He went back to Cornwall seven times in the next two years. Hardy fell in love with the auburn-haired Emma who rode her horse Fanny on Beeny Cliff while Hardy sketched her and the magnificent Cornish coastline. Caddell Holder, was ill in bed with gout, being nursed by his wife Helen who was Emma’s sister. The door was opened by Emma Lavinia Gifford, Hardy’s future wife. It was the most momentous life-changing knock that Hardy was to give in all his life. He arrived about 4pm after 12 hours travelling and knocked on the door of the Rectory. Then he hired a pony and trap to take him the 20 odd miles to St Juliot’s. He changed trains again and went up to Launceston where he took refreshment in the White Hart Hotel. David’s where he changed trains and went on to Plymouth. Hardy got up at 4am and caught a train from Dorchester North station which took him to Exeter St. On the 7 th March, 1870, young Tom Hardy, then aged 30, and a budding architect in Dorchester, was sent by his boss Crickmay to research how much restoration would be needed for St Juliot’s church in an obscure hamlet near Boscastle in North Cornwall. Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward, You being ever dissolved into wistlessness, Travelling across the wet mead to me here, Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then, When you had changed from the one who was all to me,Ĭan it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, How many lwoads o’ vuzz, to scald vuzz=furze or gorseĪn’ wood from copse, an’ poles vor rails,Īn’ bavens wi’ their bushy tails baven=faggot of long brushwoodĪn’ haý-meἂkers, a-zitten roun’ a-zitten roun’=sitting round That foam’d an’ pull’d wi’ all her might:Īn Whitevoot, leäzy in the treäcetreäce=harness To pull a house down by herzuf, herzuf-herselfĪn’ champen Vi’let, sprack an’ light sprack=active The girt wold wagon when ’ twer v ull: vull=full Vour hosses wer a-kept to pull vour hosses=four horses That rod’ together on his reäves reäves=small rungs In zummer at the barken geäte, barken=cow-yardĪ’riggen up or jumpen down riggen=climbing When I wer up a hardish lad, hardish=toughĭid stand, a-screen’d vrom het an’ wet, vrom=from The girt wold wagon uncle had, girt=great, wold=old Statue of Barnes in the centre of Dorchester The Wold Waggon I shall be very disappointed if you do not like it for its simplicity, technical perfection, communion with the past with its flavour of rural Dorset in the 19 th century and at the same time its universal appeal. Here for your enjoyment is a simple poem by Barnes in Dorset dialect with some helpful translations. When Barnes died Hardy wrote a fine poem about the last signal that Barnes gave as the brass fittings on his coffin flashed in the sunlight which Hardy took as the poet’s final farewell. When you read or recite the poetry of Barnes you feel close to the great man. Hardy lived at Max Gate and often strolled over to Came Rectory to have tea with Barnes. He was a major influence on Thomas Hardy who much admired him. He was a man of many parts – conventional poet, dialect poet, schoolmaster, parson, philologist with a knowledge it has been said of 19 different languages, wood carver, grammarian, musician, archaeologist, (he helped to found the Dorchester Museum) and etymologist. William Barnes was born in the pretty Dorset market town of Sturminster Newton. He wrote over 800 poems, some in Dorset dialect, and much other work, including a comprehensive English grammar quoting from more than 70 different languages. William Barnes was an English writer, poet, Church of England minister, and philologist. The greatest poet ever to have written in English dialect
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