Chapter VII: Part 7

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.