"Mark Godden's Little Bit Of Cyberspace Mk.II"
A Southwell Maid's Diary.
By: Elizabeth W. Otter.
July, 1930.
Entered at Stationers Hall. All Rights Reserved.
I was born February 4th 1866, in a little house of four rooms in the village of Southwell, Portland, Dorset, England. My parents rented from an old man who lived in a two-room house in the rear. His name was George, but they called him Old Cork. That was his nickname. Almost everyone had a nickname; Some became angry when called by it, and some did not care. The people called the boys nippers and the girls maids.
I was a little maid of four years when I remember hearing the older folks talking about the fine ships, all lit up, going down the Channel. When put to bed I was afraid of the dark, so they left a candle burning in the room and went downstairs. I got up, took the candle to the window to see the ships that had been talked about, when the candle getting to close to the shade set it afire. I did not cry out but went back to bed. A neighbour who saw the flames, ran to tell my parents that the house was on fire. Mother ran upstairs but it was too late to save the shade and curtain from being burned. The frame did not burn and the house being made of stone, not much damage was done. After that I had to go to bed without a candle. They thought the wind blew the curtain near the candle and set it afire. I never told them that I had taken the candle close to the window to see the ships pass which they were talking about. I was grown up before I dared to tell them how it had happened.
About that time, my Father started to build the first house on Avalanche Road. When it was finished, we moved into our new home. We had no near neighbour. The field next to our house was known as "Biscrates." The village pump was near, where all the people in Southwell drew their water. This made it the busiest place in the village. Saturday was very busy, as the people never pumped water on Sunday. They carried enough water Saturday to last till Monday morning. We were told it was wicked to pump water on Sunday. Even when living so close to the well we had to fill two large pans of water for Sunday.
We never took anything out of our garden on Sunday for our Sunday dinner. Everything had to be brought in Saturday, when also all shoes all knives and forks were cleaned and floors scrubbed and sanded for Sunday. The people used sand on the kitchen floors , and they were nice and white. Some had a few mats made from rope-yarn, but not many, and some had stone floors. These they whitened with a rubbing-stone and when dry they sprinkled sand on them.
Our bedrooms were scrubbed with nice soapy water every Friday, and our steps and hearthstone washed every day and whitened.
The front room was always kept clean, and not used very much. If we did sit in it our orders would be: "Don't put your feet on the rungs of the chairs and sit still." So we never used it much.
Our house was the only one in Southwell which had a basement. We had two nice rooms there. In one we kept the coal and kindling, in the other potatoes and used it for a store house. We had what was called a pig-horse, on which they killed the pigs. Most of the villagers when they killed their pigs borrowed it.
The children would come and say, "please can we borrow your pig-horse?" When they brought it back they would say. "Thank you for the loan of it." We all had to say "please" and, "thank you." We also had to say grace before and after meals.
Saturday we had to go to the baker and get bread dough, take it home, mix in currants or caraway seeds, take it back to be baked, and then later go back and get our cake. We had a large dish with a separation, so we could have currants on one side and caraway seeds on the other. It took three trips to the baker and cost a penny for baking.
Sunday was our best dinner for the week. The butcher came Saturday from Underhill, and we usually had roast beef or sometimes mutton. We had all kinds of vegetables in season, as all the villagers had nice gardens. We always had plenty to eat.
Every Sunday there was a dinner taken out for some old person, and I being the youngest had to take it. Sometimes it was to "Old Will" ("Rashers" they called him), sometimes to old "Old George" (Old Cork). Always it was taken to some old or sick person. I ran around quickly so my own dinner would not be cold. Then we had to Sunday School, either to St George's Sunday School or to Easton. After Sunday School we had to run around the village, knock on everyone's door and change their Tracts. Then we had tea and went to Church at St George's or Easton Chapel. We also had a little Chapel in Southwell where we went Sunday mornings. Thus we went to Church three times on Sunday.
Bakers came from Easton every other day. We got our groceries once a month from Osbourne, Underhill. Our bread came from Attwooll, in Reforne. If we ran out of little things we went to the shops in Southwell. Many a time I have had to go to a shop and get an ounce of tea, two candles, a halfpenny worth of salt or a halfpenny worth of vinegar.
Money was very scarce in those days. The men got paid only once every three months and we all had our baker, butcher, grocer and shoemaker. When the masters paid, they would all come around for their money. Three months was a long time to wait but they all had to do this.
The men worked in the quarries all day long, ten or twelve hours a day. During the evenings they made their gardens, and in the Easter holidays they planted them.
The girls dressed up at Easter time in their white skirts and crinolines, and if it was windy they looked like balloons. One day a girl from Easton was out on top Sandholes wearing a crinoline. She became frightened at something and ran toward the cliff. She could not stop herself, so over the cliff she went, right into the sea. Her crinoline saved her, for the wind got under it like a balloon and held her afloat until someone pulled her ashore.
We generally kept a few fowls or ducks. At night the ducks and geese came home from the ponds, if not we had to call them, and they would run to their different houses, where they were closed in for the night. We kept rabbits too. We had to pick milk thistle for them. We had to go all over the fields to pick it for them. We sometimes had a few pigeons also. We cooked the small potatoes for the pigs- "tatties" we called them. They were cooked in the furnace and then mixed with barley meal. Enough large ones were sold to pay for the meal, as there were always more than we could use.
We would go out to Sturt, by the monument, to pick up sheep shen to make the fire under the furnace. When we had our bags full we would start in through Butts, by Possums Quarry, and up over Langley or High Street. A number of rests were made on the way.
Sometimes we picked handfuls of wag-wants by Culverwell and took them home to put in a vase on the mantle-piece. They looked pretty. Summertime we picked up shen to save on coal, as coal was very dear. Wages were small, some got half-a-crown a day and some made four shillings. It was mostly piece-work in the quarry, and if they had what was called a sound quarry they sometimes made a little more. They worked long hours, ten or twelve a day.
The Church bells rang at six o'clock. The old Sexton rang them so the men would know when to quit. During the Christmas holidays the sexton called on the parishioners and they gave him a sixpence or a shilling for his services. He was god-father to a good many that were christened at St George's Church. He had a strong voice, and led the services at church. Clark Hinde was his name and he was known by all.
When they dug the taties, the children would pick them up in the evening . we would make a bonfire of the dried stalks and shen and roast some taties in it, in Flowers Lane. All who wanted roasted taties had to help to pick up the stalks and shen. When we got home we got a good scolding because sometimes we smelled just like a bonfire, but we had lots of fun out of it and we enjoyed the taties immensely.
When it was blackberry time we went up Sweet Hill and in the Closen. Over the walls the blackberry bushes grew. The great big dewberries ripened first. The best grew in Lowman's Line. Sometimes we went down Chene, around Pennsylvania Castle, under the cliffs to the Weir, and picked blackberries all day long.
We got plenty for jam and pies; but tired is no name for it. We sometimes climbed up over the Drum, through the convicts quarries, down Easton, across Hayland, to Southwell. This took some walking, but we generally got our baskets full of berries before we went home.
Sometimes we went out Butts, and to the Bill where we went paddling in the sea, and picked limpets off the rocks; it took a chisel to knock them off. We picked up winkles and had a great time.
On moonlight evenings we played down in the village. One game we played was:
"How many miles to Bablon?
Three score and ten.
Can I get there by candle light?
Yes, and back again.
Open the gates and let me through,
Not without your bag of blue.
Here's my bag, Here's my blue,
Open the gates and let me through.
The old folks would get angry at us sometimes, as we made so much noise. One would say to the other: "Dos know whose bwoys and maids 'tis then?" "Iss I'd know some of 'em. There's Girt Will and maid Otter, Ned Whittle's maid, Jane and Sue, Curly and Phillip. Get along whome where you belong, time for you to go to bed. Ought to have a good hiding, all of you. You bad things." Then we had to run some other place or go home.
Sometimes Old Rover came along and rang a bell, and hollered as loud as he could, telling when the rates had to be paid. We would all follow him and Holler too. He had to go all over the Island to let people know when they must pay their rates, or be summoned to court. He lived in Fortuneswell.
Then there was Butcher Betty; came around with two baskets, selling tripe, cow's heals, bullocks cheeks, and bullocks hearts. We used to follow him to hear him talk. He had a different dialect from the people of Southwell. It amused us very much. He lived down Chesil and came around every Saturday.
There was Old George Ragman; you could hear him holler all over the village: "Rags Bones and Rabbit Skins!" We got a few pennies from him sometimes for rags, bones or skins. We saved them for holiday times. Old George was a good natured old chap, and did good business when the tea meeting came off. He sold tea meeting cups and saucers, and a few other kinds of dishes. These he carried on the back of his cart. He lived in Weymouth, and sometimes through the week he came in around selling mackerel if there were caught over in Chesil Beach.
There is a little chapel in Southwell, two small shops, a school for little children, and one Inn called the Eight Kings. We used to go to school and pay twopence a week. We went to school at Miss Lowman's as soon as we were able to toddle along. She kept school in her living room and put stools around for us to sit on. At four o'clock we went home.
Our teacher taught us our letters and how to count and spell. Later when we went to Reforne School it was a great help to us. Most of the small children went to Miss Lowman's school at Southwell, and when we went to Reforne School we had to walk all the way. There were no busses to carry us in those days, and we carried our dinners.
Sometimes we were late and got caned. The Schoolmaster's name was Mr. Churchell. When Mr. Churchell came to Portland first he caned a boy and told him he would do it again if he did not behave, and report him to his father. The boy says to him "Cass if wuss" Churchell did not understand it, so he reported him to his father and said the boy had used some swear word to him. The father asked "What did he say, Mr. Churchell?" Mr. Churchell replied "Cass if wuss" (Can if Will). The father laughed and said that in Portland dialect he meant "You can if you will;" so the father said "Zee any better then cuss" (See any better than you could). Of course they had a good laugh.
Later we had a Mr. Woods. Mr. Woods had nice curly hair, and when we were all lined up at his desk he would walk so fast and look so angry at us that his curls would shake as he walked.
We had to pay twopence a week, and if we did not bring our pennies we were caned for that, and some of us did not always have them to bring. We got caned and when quarter day came and the masters paid, one of the teachers had to go and collect.
We had slates, pencils, pens, ink and readers found. Our copy book we bought. When full we took them down Reforne to Mrs. Paul. She would give a bulls-eye or some brown rocks for it. She used them for wrapping paper.
One day Jane and I made up our minds we would not go to school. We went out West Cliff and all down over Langcrates. We ate our dinner on the cliffs, and went on down Chesil, where Janes grandparents lived. Jane's grandmother was cooking taties and frying sprats. Oh, but they smelt nice and tasted better, so we had a second dinner. We never told we were sent to school.
They were very nice to us, and when it was time to go home we started out up over Langcrates again, and through the quarries at Wide Street to Reforne. We got there about time school was out and went home with the rest of the children.
Jane's grandparents must have forgotten to tell her mother we were there for we never heard anything about it, but we never did it again. We had a secret and we kept it.
Saturdays after our work was done we played in Flowers Lane or picked bluebells and oxlips in Mr. Pierce's Close, or daisies in Joe's Close. We made daisy chains and tossy balls. Pretty violets grew there too. We picked dildercups (buttercups) down Farmer Stone's Close called Waddeldown. They grew bigger down there as water ran through the field from the pond at the bottom of High Street. There was a pond by the village pump where the cattle came to drink and the water ran all through Southwell to that pond , and over the cliff into the sea.
Some of the boys of the village had wheelbarrows, and after the horses had been to drink at the pond or little well, nights and mornings, they would clear up the manure in the streets and put in the mixens. In the spring when they got ready to make garden they emptied the mixen into the gardens, evenings or holidays. Everyone had a mixen where they put their ashes and garbage or anything to make fertilizer.
Our every-day clothes were made of linset wolsey, short sleeves, brown holland aprons, and white sun bonnet. Our shoes were made by the shoemaker. We had to go and get our feet measured and then the shoemaker made them. Some had brass tips on them and were quite heavy.
We used to call the shoemaker Old Teapot. When we had to go back to get more shoes we were a little afraid of him, but everyone called him Teapot. I supposed he was used to it. He never said anything to us about it, and maybe he thought he might lose customers if he did.
Our Sunday dresses were made of French Marino in pretty colours, if we were not in mourning. Our Sunday shoes were bought from the shops. They were lighter. Our Sunday dresses were brushed and put away in the big chest every Monday morning for the next Sunday or holiday. The old ladies mostly dressed in black, great wide skirts and poke bonnets. Some would wear black lace caps, and some white lace caps and shawls. Middle aged ladies, most of them, put their hair in hair nets, and some of them wore Crinolines.
The old men dressed in broadcloth frock-tailed coats and box hats on Sundays. The quarrymen had fustian trousers and slops (waists) and striped shirts every day. Some had knit jackets.
I must tell you about the boys. When about twelve years old the had to work in the quarries, carry lunches, and take the picks to the blacksmith shop. I remember I used to help my brother part of the way to the quarry to carry the tea, and he taught me to whistle. Oh but I was smart when I could whistle.
One day I was whistling and I met an old lady (Granny Smith). She said, "Who's maid at, dos know a whistling maid and a crowing hen is neither fit for God or man." I said "None of your business if I whistle, I'll whistle as much as I like," and so she said I was a proper bad maid.
The boys start into work for sixpence a day and the next quarter they get a shilling. We girls were nothing, they as much as told us that they worked and kept us. What we did was nothing. We had to clean their clothes and shoes Saturday and wait on them. They felt bigger than our fathers. I was willing to do anything for father, but a brother, to wait on him and clean his clothes and shoes made me good and angry. And many angry words were passed between us. Mothers, most of them favoured the boys.
The parents took the money until they were twenty-one, whether they needed it or not, and made us think we owed them everything. Most of them needed it as the families were large, eight nine or ten in most families.
If the girls went to service they had to leave Southwell.
When I was about six years old I went to Castletown, Portland, with my sister. My father had raised more potatoes than he could use so they hired a donkey and cart, loaded the potatoes on the cart, put me up in it, and started away to sell them, and a few other vegetables. We went through Weston, all through Wide Street, down the hill to Castletown, where the Breakwater is.
