We may think ourselves on the Riviera, with the precipitous
slopes of St Boniface Down above us, the summit of the island, and facing
the sea all the beauty and wonder of the famous Undercliff. The houses rise
in terraces on rocky ledges, one above the other on the edge of zigzag
roads. What was within living memory a grassy field is now a lovely park.
There are miles of fine walks, and for those seeking physical fitness there
is a tempting run up (or down) a hundred and one steps.
The great coastal terrace of the Undercliff is seven miles
long and in some parts half a mile wide, running from Dunnose Point to
Blackgang Chine. The terrace is believed to be the result of a prehistoric
disaster when the whole face of the downs fell suddenly into the sea. There
have been many landslips since that first fall, but the Undercliff as a
whole, the geologist tells us, came to rest before the dawn of history. The
road (surely one of the loveliest in the land) winds along it, climbing and
falling at the caprice of this natural ledge, and leading us through
peaceful avenues to surprise us suddenly with wild open slopes covered with
gorse and rocks and mighty tumbled boulders. These slopes are the scars that
refuse to heal, and will never let us forget the terror and magnitude of the
disaster which turned this land into a playground of rare beauty.
Under the gracious trees, covering some parts of it so
thickly that we see neither cliffs nor sea, and in among its happy army of
wild flowers, we can easily forget, but out on these slopes it is hard to
think of anything else. The Undercliff never really is at rest; its enemies
are too many. Rain, frost, the hungry sea, and that traitor within the gates
called Blue Slipper the grey, slippery clay that causes so many of the
falls) are constantly at work. So here and there the movements go on, mostly
making no great difference, sometimes more serious. Enchanting paths fight
their way resolutely to the top of the cliffs where glorious views are the
rich reward of those who follow them. At Chale it ends in the vast chine
called Blackgang.
On the Undercliff are two big estates with something to make them
interesting - Wolverton because in its gardens is the ruin of a little 14th
century house with slits only six inches wide for windows; and the Orchard
because its garden comes in the dedication of Swinburne's poem The Sisters'.
Between the sea-cliffs and the sea there sleeps
A garden walled about with woodland, fair
As dreams that die or days that memory keeps
Alive . . .
St Lawrence is now part of Ventnor though greatly its senior, for Ventnor
is modern and St Lawrence had its church in the 13th century. Ventnor itself
has a group of modern churches, and St Lawrence also has a 19th century
church with a 17th century altar-piece and a chest of 1612. Its old church,
before the addition of its chancel in 1830, was only 25 feet long by 11 feet
wide, among the smallest in England. It has a big 15th century font, a 13th
century piscina niche, a sturdy movable stoup about 500 years old, and over
the doorway a row of 18th century hat pegs. There is a lovely view from the
churchyard.
Text courtesy of:
Southern Life (UK)
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