clock in the morning the siege was practically
raised, and the imprisoned member and his friends were able to get out
and reach their hotel unmolested. Some of the rioters were tried, but
evidence sufficiently clear to identify the men who had wounded the
police was not to be obtained, and the accused were acquitted. This was
the last time Shaftesbury was called on to elect a member; and as the
town stands quite on the borders of the new district of North Dorset,
the poll is not now declared from the Town Hall window at Shaftesbury,
but at Sturminster Newton, a town more centrally situated.
At one time there were twelve churches or chapels in Shaftesbury—St.
Peter’s, St. Martin’s, St. Andrew’s, Holy Trinity, St. Lawrence’s, St.
Michael’s, St. James’, All Saints’, St. John the Baptist’s, St. Mary’s,
St. Edward’s, and last, but not least, the Abbey Church of St. Mary
and St. Edward. Beyond the borough boundary was the Church of St.
Rumbold,[57] now generally spoken of as Cann Church. Why Shaftesbury,
which was never a large town, should have needed so many churches has
always been a mystery. The late William Barnes suggested a theory which
may partially account for it. He says that some of these churches may
have been old British ones, and that the Saxon Christians could not,
or would not, enter into communion with the British Christians, but
built churches of their own. This is probably true, although it still
fails to account for the number of churches which, on this supposition,
the Saxons must have built. It must be remembered, as explained in the
Introduction, that Dorset remained much longer free from the dominion
of the West Saxon Kings than Hampshire, and that when it was finally
conquered by the West Saxons, these men had already become Christians,
so that the conquest was not one of expulsion or extermination. The
Celtic inhabitants were allowed to remain in the old homes, though
in an inferior position. The laws of Ine, 688, clearly show this. In
Exeter there is a church dedicated to St. Petroc, who was a Cornish,
and therefore Celtic, saint. Mr. Barnes thinks that the Shaftesbury
churches dedicated to St. Michael, St. Martin, St. Lawrence, and the
smaller one dedicated to St. Mary, may have been Celtic. St. Martin
was a Gaulish saint, St. Lawrence may have been a dedication due to
the early missionaries, while the two hills in Cornwall and Brittany
dedicated to St. Michael show that he was a saint held in honour by the
Celts. The British Church differed in certain points of observance from
the Church founded by the missionaries from Rome under St. Augustine,
notably as to the date of keeping Easter. Bæda says that when he was
Abbot of Malmesbury he wrote, by order of the Synod of his own Church,
a book against the errors of the British Church, and that by it he
persuaded many of the Celts, who were subjects of the West Saxon King,
to adopt the Roman date for the celebration of the Resurrection. But
even if we assume that there were four Celtic churches, why should
no less than eight fresh ones have been built by the West Saxons? No
explanation has been offered. Possibly, however, some of the churches
may have been only small chapels or chantries.
[Illustration: GOLD HILL, SHAFTESBURY.]
Soon after the dissolution of the Abbey, as has been said previously,
all the walls above the surface were pulled down, except the one that
skirts the steep lane known as Gold Hill. This wall stands, strongly
buttressed by gigantic masses of masonry on the outside (some of
them contemporaneous with the walls, others added afterwards), for
it has to bear up the earth of what was formerly the Abbey garden.
The foundations of the Abbey Church, either purposely or naturally,
in the course of time were covered with soil, and so remained until
1861, when some excavations took place and sundry relics were found,
among them a stone coffin containing a skeleton and an abbot’s staff
and ring. The foundations were then once more covered in, but recently
the Corporation obtained a twenty-one years’ lease of the ground
for the purpose of more thorough investigation. All the foundations
that remain will be uncovered, the ground laid out as an ornamental
garden and thrown open to the public. Considerable progress has been
made with this work; all except the extreme west end of the nave has
been excavated to the level of the floor, and some very interesting
discoveries have been made. Many fragments of delicately-carved
stonework, some of them bearing the original colour with which they
were decorated, were unearthed, and are preserved in the Town Hall.
The excavation began at the eastern end of the church, and proceeded
westward. It was found that the east end of the choir was apsidal, the
form usual in Norman times, but abandoned by English builders in
the thirteenth century, when many of the larger churches were extended
further to the east, though in France the apsidal termination is almost
universal. The form shows that the Abbey Church was rebuilt during the
Norman period of architecture, and that the choir was not afterwards
extended eastward, for in earlier days, as well as in the thirteenth
century and later, the rectangular east end was common. The north choir
aisle was apsidal internally and square-ended externally; the south
aisle was much wider than the north, and was evidently extended in the
fifteenth century. The foundations of the high altar are complete,
and on the north side of it is a grave formed of faced stone, which
probably contained the body of the founder of the Norman Church. The
crypt lies outside of the north aisle, and this has been completely
cleared out; its floor is sixteen feet below the level of the ground.
On this floor was found a twisted Byzantine column, which probably
supported a similar column in the chapel above the crypt. This is
the chapel which is believed to have been the shrine of King Eadward
the Martyr. A most curious discovery was made in the crypt—namely, a
number of dolicho-cephalous skulls. The question arises: How did they
get there? For the shape of these skulls indicates that their owners
were men of the Neolithic Age! In various graves sundry ornaments
and articles of dress have been found—a gold ring in which a stone
had once been set, a leaden bulla bearing the name of Pope Martin V.
(1417-1431), and a number of bronze pins, probably used to fasten
the garment in which the body was buried. The clay used for puddling
the bottom of the graves acted much in the manner of quicklime and
destroyed the bodies. Several pieces of the pavement, formed of
heraldic and other tiles, remain _in situ_. It is supposed by some
that the Abbey Church once possessed a central tower and a tall spire,
though it is doubtful if the _spire_ ever existed; if it did, the
church standing on its lofty isolated hill about 700 feet above the
sea-level must have been a conspicuous object from all the wide Vale
of Blackmore and its surrounding hills, as well as from the Vale of
Wardours to the north, along which the railway now runs.
St. Peter’s Church is the oldest building in the town, but it is
late Perpendicular in style. It is noteworthy that it has not, and
apparently never had, a chancel properly called so; no doubt a ritual
chancel may have been formed by a wooden screen. A holy-water stoup is
to be seen on the left hand as one goes into the entrance porch at the
west side of the tower. The richly-carved pierced parapet of the north
aisle bears the Tudor rose and the portcullis, and so shows that this
part of the church was built early in the sixteenth century.
Many of the houses in the town are old, but not of great antiquity.
Thatched cottages abound in the side lanes, and even the long main
street, which runs from east to west, has a picturesque irregularity
on the sky-line. The most interesting house is one in Bimport, marked
in a map dated 1615 as Mr. Groves’ house. It stands near the gasworks
and the chief entrance to Castle Hill. It is a good example of a town
house of the early sixteenth century, and contains some well-carved
mantelpieces of somewhat later date. This house has served various
purposes—at one time it was an inn, and some years ago narrowly escaped
destruction. It, however, did escape with only the removal of its
old stone-slabbed roof, in place of which one of red tiling has been
substituted. An additional interest has been given to this old building
by its introduction into _Jude the Obscure_ as the dwelling-place of
the schoolmaster Phillotson, from a window of which his wife Sue once
jumped into the street. Beyond this house is one known as St. John’s,
standing as it does on St. John’s Hill, more of which hereafter.
It was, in great measure, built of material bought at the sale of
Beckford’s strange and whimsical erection known as Fonthill Abbey,
of which the story is told in the _Memorials of Old Wiltshire_. In
the garden of St. John’s Cottage is a curious cross, in which are two
carved alabaster panels, covered with glass to preserve them from frost
and rain.
Shaftesbury owes what distinction it possesses to its position, and
this is due to its geological formation. A long promontory[58] of
Upper Greensand runs from the east, and ends in a sharp point where
the steep escarpments facing the north-west and south meet. On the
triangle formed by these two the town is built. Looking out from the
end of this high ground we may see a conical, wooded hill known as
Duncliffe; this is an outlier of the same greensand formation; all the
rest of the greensand, which once occupied the space between, has been
gradually washed away, and the surface of the lower ground consists
of various members of the Jurassic series. Under the greensand lies a
bed of Gault, a blue-coloured clay impervious to water; and, as the
greensand rock is porous, the gault holds up the water that percolates
through the greensand, with the result that a thickness of about
twenty-five feet of the lowest bed of the greensand is full of water,
while the upper layers are dry. Hence, to get water to supply the town,
wells would have to be sunk to the depth of 150 feet. Some such wells
were, indeed, sunk in mediæval times, but were not satisfactory. It is
only in recent times that regular water-works, with pumping-engines,
reservoir, and mains, have been constructed, and Shaftesbury had to
depend for water until that time on a supply obtained from springs at
Enmore Green, a village situated under the hill and to the north of
the town. This gave rise to a quaint and curious custom. On the Sunday
next after the Festival of the Invention of the Cross, May 3rd (the
day was changed in 1663 to the Monday before Ascension Day), the Mayor
and burgesses of Shaftesbury went down to the springs at Enmore Green
with mirth and minstrelsy, and, chief of all, with a staff or bezant
adorned with feathers, pieces of gold, rings and jewels, and sundry
dues—to wit, a pair of gloves, a calf’s head, a gallon of ale, and two
penny loaves of fine wheaten bread: these were presented to the bailiff
of the manor of Gillingham, in which the village of Enmore Green was
situated. Moreover, the Mayor and burgesses, for one whole hour by
the clock, had to dance round the village green hand in hand. Should
the dues not be presented, or the dance fail, the penalty was that
the water should no longer be supplied to inhabitants of the borough
of Shaftesbury. The decoration of the bezant was a costly matter;
the original one, of gilded wood in the form of a palm-tree, was in
the possession of Lady Theodora Guest, and has been presented by her
ladyship to the Corporation of Shaftesbury. The water was brought up
in carts drawn by horses, and strong ones they must have been, for the
hill they had to climb is one of the steepest in the neighbourhood. The
fixed price for a bucketful of water was a farthing. From the scanty
supply of drinking-water it came to pass that a saying got abroad that
Shaftesbury was a town where “there was more beer than water”; to which
was added two lines describing other noteworthy characteristics of the
place—namely, that “here there was a churchyard above the steeple,”
and that the town contained “more rogues than honest people.” Once
during the writer’s fifteen years’ sojourn in the town some accident
happened to the pumping apparatus at the water-works, and for several
weeks the inhabitants were thrown back upon the old source of water
supply. Day after day water-carts might be seen slowly passing along
the streets, while servants or housewives came out from every doorway
with empty pails or buckets, though they were not called upon to pay
their farthings for the filling of them, as the expense was borne by
the owners of the water-works.
In the old coaching days Shaftesbury was a livelier place than now,
since the London and Exeter coaches, with their splendid teams and
cheerful horns, passed through it daily, changing their horses at the
chief hostelry. When the Salisbury and Yeovil Railway (afterwards
absorbed by the London and South-Western) was planned it was intended
to bring the line, not indeed through the town, but within a half-mile
or so of it, with a station under the hill; but the bill was here,
as in many another place, opposed by the landowners, with the result
that the line was not allowed to come within about three miles
of Shaftesbury, and was carried through the neighbouring town of
Gillingham, which from that time began to increase, while Shaftesbury
decreased. Periodically there has been an agitation for a branch line
or a loop or a light railway running from Tisbury and passing near
Shaftesbury, and joining, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Wareham,
the line to Weymouth. But all the agitation has ended in nothing
practical.
The beauty of its scenery and the clearness of its air have raised
a hope in the minds of some of its inhabitants that Shaftesbury may
become a summer health resort; but as long as the town is so difficult
of access these hopes do not seem likely to be fulfilled to any great
extent.
There are scarcely any historical events connected with Shaftesbury
besides those already mentioned; but it is worthy of notice that once
for a short time two royal ladies were held prisoners at the Abbey.
Robert the Bruce, when on one occasion things were not going well with
him, entrusted his second wife, Elizabeth, and her step-daughter,
Marjory (the only child of his first wife, Isabella of Mar), to the
care of his younger brother, Nigel Bruce, who was holding the strong
Castle of Kildrummie, near the source of the Don, in Aberdeenshire.
The castle was besieged by the English, under the Earls of Lancaster
and Hereford, but when the magazine was treacherously burnt the
garrison had to surrender. Nigel Bruce was taken to Berwick, tried,
condemned, and executed. Elizabeth and Marjory were carried off across
the border, and, with a view of placing them far beyond all chance of
rescue, were ultimately handed over to the Abbess of Shaftesbury in
1313. King Edward II. allowed them twenty shillings a week for their
maintenance, a sum of much greater value in those days than now. After
the battle of Bannockburn (June, 1314), the Earl of Hereford, who had
been taken prisoner by Bruce, was given up in exchange for the Queen,
who during all her married life, with the exception of two years, had
been in the hands of the English, for she had been married in 1304, and
had been taken prisoner in 1306.
It is needful, before finishing this chapter, to explain the old
saying about the churchyard being higher than the steeple. There was
once a church dedicated to St. John the Baptist that stood at the
south-west point of the hill on which Shaftesbury is built; this has
long ago passed away, but its graveyard still remains. Its parish
was amalgamated with that of St. James, whose church stands below
the hill, and for some time the old churchyard of St. John’s served
as the burial-ground for the united parishes. Hence arose the saying
quoted. Speaking of St. James leads us to notice the interesting fact
that part of this parish lies outside the municipal boundaries, and is
situated in the Liberty of Alcester,[59] so called because this land
belonged to a monastery at the town of Alcester, in Warwickshire, and
was free from the payment of local tithes. Some have supposed that
the word Alcester was the name of a Roman town, on the ruins of which
Shaftesbury was built; but this is not the case.
In the early part of the eighteenth century a free school was founded
by one William Lush, merchant, of Shaftesbury, for the education of
a small number of boys and girls. A new scheme was drawn up about
thirty years ago by the Charity Commissioners: new buildings were
erected to the east of the town close to Cann Church, but within the
boundaries of the parish of Shaston St. Peter, and in 1879 Shaftesbury
Grammar School, as it is always called, was opened, the writer of this
chapter holding the office then, and for fifteen years afterwards, of
headmaster of the re-organised school, which, though never likely to be
a large one, has already done, and is still doing, useful work in its
own quiet and unobtrusive way.
Despite the fact that strangers may call Shaftesbury a sleepy place,
and far behind the times in enterprise; despite the fact that it has
fallen from its former importance, and may by some be looked on as a
mere derelict—yet those who have known it and dwelt upon “The Rock”
cannot but keep a tender spot in their memories for this quaint Dorset
town.
Beautiful it is under many atmospheric conditions. One who has risen,
and stood in the neighbourhood of the Grammar School, before the dawn
of a summer day, and has looked eastward at the long ridge of the
downs silhouetted against the sunlit sky, and then a little later has
turned to the south-west to look at the line of the houses that run
along the crest of the Rock, ending in the two towers of St. Peter’s
and Holy Trinity, flushed with the rose of morning, while the soft
blue shade holds the valleys below, has seen a sight of surpassing
loveliness. Sometimes the hollows are brimmed with thick, white mist,
from which the tops of the surrounding hills rise like islets from the
sea. Again, the view is splendid when, at noon on a wild, gusty day,
heavy masses of clouds are blown across the sky, and their shadows and
glints of sunshine chase each other over vale and down. But possibly
the most lovely view of all may be obtained by going to Castle Hill on
a summer evening when the sun is sinking behind the Somerset hills to
the north-west, for the sunsets are “mostly beautiful here,” as Mr.
Hardy makes Phillotson say, “owing to the rays crossing the mist of the
vale.”[60] But there are other aspects of nature that may sometimes
be observed in the hill town and around it—grand and wild when the
north-east blast roars over the hill-top, driving before it frozen
snow, sweeping up what has already fallen on the fields, and filling
the roads up to the level of the hedge-tops, cutting the town off
from all communication with the outer world, until gangs of labourers
succeed in cutting a narrow passage through the drifts, along which a
man may walk or ride on horseback, with the walls of snow rising far
above his head on the right-hand and on the left, and nothing to be
seen save the white gleam of the sunlight on the snow, the tender grey
of the shadows on it, and the bright blue of the sky above—if, indeed,
the snow has ceased to fall and the winds to blow, and the marvellous
calm of a winter frost beneath a cloudless sky has fallen on the earth.
Many may think that such aspects of nature could never be met with in
the sunny southern county of Dorset; but the writer speaks of what
he has seen on several occasions, when snow has been piled up to the
cottage eaves, when the morning letters have not reached the town till
after sunset, when even a wagon and its team have been buried for hours
in a snow-drift, and the horses rescued with difficulty.
