"What poor, mimpsy-pimsy craychers they be, them teachers," he remarked. "Fancy them trying to larn others, and ha'n't got the brains to larn themselves!"
* * * * * *
Bere Regis church is the most beautiful little building of its size in Dorset. It is the captain and chief of all the village churches, and has just managed to touch perfection in all the things that a wayside shrine should achieve. There is an atmosphere about the old place that is soothing and above the pleasure of physical experience. The qualities of Bere Regis can only be fully appreciated with that sixth sense that transcends gross sight and touch. Upon entering the building one is captivated by the remarkable roof and the number of effigies, half life-size, in the dress of the period, which are carved on the hammer-beams. This magnificent carved and painted timber roof is said to have been the gift of Cardinal Morton, born at Milborne Stileman, in this parish. The roof effigies are supposed to represent the Twelve Apostles, but they are not easily identified. The canopied Skerne tomb possesses a special interest for its brasses and verse:
"I Skerne doe show that all our earthlie trust
All earthlie favours and goods and sweets are dust
Look on the worlds inside and look on me
Her outside is but painted vanity."
In the south porch will be found an interesting relic in the shape of some old iron grappling-hooks used for pulling the thatch off a cottage in the event of fire. An ancient altar-slab on which, perchance, sacrifices have been offered has been preserved, and there is also a fine old priest's chair, the upper arms of which have supported the leaning bodies of a great company of Dorset vicars, for it must be remembered that the priest was not allowed to sit on the chair—but "leaning" was permitted. The Norman pillars in the south arcade are striking to the eye, and the humorous carvings on their capitals are objects of great interest. One of them gives a very good picture of a victim in the throes of toothache; apparently the sufferer has just arrived at that stage in which the pain is mounting to a crescendo of agony, for he has inserted his eight fingers in his mouth in an attempt to battle with his tormentors. The other figure displays some poor fellow who is a martyr to headache—perhaps a gentle reproof and warning to those who were inclined to tarry overlong in the taverns. But the main object of interest is the Turberville window in the south aisle, beneath which is the ledger-stone covering the last resting-place of this wild, land-snatching family, which is lettered as follows:—
"Ostium sepulchri antiquae Famillae Turberville
24 Junij 1710."
("The door of the sepulchre of the ancient family of the Turbervilles.")