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Lyme Regis and Charles With the Beard
Lyme Regis, England

Broad Street

My first view of Lyme Regis was from the window of a National Express Coach. My sister and I were on our way from Dorchester to Penzance when we came down the Charmouth Road to Church Street and the town square, then turned up Broad Street and paused for a few minutes in the car park on Sidmouth Road. The driver let us out to stretch our legs while new passengers boarded. I was already very impressed with the picturesque Georgian streets we had just passed through when I walked to the edge of the park to look over the cliff. I expected to find a pleasant view of Lyme Bay and the Channel but got much more than I bargained for. The blue of the sea and the puffy white clouds mixed with the unique Dorset sunlight to give my first view of Lyme’s sea wall, the medieval Cobb, a beautiful, mystical quality.

Of course, this was 1982 and I was still under the influence of The French Lieutenant’s Woman, the movie made from John Fowles’ intriguing Victorian novel. The opening scene with Meryl Streep walking out on the Cobb to keep her forlorn vigil for the French Lieutenant who loved and abandoned her was still fresh in my mind. I was completely captivated. My sister had to pull me back to the coach because I was so entranced I hadn’t heard the driver honking – eager to be on his way.

That first brief glimpse of Lyme Regis was the final link in a chain of dozens of impressions made during our short three day stay in Dorset. This chain was to grow in strength and pull me back to the gentle, green county again and again – today it’s stronger than ever and still growing.

The next time I saw Lyme I was again riding on public transport; this time it was the “Chesil Coaster,” the Southern National bus that runs from Weymouth to Lyme Regis six times a day. I was coming from the Ilchester Arms in Abbotsbury and had boarded right in front of that handsome inn. This time I was planning to stay in Lyme for a week and had booked a room at the Three Cups Hotel, just a few hundred yards from where the bus let me off in the town square. I was alone this time, except for Bruno and Bernice – my monster suitcases. They each weighed at least a ton and I had to transport them up that steep hill to the Three Cups myself.

It was only a short distance but I thought I was going to die along the way. It wasn’t just because they were so heavy, it was because of the tremendous effort it took to look nonchalant as I was dragging them along when I really wanted to huff and puff like an overworked steam engine. This was before I became more sophisticated in my Dorset travels and learned how easy it is to take a taxi between guest houses and only use the buses for excursions after settling in. I nearly fell across the threshold of the Three Cups and was practically crawling as I dragged Bruno and Bernice the last few yards to the desk and checked in.

My first thought after recovering enough to unpack and return to Broad Street was that I deserved some refreshment. It was 4pm and time for a cream tea. The Bell Cliff Restaurant perched above the square overlooking the bay caught my eye; it seemed just the place to revive my spirits. It was a happy choice because here, on my first day in Lyme Regis, I met “Charles with the Beard”.

Charles with the Beard

He was sitting alone at a table for two when I entered, a venerable gentleman with a magnificent white beard. All of the tables were occupied and so the waitress asked Charles if I could join him – not a very unusual custom in Dorset but it would have been very unusual in L.A. He graciously agreed and I rather gingerly accepted the seat by the window. It was my first experience dining at an intimate table for two with a perfect stranger. I thought at first that Charles was the owner of the Bell Cliff since all the waitresses called him by name and often came over to chat. A picture of him in Victorian dress was displayed in a prominent place by the entrance. I remembered that the producers of The French Lieutenant’s Woman insisted on using the townspeople as extras during the filming. Now, even without the Victorian costume, Charles looked like a character straight out of the 19^th century.

As our meal progressed I learned that he was not the owner but a long time resident of Lyme who dined regularly at the Bell Cliff because he thought it served some of the best food in town. Charles had a charming manner and I found him very easy to talk to because he didn’t seem to mind answering all of my questions. In fact, he seemed to enjoy telling me about Lyme’s history and about its more interesting citizens.

I learned which house John Fowles lives in and was interested to hear that the best selling author takes a scholarly interest in Dorset and has completed several in-depth studies of the county’s history. As curator of Lyme’s museum and art gallery he takes a lively interest in such mundane things as the museum’s inadequate heating system and its leaky roof. I agreed with Charles about the Bell Cliff’s good food so we enjoyed several more meals together during my week’s stay.