PIDDLETOWN AND ATHELHAMPTON
BY MISS WOOD HOMER
The parish of Piddletown, or Puddletown, is said by Hutchins to take
its name from the river Piddle, which flows to the north of the
village, though it is supposed to have been formerly called Pydeletown
after the Pydele family, at one time owners of much property in the
neighbourhood.
It was once a large parish, and the capital of the hundred; but it
now numbers only about nine hundred inhabitants, having fallen from
fourteen hundred during the last forty years. About the year 1860 the
village contained as many as twenty boot-makers, twelve blacksmiths,
twenty carpenters and wheelwrights, five pairs of sawyers, two coopers,
and some cabinet-makers. Gloves and gaiters were tanned and made there,
as were many of the articles in common use. Beer was brewed in the
public-houses; and there were three malt-houses, about one of which we
read in Thomas Hardy’s _Far from the Madding Crowd_. Naturally, these
trades employed much labour, and a great decrease in the population
resulted when they were given up, after the introduction of the railway
at Dorchester, about the year 1848. Two business fairs were formerly
held in the village—one on Easter Tuesday, the other on October
29th—when cattle, materials, hats, etc., were sold. The October fair
still exists, but it has dwindled to a small pleasure fair only, though
pigs were sold as late as 1896.
Piddletown possesses a very fine church, dedicated to St. Mary. It is
a large and ancient building, consisting of a nave and a north aisle
of the same length, covered with leaden roofs, and a small south
aisle, called the Athelhampton aisle, the burial-place of the Martyns
of Athelhampton. This aisle is under the control of the vestry of
Athelhampton Church. The chancel has a tiled roof; it was built in
1576. The embattled tower contains six bells.
The chief features of this church are the monuments in the south aisle,
with some very fine brasses; the Norman font (some authorities on fonts
consider it to be of Saxon work); and the beautiful roof of carved
chestnut wood. This latter has been many times supported and restored,
and it will, indeed, be a loss to the antiquary when it is found
impossible any longer to keep it in repair.
The monuments are all much defaced. One of them, of the fifteenth
century, consists of a knight and lady in alabaster on an altar-tomb,
probably Sir Richard Martyn and Joan his wife; this has traces of much
gilding and painting, but no inscription. To the west of this there
is the figure of a knight, probably placed there about 1400. West of
this again, an unknown “crusader” and lady lie on the floor under
an altar-tomb, with a canopy upon four pillars, which was erected
to the memory of Nicholas Martyn; under the canopy there is a fine
brass, representing Nicholas Martyn, his wife, three sons, and seven
daughters, dated 1595, and bearing an inscription. There is also
a smaller brass, on which is a monkey holding a mirror—the Martyn
crest—while above the whole are three sculptured martins or monkeys.
To the north of the aisle there is a figure of a knight in alabaster,
his feet resting on a chained monkey, the whole supported on an
altar-tomb of Purbeck marble. On the west wall there is a large tablet
to the memory of the Brunes, who owned Athelhampton in the seventeenth
century.
[Illustration: PIDDLETOWN CHURCH.]
On the east of the aisle there is a brass to the memory of Christopher
Martyn, with the following inscription:—
Here lyethe the body of Xpofer Martyn Esquyer
Sone and heyre unto Syr Willym Martyn knyght
Pray for there Soules with harty desyre
That they bothe may be sure of Eternall lyght
Callyng to Remembraunce that every wyght
Most nedys dye, & therefor lett us pray
As other for us may do Another day.
Qui quidem Xpoferus obiit XXII^{o} die mens’ M’cii an^{o} D’ni
millmo quingentesimo vicesimo quarto.
Above this there is the kneeling figure of a man in armour, and a
partial representation of the Trinity. The figure is holding a scroll,
on which the following inscription is much abbreviated: “_Averte faciem
tuam a peccatis meis et omnes iniquitates meas dele_”; while before
and behind the effigies are the Martyn arms. And on the floor of the
church, north of the pulpit, there is a brass to the memory of Roger
Cheverell.
A short staircase of thirteen steps opens out of the south aisle; this
formerly led to a rood loft.
A musicians’ gallery of the seventeenth century runs across the west
of the church, and there are porches on the north and south. The south
door has a ring attached to the outside, which is popularly supposed
to have been a sanctuary ring, though probably this tradition has no
foundation.
It is an interesting fact that the church clock, which was in the tower
till about 1865, was made by a village blacksmith, Lawrence Boyce by
name, about 1710. This clock had a three-cornered wooden face on the
north side of the tower, stone weights and one (hour) hand. It struck
the hours and quarters and chimed at 8, 12, and 4, except on Sundays,
when the chimes were silenced, so that they might not disturb the
worshippers. A clock made by the same man, for Bere Regis Church, is
now in the Dorchester Museum; but, unfortunately, the Piddletown
clock was not preserved, though it was in good going order when it was
removed to make room for the present one.
In 1820, and probably for long before, it was the custom of the members
of the choir to write their own music; some was actually composed by
them, while some was borrowed from other villages, although the rivalry
which often existed between village choirs not infrequently prevented
the exchange of tunes. In two vellum-covered volumes, the property of
Mr. W. Gover, of Piddletown, dated 1823, the music and words of the
Psalms are most beautifully written. The books were given by a certain
Mrs. Price to the choir. The larger book belonged to J. Holland, a
clarionet player; the smaller to W. Besant. In the latter may be
found music headed, “John Besant’s Magnificat,” which was probably
composed by one of his ancestors. At this time the choir consisted of
two clarionets, two bass viols, a flute, and a bassoon; while before
this a “serpent” was used, and the music is written apparently for
all these instruments. The violin was prohibited by most clergymen as
being “Devil’s music,” on account of its being played in public-houses
and for dancing. The instruments were given up about 1845 on the
introduction of a barrel-organ. At this time the village also possessed
a band, which had been in existence for nearly two hundred years, and
of which the inhabitants were justly proud.
Piddletown is perhaps better known as the “Weatherbury” of Thomas
Hardy’s _Far from the Madding Crowd_. On the south-west of the church
is the gargoyle (the head of some beast, with the legs of a child
projecting from its mouth), which destroyed Sergeant Troy’s work at
Fanny’s grave. The old malthouse mentioned in the same book stood in
what are now the gardens of Ilsington House, while Bathsheba’s house
stood on the site of Ilsington Lodge, although it is sketched from the
house at Waterson. The latter is a fine old building about two miles
from Piddletown, and was the residence of the Martyns before they went
to Athelhampton, and remained their property for long after. It was
much damaged by fire in 1863, but was carefully restored by the owner,
Lord Ilchester, to whose family it still belongs. It is interesting
to note that a certain Mr. Bainger, who lived at Ilsington Lodge, was
the moving spirit in causing the lowering of Yellowham Hill, between
Piddletown and Dorchester, about 1830.
The Vicarage possesses a very fine staircase and an oak-beamed study,
while an old farmhouse, now used as a cottage, in “Style Lane,”
formerly contained a fine carved mantelpiece. In the churchyard is the
headstone of Peter Standley, King of the Gipsies, with the following
inscription:—
In memory of Peter Standley, who died 23rd November, 1802, aged 70
years.
Farewell my dear & faithful wife
My sons & daughters too
Tho’ never in this mortal life
Again you must me view
Close in our Saviour’s footsteps tread
Of Love divine possessed
And when you’re numbered with the dead
Your souls will be at rest.
He is said to have died of smallpox in Style Lane, and to have been
buried by night. Gipsies still visit the grave.
The old coaching road from London to Dorchester runs to the west of
the village, and “Judge’s Bridge,” near Ilsington Lodge, is said to
have taken its name from being the meeting-place of the judge and the
“javelin men” on the occasion of the Dorchester Assizes.
The Court Leet House, wherein was transacted all the local business,
and which was also used as a school, formerly stood in the “Square”;
the stocks, the old village pound, and pump were near. The house
now occupied by Mr. W. Gover was the residence of the Boswells, who
owned land in the parish, and introduced the system of irrigating the
meadows.
Athelhampton Hall is a fine old building east of Piddletown. There is a
tradition that it took its name from some of the Saxon Kings, and was
originally called Athelhamstan; but Hutchins thinks it more probable
that it derived its name from Æthelhelm, one of the Saxon Earls in
Dorset, who was killed in an engagement with the Danes A.D. 837.
The first owners of Athelhampton of whom there is any record were the
de Loundres and Pideles. From them it came by marriage to the Martyns,
who held it till 1595. At the death of Nicholas Martyn it was divided
between his four daughters, who married respectively Henry Brune, Henry
Tichborne, Thomas White, and Anthony Floyer. Gradually the shares of
the Whites and Tichbornes came into the hands of the Brunes, and were
sold by them in 1665 to Sir Robert Long. It then came by marriage to
the Hon. William Wellesley Pole (afterwards Earl of Mornington), whose
son sold it in 1848 to Mr. George James Wood, from whom it came to
his nephew, Mr. G. Wood Homer. It is now the property of Mr. A. C. de
Lafontaine, who purchased it in 1890. The Floyer share of the house
remained in their possession till an exchange was effected by Mr. Wood,
when the whole came into his hands.
The house itself consists of two sides of a quadrangle facing south
and west, and was in a very bad state when bought by Mr. Wood, having,
it is said, been used as a farmhouse, and the fine old oak-roofed
stone-floored hall as a cattle-shed. Mr. Wood entirely renovated the
oak roof, taking great trouble to preserve the original style. He
re-floored the large drawing-room, and made various other extensive
repairs. He removed the gatehouse, which darkened the house, and partly
re-erected it in the form of a summer-house. This has, however, been
again removed by the present owner, who has made many alterations.
The house is built of Ham Hill stone. The east wing is said to be the
oldest part of the present building, and was probably erected by Sir
William Martyn, who died in 1503; while the north wing is thought to
have been built by Nicholas Martyn later in the sixteenth century.
[Illustration: ATHELHAMPTON HALL.]
A small chapel stood on the lawn when Mr. Wood bought the property, but
as this and Burlestone Church were both out of repair, he pulled them
down and built the present church, to a great extent at his own cost.
The chancel of old Burlestone Church is still standing in its overgrown
churchyard, the tombs having all fallen into decay. No churchyard
belonged to the Athelhampton Chapel, Piddletown having always been the
burying-place of the owners.
In a field about a quarter of a mile from Athelhampton, on the land
of Mr. G. Wood Homer, are the grass-grown mounds—the remains of the
hamlet of Bardolfeston, the seat of Drogo de Bardolf, from whom it
came hereditarily to the Martyns. It consisted of a manor, hamlet,
and church; the latter stood at a little distance from the cottages
and manor on what is now known as Church Knap or Knoll. The field in
which the hamlet stood is now known as “Dunditch,” and there is a local
couplet which runs:
Dunditch was a thriving town
When London was a vuzzy down.
It is probable that Bardolfeston extended irregularly to Piddletown,
as it is known that cottages and a mill existed between the two, and
Bardolfeston was part of the Piddle Hundred, being sometimes called
Piddle Bardolf.
WOLFETON HOUSE
BY ALBERT BANKES
The present Wolfeton House, in the parish of Charminster, in the county
of Dorset, is known to have been built by John, father of Sir Thomas
Trenchard, during the reign of Henry VII.; but as the property was
acquired by the Trenchard family (through marriage) from the Jurdains,
and previously the Jurdains had obtained the house and land (also
through marriage) from the Mohun family, it is quite clear that a house
of some description must have existed on the same site as that of the
present residence.
Some archæologists consider that the gatehouse is decidedly of the
Norman period; so, should that be the case, probably the house
inhabited by the Jurdains, before them by the Mohuns, was built soon
after Norman Conquest.
A date is still to be seen on the north side of the north tower, but
whether that refers to the actual building of the towers, or only to
some portion that had been rebuilt or restored, is not known.
[Illustration: WOLFETON HOUSE.]
In a note attached to the pedigree of Trenchard it is stated that the
first Sir Thomas Trenchard rebuilt the house at Wolfeton as it now
stands, except some addition made by Sir George Trenchard; and there
seems no reason to doubt this statement, for a study of the existing
house shows very clearly two distinct dates of building. There are
evidences, also, that Sir Thomas Trenchard’s rebuilding incorporated
many portions of a still older edifice.
Mr. Hamilton Rogers, in his _Sepulchral Effigies of Devon_, says:
Their last heiress, Christian, daughter and heir of John de Mohun by
Joan his wife, daughter of John Jurdain, of Wolveton, Charminster,
married Henry Trenchard (_obit_ 1477), of Hordull, Hants, and
subsequently of Wolveton.
His descendant, Sir Thomas Trenchard (_ob._ 1505), rebuilt this fine
old mansion, and carved on escutcheons over the gateway; and first
among the noble series of genealogical shields in the hall windows were
the arms of Trenchard. Traces of the great Devonshire family of the
Mohuns are not infrequently found in Dorset.
The elevation of the south front of Wolfeton House remains very much as
originally erected, and is of two distinct styles of architecture—the
portion of the building to the east being in the Tudor-Gothic, probably
of the time of Henry VII., and the west portion in the Elizabethan,
or, more probably, Jacobean style. The latter portion is a picturesque
example of this pseudo-classical style of architecture and nothing
more. The older part of the building, however, possesses features which
are worthy of notice, as the rich labels over the windows are composed
of hollow mouldings filled with rolls of sculptured fruit and foliage,
and terminating in quaint corbels carved with great spirit.
Hutchins says:
The ancient seat of the Trenchards here is a noble building, and at
the time when it was built perhaps the best in the country; it is a
large fabric, its principal fronts to the east and south. On the north
it is sheltered by a grove of trees.
One enters on the east into what formerly was a small court, and
on both sides of the gate is a round tower. In this front are many
windows, almost all of them different from each other, as if the
architect had studied irregularity. This seems to have been the humour
of that age, for Dugdale remarks that:
At Tixall, co. Stafford, the seat of the Lord Aston, there is a
fine piece of masonry, built in the reign of Henry VIII.: though
the windows are numerous, scarce two of them are alike, and there
is the same variety of fretwork of the chimneys; so that the beauty
of the structure in that age did not, as in the present, consist in
uniformity, but in the greatest variety the artist could give.
On the north side of Wolfeton House there was a small cloister leading
to what was the chapel, in which some of the family were married
(within memory), but it has since been pulled down. To the west of the
chapel there was a little court.
From Powel’s _Topographical Collections in Devon and Dorset_ (A.D.
1820) we learn that a great deal of the back of the house had been
destroyed, and the whole of the fine glass (with the exception of five
or six shields) was taken down, amounting to 100 lbs., and sent to Mr.
Trenchard’s other house at Lytchett; but it was so badly packed that
when the case was opened almost the whole of the glass was pounded or
broken to pieces, so that very little was preserved.
The only remaining portion of the eastern front is the old gateway, the
most distinctive feature of the house. The entrance gate is flanked by
large circular towers capped by conical stone roofs. That on the south
side is somewhat larger than its fellow, as well as standing a little
further eastwards. The arch of the entrance gateway has continuous
mouldings east and west, with a label over. The eastern label contains
a shield bearing the following arms:—Quarterly, 1 and 4, Trenchard; 2,
Mohun; 3, Jurdain; and an inescutcheon, Quarterly 1 and 4, 3 lozenges;
2..., 3.... The western label terminates in figures holding shields on
which are two T’s combined with T. E. united by a tasselled cord. Above
the apex of the arch similar initials appear interlaced, and over all
T. T. combined.
Over the door within the gateway are three escutcheons on stone: (1)
An angel holding a T [transcriber; fractur script], and at the points
T. E. (2) The arms of Trenchard. A little to the south of the gateway
is a building, on which is this inscription: “_Hoc opus constructum
fuit An’ Dni._—MCCCCCXXVIII.” The tower, together with the series
of rooms connecting the gatehouse westwards to the main house, are
comparatively modern, as also is the entrance porch. These buildings
form the present north front of the house, and over the porch are
sculptured the arms of Weston.
The chapel mentioned by Hutchins as having formerly stood on the
north side of the house has long since vanished, but traces of its
foundations were discovered during some excavations made about fifty
years ago.
Turning to the inside of the house, we find much to interest both the
antiquary and the architect.
Before the hall was destroyed and replaced by the present dining-room,
over the large chimney-piece there were carved representations of
fourteen Kings of England, which, says Hutchins, “are said to resemble
the figures in the first edition of Rastell’s _History of England_,
ending with Charles I.” Aubrey, in his _Miscellanies_, states that on
November 3rd, 1640 (the day on which the Long Parliament began to sit),
the sceptre fell from the figure of Charles I. while the family and
a large company were at dinner—an ill omen, the full import of which
could not have been realised at the time. Opposite to these sculptured
monarchs were the figures of an abbot, a soldier, and some esquires. On
the screen were the arms and quarterings of the Trenchard family.
