In the Uk, Christmas is always followed by a second
consecutive holiday – Boxing Day. Look to Day 137 to see what this is all
about. (When I first heard of it, quite some number of years back now, I had
come under the impression that it referred to the habit people have of ‘boxing
up’ the gifts they have no use for and returning them to the store for credit –
thus boxing day. Wrong!) One major association, as it’s the day following
Christmas, everywhere, all over the world, it is the day for snatching up some
of the year’s best bargains, right?! (Heard on the radio that Amazon has boost
up some of its best after-Christmas shopping to Christmas Day itself. Sad to
see that the commercialization of Christmas has now gotten to this point.
What’s next – ‘after Christmas sales’ moved forwards {backwards?} to Labor
Day?!)
This time there really WAS a sight-seeing coach
trip planned, same nice driver as before (still hasn’t buried his father). Oh,
my goodness – I wish you could all have been with me! So beautiful – everything
that England represents to me. So quaint, the countryside so gorgeous – and
this was winter! Learned a lot more interesting tidbits – also learned my
lesson and brought along my purse this time around, which was a good thing as
part of the tour was stopping for shopping in the historic town of Bridport,
though I hadn’t known it. We unloaded off the coach to take advantage of a wee
bit of day-after-Christmas sales, but actually, the majority of the shops were
still closed – two days of holiday in a row, you know. Can’t be good for shop
owners!
In the coach there was an inordinate amount of sneezing,
coughing, and hacking – oh, help, I just got better!
One of the first items of note we passed was the Thomas
Hardy monument - often mistaken as a memorial to the more well-known
(particularly to this area) author by the same name. Built in the shape of a
spy glass on one of the highest points in the area, Thomas Masterson (‘Kiss Me
Hardy’) Hardy, was a famous, in his day, naval officer associated with Sir
Horatio Nelson. (There’s a whole legend built up around the ‘kiss me Hardy’
bit, supposedly the last words spoken by Nelson as he lay dying on the deck of
a ship, and I’m leaving it up to you to investigate further if you’re
interested. It’s all hearsay anyway – though it does make for an intriguing
story.)
Our journey took us in a northwesterly direction
from Weymouth Bay. Through the marvelously picturesque, Dorchester-esque
countryside the coach took us through more spectacular scapes similar to those
we’d seen several days previously – just like you see in the movies, taken from
the pages of any Thomas Hardy or Jane Austen novel you might pick up. From
small village to small village, each with its own distinct characteristics, the
drive took us on multiple narrow, one-lane byways. At one point we passed a
handsome stone country home, off all by itself in the landscape. I heard one of
the gentlemen comment to another, ‘you could scream your head off over there
quite happily’ (and not bother anyone, I suppose.) Funny.
More on Bridport: back in the 1800s this area was
known for its rope and netting industry, the products of which were exported
throughout the world. A sweet gentleman was walking with me after we left the
bus, telling me some fascinating historical facts he had been wanting to share
with me. We walked toward the high street (main street of many towns, similar
to the ubiquitous ‘main street’ in America) as we continued to talk, and as we
turned the corner he all of a sudden noticed that he had lost sight of where
his wife had gotten to, and exclaimed, ‘where’s MY lot then?!’ as he began to
look around for her. Cute. (I have since heard a young co-worker refer to her partner in this same manner, so guess it's not as odd as I had first supposed.)
Some of the curious names of – and, in some
instances, info about – some of the little villages we either passed through,
or saw evidence of on a sign, on our route today:
▪ Wyre Regis and its sister community, Lyme Regis
▪ Puncknowl – contrary to how you might pronounce
it, to the locals, in good Dorchester-eze fashion, it is merely Punel, we were
instructed by our driver
▪ Upwey – refers to the location where the River
Wey (said way) literally erupts out of the side of a hill, seemingly out of
nowhere – in other words, the birth of the River Wey nowhere.
▪ Askerswell and Fortuneswell
▪ Winterbourne – refers to a stream that is
virtually dry, a mere trickle, during the summer, but swells into existence
during the winter months – in other words, born in the winter
▪ Abbotsbury – a little valley niche that our
driver said was known for having a subtropical climate – the truth of the
matter that any person in their right mind, especially me, would scoff at.
However – I saw the actual same claims made on several village signs as we
drove through. (Actually as I just remembered that there are palm trees on the
beach along the ‘boardwalk’ in Weymouth, that a valley with a random tropical climate
exists – in England of all places! – doesn’t seem all that much more far-fetched
of an idea after all.) There were several thatch-roofed homes and buildings.
The history of the original settlement, supposedly started by monks, goes WAY
back. It seems that in the 11th century King Canute (one of the earliest
kings of Britain – a Viking, actually, of Danish descent) awarded land, upon
which Abbotsbury now stands, to his steward, Orca, for services rendered. It is believed
that a religious community was already in existence, and that Orca and his
wealthy wife, Tola, built an abbey onto that, thus giving it its name.
Observed on our drive today that there are more
detached homes (free standing dwellings–
not in pairs {semi-detached} or in rows (row houses) here in the country, than there
are in a big city like Birmingham. On the trip back we drove along the 18 miles
of English Channel coastline known as Chesil Beach – from Bridport to Portland.
The driver pointed out that along this expanse, the little coastal village of West
Bay had been the backdrop for a very popular television series called Harbour
Lights. It centered around a fishing company and all the different
personalities and scenarios a company like that could muster. It starred an
actor by the name of Nick Berry.
During World War II, this stretch of coastline had
been used as a naval training ground for the Allies as they practiced landing
for the assault against the Nazi occupation of France. Several centuries ago many
in West Bay, and in neighboring communities, made their living by salvaging
shipwrecks. Before then, pirates and smugglers had made use of these same bays
and harbours. Several times our driver/tour guide said in reference to a certain
locale that it had ‘grown up’ – meaning it had become modernized, and each time
his remark was said in a lamentable sort of way.
Portland, a large island and sister community to
Weymouth, is known for its lighthouse on this tip of the southern British coast.
(Interesting that you do not sense that you are leaving the mainland and
driving onto an island when you do.) Our driver said he had married a Portland
girl, and he knew this – that she was from Portland – because she had webbed
feet. Haha. (When I asked him how they had met, he laughed and said ‘out on a
razzle!’ Going to assume that means they met while they’d each been out pub
hopping.) He pointed out both a Napoleonic fort, still in use (now as a prison),
as well as the Portland castle built by Henry VIII. Portland in its earliest days
had been known primarily for its rock quarries, the product of which was
shipped all over the world. Perhaps one of the most well-known edifices made
from this particular stone is the world-renowned St. Paul’s Cathedral in
London. We passed a large sculpture dedicated to the stone masons who worked
the quarries – perhaps some of the British converts who immigrated to Utah and
ended up constructing the exterior of the Salt Lake temple were some of these
very craftsmen from Portland.
Photos_
1- Boxing Day
2-5 bygone Bridport
butcher
shop
19th
century institute, lost to time
reminiscent of an industry now made redundant by the advent of man-made
fibers
interesting story about this dude – while he appears
a bit of a rough character, I caught him as he was standing in a family clothing store, holding
several hangers of women's clothing in his hands as he waited patiently for his woman to try on
some things - as every good man is want to do_ (hair dye of similar shades are very common on this side of the pond – though it is more often seen among the likes of younger
and more feminine sorts)
