A tetchy local deity, a wayward wordsmith, and a moisture myth

21 August 2025

Welcome to issue 2 of Tales from the Chase, a weekly newsletter for Cranborne Chase. Local events. Odd tales. Mildly strange goings-on. All delivered by email, free, and occasionally unhinged (in a charming way). Was this email forwarded to you? You can sign up for free by clicking below!

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A tetchy local deity, and a wayward wordsmith

This week we seem to have been making our own headlines by upsetting a local goddess.

Friday morning began as they often do. Until the heron arrived. It stood on my lawn, a thin streak of grey and judgement, clutching something in its beak. We locked eyes. Then, with a theatrical flick of its head, it dropped the object and rose into the air. The object was a scroll of paper: green-tinged, a touch damp, smelling faintly of trout and river moss. Unrolled, a looping script signed “Ebble.” The message was clear: the goddess of the River Ebble had read Hubert’s remarks about the river in his guide to Alvediston. She was, shall we say… unimpressed. Specifically about the implication that she was a bit too relaxed about the lack of water in her upper reaches.

I quote:

You say that I“can’t be bothered to turn up"?

I have carved chalk for centuries.
I have quenched kings and cradled life.
I wear the valley like a silk ribbon wound through ancient hills.

And you dare to suggest I’m just... what? Sulking in a ditch?

When I withdraw, it is not out of idleness. It is retreat. Reflection. A drawing-in of power.

You see a dry bed and call it absence. I call it restraint. Conserving resources. I disappear with dignity. With necessity.

I "turn up" in dew on grass, in fog curling at dawn, in the chill that runs down your spine when all is still.

I’m always here. Even when you don’t see me.

But yes. I feel it.

The heat that bites earlier and lingers longer. The rains that come all at once, or not at all. Now you look down at my dry ribs and say I’ve given up?

No, darling. You and your kind did. I’m doing what I can with what’s left to me, the changes in the pattern. I'm still waiting in the chalk. Still rising when its right, still alive. Still sheltering life as best I can.

So go ahead. Mock the low water table, the seasonal flows. Call me a “moist suggestion,” if it makes you feel clever.
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But let me tell you a tale.

There was once a young man from Fifield Bavant who fancied himself a wit, making rude graffitti on my bridges.​
​"Here lies the Ebble, when it can be arsed."​
​Oh, he thought he was so clever. Until the time he followed a glinting fish, silver-backed, too fine for this world, into the mist just before dawn.

They found his boots on the bank.

You'll find him in my colder pools now, just beneath the surface, if you look when the moon is full. His shape drifts like weed, his eyes glint like flint. At times of drought he waits, imprisoned deep in chalk,dreaming of rain to set him free again. Or maybe he was never real at all, just a caution conjured by elders to scare children.

But I know better.

So go on, poke fun. Diminish me. Call me absent, lazy, lacking in ambition. Mock all you want while my bed is dry and the bones show through.
But know this; I do "turn up". If you wake one misty morning to find wet footprints on your doorstep ... I dare you to follow them."​
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I contacted Hubert. (By phone obviously. He tells me we will never meet in person). He was not perturbed, even by the sinister tone and thinly veiled threat. He said “The water is, at times, absent. That is a matter of record, not opinion. If she can’t handle the truth, perhaps she should reconsider this slap-dash seasonal approach to existence.”

Not ideal. I believe an apology is in order, and since Hubert refuses to step up, Tales from the Chase will need to take the initiative. But how exactly does one apologise to a river goddess? A simple note in the newsletter probably won’t cut it. I’ll look into the appropriate approach and report back next week with an update.

