Litton Cheney

With the mini beast from the east arriving overnight, I opted for a much shorter walk today - wimp - but I thought you might like a look around my village, especially since it's very pretty with all the snow (though it's even nicer in the summer). As usual, the full trip summary with more photos is on Komoot, here.

There's a lot of information about the village at www.littoncheney.org.uk if you want to see what's going on, then and now pictures, and all that. Karen and I were originally going to live in Long Bredy, then Charmouth before finally settling on Litton but I'm glad we ended up here. From outside the house it's a short stroll down the track (leading to the playing field and allotments) and then straight across the fields. We loved that closeness to the fields, the sound of running water from the streams alongside and the lack of street lights for those dark sky, starlit nights. I still do. It took a while to 'bond' with the house that did its best to reject us with all its problems but we finally wrestled it into submission and I wouldn't be anywhere else. Well, maybe Cornwall for occasional visits.😉

Although the shop, the garage and the brewery have all long since gone (shame) at least the pub still remains and of course any village worth its name has to have a ghost story. This one's set in what's now called Baglake, at the East end of the village:

"Bagley House, near Bridport, has very gloomy legends attaching to it. Tradition (for the stories are traced back to the last century) says that 'Squire Lighte, who then owned the place, had been hunting one day, and after returning home had gone away again and drowned himself. His groom had followed him with a presentiment that something was wrong, and arrived at the pond in time to see the end of the tragedy. As he returned he was accosted by the spirit of his drowned master, which unhorsed him. He soon fell violently ill, and never recovered, one of the consequences of this illness being that his skin peeled entirely off. <blimey> Shortly after 'Squire Lighte's suicide his old house was troubled by noisy disturbances, which were at once associated with the evil deed of self-destruction. It was suggested that the spirit should be formally and duly' laid ' <no, not the modern meaning, that would be gross, not to say difficult> or exorcised. A number of the clergy went therefore for that purpose, and succeeded in inducing the ghost to confine itself to a chimney in the house for a certain number of years,—it is not known exactly now for how long.

" For many years after this, however, the place remained at peace ; but on the expiration of the power of the charm very much worse disturbances broke out again. Raps would be heard at the front door <an early form of carol singing>; steps in the passage and on the stairs ; doors opening and closing. The rustle of ladies dressed in silk was audible in the drawing-room, and from that room the sound was traced into a summer-house in the garden. The crockery would all be violently moved, and at certain rare intervals a male figure, dressed in old-fashioned costume, is said to have made itself visible and walked about the house. The neighbours say that these extraordinary occurrences continued for many years." 

It's just missing the wronged servant girl, the defrocked priest and a royal connection. That last is provided by Bridport of course where Charles II just avoided capture in 1651.

We are right on the western edge of the chalk hills here which is why the streams are so beautifully clear (although sadly fish-less by my house) but I'm guessing it's also the reason why we have a vineyard, owned and run by Steven Spurrier, Decanter's man of the year for 2017. It is in production (by the local Furleigh Estate) but I'm told the wine mostly goes to Japan. According to the always reliable Wikipedia Alan Rickman portrayed Steven in a 2008 film called Bottle Shock, which sounds more like a hairdresser horror story, which Steven described as largely fictional and threatened legal action during production. (There's a typically enjoyable Rickman performance in this trailer here.) The vineyard is reached via Watery Lane, which suggests some kind of Biblical miracle at work.

As a city boy I'm always surprised, and shouldn't be, to find significant businesses in the depths of the country. We also have nearby Ford Farm who are renowned for among others the Wookey Hole and Coastal cheeses exported worldwide and for their handmade traditional farmhouse cheddars. And of course there's also the builders C G Fry who have built most of Litton for the last umpteen years - not least my house, 'the prettiest house he ever built' according to Eddie Fry's daughter. With accolades go brickbats, though, as they have also built large swathes of Poundbury, that Avengers set-like, hill top town beloved of all who have bought there (well, they would) but I don't think they were responsible for the mini Buckingham Palace there:

"a rich person's view of what poor people aspire to". Good grief (and apologies if you're a Poundbury fan).

Litton Cheney by the way is named after Sir Ralph Cheney in the early 1300s, Kingston Russell after Sir Morys Russell at the same time and Shipton Gorge after Thomas Gorges a hundred years earlier. I'd lay claim to nearby Martinstown if I thought I could. 

Hopefully the snow will have gone by Tuesday and I can get out for a longer walk. Let me know if there's anywhere you'd like me to visit/waffle about.

Best wishes all

Peter