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.