Let him have nine strokes of the Rope,
And so depart away.
It will be observed that the fines inflicted were applied to the purchase of beer and cider, and no doubt the misdemeanours were invented for the purpose of providing a constant supply of drink to the thirsty ringers. We may, perhaps, dimly envisage the wrath of the rest when one of their number, having offended, refused to pay his sixpence. “Nine strokes of the rope” were not too bad for him who refused to contribute towards quenching their thirst; and they were probably laid on with a will!
Prominent in the picturesque street of the quiet old townlet is the Yarn Market, a stout, oak-framed building, quaintly roofed, whose name recalls the time when Dunster was a cloth-weaving town, producing kerseymeres and goods named after the place of origin, “Dunsters.” It was built in 1609, by George Luttrell. The initials of another George Luttrell, his nephew, and the date 1647 are to be seen on the weather-vane; evidence of the repairs effected after the siege of 1646.
THE “NUNNERY,” OR “HIGH HOUSE,” DUNSTER.
The “Luttrell Arms,” a famous hostelry, noted alike for its good cheer and for its interesting architectural details, stands opposite the Yarn Market. Legends, all too often, but by no means always, picturesque lies, have it that this noble fifteenth-century building was originally a “town house” of the Abbots of Cleeve; and they may in this case well tell us truly, for the massive carved-oak windows of the kitchen, looking on to the little courtyard, have a distinctly ecclesiastical feeling. But whoever it was owned the place, he was at pains to make the entrance-porch defensible, as may yet be seen in the arrow-slits contrived in the stonework on either side.
The so-called “Oak Room” is perhaps less clerical in effect, but is nobly timbered, with oak hammer-beam roof in three bays. A curious early seventeenth-century mantelpiece in plaster-work, with hideous figures on either side, displays as central feature a medallion relief representing the classic story of Actæon torn to pieces by his dogs, or, this being a hunting country, shall we say his hounds? It is a very small and thin Actæon, and they are very large hounds that have got him down and are urgently seeking some meat on him.
Dunster, as already hinted, is a place not readily exhausted, nor lightly to be hurried through. Curious old houses, notably the so-called “High House,” await inspection, and below the Castle, not always found by hurrying visitors, is the rustic old Castle Mill, with an overshot and an undershot waterwheel, side by side, tucked away from casual observation beneath tall trees.