Time to go back a few weeks to when travel was permitted and life was very different. A time of exploration in the wilds of deepest Dorset; one of my favourite English counties. Colmer's Hill and surrounds was high on our list of visits and we certainly picked the perfect day to enjoy its delights.
Colmer's Hill has many fond memories . Over forty years ago, as a student at Weymouth Teacher Training college, I spent a few weeks on teaching practice at Bridport primary school. We were bussed each Thursday for a day session and one of my favourite memories was of the view of Colmer's Hill as we descended into Bridport. The school was memorable too. I worked with a rather elderly lady, clearly close to retirement age. For a nineteen year old she was daunting at times with very set ways of schooling. Not sure her teaching style was quite what I'd expected but the sessions were interesting nevertheless.
On many holidays we have travelled along the A35, always pointing out Colmer's Hill as we passed ,admiring its little thicket of pine trees at the top. This time ,for once, we were going to stop at Symondsbury and see it at close quarters .
According to The Symondsbury Website :-
Colmers Hill’s significance extends back into the 1600’s where it was long called the Colmers Tenement in the Lord of the Manor’s Court Rolls. In about 1650, Elizabeth Lush, the daughter of John Colmer, was the tenant. This is where Colmers Hill got its name from. Two hundred years later in the 1800’s a vicar of the same family name, Rev. John Colmer, was the new tenant. The hill then became ‘Colmers’ again after two hundred years.
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| Symondsbury Church |
The day of our visit was dry and sparkling, the wind having died to a gentle breeze. We drove to a rather capacious carpark and set off on our uphill climb. Birdsong was prolific, bringing a sense of peace to an already beautiful scene. I toyed with taking my walking pole. So glad I did for reasons you will discover later. As we approached the summit, we left the tangle of gorse behind and strode up a well trodden path to the edge of the pine trees. Before the First World War these would not have existed.
During World War I, John Sprake, woodman to Thomas Alfred Colfox, planted Caledonian Pine on the top of the hill. Sir John Colfox then planted Monterey Pine in 2006. The trees have since grown into what is now the iconic silhouette you see today.
The view at the top was well worth the climb. Dorset looked pristine from above.
We headed down again in search of the hollow way at the base of the hill. We had heard it mentioned a while ago and were intrigued to see it first hand. It travels from Symondsbury towards North Chideock and onward to the coast. Originally a drover's path for moving livestock, it also became a pilgrimage route for the church of Whitchurch Canonicorum and the 13th century shrine of St Wite. At a later date it was also a route smugglers took with their elicit cargo.
Not quite sure what we had expected but our breath was totally blown away with the depth of the sandstone that had been eroded away over hundreds of years. Primeval would be a good way to describe the atmospheric chill that clung to you as you travelled along this route. The heavy rains of a constantly damp winter had taken its toll. As Chutes Lane merged into Hell's Lane it was certainly hellish going underfoot.
We stopped frequently to admire the clinging ferns and wonderful carvings on the sides of the track. Who had made these carvings and why?
The going was slow; not a problem with so much to soak up and enjoy. The original plan had been to travel down to North Chideock and then on to Whitchurch Canonicorum. Somewhere along the line we took a wrong turning and got hopelessly lost.
The landscape along the ridge was glorious, distant views of Colmer's hill on one side, over to the sea on the other. We walked happily along for some time before we began to doubt our direction. Dry cart tracks turned into steep muddy slopes where we had to cling onto prickly hawthorn to stop us from sliding down on our rear ends. Then to cap it all the track became a water meadow where our boots sank into puddles at every step. The mood began to lower as we both realised we had no idea where we were.
The phone was checked for position. We were in the middle of no man's land with no sign of a road anywhere. On we went until a bridle path sign emerged at the top of a hill. It didn't indicate where it was going, but we headed off in the direction it was pointed. Still no sign of civilisation and the stomachs had begun to rumble. Our map was clearly useless as we had no clue where we were!
Just about to give up when a lady and her two dogs rounded the corner. Was I ever so pleased to see someone in all my life. I think she was a little amused by our situation and explained that we were in an area of Dorset with hardly any roads. Fortunately she was able to point us in the right direction, but warned us to catch a bus once we arrived back at the A35, as the road was lethal to pedestrians.
Was I ever so glad to finally hit tarmac and leave the gloopy muddy puddles behind. Chideock on the main road was finally achieved and a bus timetable told us that we had an hour to wait before the next bus to Symondsbury. Ahead of us a pub sign waved in the breeze. The George. A perfect place for a bowl of soup and somewhere to rest our aching legs. Never has a bowl of onion soup tasted so good.
We did make the journey to Whitchurch Canonicorum several days later and enjoyed its medieval delights.
Have you ever got hopelessly lost in the middle of the countryside? Do tell.
Barbara xxx
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