Part 13
A still darker experience than that of war awaited Dorchester not long after. When Monmouth fought at Sedgemoor (1685) our Dorset peasants were among the bravest of his rude but heroic army. And when the abortive rising was over, the Bloody Assizes began, and Jeffreys sat at Dorchester. His lodgings are still shown, the most striking house-front in the town, with its black timbers and long, low windows; and still, in the Town Hall, is kept the chair from which the terrible Chief Justice, in a court hung with red, dealt out death with grim smiles and ghastly jests. Nearly three hundred men, told that it was their only hope, pleaded guilty, but for most of them the only result was a few days’ respite. Seventy-four were executed at Dorchester, with all the horrible circumstances of death for treason. For years afterwards grim human relics of that evil time still clung to the railings round St. Peter’s, greeting the entering worshippers.
This was not quite the last scene of horror at Dorchester, though it was alone in its dreadful kind. As late as within the eighteenth century an unhappy woman, convicted of the murder of her husband, was hanged and then burned within Maumbury, amidst a vast gazing multitude.
It is a relief to think that about the same time the town put on a beauty of a sort unique, I think, in England. The walls had somehow largely disappeared within the last half of the seventeenth century; and now it was proposed to plant double rows of trees all along the line of their foundations. By 1712 the planting was complete, and for nearly two complete centuries Dorchester has been surrounded by the noble range of avenues which we call The Walks, renewed from time to time, and kept with increasing care. From close to Glide Path Hill (“Glippath”) the visitor can walk under long successive aisles of sycamores or chestnuts on a well-laid gravel road, now facing east, now south, now west, now north, till he finds himself close to the foot of High Street, within ten minutes of his point of departure. I have seen the noble avenues at King’s Lynn, and those of the Backs at Cambridge are only less dear to me than our Walks. But I do not think that anything even there can quite equal these bowery ramparts of our ancient town—certainly not when we put together the natural charm and the historical interest.
The Walks were still young about the year 1730, when a poet, in the course of a tour from London to Exeter with a group of friends, rode through Dorchester. It was Pope’s intimate, John Gay. The travellers first saw the town, of course, from Stinsford Hill, over a foreground which then, no doubt, was less full of trees. The reaches of the Frome and the broad water-meadows pleased Gay, as well they might, and in his delightful verse-journal we read his impression:
Now the steep hill fair Dorchester o’erlooks, Border’d by meads and wash’d by silver brooks.
In 1762 we find recorded as noteworthy the paving and fencing of a side-walk in the lower High Street; and in 1774 came the first public lighting of the streets. A decade later Miss Burney (Mme. D’Arblay) gives a lively picture of Dorchester as she saw it when travelling in the suite of George III. to Weymouth: “The city had so antique an air, I longed to investigate its old buildings. The houses have the most ancient appearance of any that are inhabited that I have happened to see; and inhabited they were indeed! There was an amazing quantity of indigenous residers—old women and young children,” who, as she shrewdly remarks, could not have come in from a distance, and so formed an index of population. Yet the town could not have counted then more than 3,000 inhabitants. It contains now just 10,500.
We reach at last the nineteenth century. The town, like the county, and like all rural England, was in grave alarm in 1830 at the time of the “rick-burnings.” Mrs. Mary Frampton’s _Journal_ speaks much of the scenes of riot and of wild alarms. I possess letters written by my mother, then the young mistress of Fordington Vicarage,[50] in which she speaks of the nightly watch and ward kept all around, and of her husband’s active share in it, and the relief, under the terrible strain, which was given by the friendly attitude of Fordington towards him. Just later the Frampton _Journal_ describes the battle royal of an election scene on Poundbury (Pummery, as I must be allowed still to call it), when the greatest of all Dorset’s sons, the seventh Earl of Shaftesbury, then Lord Ashley, stood for the county.
That date brings me to times only a little previous to my own memory, and well within the memory of my brothers and friends, and familiar of course to my father, who from 1829 to 1880, as Vicar of Fordington, laboured alike for the spiritual and social good of his parishioners. I may be allowed to close my narrative with a small sheaf of reminiscences from his and other memories. Then, after a brief glance of the mind’s eye over my native town, my task of love is done.
