This history of Dewlish and and accompanying poems were written by John Seymour, an author and poet resident in Dewlish.
History of Dewlish
The village of Dewlish is found cradled in a fold of the surrounding chalk hills straddled around a small stream, the Devil’s Brook, from which it takes the name, which runs along the valley bottom and through the lower village.
Dewlish accommodates around 110 houses with a population of about 300. The houses are of mixed style, age and construction with the predominate theme being of stone and flint. Thatched roofs used to be wide-spread and the village was twice the current size until a ravaging fire some centuries ago, aided by the thatched houses being close together, reduced the village to near the present dimensions. It was originally on the main road from Dorchester to Blandford Forum and whilst now well off the beaten track it remains the most centrally located community in Dorset, equidistant to both towns and county boundaries and is 3 mls. north of Puddletown. It remains clear of the threat of further large expansion which has radically altered other small county villages, given the immense cost of providing services and adequate road links.
The Parish Church of All Saint’s which in part dates back to the 12th Century is located in the centre of the village in Church Street. A visit to the church will show the considerable influence of the Montmorency family who lived in the nearby grand mansion, the 1702 built Dewlish House for many generations, with the male line being lost in WW1. The last member, Lady Rachel, died in 1967. More so, not too many village churches can claim to be the last resting place of a military Field Marshall, Sir John Michel. GCB, who died in 1886. At the village cross-roads close by is the old forge and Post Office, both now residential houses, opposite which is the War Memorial. The cross was built in 1929 primarily to honour men of WW1, and lists a sobering total of 20 from such a small community. They are, and surely always will be, remembered at a ceremony which closes the roads every Remembrance Sunday.
It has a particularly remarkable Roman heritage with a large and opulent Roman Villa being excavated in fields near Dewlish House, in 1974. A number of extensive mosaic panels from the site are now housed in the Dorset Museum, Dorchester, and are of a unique nature. Older than that was the remains of a fossilised tusk of an elephant showing how extreme the changes have been to this area, and traces dating from the Iron Age have also been discovered.
In addition to the church the village benefits from a popular and well supported pub, The Oak, where dogs are allowed and are all known by name thus being a true part of a ‘country pub’! Also in Church Street is the other focal point, the busy and ancient Village Hall, hosting a wide variety of cultural and community activities including a thriving Saturday morning Community Café, horse racing evenings, bingo, yoga, themed dining events, barn dances, Christmas & harvest dinners. The Hall holds up to 100 people, with a kitchen and toilets, and can be hired for occasions and events.
The Hall committee organise many of the village’s happenings such as the very well supported and impressive annual Bonfire & Fireworks event and the yearly Fun Day Fete with Beacon Lighting and Jubilee Fair organised when relevant.
Whilst only a small village it is a hive of activity with a host of businesses based in and around the village. These range from T Shirt printing to Marquee supply & erection, from building to Landscape Gardening and Farming, with two family owned dairy farms, though arable use is still widespread. Some previously farm buildings have been converted into holiday lets and welcome a steady stream of visitors each year. On the southern outskirts is a large and prestigious vineyard producing high quality wines from the chalky soil which would have been familiar to the Romans who brought viticulture to the county.
Dewlish has a variety of groups and activities with a very active ‘Ladies Group’ and a successful Cricket Club, though given the undulating nature of the local and surrounding landscape they have no flat enough pitch available and play in an adjacent parish! The cultural life of the village also boasts several classical musicians, a family group with a wide popular range and an author and poet.
The village therefore is not only a busy but also a close knit community for old and new inhabitants alike. It is perhaps because of these working and business activities being based in the village and with a large proportion of the village both living and working nearby, that Dewlish is not a backwater but a vibrant part of South Dorset.
All this, the setting, the people, the happenings and the timeless nature of the surrounds ensure that Dewlish retains its country atmosphere and unspoilt natural charm.
Dewlish
What somnolence, what drowsing days, pervade this English place,
How long the hour in shaded bower behind its open face,
By quiet path and winding way or mounding hillside set,
Hushed deep in Dorset by the brook, it silent sleeps – and yet ….
Look on this valley you who come, through leafy window seen,
Or passing sweeping fields along the hedgerows blazing green,
The silver stream a handrail which may guide your steps anew,
From north or south, know that you meet, a living village too.
Across these fields and wooded sides where lowing cattle graze,
Birdsong in swelling chorus greets the slowly waking days,
There Roman might has left faint sign across the distant span,
And constant nature patient notes each briefly passing man.
See, here the yeoman vein still runs in golden thread among
These people living simply with such praises little sung,
But they the truth in all this world which lets so much awry
And sets a price by everything - this value to deny.
Since there the men and women who, hold now the steady light,
First lit by generations past, held firm though fires bright
Once ravaged much, still not regained, where homes and lives were lost.
We build upon their bitter years. Our churchyard marks their cost.
All Saints our faith, its aged tower above the village stands,
To endless keep its vigil o’er these ancient settled lands,
Within its walls in hallowed peace bare absent names adorn,
The sacrifice of wars and deeds of duty bravely born.
‘The Oak’ the Inn, that other faith, the joining point for all,
Where each might come on common terms to answer friendships call,
Find welcome face since boyhood known or stranger passing through,
Who shares this hour of fleeting time ~ might he perhaps be … you?
Therefore, if to this plot you come take now the time to see,
All first impressions soon forgot, some lasting sense may be
To know that here midst jumbled roofs, chalk hills and valley’s loam,
Bides near the brook whose name it bears, the Dewlish we call …. home.
Devil’s Brook
From high amid the rolling hills, past time forsaken silent mills,
Near paths which weave as long before, they led to now forgotten door,
While grassy-hidden silvered rills then join, and so it slowly fills
It’s banks, which widen more and more, to wend their way to distant shore.
Alongside serried ranks of soil, on planted acres farmers toil
To make their mark, though soon forgot, upon this timeless, aged plot,
The creaking gate for want of oil in hedgerow stands, while waters boil
Across the weir, though often not, if summer’s parching dry and hot.
By meadows lush with verdant green, and secret places little seen,
From distant ‘peckers hollow knock, to rumpled woods where clawing Brock
Heaps mounded earth, while beech boughs lean o’er searching robin in between,
With busy bustle turning leaf to find some victim underneath.
Old village roofs now huddle round with playing children often found
Amidst the giddy crystal stream soft lit with sparkling sunshine’s gleam,
While fronds of water reed abound and buttercups carpet the ground,
On such few days this sylvan dream makes man’s concerns less than they seem.
Now under Chalk Hill’s wooded side to where the waters pause to bide
Their time, in lake by Mansion’s halls before it tumbles over falls,
The crowded geese and ducks do glide in gaggled throng from side to side,
Or fill the air with cackling calls that echo from the lichened walls.
This chesel-bourne, as locals say, cool stony brook that glides it’s way
Through open field or shaded nook, has lent it’s peace to those who took
The time to know it’s ancient way or wander where a wise man may,
For this small heaven should you look, belies the name this …
…. Devil’s Brook