Corfe Castle is a small village with a big castle attached to it. The National Trust own and look after the castle while the tourists look after the rest of the village. As you park in the NT car park and start to cross the road, the old castle ruins atop the hill before you are amazing. Mirinda’s first thought was “How the hell do we get up there?” as it is quite high. Fortunately the path to the village gently slopes up as it goes around the mound upon which the castle was built. You hardly even notice.
First stop was the Fox Inn for lunch. Phil recommended this pub and I have to say it was well recommended. From the gravel voiced barman to the widower locals, from the 6X to the great and hearty food, an excellent pub. We sat in the garden amongst the 69 different chairs and tables and lapped up the sun. Lunch was MASSIVE.
And so to the castle. It’s hard to put a single date on the castle. It’s been around a long time and has been a royal stronghold at various times in its history. It stood strong and resilient until the civil war when parliamentarian forces blew it up, showing the locals how powerful they were. The walls are still lopsided and tilted precariously as if it just happened.
Bit of wall, Corfe Castle, Dorset
A lot of credit for the castle lasting as long as it did must go to Lady Bankes. Anyone wanting to read about a tough, single-minded woman should look into her life. Amazing woman. A staunch royalist, she lived long enough to see the monarchy restored and died in 1661.
After a goodly time spent scaling the castle, we ventured back into the village for a look see around the church. Sadly St Edward’s had no guide book. The best thing I’ve found about it was online. Apparently the lead on the roof was used by the parliamentarians for extra ammunition during the sieges of the castle and after that it gradually fell into disrepair. And then, in the middle 1800s, the locals had it bulldozed (or the Victorian equivalent), leaving only the tower which they then built a new gothic style church around. I have to say they did quite a good job as the whole thing feels complete. Quite rare for the Victorians, remaking an old thing sympathetically.
There was just time for a final view of the castle ruins from the National Trust tea shop (fabulous view, though sadly, the Victoria sponge was sadly…err, sad) and then it was back to claim Sidney and off to Lulworth Cove.
I’ve been to Lulworth before and have spent hours telling Mirinda how wonderful it was. I’ve heaped so many praises on the place that it was with great glee that I led her forth to view it for herself. Unexpectedly, she laughed. She was not particularly impressed. For my benefit she said the geology was pretty cool.
We left Lulworth and drove to Durdle Door. I walked down an extremely steep path and snapped some photos in the dying sunlight while Mirinda waited for me back at the top of the hill. Some of the coastline was pretty impressive but I found Durdle Door a bit of an anti-climax. This could be because I’ve been on the Great Ocean Road and seen the 12 apostles or it could be because Mirinda didn’t like Lulworth!
While she waited on her lonely perch, Mirinda overheard an interesting conversation between a small, energetic child and it’s mother. Apparently he wanted to go down and look at the view but she was adamant he would not. She said it was far too dangerous and, as he couldn’t be trusted to do as he was told, he’d more than likely plunge to the bottom of the cliff into so much sea gull bait. Upon my return, Mirinda asked me if the path was dangerous. I told her it was about 15 feet wide but there wasn’t a fence or rail or anything so I guess a determined monster of a child could easily get away and dive over.
The one thing that ruined Durdle Door for me was the thousands of tin cans dotted along the hillside overlooking the ocean. It’s just row after row of mobile homes, nailed to the ground. In fact, in order to get to the edge of the cliff and see Durdle Door, it is first necessary to drive through the caravan park. At the car park there’s a sign forbidding people from taking photos (or painting) the view. So. It’s ok to blot the landscape with heaps of crappy, uncomfortable, overheated, poor relief dwelling, hovels but dear God, don’t let anyone take a photo of nature’s beauty!
We drove the long trip back to our apartment for the last time.
Our trip home the next day was uneventful and short. We went home a day early as Mirinda had a guitar lesson on the Saturday. I’m not going to bother adding another entry just for this paragraph. However, I will include a picture taken of Durdle Door.