My father knew very old people who “remembered when rooms were first carpeted at Dorchester.” One aged parishioner could recall the change of style in the calendar in 1752; the children were taken to _a stile_ in the Great Field as a memento. He and my mother saw, from Maumbury, about 1832, the Princess Victoria with her mother, passing in their carriage on the way to Weymouth. My brother, since 1880 Bishop in Mid-China, recalls the bringing into the town, in carts, about 1834, of loads of saplings sent to be planted along the London Road; and a noble avenue they made, which now, alas! is no more than a relic of itself.
I just remember the days of the stage coaches in Dorchester. I see the old _Emerald_ still, and hear the bugle of the guard. In 1852 I travelled by coach to Dorchester from Bath. And how vividly I can see the excitement of the crowd on the arrival of the first South-Western train, in 1847! An old woman still runs across my field of view, crying out: “There, I did never zee a coach avore goo wi’out ’osses!” I remember, two years later, Prince Albert’s arrival at the station, where he took carriage for Weymouth, there to lay the first stone of the Breakwater. Very vividly I recall the thousands of lamps festooned along the Walks to illuminate an entertainment for old people after the Crimean peace. Two years earlier, a few weeks before the Alma, I remember the awful outburst of the cholera in Fordington; it was brought from London in tainted clothing which was sent to the wash in a Fordington cottage. My father “stood between the dead and the living” at that dark time, and, with admirable assistance, was able, under God, to bar the pestilence from entering the town.
But I must not ramble further into narrative. Dorchester, with its integral neighbour, Fordington (incorporated into the borough in 1835), is very dear to my heart, and it is not easy to put narrow limits upon reminiscence. Yet scarcely a word has been said here about our chief architectural features of the place. I have but named Trinity Church, the third structure in succession to that which perished in 1613, as All Saints’ Church is the second in like sequence—All Saints’, whose fine spire, raised in 1852, gave a wholly new feature to the town. St. Peter’s is the ecclesiastical crown of Dorchester—a noble Perpendicular church, with a dignified tower, vocal with eight fine bells; in its churchyard stands a bronze statue of our Dorset poet, William Barnes. At the head of High Street, where the tree-vaulted Bridport road runs out westward, stands the modern St. Mary’s, the church of West Fordington; the pretty original church, Christ Church, now the chapel of the Artillery Barracks, was built by my father’s efforts in 1847, when the parish was divided from old Fordington. The County Hall and Town Hall are leading features of the High Street. The present Town Hall, in 1849, took the place of a building visible still to my memory, under which opened an archway leading into North Square, and which itself succeeded, in 1791, “The Cupola,” near the Town Pump. The Museum, where my brother, Henry Moule, long superintended and developed the excellent geological and antiquarian collections, is a handsome modern feature of the middle High Street; it stands at a point where, almost within the oldest living memory, projecting houses so narrowed the roadway that the stage-coach could pass up and down only with great caution. The County Hospital, founded in 1841, has grown into abundant usefulness, and makes, with its beautiful little chapel, a dignified feature of the place. In South Street the quaint front of the “Napper’s Mite” almshouses, and the Grammar School, are conspicuous.
