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.