On Tuesday it rained a lot, but this afforded the opportunity to walk down the beach, umbrella in hand. We also had a relax from the previous day's exertions. On Wednesday, we indulged in relaxing on the beach now the glorious weather had arrived, though we could understand why the landlady at our guesthouse said that Swanage had it's own microclimate, as we could see Poole just across from the bay with storm clouds overhead, yet here we were bathed in sunshine.
On Thursday, we went to see Corfe Castle or at least the ruins. In Corfe Castle village, one can see why certain towns that have grown up along throroughfares desire the very negation of their origin with a road bypass around their main street (or themselves altogether). Not just cars, but touist coaches and heavy goods vehichles rattle and rumble through the heart of Corfe, producing a near-ceaseless cacophony noxiously allied to a particle explosion of air pollution. Mind you, 363 years on from when the caddish parliamentarians paid the edifice a slight, this highway's bustling narure emphasises the strategic importance once derived from holdng the castle itself - a living, if not suitably breathing piece of history.
Travelling back on the bus, we took in the gorgeous countryside once again, with hamlets dotted around. One should pity the people who choose to live up Crack Lane in Langton Matravers, the small urbanity outside Swanage. Langton Matravers itself is so small there are sign proclaiming it a 'House Watch Area', since it is unable to qualify in size as a 'Neighbourhood Watch Area'. It seems some take matters into their own hands, including that of the law, one residence calling itself 'The Old Parliament House'.
On Friday, we took a boat trip around the Jurassic Coast. Only 45 minutes long but worth every penny - feeling the refreshing spray of seawater, the beautiful cliffs, the birds nesting in the coves and the lively commentary of capatain to his audience of ten (such as noting the block of flats that were built on a geological fault by a neophyte architect, whose residents then had to get the government to shore up the cliff to the tune of £2.5m for these private abodes). In the afternoon, we walked to Peveril Point and its causeway footpath into the sea and then onto Dulston Head. Unfortunately, the castle - a Victorian construction - was closed for redevelopment (even the contractors were only going to be appointed in November 2009). But we saw the great globe (only Paraguay was out of place and only slightly), chiselled in Greenwich then shipped here, by the castle owner, John Burt (nephew of John Mowlem) and had a walk along the tops of the cliff until we could see the lighthouse.
On Saturday, the rain came again, but at the far end of the beach, before the last groyne, we took shelter in a little alcove under the cliff, then had a bit of swim in water that was chilly, even after moving around.
Sunday was our last day. We paid a visit to Swanage Parish Church for the 10.30 am Eucharist service. They had two crucifers, one for the choir and the other for the clergy, which included a deacon and rector. The rector delivered the sermon without notes, which was impressive, but had a habit of repeating himself and twice confused Capernaum with Nazareth (when it was the latter mentioned in the Gospel read out). One parishioner said to me as Altaa and I were walking out, that we should get married. Showing him my gold ring, I said we already were, which caused laughter among all of us. Someone said we should get married twice then. I declined to say that we already were too. The rector bade farewell to everyone as we left. He knew of Gillingham in Kent (rather than the one in north Dorset, that we had to tell other members of the congregation we not from) since he once ministered in Whitstable.
It was a wonderful way to end the holiday. When we got back home, I watched Roger Federer make history with his 15th Grand Slam. Such a welcome break for us and for him in the 77th game to win Wimbledon. All in all, a very good week.