With Fordington Church, St. George’s, let me close. As I write[51] it is about to be largely rebuilt, for Fordington has grown fast; and the north aisle of 1833 is, indeed, very far from beautiful. But, whilst I rejoice that space and form should be added to the church, my mind must still and always see it as it was, with its simple chancel of 1750; its rude, partly Norman, north aisle; its pulpit of 1592, now approached by a rood-stair re-opened in 1863; its remarkable eleventh century _tympanum_ at the south door, which shows (probably) St. George routing the Saracens at Antioch, in armour of the Bayeux type; and its very noble fifteenth century tower, a model of proportion. Let us climb that tower, by the stairs familiar to me all my days, and from it bid farewell to Dorchester. Beautiful is the prospect, near and far. Below us lies the spacious churchyard, a burial-place, in parts, ever since the Roman period. Westward you see Dorchester, tower, spire, and bowery Walks, with Poundbury beyond them. South-westward lies expanded the vast field of Fordington, which till 1870 was unbroken by fence, and was tilled by the farmers on a system of annual exchange, older, probably, than the Christian era. Beyond it stretches the green, massive rampart of Maiden Castle, and, more distant still, the aerial dome of Blackdown, crowned by the monumental tower which commemorates Nelson’s Hardy. North-westward we can almost see beautiful Wolfeton House, cradle of the greatness of the Bedfords. Northward, we look down on the roofs and lanes of dear old Fordington; and eastward lie the long, fair levels of the Swingbridge meadows, where Frome is sluiced into hundreds of channels, bright with living water. The bowery slopes of Stinsford and Kingston flank the meadows; and then, eastward, the broad valley leads the eye away to the vanishing yet abiding line of the Purbecks, a cloud of tenderest blue. South-eastward, over the village and its bartons, the woods of Came appear, and the sea-ridge runs above them with its long line of Danish burial-mounds. Almost in sight are Max Gate, the home of Mr. Hardy, our renowned novelist, and the thatched roof of Came Rectory, once the home of our poet, William Barnes—deep student, true pastor, clear and tender seer of nature and of man.
O fields and streams, another race Already comes to take our place, To claim their right in you, Our homes to hold, our walks to rove— But who shall love you with our love, Shall know you as we knew?
WEYMOUTH
BY SIDNEY HEATH
It has become customary in recent years for topographical and other writers to depict Weymouth, if not exactly as a town of mushroom growth, at least as one whose history and antiquity date no further back than from the time when George III. found its salubrious air so suited to his health. True, the aspect of the modern town has little left of its pre-Georgian days to tempt the archæologist or allure the casual literary worker; but a few hours spent among the old records of the town would speedily remove this first impression of modernity, and convince even the most sceptical antiquary that the old town of Weymouth is one of the most ancient in the county of Dorset. The casual visitor may, therefore, be forgiven his impression that Weymouth was founded by George III.; for so nearly were the older buildings swept away at the time of this royal invasion that even loyal Weymouth citizens now find it difficult to realise how living a thing was the ancient past of their town, since whatever was left untouched by the Georgian builders has been well-nigh destroyed in more recent times to make way for what is called modern convenience and improvement.
The word Weymouth is derived directly from the Saxon “Waegemuth,” _waeg_ meaning a wave, that is the sea; and _mutha_, an opening. The Celtic name for the river Wey, allied to the Welsh word _gwy_, meaning water, seems to have caused some confusion in the Saxon mind, and have led them to regard the mouth of the estuary (the Backwater) as the inlet of the sea rather than the outlet of a small stream.
The earliest beginnings of the town are lost in obscurity; yet, even if we are not prepared to accept the assertion of certain historians that the Tyrian and Phœnician merchants traded here in their numerous visits to these shores, we have evidence of a more than respectable antiquity in some traces and memorials of the Roman occupation, in the way of roads, coins, and pottery; while at Preston, an almost adjoining village, remains of a Roman villa may still be seen, and considerable Roman remains have been found at Radipole.
There are very few records or official documents antecedent to the reign of William I., and naturally many chasms occur in the continuity of the recorded history of Weymouth. The earliest mention of the place is in Saxon annals, which state that King Athelstan, A.D. 938, granted to the Abbey of Middleton (Milton), in Dorset, in order that masses might be said for his soul and the souls of his ancestors and successors, Kings of England:
All that water within the shore of Waymuth, and half the stream of that Waymuth out at sea: twelve acres for the support of the wear and its officer, three thaynes and a saltern by the wear, and sixty-seven hides of land in its neighbourhood.
The next mention of the place occurs in a Saxon charter of King Ethelred II., wherein the King gives land to his minister, Atsere, during his life, and licence to leave the inheritance of it as he wills. The charter is signed by the King with the sign of the cross; by Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Oswald, Archbishop of York; and the Bishops Athelwold, Living, and Hirwold. The date of this interesting document is either obliterated or was never inserted; but in 980 Dunstan was Grand-Master of the fraternity of free and accepted Masons in England, and both he and Oswald died about 988.
