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January 18th, 2010:

Swyre and Holy Trinity Church

“A small grey village rather like Cornwall” is how some writers have described Swyre, in its picturesque and rather privileged position near the coast in West Dorset. Swyre in fact lies about half a mile inland from the coast path just beyond the western end of Chesil beach, on the B3157 roughly midway between Bridport and Abbotsbury. It is a settlement of the distinctly linear type, which has grown up along a narrow unclassified lane linking the coast road with the main A35 road to Bridport from Dorchester.

The allusion of Cornwall probably arises from the colour and texture of the cottages and houses which, unusually are confined to the west side of the main street and are a curious mix of the old, modernised old, and the modern. At the southern end are situated the Manor Farm and Holy Trinity Church.

This building is of stone in the Early English style. Holy Trinity was originally built in 1505, and is therefore Tudor and around 200 years later than many other churches in the county. It is rather plain and unadorned building of which only the tower and the chancel arch survive from the 16th century. However, the entire remainder of the church was re-built in 1863, a time when many other parish churches were rebuilt.

The Dorset History Centre holds the baptism registers from 1587/8 to 1998, marriage registers from 1588 to 1926, burial registers 1588 to 2001 (there is a gap in the records between 1812-1814) and the register of banns 1754 to 1915. The Bishop’s transcripts date from 1732 and there are overseer’s accounts 1601 to 1667 and from 1722 to 1837. The Parish of Swyre covers an area of 1081 acres, and had a population of 154 in 1891. The area around the church is a conservation area and some adjoining agricultural land was allotted to the churchyard in 2002.

Of the Church’s Rectors, there are no surviving records before 1297. It was at this time that one John de Candel was the incumbent, but the most distinguished Rector of Swyre was probably the noted Dorset historian John Hutchins. Hutchins was instituted to the living in 1729, and is noted for having repaired the chancel at his own expense during the period of his ministry.

Inside the church can be seen some early 16th century brasses commemorating the Russells, a Dorset merchant family and the principal land owning family associated with Swyre. John Russell rose to be a courtier in an unusual way. In 1506 a ship bearing the daughter of the king and queen of Castille ran aground at Weymouth in a storm. As John Russell could speak Spanish, he was called upon to act as interpreter for the Princess and her husband, Archduke Phillip of Austria. He then accompanied the royal couple to the court of Henry VII at Windsor, where he came to the notice of the king. Henry made Russell a courtier, from where he rose to other positions of high standing over the next thirty years.

Today Holy Trinity Church stands within a broad rectangular churchyard, bordered and well enclosed by mature trees. Access from the road is via either of two gates in the stone wall at the tower (west) end of the church. The visitor will notice that the majority of headstones date from the late 18th and early 19th centuries, and in most instances their inscriptions are entirely obliterated by lichen. One very curious feature of these headstones is that there are two to be seen broken clean in two, as if deliberately struck with a sledgehammer in an act of desecration. Many of the grave-slabs too, are in a ruinous and pitted condition.

Unusually, the church has on display inside a ground plan showing the positions of the graves, which are numbered to correspond with a list of names of people buried in the ground. This document is kept on a lectern near the tower, a copy of which is also held by the Dorset History Centre in Dorchester.

A Day Out at Lyme Regis

“Lyme doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is: a quiet seaside resort with a small fishing and pleasure boat harbour. The hilly countryside above it is like parts of the Cotswolds. In many ways the place hasn’t changed in 1,200 years.”

The speaker grew up in Lyme Regis, which is nearly in Devon, and often does a three hours drive to get there for a week in a hotel. He reminded me that ships sailed to meet the Spanish Armada from Lyme, where a stone rampart sticks far out to sea at the Cobb.

So I had to see Lyme Regis.

Starting from the church, I walked down the hill and found myself outside the Pilot Boat Inn, where once the landlord’s dog gained fame by licking the face of an apparently drowned sailor and brought him back to life. The sailor was from the torpedoed battleship “Formidable,” which went down in the bay in 1915. It is a friendly place, but the bartender I spoke to knew nothing about the dog or the battleship, although the walls were lined with pictures of ships and even the tablemats have a nautical theme.

