The road from here to Dunster is delightful, and as you approach the
quaint old town—for it is a town, difficult as it is to believe it—the castle stands high up on the left embosomed in trees, a real fairy-tale
sort of fortress it appears, with a watch-tower perched up on another
wooded hill to balance it. The Luttrells have lived here for centuries, and during the Civil War it was for long a Royalist stronghold, held by
Colonel Wyndham, the governor. The gallant colonel's spirited
answer to the threat of the Parliam
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entarians to place his aged mother in their front ranks to receive the
fury of his cannon should he refuse to deliver up the castle, is a fine
example of loyalty. "If ye doe what you threaten," he said, "you doe the most barbarous and villanous act was ever done. My mother I
honour, but the cause I fight for and the masters I serve, are God and
the King. Mother, doe you forgive me and give me your blessing, and
tell the rebells answer for spilling that blood of yours which I would save with the loss of mine own, if I had enough for both my master
and your selfe." But fortunately matters did not come to a climax, for
Lord Wentworth appeared upon the scene with a strong force and
relieved the beleaguered garrison. The loyalty of old Lady Wyndham
and her son was further put to the test a few years afterwards when
young King Charles lay concealed in their house at Trent near
Sherborne.[25]
Within the castle there is a curious hiding-place which carries us back
to those troublous times. Local tradition has connected it in error with
the visit of the second Charles, whose room is still pointed out; but the king was then not a fugitive, otherwise doubtless this secret
chamber would have proved as useful to him as that at Trent House
in 1651.
The main street of Dunster, with its irregular outline of
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houses climbing up a hill, and the quaintest old market-house at the
top backed by a dense maze of foliage beyond, is exceedingly
picturesque. Judging from the hole made by a cannon-ball from the
castle in one of the oaken beams of this remarkable "yarn market,"
poor Lady Wyndham had a lucky escape. The marvel is the old
structure has remained until now in so delightful an unrestored
condition. It has the colour which age alone can impart, a red purple-
grey which, contrasted with the background as we saw it of laburnum
and may, formed a picture long to be remembered. The old inn, the
"Luttrell Arms," has many points of interest—some fine fifteenth-century woodwork, in the courtyard, a carved ceiling, and a rich
Elizabethan fireplace; but doubtless from the fact that the landlord
gets too many inquiries about these things, he is tardy in showing
them. The church has one of the finest carved oak screens of Henry
VI.'s reign in England, which to our mind looks much better in its
unpainted state. One has but to go to Carhampton, close by, to make
a comparison. The paint may be in excellent taste, and like it was
originally; but when the original paint has gone, is it not best to leave
the woodwork plain? Under these conditions the screen at least looks
old, but the fine screen at Carhampton does not. A smaller screen in
the transept of Dunster church presents yet more bold and beautiful
design in the carving; and about this and the ancient tombs and altar,
the bright and intelligent old lady who
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shows one round has a fund of information to impart. She is very
proud, and naturally so, of the interesting building under her charge.
Up a side street is the nunnery with its slate-hung front: a lofty,
curious building some three centuries old or more.
Minehead Church is equally interesting. It stands high up overlooking
the sea, and commands a magnificent prospect of the hanging-woods
of Dunster and the heights of Dunkery. The rood-screen is good, but
has been mutilated in parts. The ancient oak coffer is remarkable for
the bold relief of its carving, representing the arms of Fitz-James
quartered with Turberville as it occurs in Bere Regis church.
There is a fine recumbent effigy of a man in robes, said to be a
famous lawyer named Bracton, although he has much the
appearance of a cleric. Whether it was considered conclusive proof
that the person interred was a lawyer from the fact that on being
opened the skull revealed a double row of upper teeth, we do not
know, but there are other evidences. A victim of insomnia is said to
resemble a lawyer, because he lies on one side then turns round and
lies on the other; and this is precisely what this effigy did. We had the
good fortune to fall in with the organist of St. Michael, and he
declared that he had taken a photograph of the worthy in which the
figure had changed its position, the head being where the feet should
be—everything else in the picture being precisely in its right position!
In the church is one of those quaint little figures which in former years
was worked by the clock "Jack-smite-the-clock," of which there are examples at Southwold, Blythborough, etc. The former rector held the
living for seventy years, and some trouble was caused because he
had willed that some of the ancient parish documents were to be
interred with him robed in his Geneva gown. It is said his wish was
duly carried out, but the papers were afterwards rescued.
Bossington, on the coast to the north-west of Porlock, is a delightful little village, lying at the foot of the great heather-clad hills. The rushing stream and the moss and lichen everywhere add much to its
picturesqueness, but we should imagine there is too much shade and
damp to be enjoyable in the winter. In the middle of
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the narrow road stands a very ancient walnut tree with twisted limbs
and roots, one of many walnut trees in the village. There are cosy
ancient thatched cottages in Porlock, and the "Ship Inn," with its panelled walls, is the most inviting of hostelries, but the popular novel
Lorna Doone has rather spoiled the primitive aspect of the place by introducing some buildings out of keeping with the rest.
The weary traveller has a great treat in store, for the view from the top of Porlock Hill is remarkable. But it is well worth the climb, and by
the old road it is indeed a clim
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b! When we were there it was a misty day in June, and we never
remember so remarkable a prospect as from the summit. The brilliant
gorse stood out against the varying shades of green and purple of the
moorland, and below all that could be seen was one solid mass of
snow-white cloud, the outline of which was sharply defined against a
distant glimpse of the soft blue sea and the deep blue
Glamorganshire hills, looking wonderfully like a glacier-field. Next
morning came the news that in the mist the warship Montagu had run
on the rocks by Lundy.
The romantic scenery of Lynmouth and Lynton is too well known to
call for any particular description here. Little wonder that one sees so
many honeymoon couples wandering everywhere about the lovely
lanes. Lovers of old oak, too, will find all that they desire at Lynmouth,
for here is the most tempting antique repository, calculated to make
tourist collectors of Chippendale and oak wish they had economised
more in their hotel bills. Motor cars sail easily down into the valley from Porlock, but a sudden twist in the steep ascent to Lynton causes
many a snort and groan accompanied by an extra scent of petrol.
But we have overstepped the county line and are in Devon.
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