We find no further record of Weymouth until 1042, when Edward the Confessor caused a charge to be brought by Robert, Bishop of London, accusing his mother, Queen Emma, of consenting to the death of her son Alfred, of endeavouring to poison Edward, another of her sons, and of maintaining an infamous connection with her kinsman, Alwin, Bishop of Winton, to the King’s and her own dishonour. The Queen was ordered to purge herself by “fiery ordeal,” which she did at Winchester Cathedral in the presence of the King and his nobles; and, having passed barefooted and blindfold over nine red-hot ploughshares without harm, she was adjudged to have cleared herself of the accusations and to have furnished her accusers with an example of what female chastity is able to accomplish. The King publicly solicited his mother’s pardon; but the Church of Winton was not so easily appeased at the charge brought against its Bishop, and forced the repentant King to submit to severe penance, and to give nine manors to Holy Mother Church, accordingly—“Ex libello donatorium Wintoniæ Ecclesiæ, S. Edwardus rex, dedit Portelond, Wikes, Hellwell, et Waimuth maneriis, cum ceteris aliis, ad Wintoniæ ecclesiæ”; and this grant was confirmed by a bull of Pope Innocent II.
In _Domesday_ there are several parcels of land separately surveyed under the name of _wai_ and _waia_, with no additional name to distinguish them, and they are held by different individuals.
Henry I. granted by a charter (without date) to the Prior and Monks of St. Swithun, Winton, the ports of “Waimuth and Melecumb, with all their appurtenances, together with the manors of Wike and Portelond,” which King Edward gave them, and that they might enjoy all the liberties, wrecks, and all free customs, by sea and by land, as they had ever enjoyed them. This charter was confirmed by Henry II.
In the reign of Henry III. the manor appears to have been considered as a dependency of Wyke, and again as appertaining to Portland, but it is certain that in the early part of this reign it was granted to Henry Blois, Bishop of Winchester, and his successors, as appears by the entry on the Charter Rolls. The Bishops did not keep the manor long, for it soon became the property of the opulent family of Clare, from whom was descended Edward IV. It would be tedious to trace the varying fortunes of the Clare family, who were for centuries among the most powerful in the kingdom; and although much could be written of the subsequent holders of the manor, the following brief records must suffice for several decades:—
* * * * *
40 Edward III.—Lionel, Duke of Clarence, held the boroughs of Weymouth and Wareham, the manors of Portland and Wyke, with many others.
22 Richard II.—Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, held the borough of Weymouth, the manors of Portland and Wyke, with many others.
11 Henry V.—Anna, wife of Edward, Earl of March, held the borough of Weymouth, etc.
* * * * *
By the marriage of Ann Mortimer, sister of the Earl of March, with Richard de Conysburgh, Earl of Cambridge, the manor fell to the house of York, for their son, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, succeeded them; and in 11 Henry VI., the King granted to Richard, Duke of York, livery of Weymouth, and all the castles, manors, lands, etc., which Ann, late wife of Edmund, _Comes Marchiæ_, held in dower of the inheritance of the Duke.
The town is mentioned by Leland (1538), Coker (1630 _circa_), and Camden. The first-named writes:
The Tounlet of Waymouth lyith strait agayn Milton (Melcombe) on the other side of the haven, and at this place, the Trajectus is by a bote and a rope, bent over the haven, so that yn the fery-bote they use no ores.
In another part of the Itinerary we read:
Waiymouth Town rite agen Milton, on the other side of the Haven yt is bigger than Miltoun ys now. The Est South Est point of the Haven of Waymouth ys caulid St. Aldelm’s point, being a litl foreland. Ther ys a Chapelle by on the Hille. The Paroch Chirch ys a mile of—a Kay for shippes in the town—the Haven Mouth almost at hand. Half a mile and more to the New Castelle—an open Barbecane to the Castelle. Weimouth is counted 20 miles from Pole.