From the hall a large stone staircase led to the dining-room, a noble
apartment, adorned, says Hutchins, “with a noble bay window, in which
stood an octagon marble table on four wooden lions.”
The interior of the western portion of the house—_i.e._, of the part
built by Sir George Trenchard, is composed of two storeys, of which
the lower seems originally to have constituted a single apartment.
Both storeys were very richly decorated; the flat ceiling of the first
storey is covered with an arabesque of plaster, embracing foliage and
various devices, finishing with large central pendants.
The upper floor had a lofty vaulted ceiling, corresponding with the
high pitch of the roof of a similar character. Unfortunately, this
ceiling has been utterly destroyed—a dreadful piece of vandalism, as
the tracery of the pendants and ceiling must have equalled, or even
surpassed, that of the lower rooms. This upper apartment now forms a
series of bedrooms, in the centre of which is the original sculptured
stone chimney-piece, having under the cornice a large panel, whereon is
depicted a figure reclining on a couch surrounded by dancers.
The magnificent carved oak doorway and chimney-piece in the east
drawing-room were sent to Sir Thomas Trenchard by Philip and Joanna at
the same time that they presented him with their portraits and a china
bowl. The following description of the chimney-pieces in the east and
west drawing-rooms is given by the county historian:—
Chimney-piece No. 1, in the east drawing-room, the height of the room,
consists of an arrangement of entablatures one within the other, the
upper and outer cornice being supported by lofty Corinthian pillars
with rich capitals; immediately beneath this are two large sunken
panels, respectively containing figures of Hope and Justice, separated
by male caryatides, which by their different costumes are intended
perhaps to typify a citizen, knight, and esquire.
Within the innermost cornice, and immediately surrounding the
fireplace, is a series of panels of great interest, displaying
rural and hunting scenes, trades, satyrs, heads, etc., quaintly but
faithfully carved.
Chimney-piece No. 2, in the west drawing-room, is similar in its
general character; the principal subject amongst its decorations
represents the contest of the goddesses in the garden of the
Hesperides.
One of the most beautiful examples of carving is an inner door-case in
the east drawing-room, the arch over which has a richly moulded soffit,
and carved heads in the spandrils; over the door, rich Corinthian
pillars, flanked by sculptured figures of a king in armour and a queen,
support a cornice surmounting a large sunken panel.
In the front of the cornice is a shield bearing the following
arms: _Quarterly_—1 and 4, _Trenchard_; 2, _Mohun_; 3, Semée of
cross-crosslets, a lion rampant, _Jurdain_.
[Illustration: THE EAST DRAWING-ROOM, WOLFETON HOUSE.]
There is, of course, much else to interest the antiquary in the way of
old furniture and objects of art, and any visitor will be “charmed with
the admirable manner in which the art of the modern furniture has been
adapted to the character of the old house, lending its aid to heighten
rather than to detract from the beauty of the antique carvings and of
the interior.”
A curious legend in connection with the dining-room is that of the
ghost of Lady Trenchard having made its appearance immediately _before_
her death. Anyone, of course, can believe as much or as little as he
likes about the ghost part of the story, but of the fact of the lady’s
suicide there is no doubt. During the ownership of Sir Thomas Trenchard
one of the Judges of Assize came to Wolfeton House to dine; but no
sooner had the company sat down than his lordship, greatly to the
surprise of everyone, ordered his carriage and abruptly left the house.
On their way back to Dorchester he told his marshal that he had seen
standing behind Lady Trenchard’s chair a figure of her ladyship with
her throat cut and her head under her arm. Before the carriage reached
the town a messenger overtook it on horseback with the news that Lady
Trenchard had just committed suicide.
As to the dining-room as it now stands, it may be mentioned that
Wolfeton, like many other old houses of the same period, suffered
greatly at the hands of those who in the last century were wont to pull
down one-half of their houses to repair the other half. This appears
to have happened to Wolfeton House, as, judging from an old engraving
of the house, the dining-hall must have been quite twice, or more than
twice, the size of the present room.
Of the historical anecdotes connected with Wolfeton House, the visit of
the King and Queen of Castile is, perhaps, of the greatest interest.
In the early part of the sixteenth century, Philip, Archduke of
Austria and King of Castile, set forth with a great armada, with
the intention of surprising the King of Aragon, but he had scarcely
left the coast of Flanders when, encountering a violent storm, he
was compelled to put into Weymouth in distress. King Philip and his
Queen were invited to Wolfeton House by Sir Thomas Trenchard, then
High Sheriff, and were hospitably entertained. And with this visit
the origin of the Duke of Bedford’s family is curiously mixed up;
for on the arrival of the King and Queen, Sir Thomas Trenchard,
being unacquainted with the Spanish language, found a difficulty in
conversing with his guests. In his dilemma he had recourse to his
cousin, John Russell, of Kingston Russell, who, being a good linguist,
became a favourite with the King, and was recommended by him to Henry
VII., who appointed him to an office in the royal household. In the
succeeding reign Russell was also popular, and the confiscation of
Church property during this period rendered it possible for Henry VIII.
to bestow upon him extensive lands. And thus was founded the great
Bedford family.
In acknowledgment of his hospitality Sir Thomas Trenchard was presented
by the King and Queen of Castile with some very valuable china vases,
together with their portraits, all of which are now at Bloxworth House,
near Wareham. They also presented to him the carved chimney-piece and
doorway still standing in the drawing-room at Wolfeton House, as before
described.
Engraved copies of the oil-paintings of the King and Queen of Castile
hang on the left-hand side of the staircase, alongside of which is a
Spanish engraving of the poor Queen Joan, when sorrow at the death
of her husband had sent her mad. On their way to the Royal Mausoleum
the funeral _cortège_ had to pass a night at a nunnery. In the middle
of the night the poor mad Queen suddenly asked where they were. “In
a nunnery,” was the reply. “I will not have my husband surrounded by
all these women,” exclaimed the Queen; so the _cortège_ immediately
removed, and spent the remainder of the night, until daylight, in the
open country.
In the ancient gatehouse of Wolfeton the winding staircase of forty-one
oaken steps appears to be quite unique: there are nine stone steps at
the base, twenty-four of oak to the first floor level, and seventeen
leading to the garret above. For years (some think one hundred) this
staircase must have been a complete ruin, as is easily seen by the
decayed state of those steps opposite to the two windows, the wind and
the rain having beaten in on them for many years.
In addition to the King and Queen of Castile, other royal visitors have
from time to time honoured Wolfeton House with their presence, and
during the residence of George III. at Weymouth the King and Queen paid
it frequent visits. On one occasion, when George III. admired a marble
table that used to stand in the drawing-room, the Trenchard of that day
immediately presented it to His Majesty, and the table is now in the
royal dairy at Frogmore, Windsor.
No account of Wolfeton House would be complete without some allusion to
the story of the Roman Catholic priest. In the time of Queen Elizabeth,
when it was the object of the then Government to stamp out in every way
the Papal influence in England, the Weld family had a Roman Catholic
priest concealed at their house at Chideock, in Dorset. Sir Thomas
Trenchard, who then resided at Wolfeton House, and was a personal
friend of Mr. Weld, of Chideock, happened to be High Sheriff of the
county of Dorset for that year, and received orders to go over and
search for the priest therein concealed. On account of his friendship
with Mr. Weld, Sir Thomas, on reaching Chideock, made a most cursory
search, and left with the intention of reporting to the authorities
that he could find no signs of the priest; but, unfortunately, as he
was leaving, the villagers, whose sympathies were Roman, not aware of
his benign intentions, began hooting and calling the High Sheriff and
his constables a pack of blind owls for not being able to find the
concealed priest. “If that’s what you want,” exclaimed Sir Thomas,
losing his temper, “I’ll soon show you I am not so blind as you think!”
and, surrounding the mansion with his constables, a real search was
made, and the poor priest was soon discovered and brought over to
Wolfeton House as a prisoner. The priest, a highly-educated French
gentleman, made himself so agreeable that Sir Thomas Trenchard did all
in his power, by writing to the authorities, to save his life; but the
Government of that day was so desirous of making an example, that all
entreaties were in vain—the poor priest was executed, and, it is said,
was also drawn and quartered in the High Street of Dorchester.
THE LITERARY ASSOCIATIONS OF DORSET
BY MISS M. JOURDAIN
“Dorset has continued Dorset alone from time immemorial,” and its
special character has been more carefully preserved and fixed than that
of any other English county in the work of two Dorset poets, William
Barnes and Thomas Hardy, one of whom has succeeded, like Mistral in
France, in making its native language a literary medium known beyond
its spoken limits.
Dorset’s earlier poets,[61] however, have not been “local”; and it
is characteristic of Matthew Prior that, in the account drawn up by
himself for Jacobs’ _Lives of the Poets_, he describes his father as a
“citizen of London,” and that though the first entry against his name
on his admission as pensioner at St. John’s College, Cambridge, is
_Dorcestr_, it has been altered by a later hand into _Middlesexiensis_.
In spite of conflicting entries, it is now generally admitted that
Prior, _perennis et fragrans_—the motto upon the modern brass to his
memory in Wimborne Minster[62]—was born at or near Wimborne, in East
Dorset, the son of George Prior, who is said to have been a joiner.
“With regard to the family of Prior, the tradition of Wimborne says
that his father was a carpenter, and one house he lived in is pointed
out: it is close to the present Post Office, and is called the house
in which the poet was born. The other was pulled down, but its site is
known.”[63]
Local tradition makes Prior a pupil at the free Grammar School; and of
the unusually large library of chained books in the old church, one was
said to be a standing testimony to his carelessness—a chained folio
copy of Ralegh’s _History of the World_, in which a hole is said to
have been burned by the boy when dozing over the book by the light of a
smuggled taper. Unfortunately for the floating tradition, it has been
stated that this particular defacement is the work, not of a candle,
but of a red-hot poker. Still more unfortunately, it has been proved
that the _History_, with other books, was placed in the library[64] at
a much later date than Prior’s boyhood.[65]
Almost a century later a poetic “Court” was held at Eastbury, in North
Dorset, by George Bubb Dodington, Lord Melcombe, who is not interesting
as a poet[66] himself, but as the cause of poetry in others, the last
of the patrons, a curious, gorgeous, tawdry figure, fit to be seen
through the coloured glass of Macaulay’s ridicule. He was the easy
mark for dedications and compliments from many of the best-known
writers of the day—poets utterly discrowned, and those on whose brows
the laurel grows very thin and brittle; Edward Young, Thomson, and
Fielding mention him; while his Great House at Eastbury is celebrated
by Thomson, Young, and Christopher Pitt,[67] who writes, somewhat
oddly, of this “new Eden in the Wild.” The pleasures of this “Eden”
appear, from an epistle of Pitt, to have been smoking and drinking,
with conversational intervals. Dr. Young (of the _Night Thoughts_) sits
with “his Dodington,”
Charm’d with his flowing Burgundy and wit,
By turns relieving with the circling draught
Each pause of chat and interval of thought;
Or, through the well-glazed tube, from business freed,
Draw the rich spirit of the Indian weed.
Thomson’s “Eastbury”—
Seat serene and plain
Where simple Nature reigns,
is as bad, in its way, as Pitt’s “Eden”—serenity, plainness, and simple
nature being the most unlikely characteristics of Dodington,[68] whose
heavy figure was arrayed in gorgeous brocades; and whose equally
magnificent State bed was “garded and re-garded” with gold and silver
embroideries showing by the remains of pocket-holes, button-holes and
loops that they came from old coats and breeches. This great house,
after Dodington’s death, was taken down all but one wing and sold
piecemeal by Earl Temple, his heir.
Henry Fielding, one of the Eastbury circle—he dedicated to Dodington an
epistle on “True Greatness”—was brought up as a boy in the manor-house
at East Stower,[69] where he was taught by the Reverend Mr. Oliver,
curate of the neighbouring village of Motcombe, said to have been
the original of Trulliber, a portrait drawn “in resentment of some
punishment inflicted on him,” according to Hutchins.[70] Fielding was
fortunate in another portrait, for it is generally admitted that the
prototype of Parson Abraham Adams was William Young, Incumbent of
West Stower, who had many of Adams’ eccentricities. As an instance of
Young’s absence of mind, it is said that when chaplain to a regiment
in Flanders he “wandered in a reverie into the enemy’s camp, and was
only aroused from his error by his arrest. The commanding officer,
perceiving the good man’s simplicity, allowed him to return to his
friends.”
At East Stower, too, Fielding lived for a time with his first wife.
William Crowe, though like Fielding only a short time resident in
Dorset, is admitted on the strength of his topographical poem,
_Lewesdon Hill_, of which Rogers thought so much that when travelling
in Italy he made two authors his constant study for versification,
Milton and Crowe.[71] Crowe’s _Lewesdon Hill_ is a perfect example
of an eighteenth century didactic and descriptive poem, with all the
heaviness due to the requirements of an age which, like Horace Walpole,
called for “edification” in its art. As in Goldsmith’s _Traveller_ the
person who speaks the verses sits pensively on an Alpine height, so
Crowe in his poem is supposed to be walking on the top of the hill on
a May morning—a hill, it has been suggested, that Fuller[72] may have
climbed before him, and where the wide prospect, “standing where Moses
stood when the Lord showed him all the land,” may have prompted the
title of his book, _A Pisgah Sight of Palestine_, which he wrote when
at Broadwindsor. Upon this hill, where
The lonely thorn
Bends from the rude south-east with top cut sheer,
Crowe surveys the outspread map of the county—Shipton Hill, Burton
Cliff, Eggardon Hill, the rich Marshwood Vale—in winter
Cold, vapourish, miry, wet,
to the “rampire” of Pillesdon, even the “nameless rivulet” (the
minutest trickle of a stream at the foot of Lewesdon Hill), which, he
rejoices,
Yet flows along
Untainted with the commerce of the world.
William Lisle Bowles, author of faint and forgotten verses, is
remembered by Coleridge’s early admiration for his sonnets. His father,
the Rev. W. Bowles (rector of Uphill), planted and improved Barton Hill
House, in Dorset, which the poet sold. On leaving it the poet wrote
verses full of regret for
These woods, that whispering wave
My father rear’d and _nurst_.
An author unknown outside his county is John Fitzgerald Pennie (buried
July 17th, 1848). He was born at East Lulworth, March 25th, 1782, and
is known as a dramatic writer. He published _Scenes in Palestine,
or Dramatic Sketches from the Bible_, 1825; _Ethelwolf_, a tragedy,
1821, etc. He followed in his early years the profession of an actor,
but after a chequered and unsuccessful career, settled in his native
village and devoted himself to literary pursuits. He published his
autobiography in 1827, _The Tale of a Modern Genius, or the Miseries of
Parnassus_. In 1810 he married Cordelia Elizabeth, daughter of Jerome
Whitfield, a London attorney. He and his wife died within a few days of
each other, and were buried in the same grave.
Wordsworth’s connection with Dorset is of short duration, but is of
interest as occurring at a critical period in his career. On his
receiving Raisley Calvert’s legacy, he was able to live with his sister
Dorothy at a farmhouse at Racedown,[73] which he was allowed to occupy
rent free on condition that the owner might spend a few weeks there
from time to time. It was in the autumn of 1795 that he settled there.
His house is set upon the north-west slope of the “rampire” Pillesdon,
in a hollow among hills cultivated to their summits, or patched with
gorse and broom, which open here and there to allow glimpses of the
sea. The Dorset peasants in Wordsworth’s time were wretchedly poor,
their shapeless cottages “not at all beyond what might be expected in
savage life,” as Dorothy Wordsworth wrote. Very little trace of the
peculiar quality of the place is to be found in Wordsworth’s poems, but
it was here he wrote the first of his poems of country life, modelled
with an experience so personal as to keep every sentence vividly
accurate.
It was here that he watched[74] the “unquiet widowhood” of Margaret,
drawing out the hemp which she had wound round her waist like a belt,
and spinning, as she walked backwards before her cottage door. Here, no
doubt, he saw her ruined cottage—there are many crumbling shells and
ruined cottages in the district to-day—with the red stains and tufts of
wool in the corner-stone of the porch where the sheep were permitted to
come and “couch unheeded.” The garden, run wild, too, is to be met with
to-day:
Its matted weeds
Marked with the steps of those, whom, as they passed,
The gooseberry trees that shot in long, lank slips,
Or currants, hanging from their leafless stems
In scanty strings, had tempted to o’erleap
The broken wall. I looked around, and there,
Where two tall hedge-rows of thick alder-boughs
Joined in a cold damp nook, espied a well,
Shrouded with willow-flowers and plumy fern.
