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Durlston Castle to Anvil Point Lighthouse

Fears, phobias, memories and miniature croquette

By Alan RussellPublished 4 years ago 9 min read
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Anvil Point Lighthouse from the cleavage

As the crow flies, or given the location, as the seagull flies, the distance from Durlston Castle to Anvil Point Lighthouse is about 1000 metres. Without any foreknowledge the walker can see the lighthouse from the castle and, as in my case, set off in high expectation of a reasonable walk.

Trust me it is a reasonable walk, even if it revives fears and psychological scars from childhood.

Below the ramparts of Durlston Castle is a stone plinth about a metre high. Mounted on top is a fading picture of the scenery overlaid with the wildlife that can be seen in the area. Fulmars, various seagulls, cormorants, shags, seals and dolphins. From where I was standing all I saw were a few wood pigeons and a lonely seagull. Behind the plinth part of the stone wall has been removed and replaced with plate glass to give children a chance to see the views over the cliff edge in safety. I had a look over this wall. Not only did this part of the wall and the plinth mark the start of my walk it also confirmed that I have a visceral fear of heights.

Starting point and revival of fears

The footpath is wide enough to cope with a car. My direction of travel meant there was a wall between myself and the cliff drop to the ocean on my left. On my right was the lower reaches of a grass and wood covered hillside. Instinctively I stuck to this side of the path as much as I could resenting anyone coming towards me with a similar fear to mine and even more determination than me to stay safe.

I was alright looking across the ocean providing I did not see the wall. Sailing boats drifted across the scene capturing what wind they could heading west towards Weymouth or beyond. A fishing boat chugged around stopping so the fisherman could check the lobster pots. An arrow of a white speedboat pounded the waves as rhythmically as a bass drum player.

The entrance to Tilly Whim caves appeared. These are the remnants of a quarry that was worked until the 18th century. Here men laboured, were injured or died in this pre health and safety era to extract chunks of Purbeck Stone that was shipped to London to house the rich. Even on this clear sunny day the entrance looked dark and unforgiving.

George Burt, who built Durlston Castle, opened the caves in 1887 as a tourist attraction to fund his plans to develop the area as a leisure and residential suburb of Swanage.

My parents took me there in the 1960’s during one of our many holidays to Studland. I was brave at the turnstile gates where Mum and Dad paid the entrance fee. As the path through the tunnel got darker that childhood bravado started to evaporate. Then on to Dancing Ledge where there was no fence between me and the crashing waves below. My bravado quotient went into deficit. Dad did get me to peer over the edge. I could only manage to do this for a few seconds before retreating to the caves and the exit even if it meant going through the dark tunnels again. At least there would be light at the end of the tunnel.

That is not a holiday memory of endless sunny summer days but of claustrophobia and vertigo performing as psychological pincers on my sanity.

The caves closed in 1976. The turnstile gates at the entrance are overgrown now with brambles. Rusting barbed wire swathes everything in around the entrance in sharp discouraging layers so that the caves and their resident bat colony remain undisturbed for generations to come.

All this closure was too late for “Alan” as I am sure this is where my fear of heights and being underground stems from.

Onwards, onwards along the path trying desperately hard to keep as far away from the wall and the edge as possible while trying to maintain an outward dignity. Onwards, onwards away from the caves and hoping an increasing distance from them would fade the memories even if only slowly with each step.

Those memories were then submerged and forgotten. In front of me the path dropped steeply down into a cleavage in the coastline. As it did so it narrowed, became muddy and no longer had a wall on the seaward side. At the other side of the cleavage was the lighthouse at the top of the next hill teasing me to reach it by any means. At least the direct route did not involve any tunnels and it was basking in the sunshine.

To my right was an open field stretching up a hill to a road that went from Durlston Castle to the Anvil Lighthouse. Stupid me! I could have saved myself so much angst if I had taken that route instead of the cliff top one.

If I had taken that road those memories from childhood would not have surfaced. Not just those of Tilly Whim Caves but of the rest of the holiday times in the area. Endless days on Studland Beach, long walks across Ballard Downs, playing in the ruins of Corfe Castle and returning to the run-down farmhouse, fresh air tired with skin tingling from the sun for roast dinners.