When we had sold all our potatoes we started back home. That was the longest ride I had ever had. I enjoyed it, although I was very tired and hungry, but happy. The next time I went to Castletown was when HRH the Prince of Wales the late King Edward VII., laid the last stone and declared the breakwater complete. This was August 10th 1872.
All the Sunday School Children and teachers marched from Easton, Weston, Southwell, and Fortuneswell, to Castletown, to see the Prince. The children sang, the bands played, and the ships in the harbour were all covered with flags. The prince came ashore from the boat and a lot of soldiers with him. We were all lined up so that we could see him, and after the ceremony the prince went back to the boat. The children all marched back to the common. Cake and tea were served to everyone. We all sat on the grass and the teachers saw that every child had cake and tea. We all marched back to our homes after a very enjoyable day.
And so at the end of a long straight road,
Where the past and present meet,
Comes the fond looking back to the tales we were told,
And the thrill of remembrance never grows old
Of that one spot in Southwell so sweet.
Yes, at the end of the long straight road
To each of us, some time or other,
And time cannot change it, nor distance efface
As we say with such pride when we speak of the place.
Yes, that was the home of my mother.
E Otter.
Nancy Wallace (Nanny) had two sweethearts. Boldin was a smart looking man but his earnings were not much. Nanny had another admirer. They called him My Lord Rivers, but he was not so good to look upon, but better off financially. He loved Nanny and never forgot her though he finally married and had a family. He lived at Easton. Nanny married Boldin and lived in Southwell.
Easter time my father went to Easton to pay the tithe, and I was a little maid about seven years old, so he took me with him. Up through Easton were stalls with fruit and rocks, and father bought me a little box of figs and an orange.
Then we called on My Lord Rivers to pay the tithe. You were supposed to pay one-tenth of all you made for tithe. They then had a talk about different things. My Lord's wife came in and brought me two russet apples. I sat there while they talked and ate my orange. The lady was not very tall but she had pretty dark curls. She talked to me awhile and then left us. So My Lord enquired for Nanny.
Father said she was well, and that he had seen her sometimes as she often came to our house and had a cup of tea with us. Nanny was mother's aunt so of course I knew whom My Lord and my father were talking about.
When we got home mother asked me if I was tired and where I had been, so childlike I showed her my box of figs and asked her to open them. I told her the lady gave me the apples and what My Lord had said to father about Nanny. Of course she had to laugh. My father was deaf, sometimes worse than others, and I did not think he could hear me.
I saw mother look at him so I looked and saw his eye twinkle. I saw him wink at her. He told me I was a little chatterbox and they both laughed. However, he never took me to My Lord River's house again.
I being the baby of the family, he often took me with him. Once he took me to his father's house. It was Christmas time, so the mummers were around. They came in my Grandfather's and I was afraid of them. Grandfather had a front door and a side door. On the front door was a big brass knocker but father went to the side and knocked at the door. There was a broom standing by the door so he broomed off his shoes. By the time his sister opened the door and said, "Come in." Father took off his hat and walked in. I toddled along beside him. When he got in where grandfather and grandmother were, he shook hands with them and asked them how they were. They told him to sit down and gave me a chair too. They were getting up in years and looked very old to me. They talked awhile and had tea, and when it was getting dark we got ready to go home to Southwell. They lived in Weston.
Grandmother was all dressed in black and had a lace cap with a few violets in it, just over her ears. Grandfather looked nice to me, red faced and jolly.
We got home safe and mother said it was bedtime for me so I started in to tell what father had done when he got to his father's house, thinking he could not hear me, but he listened to me and I saw them both laughing. I said "Mother, what do you think father has done at grandfather's house?" She said "I don't know." "Well," I said "we went in the side door and he knocked at the door, broomed off his shoes, and took off his hat, he don't do that in our house, does he? He comes in our front door and don't knock at it, and all up over our clean steps, and don't take his hat off either." "No that he don't," mother says. They were laughing and said it was time I went to bed, so they gave me a candle and said good night, and to mind and set the candlestick on the chest. That was the last time father took me to grandfather's.
I noticed and told too much. Little children notice things and are more observing than grow-ups give them credit for.
When a girl of about eight years old my playmates and I played house by the village well. This was before Avalanche Church was thought about. There was a wall around the pump and we would wash it and whiten it with a rubbing stone. We spent hours there.
Just over Biscrates in Old Mead was a spring of nice clean running water. Watercress grew there and we used to go and pick it sometimes. There were blackberries growing over the walls, so seeing some nice ones on top of a bush and being unable to reach them we planned to climb on the walls and get them. I being the tallest climbed the wall and it happened I overbalanced myself and fell right in the bushes. Some of the wall fell with me. The other children ran away for help, as I could not get out. I thought of Sluworms and adders and frightened myself up good.
Farmer Spencer's house was the nearest house, and he must have seen my predicament, or else he was coming out to shift his cows which he had tied in Biscrates. Anyway, I hollered as loud as ever I could. I was afraid of adders although I never saw one. I imagined all kind of things there right in the middle of the blackberry bushes. The farmer came to my rescue and got me out of the bushes. It was not his close or wall. It was Farmer Stone's at Weston. I was so afraid about the wall falling down and wondered what they would do to me, so as Farmer Spencer got near me and helped me out he said "Wast do in tha? Get along whome you bad maid, climbing walls." Never a word did I say. I was too frightened even to thank him for pulling me out.
I don't remember if my clothes were torn. I was not hurt much for as soon as I got on my feet I was off as fast as ever I could get away.
I sometimes was sent for milk at Farmer Spencer's house. He kept several cows. Their house was an old fashioned affair with a thatched roof. The house and barn were joined together. Inside the door was a big white table where they put the milk pans and strained the milk. The floor in this room was stone. In the side room or living room they had a wood floor. There was a wide seat on the side of the room and a wood partition in which there were several knot holes.
Sometimes I would have to wait until the farmer finished drinking his tea before he milked his cows. I would sit on the seat and peep through the knot hole to see if they were almost through. One day the farmer was eating home made bread and cheese and had a jug of cider. I was in the living room with his children, so I was watching him. He seemed to be amused. I was always a little afraid of him as he never talked to us children much. He must have seen it, for as he was cutting his bread and cheese, he looked at me, smiled and said "Will you have some bread and cheese Betz?" He never called me Bess. I told him no, thank you, but I expect I did want some of it. We did not have home made bread. After that I was not afraid of Farmer Spencer. He was not so stern as I had thought him.
Farmer's daughter Sue, was my school mate. Her Birthday was around New Year, and Sue's mother always gave a little birthday party for her. Farmer would be gone to Court Leet at the George Inn, and Sue's mother would set a table for us upstairs. She gave us bread and butter and cake. There ould be Sue, Charlotte, Marge and I. Mrs. Spencer would have tea with us. We would have a jolly good time. That was the only party I ever went to when I was a child. I never forgot it. I never had a party or a Christmas tree. I don't think many in Southwell did. Children came last in those days and knew what care was before they were knee high to a grasshopper.
When our shoes began to wear Mother and Father would look at them and say "Well I don't know where the next pair will come from. Bad quarter this quarter. You will have to go over old Clothiess and get your feet measured, or down Joe Stone's, Underhill. I don't know when I can pay for them as our quarry is rotten. Won't get much money this quarter."
We were careful but things wore out. If we got a new dress once a year we thought it was fine. Today the children have a dozen dresses to our one. But I think we were happier then than they are today, for we dressed all about the same in Southwell. One had no more than the others. All of us had our Sunday clothes to go to Church or Chapel and when we got a new dress mother could hire a dressmaker for a shilling a day and the dressmaker would bring her sewing machine. We might have her come three or four times a year.
She would make our dresses. She had to go three years to learn to sew and have no pay while learning. After she had learned her trade she could not keep herself if she did not have a home. It seemed pretty hard after three years of training, but everyone seemed to take it all in good part and never said much about it. We never heard about Unions in those days.
There were some who were happy in their work. They would work in the quarries all day, and then in their gardens till dark. They liked to see things grow and took lots of pleasure in it. Others would stick up along side a wall and watch them work and say to one another, "Look at naugut! Always working." Now all that was the matter with them was envy. They were too lazy to have a garden of their own, so they watched and found fault with the others who liked to work.
By the door of Farmer Spencer's house was a pretty rose bush. There was an old apple tree in the front yard, several gooseberry bushes, and on the side were black-currant bushes. You could go in the house from the front or side. They had a big yard, the biggest in Southwell, as the other houses are built almost to the street. Just a step to go in the house. A few people had a porch.
Farmer had a fine garden at the back of his house and a yard where they had their hay-ricks. We played hide and go-seek around the ricks when farmer was out in his fields. Sometimes we used to pick broad-beans for Farmer in his lawn out over Biscrates. Sue, Charlotte, and I picked many bushels at different times as he had orders for them.
When I was fourteen, I was sent to Weymouth to buy myself an Ulster. My brother Will, who was a few years older than myself, was sent along to take care of me. It was evening and mother thought it too late for me to be out alone. We went to Weymouth on the train about five o'clock and returned on the nine o'clock train.
I went to Evans and Morris's shop and bought my ulster. Will waited outside for me - he would not go in the shop with me. It took me some time to get it. I was told to long and large enough to last me several winters. If it was too long it could be turned up and then let down as I grew taller. I chose a tan colour one with a hood on the back, lined with a pretty satin. When I got out of the shop Will was waiting for me, so we did our other shopping and started for Rodwell station. We sat there a while waiting for the train. When it came we got in a carriage with Mr. Gill, just the three of us.
When we got as far as Ferry Bridge, Will stuck his head out of the window and started to vomit. The wind was blowing fast and the speed of the train made it quite strong. Well, it blew off Will's hat, and having no hair, when he pulled in his head he would frighten anything. Of course, I was used to him so I did not mind seeing him with his hair off. He lost all of his hair when he was twelve years old, and was perfectly bald. Will felt bad about it, as he could not go anywhere where he had to take his hat off.
Old Gill looked at him and said, "Boy, you are as bad as I am. No hair." I thought the old man was crazy for the minute. He took off his hat and slapped it on Will's head. It was too small for Will, and was one of those hard hats; Will always wore a soft one. He looked funnier than ever. I had to laugh to see both of them. Gill had been drinking, so he gave Will his hat, then, lo and behold, Gill had on a wig - the first wig I had ever seen. He took it off and then Will had to laugh, sick as he was, to see the old man with no hair like himself. I was surprised at first, but when I saw both of them with no hair, and Gill trying to help Will, I started to laugh and thought I would never stop.
It all happened in a few minutes and as the train pulled in the station Gill put on his wig, took his hat from Will, and got off the train. Will had a large red and white handkerchief which he put over his head and walked through the station. Everyone turned to look at him. I kept a way behind him. Will felt bad, so he did not pay any attention to the people looking at him. He was over six feet tall, so he was some sight. We got through the station and up to Russell's shop. He sent me in for a hat size seven-and-an-eighth. It fitted alright so went on our way home. I told everyone what had happened on the train and about Old Gill the shoeman's wig, and said Will could get one too.
Everyone laughed, and Will with us. I think he had been trying to smoke and that made him sick on the train. Years after his hair grew again. If he had not been sick I would never dared to laugh at him. But it was the funniest thin I ever saw, an old man and a young boy, without hair, in the same carriage going to Portland.
My Experience On Going To Service.
The Rector got me a place at Fortuneswell, with a family named Reynolds. I was fifteen years old and the maid of all work. They paid me three shillings and threepence a week. Wednseday afternoon, after my work was done, I could go out, but had to be back by 9 p.m.: I also had Sunday evening to go to Church.
Mornings I had to get up, light three fires, clean the grates, and wash the hearthstones. Then I cleaned the steps and the breakfast room, made the toast and set the table. The lady fried the bacon and eggs. When ready they called me to morning prayers in the breakfast room. After that was over I served the breakfast, I had to open the windows and do the chamber work.
They had no bathroom. They bathed in a little zinc tub. It was no fun carrying all the water to the bedrooms, and carrying it away again. When they had eaten breakfast, they rang a bell and I could clear the table and have my breakfast. By that time I was as hungry as a bear. I would have bread and butter and the bacon grease in the platter. There was never any bacon left. I warmed the tea with hot water and it was pretty weak sometimes. The lady told me I should not use so much butter. At nine in the evening they rang a bell for me to take a kettle of boiling water to the breakfast room, then I had to go to bed. They had cocoa and some had hot slings and different things to eat. The jam, cake, biscuits, and tea were kept in the breakfast room. These I could not touch. Only the bread and butter were kept in the pantry. I never had enough to eat.
I was taken sick and had to go home. I told my mother and the doctor that I was never given enough to eat. I was used to having something to eat at home before I went to bed. But I had nothing after tea there. Working all day long and growing I could not stand it.
I was there three months, but dare not to complain, for if you left and wanted another place, they would not give you a recommendation. They came for me when I got well, but mother would not let me go back. I had enough to eat at home anyway. I never went to service again. I had enough of the poor rich or the rich poor.
Sunday evenings, the boys and girls all went to Church or Chapel together. At St George's Church the girls sat in the gallery on one side and the boys on the other side. When Church was over we all met outside and took a walk to the end of Grove, or up Easton Lane. Coming home we paired off. Our parents told us we must not talk to soldiers or sailors. There were plenty of soldiers on the Verne, and sailors at Castletown. The boys watched us closely and if we walked with a soldier or sailor it would be all over the Island the next day. We found out later why we should not talk to them. Their pay was too small to keep a wife, and our parents did not want us to have a soldier or sailor for fear we would have to leave Portland. They were not stationed in Portland for a very long time. Once in a while it happened that a maid married a soldier or a sailor, but years later they would come back to their old home with their family and settle down with a pension.
I had my seventeenth birthday at home, but the place was small and it would not support us all. Some of us were forced away, so I bid them all good-bye, while the tears stood in my eyes, and sailed for Castle Garden all alone.
This is a Southwell Maid's diary. I will put in a few of the nicknames. I hope no one will be offended if they see their family nickname, for they are all dear to me. I love every inch of my old home, and many an evening, sitting by my fire, far across the sea, in Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A., I think and smile to myself of my childhood days.
My Experience On The Ocean.
Do you know when I left England
For a trip to the U.S.A.,
The twelfth day of November,
And everyone was gay,
As down Southampton waters calm
The good ship it did sail,
Until we passed the Needles
Each had a tale to tell.
