World Travel Guide Online

Dorset Magic Sometimes Turned Off
But Mostly Turned On
Wareham, England

It had been raining for most of the time since I boarded the first of three
trains in my journey from Rye in Sussex to Wareham in Dorset. Now, as I
tugged my monster suitcase out of the Wareham railway station at 4:00pm on a
Sunday afternoon early in June, the sun was breaking through the clouds and
there was a patch of blue that could easily accommodate the proverbial
Dutchman’s britches. The only other passenger I noticed getting off with me
was a young Japanese gentleman with luggage nearly as cumbersome as mine. We
stood looking expectantly at the empty area on the tarmac with white painted
taxi signs indicating a taxi rank.

The Japanese gentleman could be excused but I should have known better – it
wasn’t my first trip to Wareham. I should have realized on a Sunday
afternoon we couldn’t count on a row of taxis eagerly waiting to take us to
our destinations. I was glad my finicky husband, Stan, wasn’t there to say
“Why did you expect taxis to be here. What can we do now?” He had decided
to stay at home in Northridge, California and let me ramble alone this time.

The Japanese gentleman, however, seemed to be in good spirits. He was
laughing at our predicament. His firm in Japan had sent him to Wareham to
attend a business conference at the Winfrith Atomic Research Center.
Reservations had been made for him at Worgret Manor and he assumed that
Wareham would be a busy city with plenty of tourist services, like taxi’s,
readily available.

We decided to join forces and share a taxi – provided we could get one to
come to our rescue. The station master gave us the numbers of three possible
taxi companies. I called each one from the red phone booth outside the
station, but the best I could do was elicit a promise from the third one
called to send the cab that was then in Weymouth as soon as it was free. I
knew it would take at least an hour to arrive in Wareham. We were discussing
what to do next when a pretty smiling lady in a powder blue Austin pulled
along side and said: “If you’re waiting for a taxi I’m afraid you won’t have
much luck on a Sunday – May I give you a lift?” “We would love it!” We
said, “Just let us phone the taxi company and tell them we won’t need a cab
after all.”

I’m sure it’s not just my imagination. Dorset does have this special quality
that always seems to operate in times of stress. Incidents that could become
serious problems seem to smooth out and disappear in Dorset. At least it
seems to work that way for me. The smiling lady helped us load our luggage
in the back of her car and twenty minutes later we had both been delivered
safely to our destinations, the Japanese traveler to Worgret Manor and me to
The Old Granary on the quay by the Frome River.

The Old Granary on the quay

This would be my third stay at the Old Granary. When I phoned Mr. Stourton
from California I made him promise to reserve my favorite room on the third
level because of the remarkable view from each of its four windows: One looks
to the east along the banks of the river, the two on either side of the
dressing table look South over the river and into the lovely green Purbeck
Hills and the one at the west side overlooks the quay, the bridge and all the
activity of the many sailing vessels that are constantly coming and going.
(I also made him promise to lay in an ample supply of my favorite Treacle
Tarts!)

As I unpacked my mood began to improve. When I left Rye that morning the
gloomy, rainy, weather and the trouble I had along the way dragging my
monster suitcase on and off three different trains (actually four because, of
course, I managed to sit in the sixth car when I boarded at Waterloo and only
the first five were going all the way to Wareham) had not encouraged a sunny
disposition.

After discovering Dorset on an “all over” trip to England in 1982 I have
returned each year to spend nearly all of my vacation in this county, there
isn’t any doubt in my mind that this is the most enchanting of all England’s
counties. But this time it was different. This year I had retired from my
job in the Financial Aid Office at California State University, Northridge.
I could take an open ended vacation! I didn’t have to be back in the office
on a certain date to assist in the hectic routine of arranging financial aid
packages for six or seven thousand needy students in time for the fall
semester starting at the end of August. This time I could afford to spend
some time outside of Dorset as well as my usual five or six weeks in Dorset.
After all, if I’m going to live up to my reputation as Northridge’s most avid
Anglophile I really should be acquainted with more than just one English
County.

With this in mind I consulted my reliable B&B guide: The Best Bed & Breakfast,
England, Scotland, Wales and made reservations in Wiltshire, Devon, Somerset,
Oxfordshire, and Sussex. After spending a week in each of these counties, I
must admit that each has its own special charm…but no Magic. At least not
the kind of magic that I find in Dorset.