Every day until 27 August

• International Garden Photographer of the Year is touring to Stourhead, for the very first time in 2025! An exciting and prestigious exhibition with a selection of amazing award-winning images from across the world, displayed outdoors and in large format. Click here for details.​

Every day until 31 August

• Longleat Summer Carnival. Swing by for adventure, wildlife and thrills at the funfair! Reach new heights with on the helter-skelter and swing boats and enjoy the whimsy of the classic carousel, all included in the cost of your day ticket. summer-carnival​

Every day until 2 September

• Stourhead Summer of Play is back! Endless fun every day at the Stableyard and the Summer of Play Meadow. Straw castle, archery range, meadow maze. Just at weekends, expert circus performers from BigTopMania and friends will share their skills. Or get crafty with Wiltshire Scrapstore every Friday to Sunday. Click here for details.​

Every day until 7 September

• Kingston Lacy Summer of Play. Head to the Kitchen Garden to join the fun. Play with giant building blocks, relax in the story garden, put on a performance at the puppet theatre and discover lots more games and activities. There are also two wonderful play areas to discover and explore, one in the Kitchen Garden and one on the Woodland Walk. Click here for details.​

22 August

• Little Folks in the Garden Picnic 3pm - 4pm at the Penny Tap, Sixpenny Handley.
• Live Music with Flo Gunstone at the Bradley Hare, Maiden Bradley.
  Join us for an intimate set of live acoustic music. 5:00pm–6:30pm. Relax with a drink, soak in the atmosphere, and enjoy beautiful music in our cosy pub setting.

23 August

• Live music with Millie Cluett from 6.30 pm, at the Penny Tap, Sixpenny Handley. There will be Pimm's!

25 August

• Donhead St Andrew All Weather Fete. 1.00 pm - 4.30 pm, Stony Hills Field. Includes annual dog show, claasic car and bike show, live music from Sunset Cafe Stompers. BBQ, teas and cakes, beer and cider, ice cream, family fun and sideshows, country pursuits.
• Live Music with Flo Gunstone (again) at the Bradley Hare, Maiden Bradley.
  Missed it on Friday? Join us on Bank Holiday Monday instead, for an intimate set of live acoustic music. 12:30pm–2:00pm & 2:30pm–4:00pm. Relax with a drink, soak in the atmosphere, and enjoy beautiful music in our cosy pub setting.
• Bank Holiday Garden Party at the Bradley Hare, Maiden Bradley.
  Celebrate the Bank Holiday with us in the garden for a fun-filled afternoon. From 12pm–4pm. Enjoy delicious Marshfield Ice Cream and live music from Flo Gunstone. Outdoor BBQ. Free Entry. All Ages Welcome

In Chasing the Past we're curious about the history of the Chase, and sometimes unearth bits that you may not have heard about. And sometimes we find the weird, the wild, and the quietly wonderful. This week: the origins of dew ponds.

moisture myth: Dew PONDS

A dew pond is an artificial pool, usually found high on chalk downlands, built to water sheep and cattle where springs are inconveniently absent. Dew ponds are also ecological hotspots. They support amphibians, dragonfly larvae, diving beetles, and attract birds and small mammals.

Despite the romantic name, these ponds owe their existence less to “dew” and more to plain rainfall. The construction technique was practical and effective in holding moisture. Start with puddled clay (or sometimes chalk), layer it with straw, and top it off with stones to help stop cracks and hoof damage. A pinch of lime or soot might be added to keep worms from tunnelling, a small but necessary defence against potential leakage.

Whilst many examples exist in chalk downlands across the country, pinning down the origins of the dew pond is tricky. Some credit the Saxons for the idea; others push the date further back still. The earliest securely documented example, in the North Wessex Downs, appears around 825. So one-nil to the Saxons. More ambitious claims trace their origins all the way to the Neolithic, some 4,000 years ago. The evidence is thin, but the speculation has a long and lively life of its own.

Examples in the Chase include Wermere, on Elcombe Down above Alvediston. Its origins are elusive: prehistoric, Anglo-Saxon, medieval, take your pick. Some even suggest it is largely natural. We do know that it is mentioned in documents as early as 1280 and claims a spot on a 17th-century map.

Another example is Ashmore pond, right at the centre of the village. Its beginnings are no clearer. There is some consensus that it was probably natural at first, and it seems to have been enlarged at some stage to reach its current extent, with the more generous theories assigning this to the Romans. The evidence of this, however, seems stubbornly absent.

Many other examples can be found, the majority demonstrably more recent in date than the speculated antiquity of Wermere and Ashmore.