Out in the English Channel
The wind was blowing strong,
The ship it jumped and rolled about
And 'twas not very long
Before we heard the supper bell,
The bell that most would like,
But a few were not so very well
And never had a bite.
Cherbourg's Port in France was reached
About two hours late,
And then the steamer's siren screeched,
And some foretold their fate.
Outside that welcome harbour
The vessel's nose was sticked,
And before we reached old Ireland
Nearly every one was sick.
At last we reached that pretty spot,
A long time over due.
And seen the shore of Erin's Isle,
It seemed so good to view,
For lots had not left their bed
Since leaving that French shore.
Some upon the deck were led,
And some were feeling sore,
As in the Atlantic Ocean
The vessel crept along.
But all then seemed delighted,
The wind was not so strong.
But long before next morning
The vessel's sides did creak,
Then some began a praying
And others swore blue streaks,
We jumped and bumped and rolled around
For three days of for four,
Then all was getting used to it
But no one wanted more,
And when we reached our harbour
The sun was shining gay,
The Statue of Liberty
Looked fine in Hudson's Bay.
To gaze upon the buildings
One fine sight to behold,
And lots of other sights we seen
It never will be told.
And then we came to Customs
The truth we had to tell,
The ladies got excited
And told them to go to H-
We managed to get over that
And out in town to roam,
To look for a few things to eat
We were some ways from home,
We got into a restaurant
Somewhere about midday
And talked of our experience
And of what our friends would say.
About two o'clock we left that town
As tired as one could be,
And felt as though we could lay down
But there was more sights to see,
For along the bank of Hudson
The track it ran for miles,
And knowing that the next day
Our friends would all be smiles.
We reached our destination
And there our friends did find,
I suppose they call it happiness
To have tears and smiles entwined.
The first time I was ever kissed
Was on that November morn,
I thought of things what I had missed
In Cleveland would soon learn.
For we spent some happy moments
With friends we have so true,
And hope it will continue
Until we bid adieu.
We have seen a lot of Cleveland,
Hope to see more of it yet,
And friends we have met daily
One never will forget.
The people are all kind to us
And we know they are true,
And when we are gone to England
Our hearts will be with you.
H. Green.
Reunion And Departure.
When meeting after many years away in foreign lands,
Ladies one is bound to kiss, and gentlemen shake hands,
No one knows what friends he has until he goes around.
And then he knows and feels as though they are in every town.
Since leaving my old homestead about three months ago.
I think I've met a thousand friends and not a single foe.
My visit to the States has been just like one long sweet dream,
No one could have a better time or more friends as it seem,
I've travelled the Cleveland City from end to end, you know,
And after seeing such fine sights it will seem a pity to go,
And leave such friends and sights as those three thousand miles away,
But I believe our hearts and minds will wander day by day,
Back to our dear friends we have left across the deep blue sea,
The land they all and we adore, the land of liberty.
Among our many friends we met I'll try to tell a few,
Who we shall keep in mind though we have bid adieu.
The first I ought to mention is where we made our home,
And who will miss us for a while now they are left alone.
Now Otter was their surname, their Christian hard to tell
With Kate, Clarance and Herbert and the elders Bess and Will.
You bet they are a jolly crowd, may good luck go their way,
I hope to see them all again but when I cannot say.
Now there are others just as dear who own the same surname,
Ern, Lill, Clifford and Charlie, We'll think of them the same.
For they tried to make us feel at home and which they did I'm sure,
My company they had often, but it seemed they wanted more,
The next time I come on this earth, I hope I come in twins,
I think I could have more good times with the same amount of sins.
Now I've a niece and sister, her husband Levi Thorne,
We had to leave in Cleveland, our parting they did mourn,
As though we had just our duties here below,
but never mind its not like that and I am glad too,
For we shall meet again some day and I know that's speaking straight
For all good things come to those who hustle while they wait.
Now the next I want to mention is George and Em. and son,
Forrest is their surname, with them we've had some fun
For they're good at entertaining, no better I can tell,
Two more with them are also good, McReynolds Em. and Nell.
Now these are all our relatives with one more Otter May
Who'll never come to England, or so she say,
Unless they build a bridge across or she can go by rail,
by water she got seasick or to me she told that tale.
Now other Portlanders we met was Stone's out in Berea.
And also other Portland Stone's out in Elyria,
Now these made us as welcome as spring is to the poor
The oftener we see them we like them more and more,
And others too I'll mention, there names we cannot miss,
For no one gave us better times than Dan and -bist!
Still, I can mention names where we in pleasure went,
With Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy some happy times we spent.
Now these are near to Cleveland or else right in the town,
But in Nebraska where I went many friends I found.
The experiences I had out there were of the nicest kind,
And better times than I had would make one tired to find.
The second night I spent out there was somewhat new to me,
For a good old crowd they all took part in a so-called card party.
We kept that up till early hours, and had an elaborate spread
Which was everything one could wish, one hated to get to bed.
Although the weather was so cold - Zero was the kind
Or ten below - the coldest night I've had in all my time
Was in the home of Hasty, the rest I cannot tell,
But D.S. is the was they class him - I guess its the best way;
But he's a good old fellow of the old American type,
The greatest man for telling tales and sucking his old pipe.
The West must be a pretty place in the good old summer time,
The people can enjoy themselves in the shade of the lonesome pine.
But the people are peculiar and just like at my old home,
They seem to know your business better than their own.
They are good at making delicacies that one is bound to like,
But the beef they had was pretty old, it was in vain to bite;
It choked the old mincing machine, it was too tough to roast-
But the one thing I did enjoy was poached eggs on toast.
Another thing that suited me was the shooting which I done,
But as a rule you see the most when you haven't got a gun.
But now with me it was the other way - I saw plenty of game,
A coyote wolf I would not shoot through thinking it was lame,
But never mind, you bet that I, should I ever get the chance
To be so close to one will make the old thing dance.
The spinsters out there it seems are eager to get a beau
And if one does the others think with them he ought to go.
You'd think the place, to hear them talk, was without men,
And where there are two ladies, the gents, I hear, are ten.
Now the reason for this, I believe, they all want millionaires,
They are so scarce as teeth in hens - oh, the pretty little dears,
They'll find as the time advances and they get about thirty-one,
They aren't so young as they used to be, and think their chance is gone.
Now that place isn't the only one, I guess they're all the same,
But when one wins by hanging on, hundreds lose the game.
Now in reading this the girls will say I'm prejudiced, you bet,
But seeing things as they are I will tell them never fret.
Now prejudiced I wouldn't be - I wouldn't be that mean,
But not until their chance is gone will they see things as they are seen.
But I must travel once again back to city life,
But not to be among the girls for I don't need a wife.
But seeing city lights is good. I like Chicago,
A better place by Michigan Lake I'd certainly like to know;
For the Avenue along these shores is sure a splendid scene.
When I was there 'twas winter time, the trees were without green,
But I enjoyed myself the same - I could not do any more.
The place I dined was simply grand, 'twas at Marshall Field's store,
I dont know if they claim that store to be the biggest on this earth,
It would take a smart assessor to guess anyway near its worth.
From there I went to Cleveland for my time is drawing nigh,
Only about another week before I bid good-bye
To all our friends and relatives, the ones we hold most dear.
The parting as a rule doth change from smiles away to tears.
Also we parted from our friends, we said good-bye to all,
Then to proceed to Buffalo to view Niagra Falls,
Which I should say was the best sight one could see,
Thousand of tons of ice and a coat on every tree.
The sight was one worth seeing, and snow was two feet deep,
Never mind, we waded through at the falls to get a peep.
We left that place at six-thirty on the way to New York town,
And saw awful destruction, with trees and poles blown down.
The blizzard was the worst in twenty-six years, they say,
I was pleased to know it ended before we got that way.
For time was all too precious down by the waters edge,
We wanted to see the buildings and walk over Brooklyn bridge;
For on that great construction is the place to look around,
And if you fell from off the top you'd be killed as well as drowned.
Next day was the fourth of March, and we left the U.S.A.,
And down the stream we glided, were soon out on Hudson Bay.
The first day's run was pretty good, the sea was good and fair,
Two hundred and eleven miles next day from Ambrose Light we stood.
Still ploughing the briny ocean and taling every feast,
The next day came the news we made a record going east;
Five hundred and fifty-nine was what the vessel run,
One-third of the way on our trip, two thousand miles to come.
By that night the scene was changed, the wind was rising fast,
The steamer lost some of its speed, we knew it couldn't last,
For the seas were getting higher, seasickness soon began,
She jumped into a great big sea and smashed three portholes in.
The gale was only short-lived, about thirty hours long,
On Monday morning all aboard were going pretty strong,
Down at meals they all did enjoy the table d'hote,
On it everything mentioned we lived like kings afloat.
Next day to dear old England you should see the people smile
When passing the light on Bishop Rock and the Scilly Isle.
About three o'clock that day the Lizard hove in sight,
The fields and hedges looked so green to the passengers delight.
At six o'clock the steamer the light of the Eddystone did round
And thirty minutes later was quiet in Plymouth Sound.
She landed many passengers and also lots of mail,
Across the English Channel for Cherbourg she did sail.
We arrived there at midnight and anchored till next day,
And we left again for England where the birds were singing gay.
At Southampton to be met by Levi and friends a few,
Who asked us how we left our friends and people that we knew.
We left for our destination to meet our friends so dear
Who seemed to be some overjoyed and celebrated with beer.
This is the three months history or so it seem to be,
And may we ever stay so true as our friends across the sea.
Herbert Green.
On August 14th 1869, eight Portlanders journeyed to Portesham, taking with them, screw jacks. They lifted the Hellstone Rock, weighing sixteen ton, and placed it again on its Pillars, after it had laid on the ground for more than 200 years.
England has her beauty spots,
But none as dear to me
As the cliffs of dear old Portland
Surrounded by the sea.
And the wild flowers in the Spring Time,
There is none that can compare
To the daises and the buttercups
And kiss-me-quicks in the Weir.
And some I love so dearly
Are far across the foam,
I'll be content to go some times
Back to the dear old home.
The great big wide Atlantic
It seems to call to me
To visit my old home at Southwell,
Portland, Dorset, by the Sea.
And when it comes to my last trip
To be taken all alone,
I wonder if I'll find my way
Back to my dear old home.
E. W. Otter.
Old George Sampson used to come to our house of an evening sometimes. One night he said the wind came in his door terrible. There were several key-holes in the door. My father said "Why don't you put some corks in the holes? That will keep the wind out."
Old George jumped up as if he were shot, and made for the door. Father said "What is the matter, George?" George would not answer him. My brother was drinking a cup of tea at the time. He upset the tea all over the place, let his cup fall, and laughed right out. We all snickered for we all knew that George was called "Old Cork." but father did not know. Mother told him he was always saying something to hurt people's feelings. He said he was sorry, but he had never heard anyone call George "Old Cork." He made us all go to bed and went to George and apologized. Then mother and father had a few words over it. She said we were not to blame, it was himself who made the trouble. She had to laugh herself to see "Old George" act so foolish over it.
It all blew over and mother asked him to dinner many times after that, as he lived alone and cooked for himself. When he got so old he could not fetch water from the well I used to get it for him every day but Sunday. Saturday I had to get him two buckets to last over Sunday.
I ran errands for him and the villagers were good to him. When he got sick he was taken away to his sons, where he died. Then he was buried in St. George's Churchyard beside his wife "Sookie," as he called her. He was not so kind as he might have been to "Sookie," and as his boys got big they did not like to see him abuse her. One day his son Will locked the door so he could not get out. He started to climb out of the window, legs first, so will ran quickly, shut the window down on him and got a stick and gave him a good thrashing. Will said "I got thee now." So after that George was more careful how he treated "Sookie."
Will and George were his two sons. Will married Patience and George married Polly. When George fell in love with Polly he could not get in her home to see her. A friend told him to go and buy a peck of seed potatoes from her and maybe she would ask him in. He did, but Polly did not invite him to call again, so his friend said go and get half a peck more and ask if you can come to see her, which he did. Polly said yes, so in time they were married. They had no children, and in a few years Polly passed on. Then he married Lucy, a country girl. They had two boys and two girls who grew up and married.
William married Patience and lived in Weston. They had three children before Patience died. William then lived with a daughter for many years.
Farmer Joe rented Crown Farm. He was a good-hearted old chap and almost everyone on the Island knew him. He sent his carters out one day with the horses and waggons and women to rake up the hay ready for the men to load it up and bring it into the barn-yard. There they made their ricks.
All went well until 10 am. No waggons came in with the hay, so Joe got wild and got on his horse and rode out in the fields up over Sweet Hill to see why no hay had been brought in. There were his men and women, horses and waggons, near the field of hay all huddled together.
When he got near to them he roared out: "Why don't you get to work?" They said: "We can't, master, the soldiers are in there. They won't let us in the field." "Not let you in the field, eh? I'll see!" He rode amongst them and hollered: "Be off with you! I want to get my hay in. What do you mean by not letting my workmen in the fields, and knocking my walls down, and kicking my hay all over the place? The women had most of it ready for the men to load up. Get out of here!" The Colonel walked up to Joe and said: "My men are drilling. Do you know who I am?" "No," says Joe, "I don't know thee, soldier" (Joe didn't know a private from a colonel). The Colonel said: "I want you to know I am Colonel Partridge." Joe said: "I don't know who art, but I want thee to know that I am Colonel Pheasant, a damn sight better bird than thee art. Get out of here!" Some of the soldiers smiled - they dared not laugh and let their Colonel see them.
The Colonel called his men and they marched away to the Verne. Joe reported it to headquarters and men were sent down to see what damage was done, and Joe was compensated. Colonel Partridge had to apologize.
Another day the soldiers got in his turnip field. Joe saw them and rode amongst them, and ordered them off. The soldiers said nothing to him, but one of them called out: "Present Arms!" When Joe saw them getting their guns ready he struck spurs to his horse and away he went in over High Street, never looking back. That was the last time the soldiers ever bothered him.
In those days they cut wheat, barley, and oats with sickles and scythes. The women tied it in sheaves and put it up in shocks to dry. The women got from tenpence to a shilling a day. A carter got from ten shillings to eighteen per week and a little old house to live in. Yet they raised their families and seemed to be happy. As the children got big enough they worked too, and the carters wife worked in the fields also.