Boats on the Frome River

Now, as I returned to Dorset from the medieval town of Rye on the Sussex
coast I felt that I was coming home. A strange feeling for me, a bonafide US
citizen, to have. It took only a few minutes to unpack and call my friends
Joyce and Hugh who lived just a few miles away in Corfe Mullen. Within an
hour we were traveling along the leafy lanes that lead to the Ridgeway and up
onto Creech Barrow. The sun was still peaking in and out of the clouds
causing shadows to drift slowly over the gentle, green hills making them
appear even more attractive than they do in full sunlight. The recent rain
had left the air with that crystal clear sharpness that is so pleasing to the
senses. Nothing I had seen in my journeys outside Dorset could compare with
this!

We dined at night at the New Inn, the pub on the ridge that has fantastic
views of Purbeck on all sides. Even Corfe Castle as we approached on
secondary roads looked more mysterious and romantic than it does when
approached from the more common route on the A351. Our meat pies with fresh
vegetables on the side cost only £4 each, but I’m sure that I enjoyed
mine more than any of the £15 dinners I had recently eaten in Rye. Good
company, unmatched scenery, and the cozy atmosphere of the inn worked
together to produce irresistible Dorset Magic.

Oh! Oh! Something seemed amiss on Monday morning. I awoke to the sound of
rain making staccato noises against my windowpanes and to realize that
someone at the Old Granary had forgotten to turn on the central heating! My
TV could only bring in a murky picture with static snow as I tried to watch
Good Morning, Britain. And apparently I had used the last bag of tea…where
was my Dorset Magic? Even though it was June I thought it prudent to dress
in my heavy, black, turtleneck cashmere and to tuck two pairs of my warmest
woolen socks into my heavy duty lace-up walking shoes to prepare for the
gloomy day.

I warmed up considerably at breakfast and decided that if the weather wasn’t
going to cooperate I might as well use this day to go into Poole and have my
hair done. Joyce had recommended her stylist in the Dolphin Shopping Mall,
so by 11:00am I was on my way aboard Southern National’s service No.143 that
I caught right outside the Old Granary.

The route is not particularly attractive as it passes through Lytchett
Minster, Upton, and Hamworthy, but there is a pretty stretch where
rhododendrons grow in profusion on both sides of the road. I was sitting in
my favorite seat, the front one on the upper deck of a Double Decker, feeling
rather bored as I watched the rain making prickly imprints on the puddles in
the road when an older woman sat down beside me. “Oh my!” She said, “You’re
that American lady who rides the buses!” She told me that she recognized me
from the pictures in my Dorset Life articles. There are probably not more
that two or three people in all of Dorset who could recognize me from my
articles and I was sitting next to one of them. Who said there’s no such
thing as Dorset Magic? We had a nice chat and exchanged advice about the
prettiest bus routes in Dorset. I recommended the No. 212 between Dorchester
and Yeovil and she said I really must try the No. 139 between Blandford and
Shaftsbury.

Coming from the San Fernando Valley, home of the Galleria Shopping Mall of
“Valley Girl” fame, I consider myself a shopping mall connoisseur. There are
four major malls within a fifteen minute drive of my home, not to mention the
up market malls just a thirty minute drive over the hills into Hollywood and
Beverly Hills. I had visited the Arndale Center in Poole three years ago and
hadn’t been very impressed. Now, as we pulled into the bus station at the
back of the center, now called the Dolphin Centre, I realized that major
changes had been made as well as the name.

I had an hour to spare before my
appointment so I put it to good use exploring the Mall. Wow! What a nice
surprise. I have to admit that it compared favorably with our mall in
Northridge. I finished a delicious Quiche Lorraine at the Clipper Restaurant
just in time to keep my appointment with Mark. His salon is very chic and as
smart at most I’ve been to in Northridge. I paid £18 for a cut and
blow dry, about the same I pay in Northridge. My hairdresser in Northridge
didn’t complain about the cut when I returned home as she sometimes does when
I’ve had my hair cut in England, in fact she said it was very nicely shaped.

I spent the rest of he rainy afternoon browsing through the shops on the High
Street in the older part of town and walked all of he way to the quay and
called in at the Poole Pottery where I saw several pieces that I would have
liked to buy but couldn’t because they wouldn’t fit into my already bulging
monster suitcase. I do wish there was an economical way for travelers to
send purchases home. When I inquire I find that the postage usually costs
more than the item I’m considering.

