Tag Archive | Charmouth

Sunday stroll: West Dorset

May7

Yesterday the weather was so glorious that we headed out first thing for an adventure. We wanted to do a walk along a river, and as the rivers round our way are mainly lacking in public rights of way, we headed to one of our favourite parts of the world, West Dorset. Click on all photos to embiggen/bigify.

Our first port of call was Pilsdon Pen, a hillfort-topped hill very near where my parents used to live. It used to be thought the highest point in Dorset, until a re-survey showed that the neighbouring Lewesdon Hill was a mighty two metres higher.

Lewesdon Hill from Pilsdon Pen.

On a really clear day the views are spectacular, but the heat haze made the visibility not so great. Lots of lovely chubby lambs on the hill.

Chubby lamb on Pilsdon Pen.

Then we drove on to Whitchurch Canonicorum, and did a short walk along the banks of the River Char, which flows down to the sea at the aptly named Charmouth.

River Char to the right of the photo. It’s narrow and quite deeply incised.

The walk was pretty, but a bit disappointing nature-wise: we only saw five species of butterfly (orange tip, peacock, small white, speckled wood and brimstone), and very few birds, though we did have a brief encounter with a heron. The wild flowers were also rather limited: mainly dandelions, lady’s smock (also known as cuckoo flower), greater stitchwort, bluebells, wild garlic and field buttercups.

Loads of lady’s smock in the damper areas.

Beautiful wild garlic.

Bluebells and greater stitchwort growing in the shade of a hedgerow.

Afterwards we went to the village pub, the Five Bells, but as they didn’t have any alcohol-free lager (I know, we’re both on the wagon and needs must when you fancy a cold one!) we went on to the Shave Cross Inn in Marshwood Vale. We’ve been here many times and it’s a lovely pub, but sadly too popular yesterday as we couldn’t get a table to eat. And no alcohol-free beer either, so we contented ourselves with big glasses of fizzy water with ice and a slice of lemon and pretended they were g&ts, sitting in the sunny garden. There’s a lovely old Victorian postbox built in to the side of the pub.

Victorian postbox built in to the side of the Shave Cross Inn. The VR stands for Victoria Regina (Queen Victoria).

Then on to the pretty market town of Bridport, which unsurprisingly was Sunday-shut. We snaffled a supermarket sandwich as a pub lunch anywhere wasn’t going to happen (too busy on this Bank Holiday weekend and too late). We took the coast road eastwards out of Bridport, and stopped at the National Trust-owned Cogden Beach at the western end of Chesil Beach. There were quite a few anglers fishing from the shingle, and a few hardy swimmers. The water was pretty calm and I was tempted, until I went for a paddle. Not warm! One very excitable young woman was swimming and shouting to her friends on the beach ‘I love the sea!’ so happily that it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s grown a mermaid tail by now.

She loves that sea!

I tried to take an arty-farty photo of the shingle (pea to grape sized here, where at the eastern end of Chesil they are sweet potato sized), but when I looked at it on screen just now it looked like I could have taken the shot of a dumpy bag of gravel at my local Travis Perkins. Not one for Instagram!

Hmm. Cogden Beach or Travis Perkins?

Then back in the car and we decided that rather than take the A35, the quick road back to Dorchester, we’d bimble along the road that runs vaguely parallel and to the south of it. I cycled this road back in 1987 (a Sunday cycle) when I was working on the archaeological excavations ahead of the construction of the Dorchester bypass and had bought myself a bicycle so I could see some more of the countryside. It was quite nostalgic visiting again – we drove through Long Bredy, Littlebredy and passed the gateway of a new country house that I remember seeing a tv progamme about many moons ago: Bellamont House, built in the Neo Georgian / Neo Gothic Revival style. We admired their golden duck gates and the longhorn cattle within.

Bellamont House, between Long Bredy and Littlebredy.

We decided to head home via the Cerne Abbas Giant: he always seems so pleased to see us.

The Cerne Abbas Giant.

Look closer.

Sunday stroll: Down through Dorset

Sep14

Not really so much a stroll as a bimble in the car with a short walk at the end of it. Chap and I headed for the seaside yesterday, taking a long and slow route through Somerset and Dorset’s winding country lanes.

We stopped off at several places en route. First stop was the church of St Andrews in Yetminster. Here we admired the 15th-century painted decoration still surviving on the stonework and woodwork and a reminder of how our mostly now-plain parish churches would have looked in the past. There was a splendid brass monument to John Horsey (died 1531) and his wife on one wall, and another, stone this time, to Bridgett Minterne, who died in 1649. While we were there we were surprised by the church bells, which rang out ‘God Save the Queen’ – very unexpected. Apparently this happens every three hours to remind the villagers of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee in 1897. I wonder if it happens through the night? There are some fantastic gargoyles on the tower, and a beautiful golden weathercock, but my photos of these haven’t come out very well and so don’t do them justice.

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15th-century painted decoration at St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

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Brass monument to John Horsey (died 1531) and his wife, St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

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Monument to Bridgett Minterne (died 1649), St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

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The tower with gargoyles and golden weathercock, St Andrew’s, Yetminster.

Next stop was the reservoir at Sutton Bingham. We went for a short walk along the edge of the reservoir through the wildflower hay meadow that is managed by Wessex Water, but as it had been given its annual cut not too long ago there wasn’t much to see. On the water there were mainly gulls and a few ducks, and a heron perched on the opposite shore. Sadly we didn’t see the osprey that are summer visitors here. A few dinghies and sailboats from the yacht club were pootling up and down the water, all very Swallows and Amazons.

A Mirror dinghy on Sutton Bingham Reservoir.

A Mirror dinghy on Sutton Bingham Reservoir.

Then down into deepest Dorset and the Marshwood Vale. We stopped at the village of Stoke Abbott, parking near a lovely lion’s-head fountain of spring water with a spring-fed stone trough for horses nearby, both under a mighty oak planted in 1901 to celebrate the accession of Edward VII to the throne following the death of Victoria. We wandered off to look at the church of St Mary the Virgin. There had been a wedding there recently, as the fresh and dried flower confetti lay on the path and the church was still adorned with the wedding flowers. The church is in such a pretty setting, and has a 12th-century font with wonderful carvings.

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Lion-headed fountain for spring water at Stoke Abbott.

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Spring-fed water trough for horses, Stoke Abbott.

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St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

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Wedding flowers at the porch, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

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The 12th-century font, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

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Wedding flowers and the simple lectern, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott. The flowers included agapanthus and Mollucella laevis (Bells of Ireland).

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Notice in the porch, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

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The sadly sheep-free graveyard, set in the most beautiful countryside, St Mary the Virgin, Stoke Abbott.

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A lovely thatched house near the church in Stoke Abbott.

When we got back to the car a family (grandparents and wee granddaughter, we guessed) were filling up a car boot-load with numerous bottles and containers of the spring water, so I assume it’s safe to drink.

After a fruitless search for the cottage in Ryall where my family had spent several summer holidays in the late 60s (Mr and Mrs Kinchin’s B&B), we headed for the sea at nearby Charmouth. The weather was wild and windy, and we had a chuckle over the couple braving it out with their windbreak and deck chairs. We watched a kestrel quartering the top of the landslip cliffs, searched in vain for fossils, walked a short way up the beach and then decided to head home, via Bridport, Dorchester and Shaftesbury. We are so lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world.

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A blustery afternoon at Charmouth.

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No-one in the water, unsuprisingly.

The well-named Golden cap on the right.

The well-named Golden Cap on the right.