Here, too, was Goody Blake’s cabin:—
On a hill’s northern side...
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean
And hoary dews are slow to melt.
“The muffled clamour of the outside world only reached the secluded
farmhouse at Racedown after long delay”—in other words, letters
were delivered there but once a week; and on one occasion at least
Wordsworth asks to have a book franked, otherwise he will “not be able
to release it from the post-office.” A part of this time was given to
gardening, and, no doubt from motives of economy, almost all the meals
consisted of vegetables. “I have been lately living,” he writes, “upon
air and the essence of carrots, cabbages, turnips, and other esculent
vegetables, not excluding parsley.”[75] At another time he sets forth
to warm himself, like Goody Blake, by gathering sticks strewn upon
the road by the gale; and his habit was to take a two hours’ stroll
every morning, and now and then a long expedition on foot. He and his
sister, as the Cumberland peasants said, were “a deal upo’ the road,”
and many times they must have walked more than forty miles in the day.
There is a story still current in the neighbourhood that Wordsworth
once borrowed a horse to ride into Lyme Regis, and returned on foot,
having _forgotten_ the horse! With all its hardships and frugalities,
Dorothy Wordsworth loved Racedown. It was “the place dearest to (her)
recollections upon the whole surface of the island,” and she speaks
warmly of the scenery on Pillesdon, Lewesdon, and the view of the sea
from Lambert’s Castle—which is said by some to be _the_ view of the
county.
Landor’s thought, that “when a language grows up all into stalk, and
its flowers begin to lose somewhat of their character, we must go forth
into the open fields, through the dingles, or among the mountains, for
fresh seed,” would have been endorsed by both Wordsworth and Barnes
alike, but with very different ideas as to what was considered fresh
seed. Barnes’ innovation was an innovation of the letter rather than
the spirit, the literary use of the local dialect which he heard in
his boyhood, and which, he said, was spoken in the greatest purity in
villages and hamlets of the secluded Vale of Blackmore, a valley so
secluded that its life was practically the life of the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries until the nineteenth was far advanced. He
attributes his poems’ freedom from “slang and vice” to this seclusion;
but it is as much due to his personal[76] preference of light to
darkness. His rustics are, as a rule, happy people.
[Illustration: WILLIAM BARNES.]
At Rushay, William Barnes spent his early days, and he was educated at
the day school at Sturminster Newton. Somewhere along the road from
Bagber to Sturminster was a haunted house, about the exact locality
of which he gave no information beyond that a “dark, gloomy lane led
to it.” He once pointed out the lane to grand-children as the place
their “great-grandfather was riding down, when all at once he saw the
ghost in the form of a fleece of wool, which rolled along mysteriously
by itself till it got under the legs of his horse, and the horse went
lame from that hour, and for ever after.” Barnes was of pure Dorset[77]
stock. His long life was lived almost entirely in Dorset; and when at
Mere, in Wiltshire, a stone’s throw from his own county, he “always
yearned for Dorset and Dorchester.” Latterly he lived near Dorchester,
where, until 1882, “few figures were more familiar to the eye in the
county town of Dorset on a market day than an aged clergyman, quaintly
attired in caped cloak, knee-breeches and buckled shoes, with a leather
satchel slung over his shoulders and a stout staff in his hand. He
seemed usually to prefer the middle of the street to the pavement, and
to be thinking of matters which had nothing to do with the scene before
him. He plodded along with a broad, firm tread, notwithstanding the
slight stoop occasioned by years. Every Saturday morning he might have
been seen thus trudging up the narrow South Street, his shoes coated
with mud according to the state of the roads between his rural home and
Dorchester, and a little grey dog at his heels, till he reached the
four crossways in the centre of the town. Halting there, opposite the
public clock, he would pull his old-fashioned watch from its deep fob
and set it with great precision to London time.”
An unusual union of scholar and poet, his little Dutch pictures are
free from the dull undertone of the conventional manner that Burns
occasionally fell into. Indeed, he has more affinity with the Provençal
poet and lexicographer, Mistral, than with Burns or Béranger, with
whom he is usually compared. He is perhaps mistaken in his belief that
the Dorset dialect is “altogether as fit a vehicle of rustic feeling
and thought as the Doric as found in the Idyllics of Theocritus.” But,
after making this exception about the “fitness” of his Doric, there
remains in his clear, untroubled poems of still life, in his unaffected
eclogues, no small affinity with Theocritus. There is a charm in his
limitations; he belongs not to England, but to Dorset; not to Dorset,
but to the Vale of Blackmore, where the slow, green river, his “cloty”
Stour, with its deep pools whence leaps the may-fly undisturbed by
anglers, is the stream dearest to his memory.
Barnes was Mr. Hardy’s near neighbour and personal friend—Mr. Hardy’s
house is less than a mile from the Rectory of Winterborne Came—and both
have been interpreters of the life—especially of the vanished life—and
character of their pastoral county. In every other respect they are as
different as is “Egdon” Heath from Blackmore Vale.
It is difficult to say in what form of topography Mr. Hardy is at his
best within his “kingdom”—his patient and precise creation of a town
such as “Casterbridge” (Dorchester), the architectural individuality of
his great houses, or his knowledge of “those sequestered spots outside
the gates of the world,” and of woodlands and wildernesses. He has the
knowledge with which he credits Angel Clare of “the seasons in their
moods, morning and evening, night and noon, in their temperaments;
winds in their several dispositions; trees, waters, and clouds, shades
and silence, _ignes fatui_; constellations and the voices of inanimate
things.” In most cases, the birthplace of a novelist has no particular
significance in relation to his work. Very often a writer’s county is
like Matthew Prior’s, exchanged for Middlesex. But in the case of Mr.
Hardy it is different. The fact that he was born in a “mere germ of a
village” near Dorchester, and within sound of a heath; that his life
has been spent, for the most part, in Dorset; that he now lives on the
outskirts of Dorchester, and that he comes of a Dorset stock—tracing
his descent, however, from John le Hardy (son of Clement, Governor of
Jersey in 1488), who settled in the West of England before the end of
the fourteenth century—are significant points in his biography.[78] By
the circumstances of birth and lifelong residence the background of his
novels, _Wessex_, has become mainly limited to Dorset (South Wessex),
and especially to the neighbourhood of Dorchester.
The interest of Mr. Hardy’s backgrounds is twofold. There is their
purely artistic interest as intensifying action and character; there is
also their topographical interest. Mr. Hardy’s imaginary kingdom was
so unlike the photographer’s “studio backgrounds” of other novelists
that long before sketch-maps of Wessex were prepared and published in
the uniform edition of his works the identity of many of his scenes
afforded no manner of doubt to Dorset readers. The precision with
which he describes a building or a neighbourhood, notes position,
distance, proportion, has been a clue and a perpetual interest to those
who follow the intricacies of Wessex geography, in spite of Mr. Hardy’s
half-discouragement of those who sought to localise the horizons and
landscapes of his “merely realistic dream country.”
His “illuminative surnames” have been spoken of by some writers. His
place-names are no less illuminative, and his quaint or sonorous
substitutes might be transferred to the map of Dorset with little loss.
In some cases an older name is revived, such as Shaston, Middleton
Abbey, and Kingsbere. Sometimes he has made a slight modification of
the real name, or received a suggestion from it, as in Sherton Abbas,
Emminster, Port Bredy, Chaseborough, Casterbridge. Other names are
downright inventions, often a _précis_ of the natural features of the
town, such as Aldbrickham for Reading; or made with a fine ear for
local probability.[79]
[Illustration: MR. THOMAS HARDY.]
The county town of Dorset, with its core of old houses, and too many
that are new, is the centre of the Hardy district, as it is the “pole,
focus, or nerve-knot,” of the surrounding country. Its memories of
Rome are preserved in Mr. Hardy’s name for it, “Casterbridge”; and
its outward appearance in the days when Dorchester had no suburbs,
and was “compact as a box of dominoes” behind its stockade of limes
and chestnuts. A description of the old-fashioned place, in the mouth
of one of Mr. Hardy’s characters, always quoted in the guide-books to
Dorchester, is that “it is huddled all together, and it is shut in by a
square wall of trees like a plot of garden-ground by a box edging”; and
the unusual way the country came up to the town and met in one line
is best described in his words:—
The farmer’s boy could sit under his barley mow and pitch a stone into
the office window of the town clerk; reapers at work among the sheaves
nodded to acquaintances standing on the pavement corner; the red-robed
judge, when he condemned a sheep-stealer, pronounced sentence to the
tune of Baa, that floated in at the window from the remainder of the
flock browsing hard by; and at executions the waiting crowd stood in
a meadow immediately before the drop, out of which the cows had been
temporarily driven to give the spectators room.
It has been said that the Dorchester in the Wessex novels had no
suburbs; the North Street ended abruptly in a mill by the river; the
South Street came to an end in a cornfield—but these bounds have been
leaped over in several places, and to-day the east, or Fordington side
of the town (Mr. Hardy’s Durnover) alone remains unchanged; and here
the flat water-meadows stretch up to the garden-hedges and the actual
walls of the houses. In spite of changes without the escarpments, the
curfew still sounds at the stroke of eight from St. Peter’s with its
“peremptory clang,” the signal for shop-shutting throughout the town.
The brick bridge over the Frome, and the stone bridge over a branch of
the same stream in the meads, have their well-defined peculiarities
in Dorchester as in “Casterbridge.” The neighbourhood of “Mixen”
Lane (Mill Lane), the “mildewed leaf” in the sturdy and flourishing
Casterbridge plant, is recognisable at the east end of the town, near
the town bridges.
Lucetta’s house, “High Place Hall,” at the corner of Durngate Street,
has a modern shop-front inserted; while the most significant feature
of her house is to be found at Colyton House, where, in the centre
of the wall flanking the garden, is an archway, now bricked up,
surmounted by a battered mask in which the open-mouthed, comic leer can
hardly be discerned to-day. Without the town, on the Weymouth Road,
is the immense Roman “Ring”—“Maumbury Ring, melancholy, lonely, yet
accessible from every part of the town”—which was to Dorchester what
the ruined Colosseum is to modern Rome.
“Some old people said that at certain moments in the summer time, in
broad daylight, persons sitting with a book, or dozing in the arena,
had, on lifting their eyes, beheld the slopes lined with a gazing
legion of Hadrian’s soldiery as if watching the gladiatorial combat,
and had heard the roar of their excited voices; that the scene would
remain but a moment, like a lightning flash, and then disappear.” The
ancient square earthwork where Henchard planned his entertainment is
Poundbury Camp, where the annual sheep-fair is held—“Square Pommerie”
of the poems.
Dorchester is interesting from the fact that it is the only full-length
portrait of a town drawn in the Wessex novels, and is the almost
unshifting scene of one, the _Mayor of Casterbridge_, where the
dramatic unity of place is preserved. In other novels the characters
are wanderers and the scenes shifted; or the towns and villages are
sketched in half-lengths or in small thumbnail sketches. Of these,
certainly the most important historically is Shaftesbury, the Shaston
of the novels, which seems to be set upon “a dominant cape or a
far-venturing headland.” It is a town of shrunken importance, “familiar
with forgotten years,” the ancient British Palladour, “which was, and
is, in itself, the city of a dream.”
The houses now composing Shaftesbury are held high up above the Vale
of Blackmore by the height, or cliff, upon which it is built; and
Barnes, no less than Mr. Hardy, was alive to the vision of the old city
on watch, straining her eyes to Blackmore’s “blue-hilled plain,” or
shining “so bright” to those down miles below in the Vale.
Another ancient, shrunken town is Wareham, which reminds one to a
certain extent of Dorchester, for it is square, ramparted, and defended
by water on one side; but these are the only points of resemblance. The
little diminished town “where only the presence of the river and the
shallow barges on its bosom suggest the ocean,” goes by the name of
“Anglebury”[80] in the Wessex novels, for it was a noted town in the
Saxon age, when it was a place of strength. Sherborne, the “Sherton
Abbas” of the novels, takes its fictitious name, like many other Wessex
towns, from its most prominent feature, the Abbey. Cerne Abbas—called
“Abbot’s Cernel” in the novels, one of its old names being Cernel—is a
village “still loitering in a mediæval atmosphere”; while Bere Regis,
which appears in the novels under the older form, “Kingsbere,” is
another of the diminished places that Mr. Hardy delights to honour, a
“blinking little one-eyed place” of thatched cottages, the measure of
whose earlier magnificence is the fine church of St. John the Baptist
that holds the dust of the Turbervilles. “Kingsbere-sub-Greenhill,” to
give it its full Wessex title, owes the last limb of that compound name
to Woodbury Hill (Greenhill)—a green hill partly covered with trees
that overlooks Bere. Its ancient fair, now much decayed, is described
rather as it was than as it is, as the “Nijni-Novgorod of South
Wessex.” The fair is, however, still held in September, beginning on
the eighteenth of the month. “Marlott,” really Marnhull, also connected
with _Tess of the D’Urbervilles_, lies embedded in Blackmore Vale,
“where the fields are never brown and the springs never dry,” between
Sturminster and Shaftesbury.
Some six miles distant from Mr. Hardy’s home is the village of
Piddletown, known by the name of Weatherbury in _Far from the Madding
Crowd_. The church described there remains, but, as the novelist
expressly warns us, “Warren’s Malthouse” disappeared years ago, with
some of the village’s characteristic peculiarities.
Stinsford, a parish of which the Bockhamptons are hamlets, the original
of “Mellstock,” is so carefully described by Mr. Hardy that each
cottage might well be a literary landmark, while Sutton Poyntz, the
“Overcombe” of _The Trumpet-Major_, like Piddletown, has lost one of
Mr. Hardy’s landmarks, for the mill is demolished, but the colossal
figure of George III. upon the chalk downs, which in the novel was
being cut, is still to be seen.
Mr. Hardy’s special quality of precision that comes of knowledge is
nowhere more closely shown than in his pictures of great houses, or,
indeed, of buildings of any kind. They are all drawn from the real,
from their cellars and foundations to their leads and chimney-pots.
The only liberty he takes with the originals is to remove them, in
one or two cases, to another position. For instance, Lower Waterstone
Farm, the original of Bathsheba Everdene’s house in _Far from the
Madding Crowd_—“a hoary building of the Jacobean stage of classic
Renaissance”—is nearly two miles from “Weatherbury” (Piddletown).
Again, Poxwell Hall, the “Oxwell Hall” of _The Trumpet-Major_, is
really three miles from “Overcombe” (Sutton Poyntz), and, therefore,
not the close neighbour of the Lovedays it is made to be. The original
of “Welland House” is Charborough; but the “Tower,” as Mr. Hardy
writes, “had two or three originals—Horton, Charborough, etc.”
Wool Manor-house, or “Well Bridge,” as Mr. Hardy, reverting to the
older name, calls it, once a possession of the Turbervilles, is set on
the bank of the rush-grown Frome, near the great Elizabethan bridge
that gives the place half its name. The paintings of two women are
actually, as in the novel, on the walls of the staircase, but they
are now rapidly fading away, and can only with difficulty be made out
to-day by the light of a candle.
“Enkworth Court” (Encombe), deep in the Glen of Encombe, approached by
a long road gradually dropping into the cup-like crater by the only
expedient of winding round it, is a “house in which Pugin would have
torn his hair.” “Great Hintock House,” however, another house in a
hole, has no original, though it has somewhat hastily been identified
with Turnworth House, near Blandford. The situation is similar, but
Turnworth House is largely a modern building, while the “Great Hintock
House” of _The Woodlanders_ had a front which was an “ordinary manorial
presentation of Elizabethan windows, mullioned and hooded, worked in
rich snuff-coloured free-stone from local quarries.”
The sea-coast towns of Dorset, southern outposts of Wessex, make
an occasional appearance in the novels and tales. The original of
“Knollsea” is Swanage, which would scarcely now be described as the
sea-side village “lying snug within its two headlands as between a
finger and thumb.” With Bridport (“Port Bredy”) and its neighbour,
West Bay, Mr. Hardy takes one of his rare liberties in altering
the configuration of the country; for one story opens with the
statement that “the shepherd on the east hill could shout out lambing
intelligence to the shepherd on the west hill,” over the intervening
chimneys. The cleft, however, in which the town is sunk is not so
exiguous.