Tuesday morning dawned with even heavier rain than on Monday morning. Gloom,
gloom, gloom! Nevertheless it was a memorable day. It was the day I had two
Dorset Cream Teas in the same day! What could be nicer than a Dorset Cream
Tea? Two Dorset Cream Teas! Two teas weren’t intended – they happened
because I went over the top with the “full English Breakfast” served at the
Old Granary that morning, eating everything in sight: orange juice, cereal,
smoked haddock with two poached eggs on top, tons of toast and numerous cups
of coffee – I blame the cold gloomy weather for my appetite.

Grim-looking Swanage

I didn’t
finish until 10am when I again took the No. 143 bus but this time going in the
opposite direction than the day before, thinking surely by the time I arrived
in Swanage the sun would be out. Wrong! Swanage looked pretty grim. That’s
because it’s supposed to be a beach town where everyone goes to enjoy the
sun. It doesn’t look very picturesque in the rain.

I took a ride on the newly opened Swanage Steam Railway but I couldn’t see very much because of
the mist. The only thing that I remember about the trip to Harmon’s Cross
and back was the little four-year old boy in the seat in front of me. He was
afraid his father was going to “throw him in the sea.” He had been
misbehaving and had been warned that if he didn’t shape up he would be thrown
in the sea when the train returned to Swanage. “Are you really going to
throw me in the sea, Dad? Dad, don’t you like me anymore? Dad? Are you really
going to throw me in the sea, Dad?” He wouldn’t get off until his dad assured
him that he was liked and would be given another chance.

It had stopped raining but the heavy mist continued as I wandered around
Swanage. Because of my enormous breakfast I didn’t feel hungry until 2:30pm
and even then I couldn’t manage a proper lunch – a cream tea seemed the
ideal solution. I chose one of the open air cafés along the Shore Road
overlooking the bay. As I sat sipping my tea I watched the heavy mist dampen
the pink and green hair of two hardy skateboarders zooming past on the
sidewalk beside where I was sitting. I was thinking – “OK Dorset Magic, you
can jump in any time now.”

Corfe National Trust Tearoom

Even in the rain, the village of Corfe Castle looked appealing as we passed
through, so on the way back to Wareham I hopped off the bus for an hour or
so; another bus would be along by 6:00pm. It was 4:30 now and guess what? I
was hungry! The National Trust Tearoom in Corfe is one of the nicest in
Dorset and we all know what their specialty is. I enjoyed my second cream
tea even more than the first, especially the ample serving of clotted cream,
but I worried what I would do about dinner. I needn’t have worried – I
didn’t want any dinner…at dinner time that is. At 10:30pm that night,
sitting up in bed in the Old Granary watching TV (still with its snowy, murky
screen) I was ready to eat! Too bad…I could do nothing about it. I had to
content myself with dreaming of another gargantuan breakfast in the morning.

The gloomy weather continued all day Wednesday. My friends from Melbury
House, Joyce and Harold, joined me for lunch at the Old Granary. We managed
to linger over our meal for most of the afternoon while we waited for the
rain to stop – it never did. I’m not sure about Joyce and Harold but I had
a lovely time. It’s not often that I have a captive audience. By this time
I had collected a dozen rolls of developed film of this year’s travels. They
patiently looked at every shot and oohed! and aahed! in all of the appropriate
places. I can’t get even the members of my immediate family to do that.

Grassy ramparts of old wall

Thank goodness! On Thursday morning the Dorset Magic was switched on along
with the central heating. The sun was out! After breakfast and a walk on
top of the massive earth wall that surrounds Wareham, built during the time of
King Alfred in the 9^th century as protection against the invading Vikings, I
played my favorite wishing game, the one where I choose the house I would
like to live in if I could have any one I wanted in our price range. This
time I found it on Causeway Close near the railroad station. I took a picture
to show Stan. I’m still trying to convince him that he would really prefer
Dorset to Hawaii for our retirement home.

This is the first time my
selection has been a modern house only few years old. In all of my previous
wishing games I’ve always chosen a venerable little thatched cottage with
roses round the door. It must be because this time, with the Dorset Magic in
less than full working order, I’m becoming more aware of how much I need my
creature comforts. This house looked as if it had central heating, double
glazing, a dishwasher, a refrigerator with an ice maker, a washing machine, a
gas clothes dryer, a color TV, a C.D. player, a personal computer and all of
the other necessities that we need to see us through our swiftly approaching
old age.

It’s not that I don’t still believe in Dorset Magic – it’s just that we will
need backup insurance for the times when it’s switched off!