Joe had a threshing machine to thresh the corn, but the small farmers threshed their's with a dressel or thrail.
The children had a month's holiday at harvest time and had to go to the fields leasing wheat, barley and oats. After the farmers had taken the grain from the fields the children had to pick up what was left in big handfuls. This they took home. The straw was used for bedding the pigs and the frain for the fowls.
Sometimes they picked up snails from the walls. They would get a bucketful after a warm rain and then crack their shells with a stone, and oh my, but the ducks would have a feast. Wash-days their mothers put the wash on the walls to dry. not many had clothes-lines to dry it on, and they could not put it on the grass as there were too many ducks and geese around.
Tommy Hosey lived at Chesil. His mother bought a sheep's head to to make soup for their Sunday dinner. She put it on to cook and put some dumplings in with it, and told tommy to watch that it did not boil over while she went to Church.
After she was gone awhile Tommy looked in the kettle to see if everything looked alright. It was boiling fast, so Tommy saw the sheep's head and the dumplings going around and around, so he hurried to the Church. He knew that his mother sat near the back so in a loud whisper, that everyone could hear, he said: "Our mother, come along whome. The sheep's head is gobbling up all the dumplings. It's chasing 'em around like hell. Come along whome or we won't have any dinner."
She had to come out of the Church, Tommy would not go without her. Tommy did not want the sheep's head to eat his dinner, he told his mother. He wanted it himself and that she should come along whome.
Jimmy Coley and Molly Bluff, two old people who lived in southwell in a little two roomed house. They rented their house from old Bobby Cox, but never paid much rent. In front of the house was a pond, the water of which ran all through the village. There was a little bridge to cross over to get in the door. Ducks and geese got in the water. Most people in the village had a few ducks and fowls. Molly went to work most days over at Easton or Wakeham, washing and cleaning.
Jimmy went around the cliffs fishing or searching crab holes. The boys of the village used to torment them, sometimes they called them "Boats Out" and sang after them:
"Jimmy Coley an Molly Bluff,
Jimmy chew 'baccy and Molly take snuff."
This made them wild. They had two cats and they never went to bed until the cats came in. They called them most nights, and that was when the boys would call them names to get them cussing. They were very superstitious, most all the people were. They said the pixeys lived down Neddyfield, and when the church bells were put up on St George's Church all the pixies went away.
They said the rings in the field where the mushrooms grow was where the pixies danced on moonlight nights. The old folks really believed it, they said it so much, and when there was a ground sea they said they heard the dead people call "Haul in, Haul in." They frightened themselves and said the Jack-o'-lanterns used to come out in the fields and try to make you follow them, and they would lead you over the cliffs if you did.
They said the Jack-o'-lanterns was a big bright light. I think they told all such stuff to keep people in at night, as they were great for smuggling.
A woman in Grove, Portland, hired a nurse by the name of Mrs. Ben. Stone of Wakeham. When the time came the husband was sent to tell the nurse she was wanted. He went to Wakeham and asked for a Mrs. Ben. Stone.
He was directed to the house of Mr. Ben. Stone (Prickem). He told Mrs. Stone that he was sent to tell her she was wanted to nurse his wife. She said "Tiden I." Then he asked if there was another Mrs. Ben. Stone living there. "Yes." she said, "You call down there at that porch house." So the man did. There lived Ben. Stone called Ben Stinger. They knew nothing about it but directed him to another Ben. Stone a little further down Wakeham. He stopped at Ben. Stone's called Bengy Garr. They knew nothing about it, but sent him to Ben. Stone's called Ben. Figgs. No, that was not the place he wanted. He then called at Charlie Rumsey's where another Ben. Stone lived called Bengy Dittle-law. No, it was not he they wanted as he had no wife. He then went to Ben. Stone's called Ben. Bunting. It was not his wife, so at the bottom of Wakeham lived another Ben. Stone called Cannon Ball. He asked if it were his wife that went nursing. Yes, that was the one the poor man wanted, and had such trouble finding. It took him half the night. All those Mrs. Ben. Stone's lived in Wakeham Street.
Here are a few of the other nicknames:- Old Paddy, Dickey-luss, Benny-ficial, and Old Scrush (four brothers), Nick-a-nary, Sunday-morning, Privatesman, Snappy Dick, Bobby Low, Slouch-Stone, Out-of-house, Oh-George, Topper-out, Portland Bill, Lively, Blackbird, Flower-pot, Save-all, Jolly Sailor, Possum, Tom-bow-line, Old slack, Natty, Rashers, Sugar-ham, Tom-stiff, Legs, Lord Rivers, Fat Abe, O-yes, See-saw Stone, Snowie, San Toy, Quick, Rudefor, Joe Box, Grecian Bend, Tommy Cow, Rover Stone, Not for me, Bonny-snacks, Harry-all-saw, Crumplin, Old Admiral, Cupolo, Poor Bob, Pompey, Muddley Rod, Bonny Eyes, Brownie, Squint, Bobby-cock. Tupence, Pom-pom, Powell, Bob-gooseberry, Jack-dolly, Little Jack, Squibbie, Bunkem, Weekers, Girt Will, Whitey, Candles, John-trot, Buscoe, Neddy-O, Romce, Johnny Dumplings, Dilly, Stringer, Shah, Cuckoo, Billy Skim, Jimmy Tatty, Tar-bay, Trumpy, Derrick, Punch, Toby, Harry Buckears, Johnny Hoods, Old-kumey, Lusty, Ridelty, Tappy, Shammy, Spratty, Joher, Bengy-come, Malter, Bunny, Nuncle Tuff, Old-mye, Brusher, Pussy, Yurdo, Linsey, Lofty, Skiff, Lodge-up, Powner.
Everyone had buns at Easter time and there was a maiden lady from Weston who came around selling them. Most people made their own, but they bought a few from her to help her out. She was old and had the Parish. Parish was not much in those days - two shillings and sixpence a week and a large loaf of bread. The people who knew her gave her different things to eat. They were all good-hearted.
The worst custom was that of giving everyone a nickname and one bad thing was that the children called out the nicknames to the old people and made them very angry. Poor “Old Nante” felt very hurt sometimes. In her young days she had a sweetheart who was called “Goodall,” and some of the young folks would tie her door some way so that when he got ready to go home he could not get out. They had lots of fun over it. But Nanty and Goodall were much provoked and they never married, whether the people spoiled their courtship or whether they broke it up themselves I never heard.
She seemed very old to me. She had great wide skirts and a black poke bonnet. She always dressed in black and looked quite fleshy to me, and always carried a walking stick. We used to sing to her:
“Poll Wallis, Poll Wallis, come out to play,
The moon doth shine so bright as day,
Come with a whistle, come with a call,
Come with a good-will or don’t come at all.”
There was another old lady who came to Southwell sometimes from Wakeham. They called her Betty Low. She dressed the same and looked one hundred years old to me.
All the houses were built of stone, mostly four rooms and a little scullery in the back. Here they had a furnace to heat the water for washing, or to cook the taties for the pigs, or their Christmas puddings. A few had a garret, so that made three bedrooms and they surely needed them as most families had eight, nine, or ten in them.
The living room had a fire all the time. We cooked and ate and practically lived there. The front room was mostly shut up and was only opened for special occasions. If the Rector came or if there was a wedding or a funeral. This room had a few good chairs and a round table in it. A large family bible stood on the table and a few other books. Maybe a pretty flower in the window and a few vases on the mantel-piece. Some had carpet on the floor and a few had pictures on the wall.
We had three pictures on our wall. One was called “Saturday Night,” where the people were dancing; another was “Sunday Morning,” where the people were going to Church, all dressed up in their Sunday best; whilst the other was “Belshazzar’s Feast.”
For lights at night most people burned candles, very few had lamps. We had brass candle sticks and we polished them up and kept them on the mantel-piece.
After harvest they threshed the wheat with dressels or thrails. Then they had to clean out the chaff or winnow it. To do this they placed a large canvas on the ground, placed the wheat on it, then they filled sieves with the wheat and shook them on the wind, the chaff all blew out leaving the wheat clean. Many bushels of wheat and barley were cleaned in this way.
When they wanted flour they took the grain to the mills. There were two of them, the ruins of one of them is still there. I have heard the old folks tell how they have had to winnow the wheat, take it to the mill, have it ground into flour, take it home to Southwell and bake cakes before they had anything to eat. The old miller would take so much flour for his pay. I have heard them tell how they burned crusts of bread and poured boiling water on it to make tea. They bought tea by the ounce as it was very dear. Sometimes they made sweet margum tea. Sweet margum grew all around the walls up Lowmansline, up over Langley and down Chene. Again they made tea of peppermint which grew at Culverwell. We used to pick it and dry it for winter.
In autumn, one of the chief enjoyments was the capture of “snalters” as the Portlanders call the handsome and delicate eating wheatear, which visits the Island annually, and at that time in great numbers.
The boys used to make snalter traps to catch them and many a pie we made of them.
Under the guidance and help of an older and chummish Portland lad I learned to build the little stone traps, and succeeded in capturing many of the toothsome birds. The traps and snares are so original and effective that a description of them will, I think, be of interest. You first cut away two narrow strips of the turf in the form of a cross, each leg about a foot long. The exposed earth is the lure to these insect eating birds. You then build, with small flat stones, a little circular wall, ten or twelve inches high, around the cross leaving little doorways at the points where the bare strips terminate, and in these entrances you fit your snares, each of which consists of a short strip of thin wood, having a thin horsehair attached to its center and the other end arranged as a running noose. Fixing the wood slip as a lintel to the doorway you arrange the pendant loop so that a bird cannot enter without putting his head into the noose, which as he struggles tightens round his neck and holds him securely. You usually build several of these miniature castles a few yards apart and then retire to a distance and do a little driving of stray birds towards your traps; but they must not be left unwatched, or set at evening for early morning captures, or the hawks will have your birds leaving you only the feathers and heads. In an afternoon we might secure a dozen birds or more, working on a far from favourable spot, namely, the fringe of the common, which then reached down to the rear of the site now occupied by the gas works, near the railway station.
This mode of capture of the wheatear is depicted in old prints to be found in some cottages, where the boys are shown with their traps built in the wide street of Weston village in the Tophill district. One lad might catch many dozens of the birds in a day in the open southern parts. These choice were always on sale in the autumn in the poulterers’ shops at Weymouth, skewered up in half-dozens with vine leaves between them, ready dressed for roasting. In those days there were regular poulterers’ shops dealing only in poultry and game, Mrs. Lowman’s in St. Mary Street being the leading one, nearby the present entrance to Boots' shop.
The "snalters" still come though in diminished numbers, and only to the open lands toward the south end of the Island; but they seem not to have the interest for the modern boy that they had for their great grandfathers. Speaking of birds, it is remarkable that, as of old, so to-day, only one pair of ravens inhabit the Island at one time, though they breed here, and must consequently banish their progeny to the wilds of the mainland. These imposing glossy black birds keep mainly to the West Cliff, but are of very shy habit. Below the East Cliff beyond Pennsylvania, I have seen small coveys of blue rock pigeons, also a very shy bird. They are regarded, I believe, as the primitive stock of the domestic pigeon. The cuckoo used to rest on the Island for a few hours on arrival, and voice a few calls, then depart for the mainland, en route for his natural haunt.
The "Avalanche" Memorial Church.
This is a peculiarly interesting church. It is dedicated to S. Andrew and is of the early English style. It was erected by public subscription as a memorial of the captain, passengers, and crew of the "Avalanche," which was wrecked and sunk on the west side of the Island, Nearly opposite the site of the Church, in a collision with the "Forrest," on the night of the 11th September 1877. More than 100 lives were lost, only three persons escaping by getting on board the "Forrest" and being afterwards rescued by Portland beachmen. The length of the building inside the walls is 71ft. 6in. and the extreme breadth 24ft. The nave is 47ft. 6in. long and 24ft. wide, and the chancel 21ft. 6in. by 16ft. 6in. There is a baptistry at the south-west corner 10ft. by 11ft., and an entrance porch 10ft. by 9ft. on the north side at the west end. The church is built entirely of Portland stone, and it is a fine specimen of workmanship. The principle woodwork of the roof of the nave is open to view, and is of stained deal, that of the chancel being boarded in panels. The roof is covered with Broseley nib tiles, and the floor of the chancel is laid with tesselated pavement. There is a bell turret at the west end, containing two bells. Underneath the west window, which is of stained glass, a brass tablet is fixed, bearing the names of those drowned in the collision. The east window is of stained glass, the three lights representing the Crucifixion, Resurrection, and Ascension. This window was the gift of Miss Frances Jane Scriven, of Reforne, in memory of her three brothers, John Thurman Benfield, Benjamin and Henry Thurman Scriven. On the north side of the chancel is a handsome three-light Gothic window of stained glass, with marble columns, erected by her brothers and sisters, in memory of Miss Watt, who went down in the Avalanche. The stained glass window in the baptistry is in memory of Robert Tanner, M.D., of Ledbury, and his son, who were lost in the ship. The lectern was given by Mr. and Mrs. Downing in memory of her brother; and the handsome stone pulpit was the gift of friends in memory of Lionel A. Alexander, another victim of the disaster. Nearly all the fittings of the church are offerings, and all the nave windows except one are stained glass and are memorial. The six small chancel windows are all offerings, as is also the organ, which is a two manual one by Allen, of Bristol, and cost about £80. The pulpit is supported by six Devonshire marble columns, with richly moulded caps and bases, and the panels are handsomely carved. The font which is of base-bed Portland stone, was the work of messrs. Steward and Company, of Portland, and is a very elaborate piece of work. It is supported by four handsome Devonshire marble columns, and was erected in memory of Eric Wauton, aged 20, by his mother. Among other gifts to the church were: A silver chalice by Mrs. Neale, in memory of her son; The alter linen by Mrs. Higgins, in memory of Dr. Tanner; £20 towards the organ fund by Mr. S. Williams, in memory of Captain Williams, his brother; service books by the Society for Promotion of Christian Knowledge; a silver paten by Mrs. Tidswell; an Alms box by Mrs. Stock, in memory of her son; an alms basin by Dr. Lush of Weymouth; the bishop's chair by Mr. W. S. Lukin, a clock by Mr. Robert Pearce of Southwell; £12 by Miss Bertha Josselyn, towards the monument being a moiety of her collection; £5 by Mrs. M. Priest, to the monument, and £3 towards the alter cloth; £10 by Mr. A. M. Stevenson, New Zealand, and £4 by Mrs. Stevenson, to the monument; £5 by Mr. W.H. Smith and £3 by the Rev. W. M. Barnes, towards the organ; a set of alms bags by the Rev. Canon Morrice; a brass pulpit desk by Colonel Steward; hymn books for the choir by the Rev. W. Pulling, in memory of Dr. Tanner; three small stained glass windows in the south side of the chancel by Mrs. Downing in memory of her brother, Mr. W. Bennett. The Architect of the church was Mr. Crickmay, of Weymouth, the diocesan surveyor, and the builders Messrs. Lynham and Bayliss, of Portland. The total cost of the church, including the site, was about £2,000. It was consecrated by Dr. Moberly, Bishop of Salisbury, on 3 July, 1879, all the sittings being declared free. The idea of erecting a memorial church was suggested by a lady to the Rector (the Rev. J. A. Beazor) who cordially adopted it, with the most gratifying result.
