The Main Street
We walked around the old town and peered into the small country shop windows and bought – at least Mouse bought some more Christmas Cards, – feeling they were a sheer necessity at this eleventh hour, if only to put inside her own woolly boots!
I shall never know why we didn’t stay to eat our Christmas Dinner in Blandford. – I’m sure it was a good one, well cooked and nicely served, — but there was something lacking, – there were too many people there for one thing. – We wanted this to be our Christmas Hearth. – Perhaps it was all too impersonal!
However we set out on Christmas morning still believing we should find our Hearts’ Desire!
It was a beautiful day.
I had heard of a beautiful 16th Century Mill House near Salisbury, where one ate at a Refectory Table. – Candle-lit, —! That sounded like the exact place. It was a round about journey we took to find it through Winterborne Whitchurch, Strickland and beautiful Milton Abbas. – This village alone would have made it worth while!
There is something indescribably beautiful about the wide green girt street, with its pairs of soft cream tinted cottages sheltered beneath the trees.
We passed through Strickland, Okeford Fitzpaine and Shaftesbury, Birdbush, and Broadchalke, until my Jumbo began to growl for his Christmas fare!
‘Nice trapse you’re taking me’ he mumbled as West Harnham came into sight!
And so to the “Old Mill” now indeed I bowed my head. —!
The Old Mill, picturesque enough from the outside be it said, – and that was all we saw. For we were met on its threshold by one of those “Ladies” turned Inn Keeper, of the worst type!
In spite of the fact that it was nigh on one o’clock and we had travelled some fifty odd miles, she could not even produce a glass of sherry, and kept us standing in the cold while she dilated on all her preparations for a children’s tea party, which she had to do herself, owing to the absence of staff. I think we must have looked our disgust, – I hope we did anyway.
I shall never go back!
I shall never see that much advertised “Old World Charm” or that Candle-Lit Refectory Table. – I just don’t believe any of it!
Oh how bitter we felt and on Christmas Day too –
“There was no goodwill in our hearts towards that god-forsaken female! — Even the hungry Jumbo was silent before my outburst of wrath.
There was nothing for it, but Salisbury!
Now in Salisbury, an old town of which we are both very fond, there are several hotels, – but the most ancient and possessing that character that we were searching for, does not provide the best of fare, it is also Unlicensed!
On Christmas Day it was unthinkable.
“It may possess the most wonderful four-poster bed in the world, ancient oak and a history, but at the moment I want Food!” said Jumbo, — “I don’t want to go to bed or dream about a past that I’m heartily beginning to suspect never did exist!”
So we passed by the beautiful “Old George Inn” and made our way to the “County”. —–
In the Good Old Days!
There was a not ever cleanly swept lounge, there were glass topped sticky tables, there was a small noisy party of bright young things in front of the bar – all friendly with the Barman.
After a long pause, and in answer to repeated bell ringing, a touselled sleepy eyed waiter appeared.
From him we learned that there was “No lunch unless we’d like some cold ham and salad — ?”!
Jumbo looked at him with a cold eye “Make us some sandwiches, look lively, bring the two large gins” he growled — The waiter fled!
He produced a plate of ham sandwiches, the ham was far from fresh, and the bread was stale!
We ate them mechanically — silently, swallowed the gin and crept sorrowfully out!
And that was Christmas morning!
We beat it back along the road south again, through Blandford, closely shuttered, and with only a few stragglers in the town looking very full of Xmas dinner!
We passed through Wareham and Stoborough – both fast asleep, and as dusk fell once again, we found ourselves in that strange and quietly fascinating village of Corfe Castle.
It is only possible to stay in one of the two small inns that it boasts and here at the “Bankes Arms” we found beds for the night—-!
Corfe Castle
The Bankes Arms
The outside – built of that dull grey Purbeck stone, characteristic of the cottages in this part of the world was attractive enough, – but its interior was only made homely by the presence of two very attractive cats, – one a smoky grey – short haired and very affectionate.
The small Lounge Hall was sparsely furnished and draughty, and the landlady occupied two of the only comfortable chairs.
We sat on small rickety ones until I think she feared for the legs of Jumbos and departed to her own domain!
It was obvious there was a sitting room, – but that, we learned from a rather red eyed slatternly Irish girl was “Private for the Lord and his lady”!
In due course the Lady, after a good deal of flying round above stairs, appeared, being summoned by Bridget to her Bath!
A gaunt grey haired woman she was with pronounced rather forbidding features.
We waited anxiously for dinner, for presently the “Lady” appeared again, clad in dark crimson velvet and looking rather flushed from the bath.
A bell tinkled in the distance – our spirits rose.
Dinner!
Well I certainly hadn’t “dressed” – My tiny bedroom was too chilly, and the general atmosphere hadn’t suggested it!
We found our way to a dully lit small Dining Room, – innocent of Christmas decoration – We sat at a small table and waited.
The “Lord and his Lady” appeared – “good god”! muttered Jumbo, “it’s Lord Justice Schlesser”
We were the only four in that dismal little room on Christmas night.
We ate slices of cold turkey and ham. – There were mashed potatoes and the usual devastating English salad. – damp lettuce, beetroot, tomato, and a bottle of mayonnaise. –There were some cold mince pies!
“Bridget” dripped tears over us from even redder eyes as she told us how homesick she was for Ireland and how she’d never been away before. –
“They’ll be at the dancin’ in the Big farm now”! she gulped “And me not there to see it! — I’d never have come if I’d known”!
—-
We had reached the border of real Hysteria by now and with difficulty refrained from laughing in the poor girl’s face.
At the far end of the room My Lord Schlesser and his wife discussed Left Wing Literature and Politics – almost as if they had just met and were eager to exchange ideas.
They drank water and early disappeared into the “Proivate” sitting room.
“So this is England”! chanted Jumbo over a cup of weak coffee and a second glass of very inferior Port.
And so to Bed!
—