Georgian Weymouth is peculiarly the scene of _The Trumpet-Major_; while
Portland, “the Isle of Slingers”—
The Isle of the Race
Many-caverned, bald, wrinkled of face,
—is especially the district of _The Well Beloved_. It is a “wild,
herbless, weather-worn promontory,” sour and treeless, with its
beak-like point stretching out like the head of a bird into the English
Channel. On the east side is an unexpected wooded dell, narrow and full
of shade, on the summit of which rises Pennsylvania Castle—“Sylvania
Castle” of the novel—a modern castellated house, built in 1800 for John
Penn, Governor of the Island, who planted the trees around it.
Perhaps Mr. Hardy’s most inalienable possession is not the town but
the wild, the “obscure, obsolete, superseded country,” a “tract in
pain,” which, with one form but many names, stretches from Poole in
the east to almost within sight of Dorchester on the west, from near
Bere Regis in the north to Winfrith in the south, where it joins the
heathland of the Isle of Purbeck. Though “Egdon” Heath is broken up
into many tracts, into Morden and Bere, and Wool and Duddle and other
heaths, it has an essential unity, and the attempts at cultivation have
met with desperate and, as it were, voluntary resistance, so that the
breaks into green strips of cornfield slip the memory on a back-look
at that lonely land. It is a place inviolate and “unaltered as the
stars,” a sweep of moorland, a tract of land covered with heather and
bracken and furze, practically unbroken, where, “with the exception
of an aged highway, and a still more aged barrow, themselves almost
crystallized to natural products by long continuance, even the trifling
irregularities were not caused by pick-axe, plough, or spade, but
remained as the very finger-touches of the last geological change.” In
appearance its colours are by distance blended into the purple brown
called, in _The Return of the Native_, “swart”—its “antique brown
dress.” The swart, abrupt slopes appear to be “now rising into natural
hillocks masquerading solemnly as sepulchral tumuli, now dipping into
hollows, where the rain-water collects in marshy pools and keeps green
the croziers and fully-opened fronds of the bracken much longer than
the parched growths at the crests of these rises, and again spreading
out into little scrubby plains.”[81]
Its quality is “prodigious, and so as to frighten one to be in it all
alone at night,” as Pepys said of another solitary place—the great
earthwork of Old Sarum. In Mr. Hardy’s words, “the face of the heath
by its mere complexion adds half an hour to evening: it can, in like
manner, retard the dawn, sadden noon, anticipate the frowning of storms
scarcely generated, and intensify the opacity of a moonless midnight
to a cause of shaking and dread.” It is an agent among agents, and
what Wordsworth finds that nature becomes seen by man’s intellect,
“an ebbing and a flowing mind.” Its lonely face, and the face of all
solitary heath-lands, are interpreted for ever in _The Return of the
Native_.
[Illustration: CAME RECTORY.
_The home of William Barnes._]
SOME DORSET SUPERSTITIONS
BY HERMANN LEA
In employing the term superstition, it is in the sense defined by Franz
v. Schonthan:—
Zwar nicht wissen—aber glauben
Heisst ganz richtig—Aberglauben.
(Not to know, but to believe; what else is it, strictly speaking, but
superstition?)
It is natural, no doubt, that superstition should decrease in the same
ratio as education and enlightenment advance, but its total extinction
need not be anticipated for a long time to come. True, its death-knell
was sounded by the first invented printing press, a contrivance
which, nevertheless, tends to some extent to foster its growth,
since “believers” read in history facts that give support to their
own beliefs. And although this survival may not exactly please the
practically minded, to the antiquary or the psychologist its extinction
would be certainly regretable.
It must not be rashly concluded that superstition goes hand in hand
with foolishness or absence of commonsense, nor must it be looked on
as a symbol of weak-mindedness. Did not Augustus Cæsar hold strong
views regarding putting the left shoe on the right foot, maintaining
that such procedure betokened some dire calamity? And again, did he
not deem the skin of a sea-calf to be a certain preservative against
lightning? Yet he was not generally regarded as a particularly foolish
or weak-minded man.
Of the various forms of superstition current at the present time, none
hold such sway as the credence in witchcraft. The date of its origin is
lost in the dim past, but we may safely surmise that it arose early in
the mind of man. Moses denounced witches in no measured terms. “Thou
shalt not suffer a witch to live,” he said, and this decree survived
until a comparatively recent date. In mediæval times the law of Moses
certainly held good; it mattered nothing what position in the social
standard the accused held. In the year 1537 Lady Janet Douglas was
burned in Edinburgh on the charge of being a witch. John Knox was once
accused of being a wizard because “nothing but sorcery,” so it was
said, “could account for Lord Ochiltree’s daughter”—“ane damosil of
nobil blude”—falling in love with him—“ane old, decrepid creature of
most base degree of ony that could be found in the countrey.” Although
the days are past when witches were publicly tormented or executed,
even at the present time such a reputation is not without danger to the
supposed witch. To effect a cure from the spell cast, it used to be
considered almost essential that her blood be drawn, and within quite
recent years I have known of cases where reputed witches have been shot
at with “silver bullets,” or struck at with hay-forks or other sharp
instruments.
Having its birth in so remote a past, it is, perhaps, not to be
wondered at that witchcraft has persisted so long, that its demise is
so protracted. Until a few years ago, when the law stepped in to punish
those who made a livelihood by “conjuring”—_i.e._, pointing out witches
and producing spells to confound them—witchcraft formed an everyday
topic of conversation, and little secrecy was deemed necessary;
but now, though as staunchly believed in as ever, the subject is
alluded to in bated breath, and it is no easy matter to discover the
whereabouts of a “conjurer” or “witch-doctor.”
In the more remote corners of the county may still be heard fragments
of the old Dorset speech, and in these same out-of-the-way spots one
may chance on the strangest of superstitions and customs. Witchcraft
holds a place in the minds of the illiterate, the semi-educated, and
even the better educated, from which no amount of argument can expel
it. Thomas Hardy and William Barnes have both used the theme as a
groundwork for prose and poem. It may be interesting to note here that
Conjurer Trendle, in the former’s story entitled “The Withered Arm,”
was no fictitious personage, but had a veritable existence. He is still
well remembered (under his real name, of course) by some of the older
people who dwelt near, and the house in which he lived, in the central
portion of “Egdon Heath,” may still be traced in a heap of decayed
walls and rotten timbers.
The reason for this strong and enduring belief is not difficult to
find; thought-transference, mental telepathy, hypnotism, are all
scientifically admitted; that our ancestors observed the effects of
these “sciences,” attributing the causes to some easily explainable or
at least plausible reasons, is more than probable.
When attempting to trace to their origin some of the stories current,
one cannot help feeling that in many cases the so-called witch stood
more in need of pity than condemnation, for it required only very
scanty evidence for her to be thus branded. Gilfillan speaks of a
witch as “a borderer between earth and hell”—a view which was probably
shared by the majority of people. Goldsmith, on the contrary, was for
giving the accused the benefit of the doubt. “If we enquire,” he says
in sarcastic strain, “what are the common marks and symptoms by which
witches are discovered to be such, we shall see how reasonably and
mercifully those poor creatures were burned and hanged who unhappily
fell under that name.”
If I were required to define a witch of the present day I should
state it as being the second-hand evidence of numbers of people who
have been “overlooked,” or bewitched, and who have given me detailed
descriptions. A witch, then, is an individual, male or female—usually
the latter—who by reason of certain gifts or powers is able to exert
an influence over another. She generally includes in her dress some
red token—perhaps a red hat, red shawl, or red cloak. She is able to
transform herself into the likeness of almost any animal, chiefly that
of a cat or hare, and is also able to become invisible; when assuming
the guise of an animal, she in no way hides her identity from those
who are conversant with the ways of witches, a witch-hare or witch-cat
differing in many particulars, both in appearance and gait, from the
ordinary hare or cat. It has been said that two animals only she cannot
simulate—lambs and donkeys; the usual Scriptural reasons being adduced.
Her power is nearly always inherited, and I have heard it argued that a
certain woman of my acquaintance, who was perfectly inoffensive, must
necessarily be a witch because her mother was one. This power may be
used either for good or ill, and may be directed against an animal or
a human being. I have been informed, in strict confidence, of certain
signs by which a witch may be recognised, and to test the accuracy of
my informant, I have many times asked people whom I knew but slightly
whether so-and-so was not a person credited with superhuman powers,
and, nine times out of ten, have been answered in the affirmative.
Hence it would seem that these tokens are well known and generally
admitted.
The immediate effect on a person who has been “overlooked,”
“ill-wished,” or “hagrod” (Dorset for “hag-ridden”), as it is variously
called, consists as a rule of some sort of indisposition. This
gradually increases to severe sickness, and finally death supervenes.
The disease is usually of an extremely subtle nature, defying accurate
diagnosis, and is often termed by the medical man mental or hysterical.
Sometimes the stricken individual will merely pine away gradually,
refuse food, complain of nothing definite, yet preserve an entire
reticence as to any supposable cause. On the other hand, it does
happen occasionally that the effect of the “overlooking” is extremely
sudden—perhaps a fatal accident from an apparently natural cause.
Again, the ill-wishing may take the form of a comparatively harmless
nuisance—the butter may fail to “come” in the churning, the fowls may
suddenly cease laying, the cows may refuse to “give down” their milk,
or the pig, intended for an early fattening, may object to partake of
the most savoury mixture prepared with consummate care. Perhaps the
horses will refuse to pull fairly at their loads, or may stop entirely
when encountering a small hill.
A “conjurer” or “white witch” is an individual who, possessed of
certain gifts (to some considerable extent hereditary), is able to
point out to those who consult him (or her—for either sex may have the
qualifications) the person who is causing the mischief. One necessary
attribute is that he be a “seventh of a seventh,” _i.e._, a seventh
child of a parent who, in his turn, was a seventh child. It does not
follow that this peculiarity in itself is sufficient to produce a
conjurer, but without it he cannot be one. One point, however, is
shared by such-born people, and that is, entire immunity from the
effects of ill-wishing, and a capability of identifying any other
person gifted with the powers of ill-wishing others.
There are, or rather were, conjurers _and_ conjurers. Some took a
delight in frustrating the efforts of a witch, whether paid for
their services or not; whilst others used their knowledge merely as
a means of livelihood, and drained their patients of every copper
or possession of value. I knew of a family that, having consulted a
person of this latter class, parted with all their savings, then
with their convertible possessions, and, lastly, with their stock of
winter provender (garden produce, potatoes, and the like), until left
in a perfectly destitute condition, dependent on the parish for actual
necessaries. A conjurer, having listened to the complaint brought
him, will, as a rule, ask his client to what extent he would wish the
punishment to fail. Very often he would surprise his visitor by saying
at the start that he knew the reason why they came to consult him,
and would actually cite the case as it stood. If desired, he would
inform his questioner who their ill-wisher was, generally by showing
them the face of their enemy reflected in a crystal, or on the surface
of a bucket of water. Then would follow the prescription—and it was
here that he as a rule gave way to a love of effect, and suggested
material cures for a psychic malady. I am inclined to think that this
materialistic display was the chief reason for his being held up
to ridicule by the unbeliever or sceptic; had he contented himself
with less rude emblematical display he would have at least had more
sympathy from the general public. Some of the conditions laid down as
being essential to the withdrawal of the spell were, to say the least,
unnecessarily disgusting. Many I know of, which, although interesting
enough to the searcher, would certainly not bear putting into bald
print. Most were ingenious, and possessed colourable excuse for their
suggestion. I will give a few examples to illustrate this. A simple
remedy was suggested to a dairyman who complained of sickness in his
pig-yard. He was advised to place a birch-broom (“Bezom,” in Dorset)
across the doorway of the dairyhouse, it being said that any innocent
person could step over it, a witch never. This was tried, with the
result that in the morning a great outcry was heard, and a neighbour
was discovered standing outside the door protesting that “something
hurt her,” and she felt unable to cross the threshold. In a very
similar case where this was tried and failed to produce any result,
a further visit to the conjurer suggested sleeping with a prayer-book
under the pillow and fixing a horseshoe on the door—a shoe that had
of itself fallen from the left hind foot of a horse—and in both these
cases the nuisance was put a stop to almost immediately.
In a case where the horses were dying from some obscure complaint, the
victim was told to cut out the heart of the next animal that died and
boil it in water containing sage, peppermint, and onions; when cold, it
was to be stuck full of new pins on the one side, and on the other with
“maiden” thorns—_i.e._, thorns of the present year’s growth—picked by a
maiden—woman or girl—and inserted by her. This done, it was to be hung
up on a nail in the chimney of a neighbour—the one accused of being the
witch. Another charm of a simple character was for the bewitched person
to take a dish of water and carry it over three bridges at midnight.
Yet another was to take a bottle, place in it some sprigs of hyssop,
fill it up with a certain liquid, insert some new pins in the cork, and
bury it in a manure heap. In the majority of instances that have come
under my notice, the charm has been emblematical of bodily ill to the
witch; either pins or something similar capable of drawing blood, or
else some perishable material such as the horse’s heart, which would
naturally decay slowly, or a waxen effigy which, placed near a fire,
would gradually melt; and I have been given to understand that the
slower the melting, the more protracted would be the witch’s suffering
and death.
I believe it very rarely happens that the same person is “overlooked”
more than once; at any rate, all those who have spoken to me on
the subject have told me that since they suffered in this way they
have taken most elaborate precautions to avoid a repetition of the
occurrence. I know one man who utterly refuses to meet or pass a woman
who is a stranger to him should she be wearing anything of a red
colour; in fact, he would go a mile or more out of his way to avoid
her, or enter a field and hide until she had passed on her way. Another
man of my acquaintance, one who confided to me several distinguishing
marks by which a witch might be recognised, advised me never to go near
a cat or hare if they exhibited any of these signs. A woman, well-to-do
in her walk in life, has warned me solemnly never to pick yellow
ragwort, lest I should thereby render myself liable to be bewitched.
The seriousness with which these and many others have tendered advice
is sufficient proof—to me—of the genuineness of their beliefs.
Let me now briefly cite a few particulars of cases that have either
come under my own observation, or have been related to me by people in
whose veracity I have the strongest confidence. A question which may be
asked is, do I myself believe that these things happened and are still
happening? It is not easy to find an answer. Because I cannot explain
any certain occurrence it in no way proves that it is false; moreover,
I have personally met with experiences of a strange, subtle character
which, although I may not be able to explain satisfactorily to others,
are irrefutable as far as I myself am concerned. Probably many, if not
most, of my readers have likewise had “experiences,” but the scientific
scepticism of the age prevents one from recording them only to be
sneered at by the unbelieving.
One of the strangest cases that has ever come to my notice was that
of a young baker. It appeared that in some way or other he had given
offence to a reputed witch who lived in the same village, and who
openly vowed she would “pay him out.” Nothing untoward happened,
however, until after his marriage a few months later, when, going into
the stable one morning to feed his horse, he found the animal covered
with sweat; it was trembling, and refused all food. The next morning
the same thing occurred; so thinking to frustrate some practical joker,
he bought a strong, expensive lock for the door, and prided himself on
the fact that he had now outwitted the culprit. But the next morning
the horse had disappeared, and only after considerable search was it
at length discovered shut up in the pound. The stable was locked, and
there was no evidence to show that the lock had been tampered with.
The only information he gained was from a neighbour, who stated that
he heard a horse galloping down the road about midnight, and that,
looking out of his window, he had seen—not a horse, but a hare. For
some weeks afterwards all went on quietly; then his wife was taken ill.
The doctor who attended her could make nothing of her case, and at
length, taking the advice of a friend, he went to consult a conjurer.
As he arrived at the conjurer’s door, the latter came out, and, without
any preamble, asked him how his wife was. Now the men lived twenty
miles apart, yet the conjurer was conversant with every particular
of the case, including details which the baker declared he had never
mentioned to a soul. To him the conjurer handed a charm, telling him
to preserve entire secrecy on the matter, and to place it with his
own hands under his wife’s pillow. The result was an almost immediate
improvement in the wife’s condition; but in a day or two information
reached him of the illness of the supposed witch. As his wife improved,
so the other woman became worse. Then, one evening when she had so
far recovered as to come downstairs, a neighbour ran into his house
declaring that he had just come from the direction of widow G.’s,
that her house was entirely luminous, the walls semi-transparent, and
the whole neighbourhood reeked strongly of sulphur. Nor was this all,
for as he breathlessly told his tale, another man entered, confirming
what the first had said, and adding that a sound similar to that made
by a hare in a trap proceeded from the widow’s cottage. Joined by
others, including the village policeman, they hastened to the spot. As
they neared it, the baker, too, smelled the same odour, and saw the
luminous effect. Arrived at the gate they stood spellbound, for on the
doorstep was a figure. To me he described it as a “_thing_, coal-black,
with fire darting from its eyes and mouth; cloven hoofs, and a forked
tail”—in short, a fair description of a popular conception of the
devil! For some minutes they all stood still, too much frightened
to advance or retreat. Then, suddenly, an eerie cry rang out, and
the whole house was plunged in darkness. When at last they pulled
themselves together and entered in a body, they met coming down the
stairs from the bedroom a woman who had acted as nurse to the stricken
widow. She stated that she had been sitting by the bedside when she was
suddenly overcome by a strong sulphurous smell, which had rendered her
unconscious. Coming to herself at last, she glanced at the bed, to find
it empty. Together they all ascended the stairs; the fumes still hung
about, but the bed had no occupant; they searched the house through and
through, but could find no trace of the owner.