We regret to have to place on record the death of Mr. William Henry Otter, of 1, Avalanche Road, Southwell, who had been for many years one of the best known Southwell men. Ever since the opening of the Avalanche Memorial Church 37 years ago, Mr. Otter had held the post of Church Warden, and his death which occurred at the ripe age of 77, will be keenly lamented not only in Southwell but over the whole of Tophill. The first portion of the service was read by the Rev. F. W. Bullock in St. Andrew's Church, where, in token of respect to the deceased, the surpliced choir sang. The committal service was read at the graveside by the Rev. F. D. Bullock, Canon Beazor being prevented by his serious illness from attending.
The coffin was of polished oak with massive brass fittings, and bore the plate: "William Henry Otter, died January 2nd, 1909. Aged 77."
The Passing Of Mr. Robert Flew Pearce.
On Thursday, January 14th, 1926, our dear friend and greatly esteemed parishioner passed to his reward, and on the following Monday his body was laid to rest in our Parish Churchyard, aged 79. For nearly 50 years - ever since the consecration of our St. Andrew's Church - he most loyally and faithfully fulfilled the duties of Church Warden.
Mr Pearce was never absent from his post, saving a brief holiday once or twice. Quiet, unobtrusive, and humble in disposition; reliable to the last degree; and upright and conservative, he leaves a wonderful record of service behind him. He loved the little church, and it was his greatest joy to serve it. He has earned his rest and gained his reward. Be it ours to follow him, as he followed Christ.
Death Of The Rev. Canon J. A. Beazor.
It was with deep regret that the death was recorded of the rector of Portland (the Rev. Canon J. A. Beazor), which occurred at the ripe age of 72, at the Rectory, on Thursday afternoon. The news of the demise of the beloved Canon spread through the Island but slowly and was received with but little surprise, yet with the most heartfelt expressions of regret. It was over 57 years ago - to be exact on November 25th, 1872 - when Canon Beazor first came to Portland as Rector of St George's. On the very day that he came to the Island the "Royal Adeliade" came ashore on the Chesil Beach, so that the Rector had a remarkable experience to mark his first visit to the Island which was to be for so long his home.
The Canon at once found a place in the hearts of his flock and during the 36 years of his tenure of the Rectory he had not made an enemy. Go where you would amongst the Nonconformists or Catholics, one heard nothing but praise of the Rector and a genuine appreciation of his kindly ways, fairness, and wide sympathies. Never was his broadness of mind shown more than at a meeting held some years previous to consider the advisibility of enlarging the Parish Churchyard. Canon Beazor took the chair, and although the meeting was composed of out and out Nonconformists so well did he hold the reins that one and all unite even now in praising him for his broad mind.
For many years the Canon took the services at St George's with the afternoons at St Andrew's by himself, but in 1903 the Rev. F. Bulloch came as his curate and gave the Rector much needed assistance. In his time Canon Beazor took an active interest in the Volunteer movement and was chaplain of the Portland companies of Dorset Volunteer Artillery for many years, earning the Volunteer Decoration, the medal which he delighted to wear at the quarterly Church Parades. He was interested, too, in the Territorial movement, which he watched keenly, and his absence from the annual concert of the local company was remarked with regret.
In politics, although he made no political speeches or sermons, the Canon was a strong Conservative, and had appeared on the platform to support Colonel Brymer on many occasions.
It was at Christmas time that Illness seized the Canon and confined him to his bed. At first his illness was not thought serious but as time passed on and he showed no signs of improvement, the worst was feared, and his son (the Rev. Lovell Beazor), and his daughters (Mrs. Jones and Mrs. McHattie) were sent for, arriving in time to be with their father at the last.
Old Shepherd Gould and his wife lived in an old thatched house in Southwell. He had two dogs that understood all he said to them. Shepherd took care of Ward's sheep, hundreds of them. He would tell his dogs to go all up around and the dogs would round them all up and keep them out of the fields on their way out to Sturt where they would stay all day.
In the evenings he would drive the sheep to the folds. They would have a lot of hurdles and put them around a field of mangels or turnips like a fence. The dogs would drive the sheep into the folds and Shepherd would put up the last hurdle and so shut them in for the night.
Sometimes he would drive them down to the Common or to the Weirs - wherever there was the most grass for them. There were several flocks of sheep besides Ward's on the Island.
Not many people went out Sturt those days, only shepherds and a fisherman named Lowman. He went out there to pull his pots and take out the crabs and lobsters. Sometimes a few children would be out there picking up shen. We used to like to do it. The skylarks and goldfinches sang lovely. The sea gulls made a lot of noise around the cliffs. The cliffs were covered in flowers - we called them sea-pinks.
There were two lighthouses there, both built in the year 1716. In 1789 the corporation of Trinity House took down one of these and rebuilt it in a situation to serve for a mark by day or night to direct ships coming up or going down the Channel or into Portland Roads clear of the Race or Shambles. In the upper or old house there were two rows of Argand lamps, seven in each row, lighted with oil and burning a cotton wick three-quarters of an inch in diameter, and furnished with highly polished reflectors. In the lower house were six lamps of similar construction, the light of which was increased by a lens of 22-in. in opposite to, and at a proper distance from each light. Each of these lenses was valued at £50. No expense was spared to make the lights as good as possible, and so well did they succeed that it often happened that the lights were visible till the distance was so great as to sink them below the horizon. The new lighthouse was built by William Johns, of Weymouth. It was 20 feet in diameter at the base and 10 feet at the top with a cornice two feet wide. it was 63 feet high and, was built of Portland stone. Over the doorway on a tablet of marble was the following inscription:
"For the direction and comfort of navigators;
for the benefit and security of commerce;
and for a lasting memorial of British Hospitality to all nations;
this lighthouse was erected by the ancient
Corporation of Trinity Houseod Deptford Strond in 1789.
Distance to the cliff, 1,608 feet".
New and improved higher and lower lighthouses were erected to take the place of the old ones in 1869.
In 1903 (June) notice was given of the intention of the Corporation of Trinity House to build a new lighthouse at the bill to replace the two existing ones.
Superstition and the belief in witchcraft had so possessed the minds of the people of Portland that almost every event was supposed to be regulated by this evil power, and every misfortune was attributed to a Witch or Necromancer.
If they had a bay tree on their premises they believed they would be protected, so that was about the only tree you could find in Southwell.
Old Will Woller had one planted near his door. He had one door and one window in his house. When the boys knew he was gone they would cut the latch string and when he came home he could not open his door. So he would ask one of the boys to climb in the window and open the door for him. Of course, the boy would tell the others and they thought it was great fun when he blamed the witches for cutting the latch string.
One day a neighbour wanted him to sell him the Bay Tree. He began to swear and swear until he almost collapsed. A cousin of his said, "Yes, Will, why not sell it?" He started to swear again. He said, "You, you, one of my own family, to tell me to sell my Bay Tree! What are you thinking about? You know I have it there by my door for protection. Get out of here or I will get my blunderbuss and show you what I'll do!"
Will had a donkey at one time. When he got on the donkey's back his feet would touch the ground. The boys used to climb on his roof and fill his chimney with straw when he was away. He would try to light his fire and the smoke all came out in the room. Then he would investigate and find the trouble. The boys would not be far away to watch what he would do. Then he would look around and see some of them. He would get his old blunderbuss and tell them what he would do with them next time, but the boys left when he got the gun.
The boys called him "Rashers." One day he went to Fortuneswell to sell his herbs. He went in Osborne's shop to get some bacon. Osborne asked him if he wanted it in a piece or in rashers. Will looked at Osborne and said "What! Dos thee know that too, you Bridport -----?" Osborne came to Portland from Bridport and started his shop. Osborne looked at the man and thought he was crazy. Will never got the bacon. He was too angry and thought Osborne was making fun of him.
Another customer there that knew will, and of course he laughed. This made Will worse than ever. He told Osborne that "Rashers" was what the boys called the old man. Osborne said he was sorry but he never knew that.
Old Will would go to Church on Wednesday evenings with another old man, Bob Friend they called him. Sometimes they would get as far as the Church and would not go in. They would turn around and go back home again.
On their way the boys would torment them, calling them names. There were no policemen at Southwell or Weston, so the boys did just as they liked. They tormented them and got them swearing so bad that felt they were too wicked to go the Church.
One night, when they were coming from Church and got near home, they saw a light that looked like a house afire. The old chaps started to run. They each thought it was their house. The boys of the village had made a bonfire in the middle of the street. Old Bob would say to Will, "I think it is my house." "No," Will would say, "Its mine."
Will would not stop to think that his house was made of stone and slate and would not burn. Will had a brother called Bobby Waller. He was a little short man, as short as Will was tall. He had a sister Jenny, a little short woman, very neat. She wore a white cap on her head, a linsey wolsey dress, and a purple print apron. She lived alone in Old Bobby's house. She had an old-fashioned settle and sometimes we would go in and see her. We would pull the settle up to the fire and sit there awhile. It would hold three of us. The we would put our feet on the grate and push. Over we would go, settle and all. Jenny would get very angry at us. She would get the poker and chase us out and would keep us out for awhile. Then we would tell her we were sorry and would not do it again, and she would let us in again.
Jenny, Bob or Will never married. When will became sick the neighbours took care of him. At last he was taken to Easton where he died and buried in St. George's Churchyard.
It was reported after his death that he had money hid under the hearthstone. Of the truth of that do not know, but that was the tale for a long time. His old house is gone but the walls are still there in Flowers Lane. His house and John White's, alias Jack Dolly, were the only houses on Sweet Hill Road then. John White's house is still there and a family of four or five live in it. It must be over a hundred years old.
A gentleman had company one evening from one of the boats at Castletown, and he sent his houseman or valet with a lantern to show him the way round the cliff to the boat. The valet was brave enough in the day time but at night he was afraid. He went along well enough with the visitor but on his way home he was alone. He thought he would go a shorter way so he climbed a wall to go across the allotments.
Over the first wall was alright, but as he climbed the second wall he was almost frightened to death. He landed on an old sow that was sleeping there with her young ones. The pigs were as frightened as he was. The little pigs squealed and ran in all directions. The man ran and the old sow ran after the man. The lantern was broken in the mixup. The valet got over the other walls but he never could tell how he accomplished it. He ran like mad until he got to the house where he pounded on the door with all his might. His master thought he surely was crazy, and asked him what was the matter. "Matter" he said, "matter enough! The devil was after me and all his angels."
It was a long time before the master could reason with him, so he finally said, "In the morning we will walk there and see what it was." But the valet said "It was the devil I tell you. You should have heard him holler."
The next morning they walked to the field to see what was wrong. There was the old sow and her young ones and the broken lantern, so the master said "There is your devil." But it did no good, the servant would never go that way again after dark.
There was a young man called Notter who lived at Southwell. He went down on top of the beach one day and found the body of a woman washed up from the sea. He saw some people crowded around something so he went to see what it was. He saw that it was a corpse. One of the men said to him "Give us a hand and help us carry the body down over beach to the morgue." He did and said the woman was not very old and good looking, and had very long hair. He could not get it out of his head, it frightened him so.
One night when returning home from his sweetheart, rather late of course, he was coming through the quarries at Wide Street. This isa very lonely place at night. As he got half way through, something rushed past him and let out a screech, whoo, whoo. He thought it was the woman's ghost after him and was scared most to death. He started to run as fast as he could. He had to pass a graveyard before he got home, and this scared him more than ever, but he didn't see anything there. He went through Weston, up over Slobs, and past old Winter Otter's stables. Being almost home he slowed up some, when all at once he thought he heard something pitter patter behind him. He looked behind and saw some great white thing following him. This started him running fast again. He said his hair stood on end, he was so scared, but the thing kept following him - pitter patter, pitter patter.
He got near his home and up over the steps. Here he paused to look back, and there was something watching him, so he opened the door and got inside as fast as he could. He called his mother, and everyone in the house got up to hear how he helped to carry a dead woman down over Chesil Beach where her body had been washed up by the tide.
He said her ghost must have followed him, for as he came through Wide Street something rushed passed him and screeched whoo, whoo. He ran and got away from the ghost, but when he got up top Slobbs the ghost was after him again.
They all went back to bed frightened and did not know what to think about it. They believed more or less in ghosts around Portland. Their sleep was ruined that night. Notter said he would never go through the quarries again at night. To avoid this he would have to go down Easton and around Wakeham, but he would have to pass Nanny Diements Hole, where people had often seen ghosts. He said he would have to chance it. He could soon get past there.
The next day the story was told of what happened to Notter last night, and it was soon all over the Island that Notter had seen a ghost.
Well it came out that Winter Otter's old white pig was lost. Someone had opened the gate and the pig got out. Later they found the old pig in the fields contented enough. So that was the ghost, the old pig followed him, and an owl as scared as himself, in the quarries.
But to this day the old folks will tell the story, and they really believe it was a ghost. "Notter has seen" they would say, "And wouldn't he know a pig from a ghost?" Sure he would but he was too frightened after the fright in the quarries to know if it was a pig, a ghost, or the devil after him.
It frightened him up good, and he never forgot it.