Camden states that in the reign of Edward III., the King got together a powerful army and fleet for the purpose of invading France, and the town provided twenty ships and 264 mariners for the siege of Calais; but these figures are disputed by Hackluit, who says there were but fifteen ships and 263 mariners. In March, 1347, the bailiffs of Weymouth seized all the goods, chattels, jewels, and armour of Geoffry, Earl of Harcautly, who had joined the army of the French King. In 1377 the town suffered considerably from the fleet of Charles V., when great portions of the ports of Dartmouth, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Hastings, and Weymouth were destroyed.
The next event of importance was the landing here, on April 14th, 1471, of Margaret of Anjou, the consort of Henry VI., on her return from France with her son, Prince Edward.
So the tide of history swept on, with periodical ravages from pirates and enemies, until the appearance off the harbour of a large foreign fleet of eighty sail, which had voyaged from Middleburg on January 10th, 1505, to escort Philip and Johanna to their Kingdom of Castile; but a violent hurricane caused the ships to run to Weymouth for shelter. The inhabitants, being unaware of the quality of their visitors, and alarmed at so formidable an array of vessels, speedily armed themselves, and sent word to Sir Thomas Trenchard, at Wolfeton, who, with Sir John Carew, marched into the town at the head of some hastily improvised troops. On the rank of the visitors becoming known, Sir Thomas invited them to his house at Wolfeton until he could advise the King, Henry VII., of the fortuitous circumstance. As soon as Henry had notice of the arrival of these royal visitors, he despatched the Earl of Arundel with a troop of 300 horse, carrying torches, to escort them to London.
There is much in the minor history of the town that one would fain linger over, but we must confine ourselves to those larger and more far-reaching historical events with which the old life of Weymouth was so closely bound up.
In 1544 the bailiffs of Weymouth received the following letter from the King, Henry VIII.:—
(By the King.)
Henr. R.
Trustie and well beloved, we greate you well. And whereas betweene us and the Emperor upon provocation of manyfolde injuries committed by the Frenche Kyng unto us both particularlie; And for his confederation wyth the Turke, against ye whole commonwealthe of Christendome. It ys agreede that eche of us aparte, in person, with his puissant Armie in several parties this soommer, shall invade the Realme of Fraunce; and beyng not yet furneyshed as to our honour appertayneth:—
We have appoynted you to send us the nombre of xv hable fotemen, well furneyshed for the warres as appertayneth, whereof iii to bee archers, every oone furneyshed with a goode bowe in a cace, with xxiii goode arrows in a cace, a goode sworde, and a dagger, and the rest to be billmen, havyng besydes theyre bill, a goode sworde, and a dagger, to be levyed of your owne servants and tenants.
And that you put the saide nombre in such a redyness, furnished with coats and hosen of such colours as is appointed for the battel of our Armey.
As they faile not within oone houres warnyng to march forward to such place as shall be appoynted accordinglie:—
Yeven under our Sygnete at our palace of Westmr., the v^{th} daie of June, the xxxv yere of our reigne.
Henr. R.
Weymouth had been created a borough in the reign of Edward II., at the time that his nephew, Gilbert of Clare, Earl of Gloucester, was lord of the manor (one of whose sisters had married Piers Gaveston, and the other sister was the wife of Hugh le Despencer); and although the town is styled a “burg” in several documents relating to previous reigns, it was not until the nineteenth year of the reign of Edward II. that it returned a representative to Parliament.
The borough of Weymouth and the adjoining one of Melcombe (which together now make up modern Weymouth) had long viewed each other with jealous eyes; and so many complaints being made through their respective members, the Parliament prepared a charter, at the suggestion of Cecil, it is said, which was approved by Queen Elizabeth in the thirteenth year of her reign, which united these two discordant elements into one borough.
The merchants of the town, like all those of our southern ports, played a zealous and active part in fitting out ships to fight the Armada; and from a MS. in the Cottonian Library we learn that the following vessels set out from Weymouth in 1588, with instructions to guard the coast and seek out the Invincible Armada:—