I may mention here that it is by no means an uncommon belief that a
witch has sold herself to the devil, and that “he” will very often come
to fetch his “disciple” at the moment of her death.
The case of Charles —— was not without interest, seeing that the
narrator was a man of considerable experience and intelligence, an
engineer between thirty and forty, in a good situation. As a boy he
had lived in a “haunted” house, in which strange and unaccountable
noises were continually heard, sufficiently loud to awaken the whole
household. He shared a small room with a younger brother, and more
than once they were awakened in the night by the sound of a sheep
bleating close to them, apparently by the bedside. On one occasion he
and his brother, accompanied by their dog, started from home before
daybreak to drive a flock of sheep to a farm some ten miles away. It
was winter, the days were short; and having duly delivered the sheep,
they started on their return walk as dusk began to gather. Their way
led past a large pond, and as they neared this spot they both stopped
suddenly, hearing the loud bleat of a sheep close to them. Peering
ahead, they soon perceived the form of a sheep just in front of them.
The dog bounded forward, but returned immediately with his tail
between his legs, and howling dolefully he ran behind his master as
if for protection. The dog was no coward naturally, and the lads were
accordingly somewhat alarmed. They stood still, debating what to do,
while the sheep drew gradually nearer, uttering “ba-a” after “ba-a,”
until it stopped within a few feet, when they distinctly saw that the
animal had no head. Petrified, they stood a moment, clutching hold of
one another, till the elder, recovering his presence of mind, raised
his stick to strike the animal; but his arm was powerless—he could
only raise the stick a few inches. Meanwhile, the animal advanced, and
rubbed its neck against their legs. Suddenly it turned, and dashing to
the edge of the pond, sprang in and disappeared from view. The lads
remained gazing after it, spellbound, and then took to their heels and
ran home.
I am inclined to the belief that originally the term “hagrod” was
chiefly applied to the case of horses that had become mysteriously
affected. An old carter once told me that he had the charge of some
horses at a certain farm, and unconsciously chanced to give offence to
a reputed witch who lived near by. Her revenge took the form of petty
annoyances. It was no uncommon thing for him to enter his stables in
the morning to find his horses bathed in sweat, and panting as though
they had been ridden far and fast—this, too, when the door was found
locked as he had left it on the previous night. On such occasions the
horses were fit for no work that day, and he had considerable trouble
to get work out of them. Sometimes he would find them with their tails
and manes tightly plaited up with straw. Such occurrences used to be
comparatively common. One day I chanced to mention to his master what
the man had told me; his master smiled, and said what he thought might
be an explanation, but in no way denied the man’s story. Then he told
me a case that had come under his own observation. In the stable was
a valuable young horse, and one morning it was found with one hind
leg perfectly stiff, so stiff that it could not put it to the ground.
Three men tried their utmost to bend it, but without avail. At last
they led the animal out of the stable, limping on three legs, and when
outside it gradually got back the use of the limb. This happened many
times, and at length the carter declared it was “hagrod,” that an old
woman living near by had “overlooked it,” that every time she passed
the stable—a thing which she did occasionally to get butter from the
dairy—the horse was invariably stricken. Out of curiosity the farmer
took note of what the carter said, and, to his astonishment, he found
that the man was right—that is to say, in so far as that the horse’s
stiffness coincided with the time of this woman’s approach. She left
the neighbourhood a short time afterwards, and from that date there was
no recurrence of the horse’s strange attacks.
In a case with the details of which I am very familiar, and the truth
of which I can vouch for, the ill-wish found vent firstly on animals,
the property of the “overlooked.” What actually led up to the matter
I never quite knew, possibly the narrator had offended her neighbour;
anyhow, the facts are indisputable. The first effects showed themselves
in the pigs refusing all food, and then dying one after the other,
in what looked like some form of fit. A veterinary surgeon who was
called in declared his inability to give a name to the disease, and
a subsequent post-mortem examination threw no light on the matter.
Then, one by one, all the fowls sickened and died; and, lastly, the
woman’s daughter became seriously ill, but of what disease the doctor
was unable to say. It was at this juncture that her mother, who had
hitherto scoffed at the notion, took it into her head that the girl was
bewitched, with the result that she paid a visit to a “wise-woman”
(with whom I was also well acquainted), and sought her advice. The
“conjuress” listened to her story, told her the name of the person who
was ill-wishing her, and gave her a charm, with instructions to sew it,
unknown to her daughter, inside her corsets, in such a position that
she should not suspect its presence. These directions were faithfully
carried out, with the result that in a short time her daughter regained
her normal health. Meanwhile, a neighbour (the supposed ill-wisher)
sickened, growing worse as the girl improved, and finally left the
neighbourhood; her subsequent history was never known. The charm,
which, by the way, the mother was directed to burn directly her
daughter was out of danger, was preserved for some time. It consisted
of a small lump of wax, roughly modelled into the form of a woman, the
face bearing a distinct likeness to the accused witch!
I will conclude with one more instance, which, although free from
complications, is interesting as having happened quite recently. The
supposed witch lived within a few hundred yards of the house that I
was then inhabiting; the bewitched was a man who was for some years my
gardener. The road from his cottage to the nearest village led past
the house occupied by the witch, and, from some quite inexplicable
cause, he was never able to pass her house in the ordinary way. When he
attempted to do so he fell down; his only alternatives being either to
turn round and walk backwards, or else to crawl by on hands and knees.
Naturally, all the neighbours were aware of the fact, but they had
grown so familiar with it that they ceased to comment on it. About two
years ago the woman died, and afterwards, the spell presumably expiring
with her, the old man was able to pursue his way in normal fashion. In
front of the witch’s house stood a fine apple tree, and one day during
the autumn following her death, the old man asked me, with a twinkle
in his eye, whether I had noticed what a fine crop of apples this tree
bore. “I’ve a-knowed thic tree,” he said, “ever since he wer’ planted;
but he haven’t never had n’ar a opple on to en avore. Now, sir, can’ee
tell I how ’tis he do bear s’well t’year?” Knowing what was expected of
me, I said: “Let me see, John, is it not about a year ago since Mrs.
X—, who lived there, died?” His retort, though scarcely a reply to my
query, was nevertheless suggestive of the fact that I had answered his
former question to me. He deliberately winked, then said, “Ther, sir,
now you’ve a-said it,” and strode off to attend to his work.
INDEX
Abbey, Bindon, 189, 190
—— Cerne, 8, 9, 96
—— Church of Sherborne, 79
—— Foundations of Shaftesbury, 248
Abbotsbury Abbey, 102, 104
—— taken, 10
Adeliza, daughter of Baldwin de Brioniis, 131
Agger-Dun, Round Barrows at, 22, 25
Agglestone Rock, 198
Agricola, 29
Albert, Prince, 152
Alfred, 119, 146, 200, 241, 242
—— Boyhood of King, 76
—— Victories of, 7
Allington, 233
All Saints’, Dorchester, 147, 153
Almshouse, Sherborne, 81
Amphitheatre at Dorchester, 42
Anketil, Colonel, 215
Anne, “Good” Queen, 183
Archer, Abbot Walter, 95
Armada, Fight off Portland, 182
—— Scare, 205
—— Vessels sent from Weymouth against the, 163
Arne, Village of, 198
Aryans, Invading, 3
Asser, 242
Athelhampton, 257
—— Hall, 262
Athelstan, 94, 98, 102-104, 111, 146, 158, 243
Athelwold, Assassination of, 201
Bacon, Francis (Lord Verulam), 176
Badbury, 5, 18, 34, 35, 36, 145
—— Roman occupation of, 31
Ballard Head, 197
Band, Piddletown Church, 260
Bankes, Sir John and Lady, 206-209, 212, 213, 215, 217, 218
Bardolfeston, 263
Bankes, Sir Ralph, 217-219
Barnes, William, Dorset Poet, 18, 153, 156, 247, 273, 280, 294
Barrows, Long, 19, 20
—— Round, 3-19, 20, 21
Beach, Thomas, 113
Beaminster, 232
Beaufort Family, 124
Bedford Family, 270
—— John, Duke of, 228
Bentham, Jeremy, 143
Bere Regis, 9, 287, 290
—— Long Barrow near, 20
—— Round Barrow at, 22
—— Church, Timber Roof, 60
Bindon Abbey, 189, 190
Bindun Camp, 30
Bingham, Colonel, Governor of Poole, 214-216, 218, 223
Bingham’s Melcombe, Headquarters of Parliamentary Forces at, 165
—— —— Relics of the Armada at, 164
Blackmore Vale, 2, 250, 282, 286
Blandford, 209
—— Round Barrows near, 22
Bloody Assize, 15
Bloxworth Church, Hour-glass in, 56
—— House, 270
Bond, Captain, 209
Borough Dome-book of Bridport, 236
—— Records of Bridport, 234
Bow and Arrow (or Rufus) Castle, 180
Bowles, William Lisle, 277
Bradley, John, last Abbot of Milton, 96
Bradpole, 233
Branwalader, St., 102
“Bretagne, Damsel of,” 203
Bridport, 13, 15, 232, 243, 289
“Bridport Dagger,” 234
British Camps, 30
British Villages, Remains of, 20
Broadley, A. M., 113
—— Library of, 239
Broadwinsor, 14
Bronze Age, 19, 26
—— Cremation in the, 22
—— Pottery, 24
Brownsea, 225
Buckman, Professor, 39
Bulbarrow, Round Barrows at, 22
Burlestone Church, Chancel of, 263
Burney, Miss Fanny (Mme. d’Arblay), 150
Butler, Colonel, Governor of Wareham, 214, 215
Caen, Roger of, Bishop of Sarum and Abbot of Sherborne, 79
Came, 155, 281
—— Church, Recumbent Figures in, 59
—— Down, 24
Canford, 9
Cast-lead Font, St. Mary’s, Wareham, 55
Castle, Bow and Arrow (or Rufus), 180
—— Corfe, 10, 193, 195
—— Sherborne Old, 10, 90, 92
—— Royal visitors at Lulworth, 190
—— Pennsylvania, 180
Catherine of Alexandria, Chapels dedicated to St., 61, 103, 104, 108
Celtic Earthworks, 4
Celts, Civilisation of, 4
Centwine, 6
Cenwealh, first Christian King of West Saxons, 5
Cerne Abbas, 287
—— Round Barrows at, 22
—— Abbey, 8, 9, 96
—— Abbot of, 237
Characteristics of Shaftesbury, 252
Charborough, 288
Chard, Abbot, 133, 134, 139
Charles I., 92, 207, 267
—— II., 169, 224, 239, 245;
at Lulworth Castle, 190;
Defeat of, 11;
Flight of, 12
Charlotte, Queen, at Lulworth Castle, 190
Charminster, 264
—— Canopied Tombs at, 59
Chesil Beach, 2, 4, 165
Chesilborne, 107
Chideock, 271
—— Chapel, Knight in plate armour in, 59
China-clay, Important deposit of, 198
Christ Church, Dorchester, 153
Christmas Pie Legend, Corfe Castle, 219
Churches of Bridport, 234
—— of Shaftesbury, 246
Church, Piddletown, 258
—— St. Ealdhelm’s, 79
—— St. James’, Milton, 115
—— Spires—
Iwerne Minster, 46
Trent, 46, 54
Winterborne Steepleton, 46, 53
—— Towers—
Beaminster, 53
Bradford Abbas, 53
Cerne, 53
Charminster, 53
Dorchester, St. Peter’s, 53
Fordington St. George, 53
Marnhull, 53
Milton Abbey, 53
Piddletrenthide, 53
Steepleton, 53
Trent, 54
Civil War, 10, 165, 207
Civil War Days at Bridport, 238
Civil War, Sharp fight in Poole during, 223
—— —— Sherborne Castle besieged during, 92
Clandon Barrow, 24
Clavinio (or Jordan Hill), 35, 40
“Clubmen,” 10
Cnut, 8, 244
Coal Money, Kimmeridge, 191
Coke, Lord Chief Justice, 206
Company of Marblers, 195
Conig’s Castle, 30
Conjurer or Witch-Doctor, 294
Cooper, Sir Anthony Ashley, 213
Corfe, 9
—— Castle, 165, 187, 193, 195, 200-21, 224;
Ruins of, 50
—— Church, 211-213
Corton Chapel, Stone Altar at, 56
Court Leet House, Piddletown, 261
Cranborne, 9
—— Long Barrow near, 20
Credence in Witchcraft, 293
Creech, Ancient Manor of, 189
Cromwell, 92
—— at Portland, 183
—— Letter from, 11
—— Colonel, 214, 215
Cross-legged Effigies in—
Bridport, 57
Dorchester, St. Peter’s, 58, 59
Frampton, 58
Horton, 57
Mappowder, 58
Piddletown, 57
Stock Gaylard, 57
Trent, 57, 58
Wareham, 57
Wimborne Minster, 57
—— St. Giles, 57
Crowe, William, 276
Culliford Tree, 24
Cunnington, Edward, 40
Curious Inscription, St. Mary’s, Melcombe Regis, 174
Cuthberga, Sister of Ine, 117, 118
Cwenberga, St., 118
Cynewearde (Kynewardus), 94
Damer, Anne Seymour, 110
“Damsel of Bretagne,” 203
Danes, Destruction of Shaftesbury by, 243
Danes in Wessex, 6, 7
Decorated Architecture—
Dorchester, St. Peter’s, 51
Gussage, St. Michael’s, 51
Milton Abbey Church, 51
Tarrant Rushton, 51
Wimborne Minster, 51
Wooton Glanville, 51
Denzil, Lord Holles, Monument in St. Peter’s, Dorchester, of, 59
Destruction of Shaftesbury by Danes, 243
Deverel Barrow, 24
Dialect of Dorset, 17
Digby, John, first Earl of Bristol, 78
Dissolution of Monasteries, 10, 44, 245
Dodington, Bubb, first Lord Melcombe, 173, 176, 275
_Domesday Survey_, 233
Dorchester, 9, 34, 145-56, 170, 208, 213, 233, 243, 281, 283, 284, 290
—— Amphitheatre at, 42
—— Beaker at, 23
—— Discovery of MSS. in Auction Room at, 15
—— Execution of Catholic Priest at, 272
—— Persons presented at, 16
—— Round Barrows near, 22
—— Walls demolished, 8
Dorset County Museum, 154
—— —— —— Specimens in, 23-25 39, 40, 43
—— Superstitions, 292
Duke of Monmouth’s Rebellion, 14
Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, 94, 159
Durlston Bay, 194;
Head, 193
Durnovaria, Station at, 35, 36
Durotriges, 4-6, 29, 31, 37
Durweston Church, Carving in, 60
Eadward, Murder of, 7
—— the Unconquered, 118
Ealdgyth, or Elgefu, 241
Ealdhelm, St., Abbot of Malmesbury, 7;
first Bishop of Western Wessex, 75-87
Ealdhelm’s Head, St., 192, 193
_Ealdhelm, Life of St._, Wildman’s, 5
Ealhstan, Bishop, 77