When I called him about the Ebble incident (see above) , I mentioned to Hubert that I was preparing a piece on dew ponds, wondering whether he had any insights. He gave me his thoughts. These started with derision, then moved on to cynicism, a surprising hint of enchantment and (less surprisingly) nostalgia.

“As if a pool of water could be conjured from nothing more than a bit of morning mist and a wish. This isn't dew. This is desperation. Holes dug by farmers tired of livestock turning to bone-dust on the chalk. Filled by rain in the usual manner.

The romantic idea that these things were filled by magical mist and dewdrops from the air itself is a relic from a lost age, when people still believed the land held secrets and that the sky was more than just a place where rain came from. They gave them a poetic name to cover up a perfectly miserable, practical job."

Not sure whether this scepticism about watery manifestations might inflame the tensions with Ebble, I hope not. For balance I also consulted local folklorist Isla Cobb, who had this to say:

“ When I look at the still surface and see the sky reflected, I wonder if they are more than just ponds. If they're not just filled with water, but also by something else entirely. The trapped motion of the clouds. Memories of the sky. Cold and endless void studded with stars, held captive in a bowl of clay. If you see a sheep drinking from one, they're drinking the silence of the hills and the secrets of the skies."

Hubert and Isla; dinner party dream team. Fascinating. Maybe one day.

You sometimes hear some odd things when you're out and about in the Chase, in the pub, out on the paths, in the queue at the villlage shop. Here are some of the more interesting snippets of conversation that caught our ear this week.

“He’s got solar panels and the attitude of someone who thinks he invented the sun.”

“She’s not self-sufficient. She just borrows a lot and doesn’t give it back.”

“He wore tweed to clean the gutters. Apparently it's part of his brand.”

“Her dog has a therapist. I can’t even get a dentist appointment.”

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"I was just walking along deep in thought when this caught my eye on the ground by the path. It told me I wasn't too late. I carried on my way with a bounce in my step that hadn't been there before. Looking back, I don't recall what it was that I wasn't too late for. I still don't know. Anyway, it made me feel a lot better. Next day, the note was gone."

Brian, Rockbourne. Comforted but curious.

A parish by parish tour of the Chase

And so it continues. Our parish-by-parish pilgrimage through the Chase’s 108 parishes. Alphabetical order, of course; Hubert's in charge and he likes methodical.

This week: Ansty.

ansty

Ansty is a new one to me; although I have visited the Ansty pick-your-own and farm shop on the A30, I'd never been to the village itself until researching this piece.

And what a delight it is. Home to just over a hundred people, in the centre is a 13th century fishpond and a building associated with a Commandery of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem. Basically medieval crusaders in the middle of the Wiltshire countryside. I'm told it's considered the finest example of its type to have survived in England.

Hubert has more in his guide below, retrieved from his copy of Tess in the usual postbox amongst the tree roots.

One strange thing, on removing the note, I saw several letters had been circled in red on page 378 of the book (Penguin Classics, 1985 reprint).

Writing these in order we have ro, b, is, a, j, er, and k.

Put these together and we get "robisajerk'. Rob is a jerk. Hmm. I assume he's annoyed because I tried to get him to apologise to Ebble.

Anyway, here's his guide. He should have good things to say as Ansty is indirectly mentioned early in the first chapter of Tess. Parson Tringham is educating Jack Durbeyfield about his supposed ancestors, the D'Urbervilles: 'In the reign of King John, one of them was rich enough to give a manor to the Knights Hospitallers' refers to events at Ansty in the early 13th century.

All views expressed are Hubert's own, and not necessarily shared by Tales from the Chase.

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ANSTY

A Wiltshire village old enough to have seen every bad decision in English history. Fires, tanks, interdicts, and crop circles, nothing has ruffled its peace and calm..

Notable for: warrior monks​
Specifically the founders of the Commandery of the Knights Hospitaller. These crusaders took vows of poverty and combined fighting with religion and healing. They prayed, they slayed, they medicated. Proving that holiness, healthcare and homicide really can go hand in hand.