At our table by the window overlooking the square we could watch the comings and goings of the entire town. Every few minutes someone passing by would look up at our window and wave. Charles would wave back and tell me a little bit about the passerby… “That’s the skipper of the Gannet II. He came to Lyme from Wales when he was a young man looking for a place to settle down. He took one look at Lyme Bay and knew his search was over. He makes a good living fishing and still prefers the old fashioned wooden lobster traps to the modern plastic ones. Sometimes he takes tourists on trips around the bay. Maybe you would enjoy a ride with him?… There’s old John Stephens, he’s seventy-six. He had an operation on his hip a few months ago – see how well he manages the hill? There goes Maureen, she was born here, you can always tell a Lyme girl by her calves, they’re particularly well developed because of our steep hills.”

Town crier in Lyme Regis

It was Charles who told me about Richard Fox, Lyme’s town crier. Richard gave tours on Tuesdays and Thursdays that were crowded with interesting facts about Lyme’s history. At Charles’ suggestion I joined one and with about twenty other tourists happily followed him up and down back alleys, through private gardens, and across several bridges over the River Lim.

We saw Monmouth House where the Duke of Monmouth spent his first night in England after he came ashore near the Cobb to begin his ill-fated attempt to gain the throne. We saw ‘Jane’s Garden’ the place that marks the site of the house where Jane Austen began writing Persuasion, and of course we stopped to inspect ‘Granny’s Teeth’ – the series of uneven stone steps running diagonally across the inside of the Cobb wall at the point where it begins to turn out to the sea. It was from these rudimentary steps that Miss Musgrove, Persuasion’s frivolous heroine, jumped.

Then we marched along the curving roadway of the Cobb itself as it curves out into the waters of Lyme Bay and the Channel. We couldn’t help feeling we were walking on a tangible link with the medieval past when Richard explained that the first historic mention of the Cobb was in 1313!

We followed him back to the center of town and the house on Church Street from which Henry Fielding tried to carry away his lady love but was prevented by her guardian. Fielding later based the character of Sarah Andrews in Tom Jones on his lost love. From there our pied piper led us to Sherborne Lane, that steep little passageway where we came in contact with the oldest part of Lyme. It has been identified as the piece of land which Cynewulf, King of the West Saxons, gave to Sherborne Abbey in 774 AD for the boiling of saltwater to make salt.

Our tour ended in front of the Volunteer Inn on Broad Street, the pub that our amiable guide ‘just happened to own.’ He invited us all in to view his extensive collection of chamber pots that decorate the bar. How could we refuse? Richard had provided us with two hours of fascinating bits of Lyme’s history absolutely free of charge.

However, I don’t think it was just a desire to learn about history that induced the lady from Yorkshire to join our tour. She was standing next to me as we waited in front of the museum for the tour to begin and confided in me that this was her third tour this summer. “He’s gorgeous, wait until you see.” She was right. He is gorgeous! As soon as I saw him I remembered that I had seen him before – at home, on the Johnny Carson’s TV Show when he was doing public relations work for Lyme.

Charles told me that he was twice World Champion Town Crier and three times best dressed town crier and that his wife makes his beautiful outfits. He donates much of the money he makes from public appearances all over the world to improving the town. No wonder he’s so popular.

The tiny River Lim runs through Lyme Regis

During our dinners together Charles would suggest places I might enjoy visiting and I would report back to him the next day. He said I could walk along the leafy green banks of the River Lim, starting on Combe Street and, following its inland route, continue all of the way to the Devon border a few miles away near the Black Dog Inn and some pretty mill cottages converted from a long inactive mill. He told me the story of the hidden treasure found in the inn’s loft. The ghost of a black dog was supposed to have guided his master to its hiding place. I had fun following the course of this walk back and forth across the river on a series of interesting little bridges, some wooden and some stone, most of them very old. One led to a tidy little garden and the Leper’s Well. Authentic sources verify that there was a leper hospital here in medieval times. Richard Fox and his friends were responsible for creating the pretty garden that surrounds the well.

On Gosling Bridge, said to have originated in 1584, I stood for a while and talked with a woman who was, appropriately enough, concerned about a mother goose who kept calling for her lost gosling. She said the mother had been plaintively calling all day without success. She was afraid the young gosling had been washed out to sea during the recent rain storm. I could hear the melancholy call for a long while as I continued on my walk. The woman’s concern was typical of so many Dorset people I’ve met – a very nice trait, I think.