Old Harry Hinde kept school at Southwell, in an old house built in 1736. You can see the date in a stone over the door of the porch to-day, 1930. The house is still in good condition, and is being used now for a storehouse. It is built of stone with a roof of stone slats and stone floors downstairs. The two rooms upstairs had floors of wood. The front of the house is covered in ivy. A gutter, or pool we called it, used to run in front of the door. There was a little bridge you had to cross to get through the door. The pool ran through the village from Little Well, on top of the lane near Avalanche Church. The Rector of the Island visited the school on occasions. The children had to stand up as he came into the house. The boys bowed and the girls made a curtsy. Then they sat down again and went on with their work. If they could not learn the lesson they had to wear a dunce's cap and stand in the corner to face the wall. Old Harry kept bees. Sometimes he went to the rear of his house to see if there were any signs of the swarming (a swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay). If Harry was gone rather a long time the children would go out quietly. When he came back they would all be gone home. He would have a nice time rounding them up again.
Some of the mothers would scold Harry for leaving the children alone. They sent the children to school to learn, they said. And, of course, the children were pleased to hear their mothers scolding the teacher. They were always no the look-out for another chance to get out of school.
There was a little Wesleyan Chapel at Southwell, built in 1836. They had revival services sometimes in this little Chapel, and some got a bit excited, as they preached so much about Hell and brimstone. Not many of the old folks could read, and if they had a good speaker it frightened them up good as well as the children. When they sang the hymn, "Almost persuaded; come, come to-day," and the children joined in, you could hear it all over the village if the Chapel door was open.
Another hymn they sang was:
"You will see the books laid open , on that great day,
Oh, turn, poor sinners, and escape eternal fire,
For you must stand the trial on that great day.
You will hear the thunder rolling on that great day,
Oh, turn, poor sinners, and escape eternal fire,
For you must stand the trial on that great day.
You will see the lightning flashing on that great day,
Oh, turn, poor sinners, and escape eternal fire,
For you must stand the trial on that great day.
They told us where we would go if we did not tell the truth, and that it was a sin to steal, even a pin and still worse to steal a greater thing. We were led by fear, but sometimes we forgot. If a number of us sat together we laughed and snickered.
Poor old Shadrick would cry, then we would look at each other and start laughing. Poor old man, he was childish, and thought he was not as good as he ought to be. He was a good old man, but children are children, they do not understand. His crying out loud in Chapel sounded funny to them; they did not realise he was old. Some lady would then come and sit among us and give us a slap if we laughed. We would be quiet for a little while, but if Shadrick should cry out again we would all start snickering again.
We would all join in the singing and then chapel would be dismissed.
Next day if the lady should see our mothers, she would say, "That boy or maid of yours was proper bad in Chapel last night." Mother would say. "Why don't you slap them. In Chapel making work. Wherever will they go to! The bad man will have them and fly away with them." We were afraid when it was dark but got over that when it was light again.
Sometimes the Rector or his Curate would come to Southwell from the top of Yeats to preach and pray with the Southwell people in one of the villager's house. They would put a few stools around the room, and the villagers would come in. This was before the Avalanche Church was built.
Sunday Schools had tea-meetings for the children in July or August. Every child looked forward to them. The Chapel children marched around Wakeham to Easton, and met the Easton and Weston children. They would sing hymns, carry flags and their tea-meeting cups. They marched back to Westcrates where tea and buns were served to them by the teachers. Sometimes we put a bun in our pockets too. There were a few stannins or stalls where they sold fruit, and sherbert water, and rocks.
There was a swing for the children, and they ran races for presents. They scrambled for rocks or sweets, played kiss in the ring and dusty miller. About nine o'clock they would go home, the end of a perfect day for most of them.
St George's Sunday School would march down Reforne for their tea-meeting, in later years they held it in Pennsylvania Castle. There were tables for the parents who wanted tea with their children. Tickets were ninepence each, the children getting theirs free. The band would come down to the field from the Verne and play in the evening. Some danced. This shocked some of the old folks and they said the Rector should not allow it. They must have enjoyed it though, for they watched and laughed over it.
Playing cards was a terrible thing. They were called the devil's playthings, but they got over that too. They loved their Rector very dearly. It was through his efforts that a pretty little church was built at Southwell. The Avalanche Memorial Church, St. Andrew's, was erected as a memorial to those who lost their lives in the collision between the "Avalanche" and the "Forest", opposite the spot, in the year of 1877.
The Rector, the Rev. J. A. Beazor, worked very hard to get a church at Southwell. It was much needed. Money was collected from all over the world to help build it. The Portland people helped all they could, some gave money and some labour. The Church Wardens worked with their Rector, they were W. H. Otter and Robert Pearce of Southwell. The people came from all over the Island to worship there Sunday afternoons.
After the tea meetings came Portland Fair. For three days Chesil would be very noisy. There would be a few shows, merry-go-rounds, swinging boats, and stannings, where they sold gingerbread-nuts, brown rocks, and comfits. There were also shooting galleries. Children enjoyed it and most of the older folks too. The children talked of it for days after, how many times they rode on the merry-go-round and who paid for it. Some of the older folks called it vanity fair and would not go near it. No, that they wouldn't, that was what the devil liked, they said, and some of the children were not allowed to go either.
People came from Weymouth, soldiers from the Verne, and sailors from Castletown. At night they had big bonfires. One fair day a negro came from one of the ships, he was followed all over the place and was a big attraction, being the first negro most of them had seen.
There was a big field at the bottom of Old Hill, by the Verne, where they sold cattle, but that did not interest the children. After fair day which was November 5th, the next holiday was Christmas, when "Grandfer Christmas" came round. The masters of the quarries gave each man a ticket worth two-and-a-half shillings. They took it to the butcher and if there were several in the family working they got a nice joint of beef for their tickets, and everyone had Christmas pudding.
New year the Reforne school children had a concert, and every child as they passed out was given an orange, and went home happy. They had a magic lantern, and most of the children would get to see it. They thought it was wonderful.
Later on came Easter. The children had a week's holiday. The men in the quarries had three days, some of them a week. They planted their gardens which was half of their living. They raised all of their vegetables and a few rabbits. Sundays, sometimes, they would have a nice rabbit for dinner.
The boys played ball out Sturt on Good Friday and Easter Week if the weather was nice. They also played pitch-pennies and marbles.
The girls, or maids as they called them, skipped the rope or rolled hoops, or played hop-scotch. Some winters there was no snow but very cold winds. One winter I remember quite well, in February, 1881, the snow was as high as the walls. The traffic was all stopped and the bakers could not get round to the people with bread. They all had to get out and make roads through the snow. People never saw so much snow at one time before or since in Portland.
In 1838 a couple from Weston married in St George's Church, after which they returned to their new home in Weston for the wedding breakfast with their relatives and friends. At such times as these there used to be all sorts of fun and frolic carried on. The bridegroom, being of a very humorous disposition, arranged for a rope to be thrown over the house and challenged the bride that she could not pull the rope over the house, which she accepted; but he meanwhile went to the other end and kept it back, and hence the fun. He then went to her end of the rope, and it came away quite easily. He therefore gave her this object lesson to the amusement of the company, that whenever she did anything in the future, it must be with the knowledge and approval of both. This same man was Mr. Henry Otter of Weston. He also was the first man to plant cabbage plants on the Island in the same garden of the home just mentioned. The plants came from a Cornish schooner loading stone from Folly Pier.
In 1789, the big pond which was then in Easton Square was frozen over in one night. The next morning a carter by the name of Robert Wollage, of Weston, then working for Farmer Lowman of the Crown Farm, drove a team of horses and waggon over the ice to break it down to water the horses, but did not succeed as it was frozen so thick, which was most remarkable for one night's frost.
Portlanders were anciently famous for flinging stones and were the British Baleares. The people are a stout, hardy, industrious race, and in general better informed than most labouring people. Very healthy but not long-lived, for though at sixty many of the men are strong and sturdy, they soon drop, which may be accounted for from too great a use of spirits.
The natives are jealous of strangers coming to settle in the Island and distinguish them by the title "Kimberlins." In consequence they marry and inter-marry so much among themselves that most of the Islanders are related. I think there is less poverty among them than any place I have ever seen.
It may be said that cases of infidelity among the common people are very rare, and jealousy little known. Portland is four miles long and one-and-a-half broad at its widest part. The highest ground is 496 feet above sea level. The pebbles on Chesil Beach generally consist of white calcareous spar. The Chesil Bank is seventeen miles long.
The Island is one continuous bed of rock of free stone, and the soil, though shallow, is good.
The "Portland Arms" Hotel was a favourite resort of King George III. His majesty often dined there. The old china meat dish, which was left by him at the Hotel, was sold in September 1703 for £300. The "Portland Arms" is still an Hotel and doing good business now in 1930.
There was one public house in Weston, and that was known as the "Lugger." It stood on land now in the occupation of, and belonging to Mr. Robert Comben of the Grove. It was occupied in those days, and for years afterwards, by the family of Robert Hinde. This was the first house in Portland to have glass in the windows, before that time horn was used. The second house to have glass was behind Mr. Joseph Pearce's shop at Weston, in a house built in the time of Queen Anne, and now used as a store.
The Court Leet was held in those days in a building on the right-hand side going down to Weston, nearly opposite the Pond. After the business had been disposed of, it used to be the custom to retire to the "Lugger" for their dinner, the chief dishes at which were broccoli and artichokes.
The "Lugger" in those days was the rendezvous of the Portland smugglers, and many a cargo's worth was shared out in its small black tap-room, grimed with smoke and covered with sawdust. This was the place where the bold, bad smugglers shared their money, and if the old stones could but find tongues what tales could they reveal! Could they tell of quarrels and bickerings, of fights and murders done in the dark of night? Could they tell of fights with the Excisemen or of the stirring chases when the cargoes were run? But now, alas for the romances which were budding in the writer's brain, the old house is but a memory, and as far as we know, there is nothing left to tell us its story.
To return to the artichokes, Mr. Otter tells us that potatoes were not known in the Island then, and have only been in cultivation here for about 95 years.
Wages in those days were not at anything like the same rate as they are at present. Richard Lowman built the wall from the "George" on the left-hand side of the road to the Pond at Weston. He was paid 1/- per day, and was a professional waller, otherwise he would not have earned anything near that sum. One can see the initials "RL" in the wall on the Weston side of the Pound.
Once there was a remarkable catch of mackerel in the Mere. The fish, about 900 in number, had strayed through the "gut" (which then was much higher up than it is now), and Captain Jot and Richard Waite, seeing fish inside, dropped their nets across the "gut," thus imprisoning the whole school. When the tide went out the men walked in the Mere and picked up the fish as they lay on the sand.
Years back there lived in the village of Weston a man named John Owen (pronounced O'yen) Pearce. He was a great favourite of King George III., and that monarch always made a point of asking for O'yen when he came to the Island. The reason for this friendship was that when King George came to Portland first he wandered over to the lighthouse. There he saw Pearce, who offered the King refreshment. The king accepted the offer and the two struck up a friendship. His Majesty was so taken with the naivete of the Islander that he always sent for Pearce when he visited the Island. They would meet at the "Portland Arms" and have their refreshment, which consisted of home-baked bread, "blue vinny" cheese, home brewed ale, and pickled samphire.
This same John Pearce was the first man in the island to use a pair of bellows for blowing up a fire. These bellows were made from two old "box hats" which came ashore from a ship laden with "toppers," and the sea-washed articles of headgear were sold for a penny each. O'yen contrived to make his bellows out of two hats.
At the time there was only one darning needle in Southwell and Weston, and that was kept in John Pearce's thatched roof and lent from one family to another whenever required.
Recollections And Memories Of An Old Portland Sage, The Late Mr. Hiram Otter.
There were few people on the Island of Portland twenty years ago who were not acquainted with Mr. Hiram Otter, a man whose figure, clad in regulation Salvation Army costume, was to be seen in all parts of the Island, and sometimes in Weymouth. In talking about old recollections, Mr. Otter said he was blessed with a good memory, and the history handed down to him by old inhabitants when he himself was a boy is still clear in his mind. He stated that years ago there were two public houses in Southwell, one known as the "Tumbledown Dick" and the other the "Ragged Louse." That was before the "George" at Reforne or St. George's Church were built. St. George's was built in 1754. The landlords of those days used to brew their own ale as a rule, although sometimes Kirbey, of High Street, Fortuneswell, used to supply them.
Two old Portlanders were out walking and got tired and thirsty. Hiram said to Will, "I've got a penny, see. What have you got? Ever so small a piece of silver with a penny will get a quart of ale." Will had a threepenny bit, so they got their drink all right.
In later years when the Salvation Army came to Portland, Hiram joined the Army and was a good old soldier. They asked him to make a speech one evening at a meeting, so brother Hiram said, "He liked to go to the Army meetings. It was just like going courting, better and better every night."
When the people knew brother Hiram was going to speak, it would draw a large crowd.
The Salvation Army Citadel was in Park Road, Easton. It commenced operations in Portland on March 29th, 1885. Its first local Officers were Capt. Crammond and Lieut. Pacy. The Corps had a membership of 170; Officers: Adjutant Larkham and Lieut. Seymour.
Portland people were great smugglers. My mother told me what happened to her when she was about fourteen years old. That would be about one hundred years ago. Her cousin Mary Ann asked her to go down to Chiswell. Mary Ann was sent down there to get liquor in a basket. The girls started off with their basket and got the liquor. The jugs just fitted in the basket nicely, and they were returning to Southwell, going through the quarries at Wide Street, when they met a lady going the same way. They started talking to her. She must have smelt the liquor, or else they told her what they had. Any way she hurried on, she was a Coast Guard's wife, and lived in the buildings in Reforne.
She told her husband she had walked with two girls carrying heavy baskets of liquor, and that they were going to Southwell and if he hurried he could catch them. In the meantime he girls met their cousin Joe, who was going home from work. He helped the girls carry their baskets. The Coast Guard caught them up and arrested them, held them to trial and found them guilty.
The two girls, Mary Ann and Mary, were sent to Dorchester Jail. I don't know if Joe went to prison or not, as the Coast Guard's wife knew he was not with them when she left them. Mary Ann was in hospital most of the time she was in jail, so Mary was not with her. Mary said she was put with an old woman who was put in for life, and was going to be sent to Van Dieman's Land. She did not know what the old woman had done. Mary said the soup they gave them was the best she had ever had. She was in jail about six months, when someone interceded for them, and Queen Victoria reprieved them.
