THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE..

Been away for a few days in West Dorset - I was born in Dorset just before the outbreak of WW2 and I`ve often wondered whether that was just a coincidence or whether I should bear some responsibility.  Anyway, it was good to retrace some steps from my past and my photo above shows a typical scene of the county. (Please click on the photo for a better image.)

I took it having scaled the dizzy heights of Charndown Hill, which is close to Golden Cap - the highest point on the south coast of England - and I hope my photo has captured the essence of the West Dorset countryside.  Even I was surprised at just how picturesque the area is;  maybe I had forgotten but it truly is a green and pleasant land.  Only trouble was that, for me and my wonky knee, it`s all a bit up hill and down dale so I tried to stay on what bits of flat land I could find.

As you drive through the county you come across so many `interesting` places - the Piddles and the Puddles (eg. Piddlehinton and Puddletown) but also Tolpuddle, home of the revered martyrs.  Dorset is well known for its fascinating village names. Just a mile or two from where we were staying is Whitchurch Canonicorum, a serene and quiet backwater but the churchyard of St. Candida and the Holy Cross contains the burial place of Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian dissident who was killed walking across Westminster Bridge in London by an umbrella tipped with ricin.  The churchyard also has the ashes of Sir Robin Day "The Great Inquisitor."  

And then there is Ryme Intriseca up in the north of the county with its 13th century church dedicated to one St. Hippolytus, one of only two such dedications - the other being near Hitchin in Hertfordshire - whose name is as intriguing as that of the village.  I could go on - there are so many more, not forgetting my actual birthplace  on the Isle of Portland (Hardy`s `Isle of Slingers`) with its famous Portland stone, its insularity and suspicion of mainlanders, the `Kimberlins.` 

Dorset is the county that people drive through to get to somewhere else, which is a pity as it has much to commend it with its Jurassic coastline, its spectacular scenery, its history, its quaintness and its enduring puzzles and, as it`s not that far from home, Boris and the Covid thingy permitting it might be possible to revisit and seek out some more of its treasures.  But there`s a song from way back about how nice it is to go travelling, but how much nicer it is to be home.