I learned from Charles that I could catch the bus to Exeter right below our window in the town square. At the same stop I could board one that went to Sidmouth and another that went all of the way to Taunton. I tried all three and had marvelous times. However, the excursion that I enjoyed most was made to Seatown, only a few miles away. I caught the ‘Chesil Coaster’ going east on the A35 and got off about ten minutes later in Chideock, an attractive village of thatched cob and yellow sandstone cottages built on the fertile slopes of the valley of the River Winniford.

I walked the mile or so down to Seatown along Duck Street and passed several very pretty cottages with beautiful curving thatched roofs and handsome brick chimneys. I was pleased to see The Anchor, an inviting looking pub at the bottom of the road between Golden Cap and Thorncombe Beacon where one could sit outside and enjoy the dramatic view of these two cliffs as well as the sparkling blue channel.

Joanne rambling in Dorset

Golden Cap is the highest point on the southern coast and Thorncombe Beacon is second highest so, since up hill walking is not my strong point, I didn’t hesitate in choosing Thorncombe Beacon for my assault. I was already very hungry so I promised myself a good lunch at the Anchor after completing the climb and struggled to the top, pausing countless times to catch my breath.

The view from the summit was magnificent and worth every huff and puff. I could see the Devon coast to the West and Chesil Beach and Portland Bill to the East. I was congratulating myself on a job well done when I glanced at my watch. Good grief! It was 1:55! Five minutes before the Anchor stopped serving food. I didn’t set any records on my assent of Thorncombe Beacon but I’m sure I must have on my decent. I came down in nothing flat. It’s a good thing no one was in my way because I would have mowed them down. I had the same experience I used to have as a child when I would foolishly start running at the top of a hill only to find I couldn’t stop until I reached the bottom. I’m lucky I didn’t fall or turn my ankle.

I tried to look cool and collected as I ordered my ploughman’s at 1:59 and staggered to my seat in the patio where I could look back at Thorncombe Beacon with a tinge of triumph! That night at the Bell Cliff I related my experiences to Charles. He seemed amused but warned me of the dangers of taking foolish chances while traveling on my own.

When we parted for the last time he said: “Remember – next time you’re in Lyme be sure to say hello. Just ask anyone for ‘Charles with the Beard,’ they will know who you mean.” Charles was a good friend and gave me much good advice about traveling in Dorset but he’s not the only Lyme resident I fondly remember from that visit in 1984.

There was a little lady working in the chemist’s shop at the bottom of Broad Street that I remember for an act of kindness far above and beyond the call of duty. She was behind the counter when I dropped off three rolls of film taken on my first three days in Lyme – I was being conservative then, only one roll a day. She took my name and asked where I was staying. She promised that the prints would be ready on the morning of my departure at the end of the week. When I returned on the appointed morning, eager to see if I had managed to capture any of Lyme’s charm on film, she again asked my name and asked where I was staying. Her disappointment was almost as great as my own when her search failed to produce the eagerly anticipated packet of prints. She apologized sincerely and assured me she would forward it to my next stop in Sherborne. She couldn’t understand why my prints hadn’t arrived on schedule.

I’m afraid my disappointment was apparent as I left the shop to catch the waiting town bus that would take me the half mile or so up to the top of Silver Street and the Mariners Hotel. I had checked out of the Three Cups and into the Mariners after my third day when Charles told me about its cozy, intimate atmosphere and its charming higgledy piggledy seventeenth century decor. I had just finished shoving a souvenir fossil from the Lyme Fossil Shop into an already overstuffed Bruno and was getting ready to leave when there was a knock at my door. It was the lady from the chemist’s shop. She was huffing and puffing almost as badly as I had been after climbing Thorncombe Beacon. She had my prints!

After I left her shop she made a thorough check of all the envelopes and had found mine right where it belonged – filed under the Three Cups Hotel. I thought she was just being friendly each time she asked where I was staying. I didn’t realize she kept her filing system according to the places where her customers were staying. When I left the film I was staying at the Three Cups; when I had tried to pick up the prints that morning I told her I was at the Mariners. She trudged all the way up Broad Street and on to Silver Street and the Mariners just to deliver my prints when the confusion was really my fault. She could have easily mailed them on to me and saved herself that murderous climb. She didn’t want to chance waiting for the next bus for fear of missing me and she knew how disappointed I had been. This might not sound like much of a favor for those who haven’t climbed the hill from Lyme’s town square to the top of Silver Street but those who have will know what this means. It’s small wonder that the chain that keeps pulling me back is getting stronger and stronger.