Earl of Richmond, 9
Early English Architecture—
Corfe Mullen, 51
Cranborne, 51
Knighton, 51
Portesham, 51
Wimborne Minster, 51
Worth, 51
Eastbury, 275
East Lulworth, 278
East Stower, 276
Ecgberht, King, 77
Edgar, King, 94, 200, 201
Edward I., 245
Edward II., 254
—— III., 9
—— IV. at Tewkesbury, 9
—— VI., 87
—— the Confessor, 146, 159, 181, 233, 243
—— the Martyr, 201, 202, 207, 240, 249
Egdon Heath, 2, 290, 294
Eggardun, 30, 34
Elfrida, or Ælfthryth, Queen, 7, 200-202
Elizabeth, Queen, 91, 170, 205, 271
Emma, Queen, 159
Encombe, Glen of, 288
Erle, Sir Walter, 208, 210-212
Æthelbald, King, 76, 77
Æthelberht, King, 76, 77
Æthelgede, or Æthelgeofu, 241
Æthelhelm, Duke, 181
Æthelred I., 117
—— II., 7, 158
Æthelwold, the Ætheling, 117, 118
Æthelwulf, King, 77
Etricke of Holt, Anthony, 15, 225
—— Anthony, Sarcophagus of, 127
Evans, Miss, 143
Farnham, Stone over Altar in, 59
Fielding, Henry, 275, 276
FitzHerbert, Mrs., at Lulworth Castle, 190
Flowers, or Florus, Bury Camp, 30
Font, Cast-lead, at St. Mary’s, Wareham, 55
Fonts, Saxon, at Toller Fratrum, 48;
Martinstown, 48
Ford Abbey, 131
—— —— Chapel, 132
—— —— Seal, 140
—— —— Tapestries of, 144
—— —— The Cloister, 134
—— —— The Dissolution of, 139
—— —— The Guest Chamber, 137
—— —— “The Monks’ Walk,” 133
—— —— The Surrender of, 138
Fordington, 151
—— Church, St. George’s, 154
—— Field, 25
Frampton, Stone Pulpit at, 56
Fraunceis, John, 143
Fuller, Thomas, 277
Funeral, Portland Island, 186
Garrison at Wareham, 9
Gasquet, Abbot, 230
Gaunt, John of, 124
Gay, John, 150
Geology of Dorset, 1
George III., 157, 170, 271, 288
—— —— at Lulworth Castle, 190
Gillingham, 9, 281, 284
—— Manor of, 252, 253
Gipsies, Headstone of Peter Standley, King of the, 261
Glen of Encombe, 288
Godwin, Earl, 181
Godlingstone, Manor of, 196
Goidelic Celts, 3, 19
Grammar School, Milton, 113
—— —— Shaftesbury, 255
Gravestone of Benjamin Jesty, 192
Great Tyneham, Ancient Manor House at, 189
Guest, Lady Theodora, 252
Gussage Down, 36
—— Long Barrow near, 20
Gwyn, Francis, 143
—— John Francis, 143
Hambledon, Celtic Camp of, 10
—— Roman Occupation of, 31
Hambro, Baron, 97, 100
—— Everard, 106
Hamworthy, Old Manor House at, 226
Handfast Point, 197
Handley Down, 34
Harbour, Bridport, 237
Hardy, Thomas, 2, 17, 18, 47, 70, 109, 114, 156, 190, 240, 256, 257,
260, 273, 282, 294
—— Thomas Masterman, 113
—— Wm., 194
Harold, Death of, 8
Harper, Hugo Daniel, 78
Hatton, Sir Christopher, 205, 217
Hawtrey, Mrs., 219
Henry III., 9, 235
—— V., 9
—— VI., 9, 92
—— VII., 144
—— VIII., 85, 96, 166, 178, 234, 245
Henry VIII., Inscription at Portland Castle to, 182
—— —— Letter from, 162
Herman, last Bishop of Sherborne, 7
Higher Bockhampton, birthplace of Thos. Hardy, 283
Hilton Church, Mediæval Panel Paintings in, 57
Hinton Parva, Carving in, 60
Hod Hill, 31
Holt, 120
Holworth, Burning Cliff at, 108, 190
—— Chapel to St. Catherine of Alexandria at, 104, 108
Homer, G. Wood, 262, 263
Horsey, Sir John, 85
Horton, Finding Monmouth at, 15
Hour-glass in Bloxworth Church, 56
Howard, Catherine, 182
Hundred Years’ War, 230
Hutchins, John, the Dorset historian, 114, 227, 257, 262, 265, 267,
274, 276
Hut Circles, 20
Iberians, 3
Ibernium, Station at, 36
Ilchester, Lord, 261
Ilsington House, 261
Imprisonment of Margery and Isabel, daughters of William, King of
Scotland, 204
Ine, King of West Saxons, 7, 117, 118
Jacobean Screen at West Stafford, 57
James I., 245, 273
—— at Lulworth Castle, 190
Jeffreys, Judge, 16, 148, 170, 239
Jesty, Gravestone of Benjamin, 192
John, King, 92, 146, 203, 233
—— Houses in Dorset of King, 9
Jones, Inigo, 142
Joliffe, Monumental Inscription to Captain Peter, 228
Jordan Hill (Clavinio), 35, 40
Jurdain Family, 264
Kimmeridge Clay, 2
—— Coal Money, 191
—— Ledge, 190
—— Shale, 43
—— Shell Objects, 25
King of the Gipsies, Headstone of Peter Standley, 261
Kingston Down, Discovery on, 36
—— Lacy, 208, 219
—— Russell, Long Barrow near, 20
—— —— Round Barrows, 22
Knut the Dane, 8, 244
Lady Margaret, Son of, 9
de Lafontaine, A. C., 262
Langton Church, 194
Laurence, Captain, 209, 212, 215
—— M.P., Law-book of Richard, 236
Legend of the Christmas Pie, Corfe Castle, 219
Leland, Record of _Bridport Dagger_, by, 234
—— Visit to Poole of, 230
_Life of St. Ealdhelm_, Wildman’s, 5
Limbrey, Stephen, 12
Liscombe Chapel, 107
Lulworth, 30, 187
—— Castle, 190, 215
—— Cove, 2, 189
—— Royal Visitors at, 190
—— Village of East, 190
Lyme Regis, 1, 10, 12, 14, 15, 30, 35, 143, 164, 166, 208, 239
—— Duke of Monmouth’s landing at, 169, 182
Lynchets, Series of Terraces known as, 193
Lytchett, 266
Macaulay, 275
Mai-dun (Maiden Castle), 30, 32, 34, 155
Malmesbury, William of, 91
Manor House at Trent, 11
Marblers, Company of, 195
March, Dr. Colley, 193
Margaret, Lady, foundress of Christ’s and St. John’s Colleges, 123,
124
—— Wife of Henry VI., 9
Marnhull, 287
—— Church, Monument in, 59
Martinstown, 23, 25
Martyn Family, 258
Maud, Wars of Stephen and, 8
Maumbury Ring, 148, 285
Maurice, Prince, 10
Mayo’s Barrow, 24
Melbury Sampford, 12
—— —— Effigy of William Brounyng, 59
Melcombe Regis, 208
—— —— Priory, 173
Melplash, 232
Memorial Brasses, Description of—
Beaminster, Bere Regis, Bryanston, Bridport, 64
Caundle Purse, Compton Valence, Chesilborne, Corfe Mullen,
Crichel Moor, Crichel Long, Cranborne, Dorchester St. Peter,
Evershot, Fleet Old Church, 65
Holme Priory, Knowle, Litton Cheney, Lytchett Matravers, Langton,
Melbury Sampford, 66
Milton Abbey, Milborne St. Andrew, Moreton, Owermoigne,
Piddlehinton, Piddletown, Pimperne, Puncknowle, 67
Rampisham, Shaftesbury St. Peter, Shapwick, Sturminster Marshall,
Swanage, _als._ Swanwich, 68
Swyre, Tincleton, Tarrant Crawford, Thorncombe, Upwey,
West Stafford, Wimborne Minster, 69
Woolland, Yetminster, 70
Bere Regis, 70
Caundle Purse, 70
Edward the Martyr, King, 68
Evershot, 71
Fleet, 71
Joan de St. Omar, 63
Litton Cheney, retroscript brass, 63
Milton Abbey, Sir John Tregonwell, 67, 71
Moreton, unusual inscription, 72
Oke Brass at Shapwick, 63
Piddletown, 72
St. Peter’s Church, Dorchester, 63
Strangwayes, Sir Gyles, 66
Stratton, 63
Thorncombe, 73
Wimborne Minster, King Ethelred effigy, 69, 73
Wraxall, 74
Yetminster, 74
Middleton, Abbot William de, 96, 98, 101, 102
Miles, G.F. W., 143
Milton Abbey, 44, 57, 94, 158
—— Grammar School, 113
—— Market Cross, 111
—— Old Town of, 109, 110
—— Town of, in America, 116
—— John, 100
—— Lord, 100, 109, 112-115
Mohun Family, 264
Monasteries, Dissolution of the, 10
Monastic Barns—
Liscombe, 45
Tarrant Crawford, 45
Monastic Ruins at—
Abbotsbury, 44
Bindon, 44
Cerne, 44
Shaftesbury, 44
Money, Kimmeridge Coal, 191
Monkton-up-Wimborne, 117
Monmouth, Duke of, 143, 148, 224, 225
—— —— at Lulworth Castle, 190
—— —— Landing at Lyme Regis of, 169
—— —— Rebellion, 239
Monmouth’s Close, field near Horton called, 15
—— Declaration, 14
Monumental Effigies, 57-60
Monuments in Piddletown Church, 258
Mons Badonicus, 5
Morton, Cardinal, 60
Motcombe, Village of, 276
Moule, Henry, 26, 37, 63
Napoleon’s Invasion, 17
Neolithic Age, 3, 19
Netherbury, 232
—— Mutilated Figure in, 59
Newland, Borough of, 75
Newfoundland, Intimate connection between Poole and, 226
Norman Architecture at—
Abbotsbury, 50
Bere Regis, 51
Corfe Castle, 50
Studland, 49
Worth Matravers, 49
Norman Conquest, 233
Oaken Pulpits at—
Abbotsbury, 56
Beaminster, 56
Charminster, 56
Iwerne Minster, 56
Netherbury, 56
“Old Harry and his wife,” 187, 197
Owermoigne Church, 109
Owners of Athelhampton, First, 262
Palæolithic Man, Traces of, 3
Parnham, 232
Parr, Catherine, 182
Paulinus Suetonius, 29, 30
Paye, Henry, 230
Peacock, Thomas Love, 175
Pennie, John Fitzgerald, 278
Pennsylvania Castle, 180, 289
Perpendicular Architecture, 52
Peveril Point, 194, 197
Philip and Joanna, King and Queen of Castile, 268, 269
Piddle, or Trent, river with two names, 117
Piddletown, 257, 287
—— Church, 55
Pimperne, Long Barrow near, 20
Pitman, Treachery of Lieut.-Col., 215, 216
Pitt, Christopher, 275
Pitt-Rivers, General, 21, 22, 26, 29
Place-names of Bridport, 238
Pole, Cardinal, 120
Pollard, Richard, 139, 141
Poole, 12, 14, 15, 35, 110, 164, 170, 208, 222-231, 290
—— Harbour, 2, 4, 7, 29, 50, 187
—— Quay, 222
Pope, Alfred, 113
Portesham Church, Window in, 56
Portland, 4, 30, 160, 165, 168, 177
—— Island, Funeral, description of, 186
—— “The Isle of Slingers,” 289
—— Beds, 2
—— Bill, 179
—— Castle, 178
—— Roads, 109
—— Superstitions, 186
—— Wedding, Description of, 185
Pottery, 20, 21, 23, 26
—— Bronze Age, 24
—— Sepulchral, 22
Poulett, Sir Amias, 141
Poundbury Camp, 31, 32, 286
Poxwell Hall, 288
Preston, Remains of Roman Villa at, 158
—— Roman Arch at, 40
Prideaux, Edmund, 141, 142
Prior, Matthew, the poet, 129, 273
Priory, Melcombe Regis, 173
Purbeck, Isle of, 187-199, 208, 290
—— Beds, 2
Punfield Beds, 2
Pylsdun, 30
Racedown, Wordsworth at, 278
Radipole, Roman Remains at, 158
Ralegh, Sir Walter, 78, 91, 273
Rebellion, Duke of Monmouth’s, 14
Recorder of Poole, Anthony Etricke, of Holt, 15
Relics of the Armada at Weymouth, 164
Richmond, Earl of, 9
Ridgeway, Round Barrows on the, 21, 25, 30
Robert the Bruce, 253
Robinson, Sir Charles, 193, 195, 196, 198
Rock, Agglestone, 198
Rocks, Old Harry, 187
Roman Camps, 30
Romans established, 4, 29, 242
Roman Occupation, 28-43
—— Road, 5, 34
—— Villas, Sites of, 37
Roper, Mrs. Freeman, 143
Roses, Wars of the, 9
Rosewall, William, 141
—— Sir Henry, 141
Rupert, Prince, 92
St. Mary’s Church, Melcombe Regis, 174
St. Nicholas’ Chapel, Weymouth, 172
St. Peter’s, Dorchester, 146, 153
Sampson of Dol, St., 102, 111
Sandford Orcas Church, Curious Monument in, 58
Sandsfoot Castle, 166, 178
Saxon Architecture—
Ealdhelm, Chapels of St., 48-50
Corfe Castle, 48
Martinstown, 48
Tarrant Rushton, 48, 49
Toller Fratrum, 48
Wareham, 47, 48
Worth Matravers, 48
Saxon Fonts at—
Martinstown, 48
Toller Fratrum, 48
Saxon Invaders, 5
Scott, Sir Gilbert, 96
Screen at West Stafford, Jacobean, 57
Sepulchral Pottery, 22
Seymour, Jane, 182
Shaftesbury, 2, 10, 11, 240, 286
Sherborne, 7, 287
Sherborne Abbey, 44, 79, 94, 102
—— Abbots of—
Barnstaple, John, last Abbot, 85
Bradford, William, 77, 81, 83
Brunyng, John, 81
Mere, 77
Ramsam, Peter, 77, 81
Roger of Caen, 79
Sherborne Almshouse, 81, 92
Sherborne, Bishops of—
Alfwold, St., 77
Asser, the Biographer, 77
Ealdhelm, St., first Bishop of Western Wessex, 75, 87
Ealhstan, Bishop, 77
Heahmund, St., 77
Werstan, 77
Wulfsy, St., 77
—— Castle, 40, 90, 92
—— Parish Church, All Hallows, 79, 81, 82, 84, 85
—— School, 86, 87
Smuggling at Purbeck Isle, 194
Solomon, King, 241
Somerset, Protector, 78
Southey’s _Naval History of England_, 231
Stalbridge, 85
—— Church, Monument in, 59
Standley, Headstone of Peter, 261
Steepleton Down, 25
Stephen and Maud, Wars of, 8
Stinsford, 155, 287
de Stokes, Abbot William, 99
Stone Altar at Corton Chapel, 56
Stone Circles, 20
Stone Pulpit at Frampton, 56
Stone, Rev. William, 128
Stour Valley, 3
Stower, East and West, 276
Strangways, Sir John, 12
Stratton, 35
Studland, Old-world Village of, 197
Sturminster Newton, 246, 281, 283
Superstitions, Dorset, 292
—— Portland, 186
Sutton Poyntz, 288
Swanage Bay, 2, 7, 29, 30, 289
—— —— Round Barrows at, 22
—— Description of, 195
—— Path known as Priestway to, 192, 193
Swegen, or Sweyn, King, 8, 76, 146
Sydenham, Captain, 210, 212, 213, 223
Sydenham’s _History of Poole_, 228
de Sydelinge, Abbot Walter, 99
Sydling, Round Barrows at, 22
Tarrant Rushton Church, Restoration of, 57
Tesselated Floors—
Creech, 38
Dorchester, 38, 39, 42
Fifehead Neville, 38, 41, 42
Frampton, 38, 40
Halstock, 38
Hemsworth, 38
Lenthay Green, 38, 40
Maiden Castle, 38, 40
Preston, 38, 39
Rampisham, 38
Thornford, 38
—— Pavements, Description of, 38
Teutonic Invaders, 5
Thompson, Sir Peter, 226
Thorncombe, 131, 144
Thornhill, Sir James, 174
Timber Roof, Bere Regis, 60
Tokens, Weymouth Tradesmen’s, 169
Town Cellars at Poole, 229
Tradesmen’s Tokens, Weymouth, 169
Tregonwell, Sir John, 96, 100
Trenchard Family, 264, 265, 267, 269
—— Sir Thomas, 208, 271
Trent Manor House, 11, 14
Treves, Sir Frederick, 109
Trinity Church, Dorchester, 147
Turberville, George, 273
Turnworth House, 289
Vale of Blackmore, 2, 250, 282, 286
Var, or Frome, river bearing two names, 117
Vespasian, 29, 30
Via Principalis, 34
Village of East Lulworth, 190
Vindogladia, Station at, 35, 36
Walburga, or Walpurgis, St., 119
Walpole, Horace, 277
Wareham, 7-10, 188, 202, 203, 208, 213, 214, 232, 233, 243, 286, 287
—— Castle, 200
—— Cast-lead Font at St. Mary’s, 55
—— Lady St. Mary’s Church, 188
Warne, Charles, 20, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30-32, 35, 36, 108
Wars of the Roses, 9
—— of Stephen and Maud, 8
Waterson, 260, 288
Warwick, King-maker, 9
Wedding, Description of old-time Portland, 185
Weld Family, 271
Wesley, Bartholomew, 13
West Bay, 232, 289
West Chelborough, Curious Monument at, 58
—— Stafford, Jacobean Screen at, 57
—— Stower, 276
Weymouth, 2, 12, 30, 110, 157, 208, 213, 215, 232, 270, 271, 289
—— Bay, 2, 109
—— Margaret, wife of Henry VI., at, 9
Whitchurch Canonicorum, Tombstone at, 168
Whitcombe, 108, 281
White, Rev. John, 147
Whitecliff, Manor House of, 196
Wildman, W. B., 5
William III., 92
Wim, or Allen, river with two names, 117
Wimborne, 7, 274
—— Minster, 36, 44, 94, 117, 120
—— —— Effigy in, 57
—— Round Barrows near, 22
—— St. Giles, 117
Winfrith, 290
Winterborne Whitchurch, 273
Witchcraft, Credence in, 293
Witch-doctor, Conjurer or, 294
Wolfeton House, 155, 264
Wolsey, Cardinal, 81
Woodbury, Roman Occupation of, 31
—— Hill, 287
Woodyates, 5, 34
Woolland, 108
Wool Manor House, 288
Wor Barrow, 21
Worth “Club walking day,” 51
Worth Matravers Church, 192, 193
Wordsworth at Racedown, 278, 291
Wren, Sir Christopher, 176
Wyke Regis, 160, 181, 232
Wyndham, Colonel Francis, 11
Young, Edward, 275
Zouche, Elizabeth, last Abbess of Shaftesbury, 245
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SMITHARD, The late EARL OF LIVERPOOL, Rev. F. C. HIPKINS, M.A.,
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] One of these was the Rev. Mr. Bravel, Rector of Compton Abbas.
