Map of Lowestoff Ness, Suffolk.[408]
a, a. The dotted lines express a series of sand and shingle, forming the extremity of the triangular space called the Ness.
b, b, b. The dark line represents the inland cliff on which the town of Lowestoff stands, between which and the sea is the Ness.
Coast of Suffolk.—The cliffs of Suffolk, to which we next proceed, are somewhat less elevated than those of Norfolk, but composed of similar alternations of clay, sand, and gravel. From Gorleston in Suffolk, to within a few miles north of Lowestoff, the cliffs are slowly undermined. Near the last-mentioned town, there is an inland cliff about sixty feet high, the sloping talus of which is covered with turf and heath. Between the cliff and the sea is a low flat tract of sand called the Ness, nearly three miles long, and for the most part out of reach of the highest tides. The point of the Ness projects from the base of the original cliff to the distance of 660 yards. This accession of land, says Mr. Taylor, has been effected at distinct and distant intervals, by the influence of currents running between the land and a shoal about a mile off Lowestoff, called the Holm Sand. The lines of growth in the Ness are indicated by a series of concentric ridges or embankments inclosing limited areas, and several of these ridges have been formed within the observation of persons now living. A rampart of heavy materials is first thrown up to an unusual altitude by some extraordinary tide, attended with a violent gale. Subsequent tides extend the base of this high bank of shingle, and the interstices are then filled with sand blown from the beach. The Arundo and other marine plants by degrees obtain a footing; and creeping along the ridge, give solidity to the mass, and form in some cases a matted covering of turf. Meanwhile another mound is forming externally, which by the like process rises and gives protection to the first. If the sea forces its way through one of the external and incomplete mounds, the breach is soon repaired. After a while the marine plants within the areas inclosed by these embankments are succeeded by a better species of herbage affording good pasturage, and the sands become sufficiently firm to support buildings.
Destruction of Dunwich by the sea.—Of the gradual destruction of Dunwich, once the most considerable seaport on this coast, we have many authentic records. Gardner, in his history of that borough, published in 1754, shows, by reference to documents, beginning with Doomsday Book, that the cliffs at Dunwich, Southwold, Eastern, and Pakefield, have been always subject to wear away. At Dunwich, in particular, two tracts of land which had been taxed in the eleventh century, in the time of King Edward the Confessor, are mentioned in the Conqueror's survey, made but a few years afterwards, as having been devoured by the sea. The losses, at a subsequent period, of a monastery,—at another of several churches,—afterwards of the old port,—then of four hundred houses at once,—of the church of St. Leonard, the high-road, town-hall, jail, and many other buildings, are mentioned, with the dates when they perished. It is stated that, in the sixteenth century, not one-quarter of the town was left standing; yet the inhabitants retreating inland, the name was preserved, as has been the case with many other ports when their ancient site has been blotted out. There is, however, a church of considerable antiquity still standing, the last of twelve mentioned in some records. In 1740, the laying open of the churchyard of St. Nicholas and St. Francis, in the sea-cliffs, is well described by Gardner, with the coffins and skeletons exposed to view—some lying on the beach, and rocked
"In cradle of the rude imperious surge."
Of these cemeteries no remains can now be seen. Ray also says, "that ancient writings make mention of a wood a mile and a half to the east of Dunwich, the site of which must at present be so far within the sea."[409] This city, once so flourishing and populous, is now a small village, with about twenty houses, and one hundred inhabitants.
There is an old tradition, "that the tailors sat in their shops at Dunwich, and saw the ships in Yarmouth Bay;" but when we consider how far the coast at Lowestoff Ness projects between these places, we cannot give credit to the tale, which, nevertheless, proves how much the inroads of the sea in times of old had prompted men of lively imagination to indulge their taste for the marvellous.
Gardner's description of the cemeteries laid open by the waves reminds us of the scene which has been so well depicted by Bewick,[410] and of which numerous points on the same coast might have suggested the idea. On the verge of a cliff, which the sea has undermined, are represented the unshaken tower and western end of an abbey. The eastern aisle is gone, and the pillars of the cloister are soon to follow. The waves have almost isolated the promontory, and invaded the cemetery, where they have made sport with the mortal relics, and thrown up a skull upon the beach. In the foreground is seen a broken tombstone, erected, as its legend tells, "to perpetuate the memory"—of one whose name is obliterated, as is that of the county for which he was "Custos Rotulorum." A cormorant is perched on the monument, defiling it, as if to remind some moralizer like Hamlet, of "the base uses" to which things sacred may be turned. Had this excellent artist desired to satirize certain popular theories of geology, he might have inscribed the stone to the memory of some philosopher who taught "the permanency of existing continents"—"the era of repose"—"the impotence of modern causes."