Mary's parents had told her not to go on the trip, so they said, let those who got her in jail get her out. It would be a good lesson for her, to do what she was told.
They had smuggling holes in many places. I saw one near Flower's Lane, now it is between two houses. My father used to plant the garden, and the wall tumbled down in front of it. He hired Charley Rumsey to build it up, so they were talking about it. I was playing around there and saw it too, and went in it. There was one at Weston opposite the little chapel, so I heard my father say, and when the men opened it to put more liquor in, or take it out, The children were told the next morning to play their marbles over the road where had opened it in the night.
They watched the Coast Guards, and when they were down on top of the beach, the smugglers worked at Southwell or Weston. When the Coast Guards were around Southwell or the Bill, they worked down on the beach.
There was another smuggling hole near the George Inn, Reforne, near the pavement, and another near the Crown Hotel, Portland.
Portland at the beginning of the nineteenth century was a noted stronghold for smugglers, and these men carried on their traffic until the beginning of the Victorian reign. An old Portland seaman (Wiggatt) who in his younger days had been a smuggler, gave the following narrative:-
"I was brought up with the smugglers from a child, and was always helping them, either on sea or land, to elude the preventive officers and run their cargoes ashore along the coasts from Lulworth to Lyme Regis. I remember that one night we had a great haul, and landed 150 kegs of brandy at Church Ope Cove (Portland). After getting this well hidden, we landsmen hurried home to our beds, whilst the vessel sailed out again into the Channel. I had not been in bed more than an hour before a coastguardsman came to my house and enquired if I would come out and help the preventive officers that night, as the lieutenant had received a message that the smugglers were about to run a valuable cargo ashore. I assented, as I had already helped to land this cargo, and went with him to the lieutenant. I stayed with them some days, and liked my new companions so much that when they asked me to sign on with them I consented, and was put aboard a revenue cutter called the "Eagle," and a hot time we gave the smugglers, chasing them up and down the Channel, confiscating their goods, and sending them to Dorchester Jail. But the curious part of the whole affair was that the lieutenant and the revenue men were smugglers ourselves, as were continually making flying trips across the Channel and bringing home cargo after cargo of contraband goods, landing them without fear of detection and then sailing out and capturing some poor smuggler, who in a whole year never did half the business we did in a month.
Ah sir, our lieutenant - a half pay navel officer - was a disgrace to His Majesty King William IV's Navy.
In 1870 a few old Portlanders were hard at work in the quarry at Weston. A thunder storm came up and they had to run for shelter. They got to their cave or house they called it, where they kept their tools, coats and things to keep them dry. They would sit in it, and eat their lunch, and sometimes dinner. There was Will, Tom, Peter, Jim and the boy George, who carried their picks to the Blacksmith's shop, to be sharpened. He would also run errands for them. It rained, thundered and lightened heavily. Time passed, it was almost ten o'clock, lunch time. They ate their lunch, and talked about different things. The rain did not stop, so Will said, "I read a nice little book, last night, about two men and two women, husbands and wives. Nell was Peter's and Mary was Will's wife. Poor Peter had a miserable life with Nell. They had several children. Nell would not go to bed at night until all hours, and mornings she would not get up until the children cried and made a fuss. Then she had to get up. Peter had to get up, light the fire, get his own breakfast, pack his own lunch and go to work. He would call the children that had to go to school, and tell them it was time to get up or they would be late. They would get up and get breakfast, the best they could. Sometimes Nell would be up before they started, sometimes not. Nell would get her breakfast, wash and feed the baby, then she would look out the front door to see what was going on outside. Out comes the next door neighbour, brushing off her steps. Then they would gossip. Then out came a few more of them. The first thing they would know, the whistle would blow for twelve o'clock. Then see them run. When they got in the house, fire almost out, table full of dishes, no dinner started and no hot water. The baby would start crying. In about fifteen minutes, Peter would be in for his dinner. Then the children would be in from school. Nell would poke up the fire, and put a saucepan on with water, peel her potatoes, and get them to cooking before Peter got there. Then she would start roasting a bloater before the fire. The baby would be crying louder than ever. Peter would come in, pick up the baby, try to quiet it and say to Nell, "No dinner ready again today? I shall be late again for work. What ever is the matter with you." "Oh the clock was slow." "Clock slow, it is not the clock, it's you you that's slow. Been out newsing again, instead of doing your work. Look at the table, no dishes washed, nor anything." Nell cleaned a corner of the table, found a clean plate, and gave Peter his dinner. The in would come the children. Peter would look at them, tell them not to be so noisy. Then he would see Jack's stocking's hanging all around his heels. "Jack, whatever is the matter with your stockings?" "I ain't got no garters, and our mother couldn't find no rag to tie them up with this morning." "And have you been to school like that?" "Yes and got caned too, I was late." "Such stockings, full of holes, Nell, why don't you darn them?" "Do it yourself. Every time you come in this house you, you are always yapping, go on to work, you've had your dinner, now you got to jaw and find fault. Go on, get out of my sight." "Well I hope when I come home this evening, you will be cleaned up, and the children and house too." Peter would go to work. Nell would give the children their dinner, and have her own, and tidy up a bit. If no one came in, she would have Peter's tea ready.
Mary was different. She got up in the morning, got Will's breakfast, and sent the children off to school. She had a day for everything. Monday was wash day, and so on. When Will came his meals were ready. She and the children had their meals with him. She would do up her dishes and her other work, and in the afternoon she would sew or knit.
In the evening they would have their tea, and if the weather was nice they would all take a walk around the cliffs and fields, or go in their garden and pull the weeds out of the carrots and onions, or pick peas. When they went home about 9 o'clock, they would have supper. The children would go to bed and Will read to mary for an hour. Then they would go to bed happy and contented. Will's wife made home happy, and Nell's home was not. That's the difference in two women."
They all listened to Will's story, and said "Yes, what a difference in the two women." Then Peter spoke up and said, "Will, dost thee mean to tell I theese read that in a book?" Will, "Sure, I read it last night. Do you want to borry the book, and read it?" "I read it, dosen know I can't read. Theese never read that. Theese been over my house and seed all that. My wife's name is Nell, ans all theese told is true. Just like her and how we live. What's thy wife's name?" "My wife's name? whats that got to do with it. My wife's name is Mary." Peter, "Tha, Tha, I knowed it. Theese been over my house and seed it all." "Nonsence, you foolish man, I don't know your wife, I read it I tell you." Peter, "Well, theese cas zay whats like, but I tell thee, some oomen or fellers been round selling something and got in our house and zid all this, and wrote a book about it. Dost think I'm zaney and don't know nothing? It's all true about my wife. I'll tell thee when I come round Southwell sometime. I'm guine call at thy house, and zee for my self. I never zeed thy wife, that I know of." Will, "I don't know your wife, and I didn't know her name wass Nell." Peter, "Well I'll tell thee. Next time theese come up drue Wakem find out where I live and come in, and zee for thy self. Theese never tell me no rubbish. I always believe thee, and like I tell thee, some ooman or feller have been in my house, zeed it all, and writ a book about it. For all theese told 'bout nell is true as light. The rain has stopped. We had better work a couple of hours now that we are here, and then goo whome. I am going to to tell Nell the story I heard all about her, what some ooman or feller have writ. And won't she jaw. But it is all true about her, and I shall tell her so. So long, Will." "So long Peter."
I remember the first funeral I ever saw. It was that of a Mr. Pearce (Bob Friend). He died in Southwell about sixty years ago. His house had two rooms down and two up. The largest room had a stone floor, an old fashioned fireplace, and a brick oven where they baked their bread. A fine garden was in rear and a barn was built on the side of the house. The barn door opened half way up. They opened this to let light in.
I saw two men bring the bier to put the coffin on. They carried the coffin to St. George's Church in Reforne. This was a mile or more from Southwell. The nearest relative walked first behind the corpse. The undertaker in front with spare pallbearers. They changed several times before they got to the Church. As soon as the sexton saw them near the Church he tolled the bell.
The men had on box hats with a long piece of crepe around them, and black gloves. The women were all dressed in black with crepe hats or hats trimmed with crepe. If they had no black clothes they borrowed it from those who had, until they bought some. They would wear black for a year and sometimes two. The children had to wear it too.
They would pull their window shades down as soon as they were told some relative was dead, and keep them down until after the funeral. If any of them were on the outs with one another they generally made up at funerals, and went to show their respects, and that there was no ill feeling.
They go back to the house after the funeral and have tea, cake, and bread and butter. Before the funeral starts for the Church the men generally have a drink of liquor and the women have peppermint. Towards evening they would go to their several homes except for the immediate family, who stayed for the reading of the will and testament, if there was any.
A gentleman had made repeated inquiries after one, James Miller, but as he was not possessed of the secrecy of his cognomen, his inquiries were necessarily fruitless, and unavailing. By chance, at last, he discovered that Miller was known by the nickname of "Wapsey," and accidently meeting with this man's son in the Island he asked him where this person lived, signifying by the name James Miller.
"I don't know," was the immediate reply. "There is no such man as he here, he does not live in Portland, Sir." "He is called Wapsey," added the gentleman. "Wapsey did you say Sir, Wapsey," repeated the astonished Portlander, "Why, Sir, Wapsey is my father, he is my father, Sir."
It is a novel and interesting scene to witness a Portland wedding. The friends and relations of both parties are invited to share in the festivities of the day, and to increase the brilliant and joyful spectacle. It bears resemblance to a Highland wedding, in feudal times, when all the followers of the clan assembled to partake in the hospitality of their friends and to grace the long and winding procession. The happy couple of course led the van. On a late occasion, not less than fifty-five couples followed the loving pair, besides a great concourse of spectators. They paraded for several hours during the day, in the most public places of the island. When the performing of the ceremony is duly solemnized, the parties resort to a public house near the Church and regale themselves with bumbo and punch, and as there were no bells on the Island the inhabitants of the house discharged at intervals pistols, guns, muskets and blunderbusses, to supply the merry ding dong of the bells.
The open house is kept for several days and jollity makes the roof continually resound with his loud laughs, jokes and song. Thus passes the honeymoon of the unsophisticated Portlander.
The early history of the Congregational Church in Weymouth and Radipole formed the subject of an extremely interesting address in connection with the anniversary celebration at Gloucester Street. The speaker was Mr. W. R. Newton. The Sunday School Superintendent, and one of the senior deacons.
He said that the Church was formed in 1658 in a small building on Nicholas Street, near the present bridge. The first man to minister the Church was the grandfather of the late John Wesley, and according to the records he was an inspiring preacher.
This Mr. Wesley was a Church of England clergyman at Winterborne, who made it his business to assist in scattered parishes. His work in this direction resulted in his being ejected from his living. In 1662 the Rev. John Thorne, another Church of England Minister, became first pastor of the Church. Mr. Thorn had belonged to St. Mary's Church, Weymouth. Mr. Newton remarked that the Congregational Church had always been progressive. Due lately to the influence of the people and energy of them in Nicholas Street there were now six Churches between Weymouth and Ridgeway Hill. The last church to be established was at Radipole in 1905. They held their first services in the kitchen of the "Pig and Whistle," a Radipole public house, and the services attracted so much attention that crowds of people stood outside the open window to join in with them.
Later a big opening meeting took place in the billiard room of the Spa Hotel, and the late Mr. R. F. Damen purchased the splendid freehold site in Spa Road, where the present mission Church stood. Mr. Newton added that the deacons of Gloucester Street did not regard the work at Radipole as finished. They would never be satisfied until they had built a new church in Radipole, able to support its own minister. He did not think many years would pass before that was an accomplished fact. Mr. Newton alluded to the difficult period Gloucester Street was passing through owing to the lack of a pastor, but he expressed his unabated confidence in the future and paid a glowing tribute to the memory of the early Church workers.
Before the building of Ferry Bridge, which was commenced in 1835, communication with Weymouth was by a wherry. It took about twenty minutes to sail across in the cumbersome craft, with its passengers and parcels, to its destination. I have heard my father speak of waiting on the bleak shore when the boat was on the opposite one, and the ferryman would be waiting for some chance passenger from the other side before he crossed over. A toll of three-half-pence was extracted with a free return if made on the same day. The building of the bridge was a great boon for the Island of Portland, and provided for vehicular traffic by day and night. The worst part of the journey was the monotonous two mile stretch of road along the beach to Chesil end. I am reminded of an odd incident on that roadway some 50 years ago. The Bishop of Salisbury was one Sunday on his way to the Island to attend a Confirmation service, seated in his commodious coach drawn by two horses. After passing the bridge, he overtook a man and a woman walking Island-wards, and, stopping his carriage, kindly invited them to ride with him. Presently he opened the conversation by asking if they knew with whom they were riding. The answer being in the negative, he informed them that it was with the Lord Bishop of Salisbury. The man then put the same question to the Bishop, and received the same answer, upon which he surprised the Bishop by the announcement that he was riding with one of the Lord's Princes. The lady was Miss Prince, a well known preacher of the Gospel among Primitive Methodists, who was on her way to preach at their Chapel in Chesil. At the Island these representatives of two ecclesiastical extremes parted, after thanks to the kind Bishop, and each went their way to serve God after their own manner. As we are now swiftly borne by the stream over the railway bridge and along the iron way running side by side with the old highway, its former toils and amenities are but matters of memory for old timers.
The Wreck Of The "Royal Adelaide."
The 25th of November, Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-two
Was a day on which a gale of wind blew
From the south-south-west so fierce and strong
That it swept the clouds and waves along
A very large ship was seen they say,
Coming on more and more into the bay:
There she was struggling to keep from the shore
But still she was nearing it more and more.
She drove in just after 'twas dark
About half-a-mile this side of the Ark,
In the break of the sea she bumped on the ground
So hard that it shook her top mast down.
She was a passenger ship to Australia bound
With a general cargo from London Town,
Her name the "Royal Adeliade" so I am told
And she was not more than eight years old.
A clipper built ship, and the people all say
That she had no business to have been in the bay,
But there she now lay a sight to behold
With sixty-seven souls on board all told;
Thirty-five passengers, the rest were the crew
Who numbered exactly thirty and two,
All anxious to get to the land and be saved,
All hoping to escape a watery grave.