Outside again, among painted houses and too much traffic for comfort, I could tell where the beach was from the smell of the salt-laden air. So I strode out across the sand and shingle for the Cobb, to the west, the tiny port with a forest of masts and stout walls of Portland stone.

It is too shallow for larger shipping, but once it saw a trader loose her ropes and set sail for nearby Charmouth, anchoring in the bay to await King Charles II who was fleeing to France. The next part of the story may have originated in a local bar-room, but it is said the skipper’s wife, fearful of revenge by the Roundheads (for sympathies were with them here) locked him in his cabin so that he could not get to either anchor or wheel.

On the way to the Cobb I passed a few gay awnings, rows of electric bulbs, the odd hot-dog and ice-cream stalls, but nothing more ostentatious that that. Fifteen castles, mermaids and other marvellous creations from sand awaited the competition judges and people gingerly picked their way around them to admire.

Hereabouts are cannons pointing out to sea and a 10-foot anchor given by the former Portland Navy Base “in memory of Lyme Regis men and women who made their living from the sea.”

People were fishing off the sea wall for “flatties” and two boys from Seaton and Axminster emerged from the falling tide in wetsuits, intending to do some snorkelling on a full tide. And all the time a sea mist hung over the town above the beach – an indication, I was told, that Lyme was in for a hot period. “It always happens,” said the ice-cream lady. And so it was to prove.

Beyond the Cobb is a beach where the Duke of Monmouth came ashore with his men in 1685 to lead a revolt against King James on religious grounds, only to be defeated at the Battle of Sedgmoor in Somerset. A dozen of those men from Lyme who joined him were hanged where the inhabitants of the town could see their bodies. Very ugly. Worth comparing with violent times today.

The Old Watch House looks out over Lyme Bay – and now the mist lifted, revealing dramatically high cliffs along the coast to the east. Upper and lower promenades lead back to the town centre three quarters of a mile away. Once there, a little way back up the hill is the parish church of St.Michael the Archangel, with its centuries-old-Flemish-woven tapestry and its three-foot model of a lifeboat with sails and oars, circa 1925.

Only 20 yards beyond the east wall are the Church Cliffs, where the sea has eroded the land over the centuries. The cliffs have to be stabilised from time to time: the church itself goes back to Saxon times, when the building must have been far from the sea. The view on a fine day stretches from the Cobb to Golden Cap Cliff, and the Isle of Portland, a lady in the churchyard told me.

In the museum at the bottom of the hill I learned of the town’s decline as a port in the 19th and 20th centuries, after 600 years, as ships became larger. Yet even today it has a boat building yard. Passing through the town names like Marine Parade are seen, continuing the maritime theme.

Back on the beach I went for my second ice-cream, while people changed in tiny plastic beach tents to go into the sea, most only paddling. I saw no more than 30 people paddling and swimming at once along the whole beach. Then the sun came out again.

As it happened, it was Lifeboat Week, and parachute, helicopter, lifeboat and coastguard displays had been set out, with some spectacular flying by the RAF Red Arrows and even a tug o’war between coastguards and life boatmen. A smugglers tour, fireworks at sea, illuminated boats and a Yetties concert were designed to keep up the interest. The stage sound system belted out the decibels, and Lyme let its hair down.

“The Pearl of Dorset,” they call Lyme Regis. It hasn’t been commercialised as larger resorts have, yet it is not under-developed as a coast attraction like the neighbouring seaside place of Bridport’s West Bay is. Lyme was on a major Roman road, was a besieged Roundhead fortress, and 50 years ago was described as “a quaint old-world place nestling at the foot of the hills.” I don’t think my friend from the Cotswolds would disagree with a word of that.

Here we are on the Jurassic Coast, with outstanding geology attracting people with hammers: world famous fossil-hunting country and the South West Coast Path. Here is a fully restored working water-mill, and Gun Cliff, where artillery once sent away a raiding ship with a single shot.

Besieged in 1644, it is peaceful today with galleries, cafes, craft and antiques shops. Yes, the “Pearl of Dorset,” everyone seems to agree.