creeks and mudflats of Poole Harbour spread out like a map, and
contrast their warm greens with the silvery tones of the great
harbour. A brief description of Poole is given in one of the short
stories of _Life's Little Ironies_, where it figures beneath the
thin disguise of "Havenpool".
[Illustration: POOLE HARBOUR FROM STUDLAND]
During the smuggling days Poole, together with the majority of these
south-country ports, enjoyed a very unenviable reputation, and was the
home of the celebrated Harry Paye, or "Arripay" as the Spaniards who
so dreaded him rendered the name, who is said to have brought into
Poole Harbour, on one occasion, more than one hundred prizes from the
ports of Brittany, and "to have scoured the channel of Flanders so
powerfully that no ship could pass that way without being taken".
Poole has retained quite a number of its ancient domestic buildings,
including the problematical fifteenth-century structure known as the
"Town Cellars"; but nothing is known with regard to the purposes for
which it was originally erected. Some antiquaries believe it to have
been connected with the Guild of St. George, others hold that it was
used as a manorial storehouse, wherein were deposited the goods left
by the lord of the manor. Michael Drayton in his _Polyolbion_ depicts
the rivers Frome and Puddle as entertaining each other, "oft praising
lovely Poole, their best beloved bay"; and in truth Poole Harbour is
charming at any state of the tide. It has been the haunt of the
painter since the days when Turner found such uncommon sources of
inspiration along the shores of its wooded creeks, and counterfeit
presentments of this Dorset lakeland hang on the walls of many a
European picture gallery. Exclusive of all islands the area of this
vast sea-lake is ten thousand acres, while it has been calculated that
thirty-six million tons of water flow into and out of the narrow
entrance at every spring tide.
The sheet of water is studded with wooded islands that add not a
little to its manifold charms. The most considerable of these islands
are Branksea or Brownsea, Fursey, Long, Round, and Green Islands.
For the pedestrian there is a delightful walk along the edge of the
water to Haven Point with its Marconi installation, thence by way of
cliff and chine to Bournemouth; but the beauties of this great salt
lake are only fully revealed to those who woo them from the water.
By means of a motor launch, with a dinghy in tow for landing purposes,
a thorough exploration can be made of such little-known spots as
Pergins' Island, with its clumps of fir trees, Hole's and Lychett
Bays.
Another charming water trip is by way of that arm of the harbour where
there is a confluence of three waters--the creek of Middlebere; the
Corfe river, that debouches at Wych Passage House, the ancient port of
Corfe Castle; and the Upper Bushey. As someone has fittingly said:
"All will agree that a fairer sight than the panorama of Poole and its
much-fretted and freakish harbour one would have to go far to see!"
The still meadows that lie around this landlocked haven are green with
the growth of centuries; and over the golden corn waving freely on the
upland slopes, or above the lavender fields of Broadstone, the lark in
summer air is singing. Quietly, with clear spaces of light above them,
in silver lapses under the darkening trees, the little rivers thread
the fertile valleys, and the Frome runs eastwards from Dorchester,
linking, as with a liquid thread, the far-famed county town with the
equally ancient maritime port of Wareham.
If this land of Purbeck as a whole has altered but little since the
days when our Norman rulers made it a happy hunting ground, its people
have changed still less, and its distinctive class--the marblers or
quarriers--have been practically unaffected by the tide of
civilization that has affected the rest of the county in thought,
dress, and customs.
The working of Purbeck marble is one of the oldest industries in the
country, for the material was used by the Romans for the lining of
sepulchral cists, and in later days it was in great demand for the
fashioning of effigies, monuments, pillars, and similar architectural
adornments. From Purbeck came the stone for some of the gates of
London, for the Cross at Charing, for the abbeys of Westminster and
Bindon, and for many portions of the cathedrals of Exeter, Salisbury,
and Winchester.
It is a matter for regret that the early history of the Purbeck
quarriers is obscure, owing largely to the records of the company
having been destroyed by a fire at Corfe Castle. It is generally
agreed, however, that they are of Norman descent, for certain names
indicative of French origin are still very common among the natives of
Corfe and Swanage. Although the trade is a declining one, a good deal
of quarrying for the rougher kinds of stone is still carried on by the
"Company of Marblers of the Isle of Purbeck". No one but the son of a
freeman can become a member of this ancient association, though a
freeman's wife is made a freewoman on payment of a shilling--the
"marriage shilling" as it is called--so that she may be able to carry
on the work should she outlive her husband. One of the articles of the
guild, and one that is still rigidly enforced, is that not even a
day's work shall be given to a non-member. Some serious disturbances
have taken place when attempts have been made to introduce "outside"
labour. The most important right claimed by the marblers, the right to
enter on any man's land and work the stone, has not been conceded for
many years. The natives assert that this concession was granted to
them by royal charter, but it is doubtful if their claim could be
legally enforced at the present time. The admission of apprentices is
governed by a number of curious laws. A "free boy" may enter the
quarries and work without being bound, and until he attains his
majority he is subject to his father, to whom his wages are supposed
to belong by right.
It is to be hoped that the demand for the stone will continue, and
that the "Company of Purbeck Marblers" will long remain a link with
the dim and distant past.
While in the neighbourhood of Poole the tourist should not fail to
visit Wimborne, with its magnificent minster, and Bournemouth, which
latter, although just beyond the eastern boundary of Dorset, was the
town (Sandbourne) where was enacted almost the final scene of Mr.
Hardy's great drama of _Tess_:
"This fashionable watering-place, with its eastern and its western
stations, its piers, its groves of pines, its promenades, and its
covered gardens, was, to Angel Clare, like a fairy place suddenly
created by the stroke of a wand, and allowed to get a little
dusty. An outlying tract of the enormous Egdon Waste was close at
hand, yet on the very verge of that tawny piece of antiquity such
a glittering novelty as this pleasure city had chosen to spring
up. Within the space of a mile from its outskirts every
irregularity of the soil was prehistoric; every channel an
undisturbed British trackway; not a sod having been turned there
since the days of the Cæsars. Yet the exotic had grown here,
suddenly as the prophet's gourd; and had drawn hither Tess. By the
midnight lamps he went up and down the winding ways of this new
world in an old one, and could discern between the trees and
against the stars the lofty roofs, chimneys, gazebos, and towers
of the numerous fanciful residences of which the place was
composed. It was a city of detached mansions; a Mediterranean
lounging-place on the English Channel; and as seen now by night it
seemed even more imposing than it was. The sea was near at hand,
but not intrusive; it murmured, and he thought it was the pines;
the pines murmured in precisely the same tones, and he thought
they were the sea."
Space fails one to trace the boundaries of the re-created Wessex
any further. Very rightly, very thoroughly has the novelist _par
excellence_ of our day, appreciated all the nobleness and all the
poetry that lies within the area of his chosen _mise en scène_.
Not the least of the services which Mr. Thomas Hardy has rendered us,
perhaps even to be prized more than his faithful portraying of rustic
character, is his thus revivifying, and by consequence exciting the
popular taste for and delight in so interesting a portion of our
English homeland.
Nor let it be forgotten that his novels are not altogether fictitious,
but are impregnated with authentic social and national history. There
is truth enough in his works of fiction to make him a famous
historian, omitting altogether what belongs to the proper region of
romance.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_At the Villafield Press, Glasgow, Scotland_
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as
printed.
Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_.
The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby
placed in the public domain.