It was a bright, sunny morning
in July and Dad decided that my sister and I would enjoy a walk along the
coastal path to the village of Fleet where we would discover something very
interesting. We set off down the road to
Hive Beach, skipping along from time to time, as children do. In no time, we reached the gate that led to
Hive Beach. As we opened it, we looked
towards the Fleet Lagoon. The tide was
in and the water looked so pretty in the summer sunshine. Dad pointed out the Army Rifle Range that we
could see from Grandad’s garden. The
farmer had tilled the field ready for planting.
The soil was rich, like dark chocolate and next to me, as we stood at
the edge of the field, were two huge rollers that the farmer kept for
flattening the soil. They looked pretty
because they were fringed with hedge parsley, its heady perfume strong in the
July heat. The lagoon was pale blue
that morning and as I stood near the rollers, I saw the English Channel rising
beyond the Chesil Beach. It was a
beautiful sight to see.
We walked on towards the jetty and pestered Dad to let us look at the
boats near the black hut. There were
lots of them that day, in various colours and different states of repair. An old lerrit was tied up near the hut. It had 4 blue seats and looked as though it
could do with a good lick of paint. My
sister and I were more interested in the upturned boats. One, in particular, grasped our attention
because it was painted orange but the sun was making a good job of fading it. It had patches of green and red paint here
and there. I can remember asking Dad why
it was not on the lagoon and he told me that it didn’t have a flat bottom so it
wouldn’t be suitable for rowing on the water.
The lagoon is not very deep.
Dad had waited long enough and was anxious to continue our walk so he
stood near the little gate and called to us.
A milestone said:
Coast path
Abbotsbury 7 miles
Chickerell 1 mile
We walked through the gate and followed the
coastal path. We could see a farm in the
distance.
We walked past the black hut
which is a remnant of World War II and which is probably now used to house the
fishermen’s nets and wooden boxes and we
walked on quite briskly. My Dad was an
ex RAF Warrant Officer and liked things to be orderly. On our left, the waters of the Fleet Lagoon
sparkled in the summer sunshine and to the right were the golden cornfields. They weren’t ready for harvesting yet but
their light gold colour was pretty.
As we trudged along the Coast Path, the cornfields
changed to fields of cattle that were munching away or resting in the sunshine,
their large gentle eyes fixed upon us as we walked along. Suddenly, quite a large hole appeared out of
nowhere. My sister and I grabbed hold of
the fence to avoid falling into it. Waves of mild electricity shot through my
right arm. I can remember the feeling
vividly to this day. The current moved
through my arm in an ‘up and down’ movement, rather like a lasso rope being
flexed by a cowboy. Both my sister and I
had touched the electric fence that the farmer had installed to keep his cattle
in. We were a bit shocked at this
experience and Dad explained the reason for the electric fence. I look with suspicion now each time I meet an
electric cattle fence and those distant memories flood back as though it were
yesterday.
It was a pleasant walk and after a while I forgot about my bad
experience. East Fleet has a row of
cottages in Butter Street and other cottages are scattered here and there.
We called at Great Aunt Lizzie’s
cottage for the key to the small chancel in the churchyard, as she was the key
holder. Now it is kept open for visitors
to view. This little chancel is all that
remains of the original parish church that was swept away in 1824 when a huge
tidal wave swept over the Chesil Beach and made its way to the village. In the little booklet that you can buy in the
chancel, it tells the story of a young boy, James Bowering, who was my great
great great grandfather. He was eleven
at the time. He watched as the water
came over the beach ‘as fast as a horse could gallop’ and he raced as quickly
as he could to warn the villagers. This
storm caused much damage in the immediate area, even in Weymouth and some of
the cottages in Fleet were damaged beyond repair. There is a lovely story in
the booklet about the water reaching the vicar’s cottage and two ladies that
were staying there had to sit on the roof and wait to be rescued. When he became an adult, James became Parish
Clerk of Fleet and his son George was the Sexton of the new parish church, Holy
Trinity , for over 40 years. James is
buried in the old churchyard with his first wife on his right hand side and his
second on his left! His tombstone is
badly eroded now and it is very difficult to make out the words but it has an
anchor at the top and it said that he was ‘held in the high esteem of all who
knew him’ which made me feel quite proud.
This is all that remained of the
church after the storm. The nave was
completely washed away. John Meade
Falkner used this chancel as one of his locations in his book ‘Moonfleet’. There is a vault in this chancel and in the
smuggling days it was probably used by smugglers for the storage of wines,
spirits etc. An underground passage runs from the vault to Fleet water. At this point, during the tidal wave, the
water reached a depth of 30 feet. The
damage was so great in Fleet that churches throughout the country had a
collection for its inhabitants to help to repair the great damage that had been
caused. The inhabitants of Butter Street
had to watch as their homes were completely destroyed. It is a lovely location. You can see the Fleet Lagoon and the Chesil
Beach from the churchyard.
In 1829 a new church was built about half a mile away and is called
‘Holy Trinity’.
Dad turned the huge key and we
stepped inside the little chancel. It
smelled a bit musty but we could see that it was cared for beautifully. The walls were freshly painted and there was
a huge arched window in the centre.
Light streamed into the little church.
There was a small altar with a plain wooden cross in the centre and
fresh flowers on the altar and on the floor nearby. Two long benches were placed on opposite
walls so that people could sit for a while and think or pray. The excitement for me was some memorial
brasses one on either side of the window, dedicated to the Mohun family. I had
been learning Latin at school and I was anxious to see if I could translate the
words on the brasses. One of them was a
family group, commemorating the lives of Robert and Margaret Mohun. They were shown kneeling at a desk. Behind Robert were nine sons and behind
Margaret there were eight daughters.
They were dressed in Elizabethan clothes, with ruffs round their
necks. It was a beautiful memorial to a
large family. I was thrilled to see it
and even more thrilled to be able to translate it for my Dad. It is still there today but protective bars
have been placed around the two memorials. There is a plaque in memory and
recognition of John Meade Faulkner. It
has been eroded now so the John Meade Faulkner Society has placed another
plaque beneath it.
I will talk more about John
Meade Faulkner and his novel ‘Moonfleet’ in my next post.