Other features

The Commandery hospice

The hospice (or guesthouse) associated with the Commandery is still standing although the current building is a 16th-century remake rather than the original. The stone edifice regards you disdainfully, like it knows you’ve never sharpened a sword in your life. It survived a fire. It survived being rammed by a tank in WWII. It's currently used for weddings, pagan-lite maypole rites, theatrical performances and the odd “quiet village meeting”.

Church of St James​
A charming little number with 13th-century stonework and a stained-glass window that definitely depicts a celestial vision. Inside, the air feels dense with centuries of mass, weddings, and confessions (politely ignored).

Fishpond

The fishpond: created centuries ago, probably to feed and entertain the warrior monk community and guests. Lots of water, various waterfowl, infinite reflections. Perfect for contemplating life, clouds, or why fish are necessary.

The maypole

Once upon a time, Ansty’s maypole was the tallest in England. Now it's no longer the tallest, but still very tall. A scene of dancing once a year in May. For the rest of the year, a source of confusion for unsuspecting motorists as it looks like a telegraph pole situated in the middle of the road.

Other Information

• The manor, once owned by the Turbervilles, was handed over to the Knights Hospitaller in 1211. Losing a manor to warrior monks fits the family brand. The soft rustling of the wind in the leaves of the willows by the pond sounds like Tess muttering 'typical'.
• The village swerved the Papal Interdict in the 13th century thanks to having the right sort of knight.
• Had a mostly Catholic identity long after the Reformation. Caused a stir in England, which is allergic to that sort of thing.
• A field south of the A30 was the site of a complex 2016 crop circle. Allegedly a message to a cosmic ‘Mother Ship.’ And my allotment shed is secretly a portal to Alpha Centauri.
• “There is a rule,” a villager told me with wide eyes and an unsettling smile, “that if we don't replace the maypole in a single day, the right to have it disappears.” I stared at him. He stared back. We nodded slowly in mutual horror. He offered me a Victoria sponge. I accepted.

Summary​
Ansty is a reminder that traditions may be scaled back but rarely vanish, and that some monuments keep their secrets and cast their shadows.

Suggested Itinerary

• Arrive at dawn
• Stand by the maypole. Wait. Watch the mist rise over the pond.
• Inspect the hospice. Imagine every crusader, fire, tank collision, argument, and misadventure it has calmly outlasted.
• Walk the lane to Ansty Coombe. Listen for humming and whispers, because...just because.
• Accept that Ansty will outlast your curiosity. Leave, feeling sad.

NEXT WEEK: ASHMORE

Welcome to the only part of the newsletter where people may be publicly praised, gently mocked, or allowed to bang on about their minor triumphs as if they’ve cured scurvy.

We are currently accepting:
• Overstated achievements​
• Thinly veiled complaints​
• Reports of others behaving impressively or idiotically (we like these best)

Entries must be short (up to 50 words), at least vaguely true, and preferably entertaining. Submit them here.

Still short of entries so here’s some examples we made up earlier. Note: most of these are not true: just to give you an idea of what we'd like. If possible.

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Successfully parallel parked outside Holland and Barrett in Shaftesbury without touching the kerb or another car. Took 11 minutes, but still.​
​Derek, East Knoyle, the parking confidence of a spaniel

Hubert replies:​
Congratulations, Derek. Would you like a certificate or just a commemorative pothole?

My Victoria sponge rose properly for the first time in years. I wept with joy. The tin stuck.​
​Anonymous, but we know it's the villager from Ansty

Hubert replies:​
Ah yes, victory tempered by the cruel hand of baking equipment. The sponge is proud of you. I'm not.

Didn’t forget a single item on my big shop list. Even remembered bin bags. Felt godlike in the queue.​
​Tyler, Chettle

Hubert replies:​
We are truly blessed to live in such heroic times.

Chloe got 7s across the board. She now calls herself a ‘mediocre overachiever.’​
​Best friend, Compton Abbas​
​Hubert replies:​
Self-awareness as a coping mechanism. Admirable.

Over to you, readers. If we don't get any submissions we may have to make up some more, and its hard. Help us out by submitting your entries here.

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Until next time, stay curious, keep asking questions, wear mismatched socks, and never underestimate the power of a well-timed “meow.”

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