[2] _Proceedings of the Dorset Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field Club_,
vol. v., p. 99.
[3] _The Dynasts_, part i., p. 179.
[4] _Excavations in Cranborne Chase_, by Lieut.-General Pitt-Rivers,
F.R.S., vol. ii., p. 62.
[5] _Excavations in Cranborne Chase_, by Lieut.-General Pitt-Rivers,
vol. iv., pp. 62-100.
[6] _Excavations in Cranborne Chase_, by Lieut.-General Pitt-Rivers,
vol. iv., p. 144.
[7] _Jour. of the Anthropolog. Inst._, vol. xxxii., p. 373.
[8] _Guide to Antiquities of Bronze Age in Brit. Mus._, by C. H. Read,
F.S.A., p. 45.
[9] _Proceedings Dorset Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field Club_, vol.
xxvi., p. 18.
[10] _British Barrows_, by Greenwell and Rolleston, p. 81.
[11] _Celtic Tumuli of Dorset_, by Charles Warne, F.S.A., p. 37.
[12] _Ibid._, p. 18.
[13] _Proceedings of Dorset Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field Club_,
vol. xxvi., p. 15.
[14] _Ibid._, p. 10.
[15] Pronounced U-ern or You-ern.
[16] “The Levelled Churchyard,” in _Poems of the Past and Present_.
[17] The heads of religious houses, being landowners, suffered
financially, as other landowners did, from the great increase in wages
that farm labourers were able to demand, because so many labourers
having died, the supply fell far short of the demand.
[18] Showing the horned head dress and gown, the whole almost identical
in outline and size with the Alyanora Pollard effigy, 1430, at Bishop’s
Nympton, Devon.
[19] Extract from the Stratton Churchwardens’ Account, 1753, April
26th—“Two brasses not wey’d at 7d. p. pound sopos’d to wey 12 pound
they wey’d but 9 lbs. 0.5.3.” There are no brasses at Stratton now.
[20] According to tradition, a Knight of Malta.
[21] This James Russell was the father of John Russell of Berwick,
K.G., created Baron Russell of Cheneys, 1538-9, and Earl of Bedford,
1550.
[22] A coffin chalice and paten have, within recent years, been
discovered at Milton Abbey and Abbotsbury.
[23] One of these Norman fragments was sent in 1904, as a relic, to the
parish church of Milton, near Boston, Massachusetts. The American town
of Milton, incorporated in 1662, was named after Milton, in Dorset, and
the crest on its corporate seal is a reproduction of the west front of
Milton Abbey (see illustration at the end of this chapter).
[24] It is curious that the first Abbot and the last Abbot of Milton
should have become bishops, while none of the intervening abbots were
raised to the episcopate. It is true that in 1261 William de Taunton,
Abbot of Milton, was elected to the bishopric of Winchester, but he
desisted from his right. A Milton monk, however, in 1292, filled the
See of Salisbury (Nicholas Longspée); and Thomas Jan, a native of
Milton, became Bishop of Norwich in 1499.
[25] In the thirteenth century seal of the Abbey “the Church of
Midelton” is also represented with three spires.
[26] See Dorset Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field Club’s _Proceedings_,
vol. xxvi., 201 ff.
[27] This inscription is discussed in the Dorset Nat. Hist. and
Antiquarian Field Club’s _Proceedings_, vol. xxv., 191 ff. It announces
an indulgence to those passers-by who pray for the soul of the deceased
abbot (possibly William de Stokes, who died in 1256).
[28] A full description of these brasses appeared in _The Antiquary_
for March, 1904.
[29] A full account of this incident and of the bequest appears in
Heath and Prideaux’s _Some Dorset Manor Houses_, pp. 199, 200.
[30] In connection with the glass in the windows of Milton Abbey, it
may be of interest to add the tradition that John Milton “planned” his
_Il Penseroso_ at Milton, and that the following lines in the poem are
supposed to have been suggested to him by the Abbey Church:
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister’s pale,
And love the high embowèd roof
With antic pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight
Casting a dim religious light;
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voicèd quire below,
In service high and anthems clear
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heav’n before mine eyes.
[31] A full description of this glass (_temp._ Henry VII.) appeared in
_The Antiquary_ for May, 1907.
[32] A full description of these burial relics appeared in _The
Antiquary_ for July, 1905.
[33] It is possible that Athelstan found a Celtic sanctuary at Milton
dedicated to these two Celtic bishops, and retained the dedications
for his new minster in order to conciliate the vanquished race. Such a
graceful act would be quite in keeping with the King’s imperial maxim:
“_Gloriosus regem facere quam regem esse_.”
[34] This thirteenth century inscription is discussed in the Dorset
Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field Club’s _Proceedings_, vol. xxv., 187
ff. One wonders if this indulgence was granted by Robert Kilwarby,
Archbishop of Canterbury, on the occasion of his visit to Milton Abbey
in 1277. The indulgence was offered, presumably, to those who would
contribute to the fabric fund of the chapel.
[35] A full account of Liscombe appeared in the Dorset Nat. Hist. and
Antiquarian Field Club’s _Proceedings_, vol. xxvi., 1 ff.
[36] The loneliness of Holworth has also been remarked upon by Thomas
Hardy in his smuggling story, “The Distracted Preacher” (_Wessex
Tales_). Such a lonely spot, with its under-cliff sheltered by “White
Nose”—the great white promontory jutting like an enormous Wellington
nose into the sea—naturally attracted smugglers, who, as tradition
says, hid their goods in the tower of the neighbouring parish church
of Owermoigne. In this church there is an interesting inscription
recording the will of “Adam Jones of Holworth, in the parish of
Abbotsmilton” (_sic_), 1653.
[37] See Mary Craven’s _Famous Beauties of Two Reigns_, pp. 141-151.
[38] See _Old Milton_, and Dorset Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field
Club’s _Proceedings_, vol. xxv., 1 ff.
[39] Zanchy Harvyn, grocer, of “Abby Milton,” was the second tradesman
in Dorset to issue a “token” (1651).
[40] See _Milton Abbey Marriage Registers_, in Phillimore’s “Dorset”
series. But during the years 1657-8 the banns of some of the more
zealous church-people were published in the church.
[41] See Alfred Pope’s _The Old Stone Crosses of Dorset_, pp. 69-71.
[42] See _Milton Abbey and its School_, chap. ii.
[43] See Broadley and Bartelot’s _The Three Dorset Captains at
Trafalgar_, p. 124.
[44] During Hutchins’ residence at Milton, the Lord of the Manor (Mr.
Jacob Bancks, M.P.) employed him to make some antiquarian researches
concerning Sir John Tregonwell; and while making these researches
Hutchins conceived the idea of writing a book on the antiquities of
Dorset. He began to collect materials, and at Milton laid the plan
of his monumental history. His wife, Ann Stephens, is described in
the Melcombe Bingham marriage registers as belonging to the parish of
Milton.
[45] This fight between squire and people recalls Thomas Hardy’s
allusion, in _The Woodlanders_, to “Middleton Abbey” as being a place
where one might gain strength, “particularly strength of mind.”
[46] A full account of these “ruins” appeared in the Dorset Nat. Hist.
and Antiquarian Field Club’s _Proceedings_, vol. xxvi., 195 ff.
[47] “The Abbot at incredible expense is now restoring the monastery
most gloriously.”
[48] Engraved in Oliver’s _Monasticon Diocesis Exoniensis_.
[49] The writer has used, among other books, the _Guides_ of Savage and
Young, Mrs. Frampton’s _Journal_, and his brother Mr. H. J. Moule’s
_Old Dorset_ and _Dorchester Antiquities_.
[50] One part of that house is the oldest piece of inhabited building
in the borough.
[51] Spring, 1907.
[52] On the site of this chapel Mr. Ellis dug up some beautiful pieces
of fourteenth-century Gothic work.
[53] This bridge was finished in 1824, at a cost of £20,000.
[54] “The Problem of Lynchets,” Dorset Nat. Hist. and Antiquarian Field
Club’s _Proceedings_, vol. xxiv.
[55] _Jude the Obscure_, p. 249.
[56] This prophecy is thought to have been fulfilled when the son of
Edmund Tudor, a Welshman, ascended the throne as Henry VII.
[57] This dedication is curious. St. Rumbold was the son of a
Northumbrian King, and of a daughter of Penda, King of Mercia, born
at Sutton, in Northamptonshire; he died when three days old, but not
before he had repeated the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostles’ Creed in
Latin. This fact gained canonization for him.
[58] This has given the colloquial name of “the Rock” to Shaftesbury.
Those who live in the town are spoken of as coming from the Rock; those
who dwell in the villages below it are spoken of as “Side off” the Rock.
[59] The Abbey of Alcester was founded in 1140 by Ralf Boteler, and a
document exists by which one William le Boteler, of Wem, grants to the
Abbey 100 shillings per annum, derived from land in the parish of St.
James, Shaftesbury, to pay for masses for his own soul and that of the
King (7th year of Henry IV.). This is only a confirmation of a previous
gift.
[60] _Jude the Obscure_, p. 313.
[61] Of the poet “George Turberville, gentleman,” not much is known.
He was born at Winterborne Whitchurch, probably before 1530, and died
after 1594. Besides a book on falconry and numerous translations, he
wrote a good many occasional poems, though none of great length.
Sir Walter Ralegh, a Devonshire man, was connected with Sherborne, for
it was here that he and his wife, Elizabeth Throgmorton, settled, and
in January, 1591-2, had obtained a ninety-nine years’ lease of the
castle and park. Here he busied himself with building and “repairing
the castle, erecting a magnificent mansion close at hand, and laying
out the grounds with the greatest refinement and taste.” The castle now
occupied by the Digby family is in part the lodge built by Sir Walter,
and over the central doorway appear his arms, and the date, 1594.
Before his conviction he settled his estate on his son, but by a flaw
in the deed James I. took it from him, and granted it to his favourite,
Carr, Earl of Somerset. It is said that Lady Ralegh asked the King on
her knees to spare her son’s heritage, but that the King’s only answer
was, “I maun hae the lond; I maun hae it for Carr.” On Sir Walter’s
journey to the Tower, he passed in full view of Sherborne, and said,
motioning with his hands towards the woodlands and the castle, “All
this was once mine, but has passed away.”
[62] About 1727 one Prior, of Godmanston, a labouring man, declared to
a company, in the presence of Mr. Hutchins, that he was Mr. Prior’s
cousin, and remembered going to Wimborne to visit him, and afterwards
heard that he became a great man.—Hutchins’ _Dorset_.
[63] _Longman’s Magazine_, October, 1884.
[64] The collection of books to which the _History of the World_
belongs was given to the town in 1686, many years after Prior had left
Wimborne. See the _Contemporary Review_, May, 1890.
[65] It is probable that Prior’s parents were Nonconformists. We are
told that before a dissenting chapel was built in the town the people
met for worship in a barn in the neighbouring hamlet of Cowgrove. To
this Prior seems to allude in his epistle to Fleetwood Shepherd:
At pure Barn of loud Non-con
Where with my granam I have gone.
[66] He wrote occasional verse, and when Young addressed his third
satire to Dodington, he received verses from Dodington in return.
[67] Christopher Pitt (d. 1748) was rector of Pimperne, not far from
Eastbury. He translated the _Æneid_.
[68] At Eastbury he slept on a bed encanopied with peacocks’ feathers,
“in the style of Mrs. Montague.”—Cumberland’s _Memoirs_.
[69] This was pulled down in 1835, and rebuilt.
[70] Hutchins writes that “the house where Oliver lived seemed to
accord with Fielding’s description,” and an old woman who remembered
Oliver said “that he dearly loved a bit of good victuals and a drop of
drink.”—_History of Dorset._
[71] William Crowe (1745-1829). In 1782, on the presentation of New
College, he was admitted to the rectory of Stoke Abbot, in Dorset,
which he exchanged for Alton Barnes, in Wiltshire, in 1787. Lewesdon
Hill lies near his Dorset benefice. The first edition of _Lewesdon
Hill_ was published anonymously in 1788.
[72] Thomas Fuller was presented to the rectory of Broadwindsor by his
uncle, Bishop Davenant. He was ousted at the Rebellion; but he returned
to it at the Restoration, and held the living until his death in 1661.
[73] At Racedown, Wordsworth finished _Guilt and Sorrow_, composed
the tragedy called _The Borderers_, and some personal satires which
he never published. Lastly, he wrote _The Ruined Cottage_, now
incorporated in the first book of _The Excursion_.
[74] In Wordsworth’s own account, “Towards the close of the first book
stand the lines that were first written, beginning, ‘Nine tedious
years,’ and ending, ‘Last human tenant of these ruined walls.’ These
were composed in 1795 at Racedown; and for several passages describing
the employment and demeanour of Margaret during her affliction, I
am indebted to observations made in Dorsetshire, and afterwards at
Alfoxden, in Somersetshire.”
[75] From an unpublished letter to Wrangham, _The Athenæum_, 8th
December, 1894, quoted in _The Early Life of Wordsworth_ (1770-1798),
by Emile Legouis.
[76] It was noteworthy how he would eschew all the evil in newspapers;
no theft or murder could ever be read to him.—_Life of William Barnes_,
Leader Scott.
[77] William Barnes (1801-1886) was born at Rushay, in the hamlet
of Bagber. He was the grandson of John Barnes, yeoman farmer, of
Gillingham, and the son of John Barnes, tenant farmer, in the Vale
of Blackmore. (A direct ancestor, John Barnes, was head-borough of
Gillingham in 1604.) In 1835 he settled at Dorchester, and kept a
school. In 1847 he was ordained, and lived at Whitcombe, Dorset. In
1862 he became Rector of Came, where he died.
[78] Thomas Hardy was born at Higher Bockhampton, near Dorchester, on
June 2nd, 1840. In his seventeenth year he was articled to a Mr. Hicks,
an ecclesiastical architect of Dorchester, to whom the restoration
of many of the old South Dorset churches was entrusted. In 1862 he
went to London, and became an assistant to Sir Arthur Blomfield, R.A.
In 1874 he married Miss Emma Lavinia Gifford, niece of Dr. Gifford,
Archdeacon of London, and formerly headmaster of King Edward’s School,
Birmingham. Before taking up their residence at Dorchester, Mr. and
Mrs. Hardy lived at Riverside, Sturminster Newton—the “Stourcastle” of
the novels—and then at Wimborne, and finally settled at “Max Gate,”
Dorchester, in 1885.
[79] It is noteworthy that sometimes the name of a village or town
appears in the name of some character living in it, as, for instance,
Jude Fawley lives in “Marygreen,” which we may identify with the
village of Fawley, in Hants.; and the name of the schoolmaster of
“Leddenton” (really the Dorset town of Gillingham) is Gillingham.
[80] Wareham is called Southerton in the earlier editions of _The
Return of the Native_.
[81] C. G. Harper’s _The Hardy Country_.
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