My childhood summer holidays weren’t all bad.

I walked up the field towards the road. Half-way up was a large concrete block that had once been part of a radio listening system in World War II to detect incoming enemy aircraft. I stopped, sat down on the block and caught my breath. I was most definitely on terra firma away from the cliff edge and looked out across the water. The sailing boat I had seen earlier was still struggling to catch any wind as it had hardly moved since I first saw it. All I could see of the white arrow of the speedboat was a white wake in the distance and there was no thudding beat either to be heard as it thumped through the waves.

Peace.

Not for long though as along the path I had walked up from came the yapping of a small terrier type dog that was leaping up to the top of the wall. Fortunately, it was on a lead otherwise I am sure it would have jumped into oblivion out of excitement and curiosity. From where I was sitting it seemed to be pulling a reluctant young lady in its wake.

“I don’t care if there is a wall there….I am not going any further or going back along that path again!”

I thought she was talking to herself until her friend appeared.

“It’s perfectly safe. I’ve walked here loads of times before and I’m still alive.”

“I don’t care, I’m bloody scared and I’m not going back that way even if you dragged me” the lady being pulled by the dog screamed.

She was quite obviously in a much higher state of anxiety about the cliff edge than I was. All the while the dog continued barking and trying to jump over the wall unwittingly adding to the stress levels.

They followed my route towards the concrete block where I was sitting. The level of hysteria was reduced, and the dog began to pant as it pulled its owner up the steepening hill. The last words I heard were:

“You owe me a bloody big Prosecco when we get back.”

I took a picture as evidence of my progress to show my wife and set off up towards the road and even further away from the cliff edge. I was happy walking along its smooth surface. Below on the water the sailing boat had hardly moved. I could no longer see the wake from the speedboat as it was behind the slight hill in front of me.

The road then veered sharply down towards the lighthouse and its white-washed wall enclosing the keepers’ cottages set around a courtyard. These cottages holiday homes now. For a moment I wondered what they looked like when the lighthouse keepers and their families lived there. Were the walls whitewashed like a starlet’s teeth? Was the courtyard as clean and tidy as it was when I saw it? What were the people who lived there like?

Another picture taken to prove where I had been. One plaque on the exterior wall gave contact details for anyone wanting to rent one of the cottages. I would find it very frustrating to stay there. As well-kept and presented as the cottages were the frustration would be over not being able to see the sea from behind glass windows on a miserable day or on a sunny day. No plaque to give details about the history of the lighthouse.

My own research found that the tower is twelve metres high and the light’s height above sea level is forty-five metres above sea level. It was built in 1881 and was manned until 1976 when it became automated. The beam flashes every ten seconds and has a range of nine kilometres.

Anvil Point Lighthouse

On the hillock above and beyond the lighthouse were what looked like small croquette hoops laid out for a miniature game. What must the mallets and balls be like? They were bright red and clearly positioned to mark something but random with no central marker. Either archaeological or botanical.

Spider orchids

The walk back along the road to Durlston Castle was easy and safe. I even managed to stop at an old quarry entrance and learn why the caves that had scared me so much as a child were called ‘Tilly Whim’. ‘Tilly’ is the surname of a local quarry man. And ‘whim’ is the name given to the gibbet or crane that was used to lift the hewn stones out of the quarries and on to transport to building sites around Britain.

At Durlston Castle I asked one of the duty rangers about the hoops and what their function was. The hoops were used to mark where there are “early spider orchids” which are a very rare species of native British orchids.

And that was how my walk to and from the Anvil Point Lighthouse finished. A walk which refreshed fears and phobias, brought back memories of childhood holidays, dogs are both as curious as cats and suicidal and expanded my botanical knowledge.

It also showed me that whatever fears and phobias I have about heights or being underground, no matter how demonized they are to me , someone else somewhere with or without a suicidal dog pulling them along suffers a lot more than me.

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About the Creator

Alan Russell

When you read my words they may not be perfect but I hope they:

1. Engage you

2. Entertain you

3. At least make you smile (Omar's Diaries) or

4. Think about this crazy world we live in and

5. Never accept anything at face value

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