Then by a line, the first mate tried to cross
The gulf between land and the ship, but was lost.
Then the life apparatus was brought into action
And worked with a will, with great satisfaction,
Until some mishap, but what, I can't tell,
Which caused two or three to be drowned in the waves.
Then all went well until sixty were saved,
The rest, I must say, found a watery grave.
Now when the sixty were safe on the shore
There were left on board only three more.
When a mighty wave came with a fearful bound
And the rope was broken and all the three were drowned.
Then the next wave broke the ship in two
And the following wave brought the cargo to view,
Then all her rich treasure was a wreck on the shore
Never to be gathered together any more.
But barrels of rum, brandy and gin
Were soon thrown up by the waves and the wind,
And bales of beautiful cloth and silk
And boxes of gloves made of kid white as milk,
And boots without number of all sorts and sizes
And hats by the thousand of all shapes and prices,
And ready made clothes of every description
But of half that was there you have no conception.
There were boxes of candles and sweet-scented soap
And cotton by the cartloads were seen thrown up,
And knives and forks and all sorts of cans
And high-dried herrings and fine bacon hams,
And bottles of wine, pale ale, and stout
And casks of vinegar rolling about,
and chests of tea, coffee, and figs
Cocks and hens alive and dead pigs.
While ducks and geese formed part of the losses
And gentlemen's dogs and two fine horses.
Yes, those things with rope and broken timber
Formed a sight and a scene many long will remember.
People from Portland, from Wyke, and from Town
Which formed a crowd of hundreds, yes, more
Than thousands at one time stood on the shore..
All anxious to save their own brother man,
All willing to lend a good helping hand,
High praise be to those who wet every thread
In saving the lives from the "Royal Adelaide."
Now when all of the lives were safe on the shore,
The majority returned to their homes once more;
But many instead of going honestly back
Were tempted to steal a part of the wreck.
So they took something, and Ned, Tom and Harry
Loaded themselves with what they could carry,
But they soon were stopped by the Coast Guard and Police
And brought to the station in shame and disgrace.
But the thieves were so many I am sorry to learn,
They were forced to have soldiers down from the Verne
To prevent the wreckers from carrying away
The wreck of the "Royal Adelaide" for a prey.
But while some were plundering and carrying things home,
Others were busy drinking the rum,
While some with pebbles knocked the heads in
Of the big brandy barrels and casks of gin
For they felt themselves cold and thought it no harm
To have a good drink to keep themselves warm;
But alas, poor souls, they drank rather deep
Of the brandy and rum, and soon fell asleep.
In the wind and the rain to lay all the night
In a drunken state and an awful plight,
But many of them I'm happy to say
By their sober friends were taken away
And sent for the doctor who very soon came
And saved them from dying a death of shame.
But alas, alas, when daylight returned,
How many there were for the drunken dead mourned.
For several were found quite dead on the beach
Who died through the drink so placed in their reach,
Ah, they drank too much of the burning hot gin
Then laid down and died in the rain and the wind.
Now four was the exact number I think
Who yielded up life to the demon drink,
and one was a lad of fifteen years
Which cost his parents a flood of tears.
For they loved him much and made it a rule
To send their son to some Sabbath School,
But now I must bring these lines to an end
And prey God will never more send
A ship on shore on the rough Chesil Beach,
But hope they may some road-stead reach,
For it makes my blood run cold when I think
Of so many deaths by the wreck and the drink.
Robert Otter.
The Wreck Of The S.S. "Bournemouth."
(Near Portland Bill, August 27th. 1886.)
This fine pleasure boat one beautiful morn,
Steamed from Bournemouth, I'm given to learn.
With two hundred souls and the rest,
For a trip to Torquay just down to the west.
And over the waters she fled on her way,
Passing old Portland and closing the Bay.
Driving down there sometime after eleven,
And leaving again about three fifty-seven.
Now the "Bournemouth" was a fast going ship,
And all on board were pleased with the trip,
Enjoying the scenery that lovely day,
On the Devonshire coast and the great west bay.
But as they came back towards Portland Isle
The beautiful sun no longer did shine;
For a fog crept over the sea that night,
And hid every object out of their sight.
For the fog was dense but they, I suppose,
Thought themselves clear of Portland's long nose;
But 'twas a mistake of a mile or more,
And at 7p.m. they ran on the shore
Near the Lighthouse right under Shag Cliff,
A full half mile to far to the left.
She was going, I hear, fifteen knots an hour,
Driven by engines a thousand horse power.
And you may conceive the tremendous shock,
The vessel received when striking the rocks.
But the shock of the ship will never compare,
With the shock that filled the people with fear.
They rushed on the deck to see what was wrong,
Their laughter had ceased, and hushed was their song,
And loud they exclaimed in the midst of their fear,
"Oh Captain! Oh Captain! how came we here?"
And many grew frantic for loud was their cry,
"We all shall be drowned, we all must soon die."
Now the captain replied in great agitation,
"I pray you be quiet, for that's your salvation,
Our danger is great, there can be no doubt.
We'll launch all the boats, I wish we had more,
And send all the ladies and children to shore.
But in the meantime We'll sound the alarm.
Ring all the bells and blow the fog horn,
And send a cry of distress on the air,
And pray, my good fellows, that help may be near.
Oh, thanks be to God, the waves are now still,
The winds they are hushed and the ship does not fill.
Take courage, my people, tho' dark be the night,
If you but keep quiet then all will be right."
Now the sound of distress was heard thro' the Isle,
And the hoot of the horn went thrice a full mile.
And many who heard it pricked up their ears,
And said something is wrong at the Bill somewhere.
Now first on the scene to their help that night,
Was the kind hearted keeper of the higher light,
Who hastened with speed and sent off a lad,
To Southwell and Weston, who ran as if mad
To the Coast Guard station to tell the sad tale
Of a passenger boat on shore at the Bill.
So the coast guards all without further ado
With the life apparatus for saving the crew,
And lights to burn on the gloomy cliff
Set out for the wreck and were there in a jiff.
And hundreds of people soon followed their track,
To render what help they could at the wreck.
Some ran for the boats, that was nearest at hand,
And pulled for their lives, when once they were manned.
Filling their boats till they would not hold more,
They took them as fast as they could to the shore.
Returning again and again, but I say
There were men on the cliff as eager as they
To save lives that were nigh without hope,
And over the cliff some went with the rope;
For they were so brave, courageous, and true,
But felt so determined to rescue a few.
But when the sad news got down to the Cove,
The brave fishermen were soon on the move,
They launched their fine boats and threaded their way,
Thro' the gloom and the fog to where the ship lay;
They took off people score after score,
And landed them safe until there were no more.
And thanks be to God, for about half past ten,
Their lives all saved by those gallent men.
But the beautiful "Bournemouth" had parted in two,
Her work is now done, her years have been few;
She's a wreck on the rocks, for already the bell,
Of the once splendid boat has tolled her death knell.
The casket is broken, but the jewels are saved,
Her freight all saved from a watery grave.
And to heaven there arose a cry from the shore,
"All are saved, all are saved, Thank God, evermore!"
And now I will give you the names of a few,
That did their part in the gallant rescue.
John Lowman and Elliot they manned a boat,
With Comben and Ben. Stone brave fellows afloat.
And Hardy and Pearce all pulled with their might,
To save the dear souls from the wreck that night.
And here I'll mention another brave two,
Young Tom Whittle Stone and William Flew,
Went down a rough track just up on the cliff,
And groped their way to the foot of the cliff,
And along the rocks no one can tell how
Till they came to the ship and went over her bow.
Told the Captain what place he'd come to,
And told all the dear people what they must do,
To keep themselves quiet and calm their fears,
For in a few minutes the boats will be here.
And Mr. John Peck hundreds to command,
With the life apparatus, and crew of brave men.
Dumreay and Baker and Thompson and Smith,
With Hodder and others worked well on the cliff.
And among the fishermen out from the bay,
I'm told were Bennett, Flan, Russell and Way,
And a host whose names to give I must waive,
Who worked with a will their fellows to save.
For indeed not a man was known to shirk,
The danger that night, in the life saving work.
Robert Otter, Slobbs, Portland, Dorset.
John Wesley (1703-1791), the founder of Wesleyan Methodism, was born at Epworth, Lincolnshire, his father being Rector of the parish, and educated at Charterhouse and Christchurch, Oxford. He took his degree of B.A. in 1724, was ordained deacon in 1725, and became a fellow of Lincoln College and Lecturer and Moderator in Classics in 1726. He took Priest's Orders in 1728.
He now gathered together a number of pupils and companions. Among them were Harvey Whitefield, and the Law, the author of the "Serious Call to the Unconverted," who met regularly for religious purposes, and by so doing they acquired the name Methodists in 1725.
Wesley went to America to preach to the colonists of Georgia. He returned to England in February, 1738. He began open-air meetings in 1739, having now sole control of the religious body. He devoted his entire life to the work of the organization.
He married in 1750 Mrs. Vijelle, a widow with four children, but the union was unfortunate and they finally separated. He held strongly the principal of Episcopacy, and he never formally separated from the Church of England. He contributed to a collection of hymns, the greater part of which were written by his brother Charles. He founded an orphan home in Newcastle, a dispensary at Bristol, and charity schools in London.
Charles Wesley (1708-1788), the younger brother of John Wesley, born and educated at Westminster School and Christchurch, Oxford. He accompanied his brother to Georgia as an ordained clergyman, but after his return to England he became a preacher in the Methodist connection, and materially assisted the success of the movement by his numerous hymns, large collections of which have been frequently published.
Two of his sons, Charles and Samuel, were celebrated for musical genius.
Charles Wesley visited Portland on June 5th. 1746, and confirmed and comforted the little Methodist society, besides preaching in various parts of the Island.
Charles Wesley's cottage (1734) can be seen at Wakeham. Wesley preached in this house as well as out of doors in various parts of the Island. The population of Portland was a few hundred people. "Girthouse" was supposed to have been used by the Governors of the Island to transact their official business. John Penn lived in it while Pennsylvania Castle was being built for him.
A Few Words About The Royal Grant.
Being a reader of the Southern Times, I saw in that paper the noble grant and licence from His Majesty, King Edward VII., to the inhabitants of Portland to dig and raise stone from the common land and to feed their cattle thereon. I saw that our good king has renewed the grant to the inhabitants of Portland as it was published in the Southern Times of November 22nd, 1902.
I was glad to see such a good grant wholly made over for the benefit of the inhabitants of Portland, and that our good king has granted 9d. out of every 12d. to the inhabitants, just like our good kings and queens have done before him, and I hope this grant and licence will be handed down by all kings as long as there is any stone in the common lands of Portland.
I have learnt that over fifty years ago there were some old records in Portland testifying why and how this royal grant was given to the inhabitants of Portland. I learned by these old records that there was a time when King Charles fled from London to save his life from the hands of his enemies he came here for refuge. I find the loyal inhabitants of Portland stood firm and true to their King, and all did their level best night and day.
The good men of Portland kept watch night and day and put bars of iron across the gullies and round the cliffs to keep the enemy back. They kept a strong watch, that their King should not be taken. Not only the men stood true but their noble wives and daughters did so also. Every other day these noble women were marched to the top of the Verne, wearing red coats. The men dug a trench to the north-west of the Verne. The enemy got as far as Sandsfoot Castle, and there they saw the the prints of the King's horse's shoes, and then they gave it up, for the King was wise and went to a smith at Wyke and asked him to take off the horse's shoes and put them on the wrong way.
The prints of the horseshoes made it seem as if the King was leaving Portland. The enemy did not like to go across the water as the King had done. They saw the red cloaks. It must have seemed terrible to them to see so many women soldiers all in red cloaks. It was something like taking Ladysmith to face the Portlanders. This was in the seventeenth century, when there was no bridge to come across and no other way to get into Portland.
I learned that the King was pleased with the inhabitants of Portland and came many times afterwards and was very friendly. He made his home at the "Portland Arms" Hotel in Fortuneswell. That was the only place to go to, and it was always respectable. I think it wise that all should know what the good King did for the inhabitants of Portland, in giving them their grant and licence to dig and raise stone and in giving them 9d. on every 12d. for stone out of common or commonable land, and 3d. on each ton of stone raised from His Majesty's own land. It is all because the inhabitants stood firm to His Majesty in the hour of peril. I hope it will be handed down to future generations that every one of them may read the Royal Grant and Licence given to the inhabitants of Portland.
Before the Government brought out the Commoners' rights in the Big Common, which included the Verne hill, for the sum of £20,000, the Islanders used to let the privilege of pasturing to farmers on the mainland, who valued the rich herbage of the Common as a summer grazing ground for their cattle. May 14th, was the date for the opening of the common for this purpose, and a considerable number of beasts were then turned onto it for the season. Some people-mostly women-used to collect the droppings and dispose of them in order on their own reserved patches to be turned and dried in the sun, and then taken home for fuel. As a child I was very familiar with this frugal harvest of fuel, and used to wonder at the needs of those engaged in it; but I now know that we have a record of this use dating back more than 2,500 years, when the Prophet Ezekiel baked his bread with dried cow's dung (Ezekiel, chapter iv.). And the same use continues to this day in Palestine, according to the late Rev. James Neil, the Palestine lecturer, who used to show among his beautiful panoramic exhibits a picture of the custom of daubing the dung clods on the cottage walls, to be dried by the sun.
Bow and Arrow Castle is supposed to have been built in the year 1000 by William Rufus.
Rufus, or Bow and Arrow Castle, belongs to and forms part of Pennsylvania Castle, built in 1802, and now the property of Mr. H. Sansom.
The Castle is a handsome stone edifice, and was built by the late John Penn, of Stoke Park, Bucks., Governor of the Island of Portland.
The Island is four miles long and one-and-a-half broad at its widest part. The Island is one continuous bed or rock of freestone, and the soil, though shallow, is good. Portland stone first came into repute in the time of James I., who made use of it on the advice of his architects for the banqueting hall at Whitehall.
St Paul's Cathedral, London, and many other magnificent edifices were built with it.
The pebbles on Chesil Beach generally consist of white calcareous spar. The Chesil Bank is 17 miles long. Chesil is Anglo-Saxon for pebble. The first railway was put down in Portland in 1825.
W. E. Blanchard, Printer, 1a, King Street, Portland. Transcribed from the original by Mark Godden.