'Under the Greenwood Tree'

'Far from the Madding Crowd'

This is Dorset - Hardy country
It was here, under a deep cosy thatch, that Thomas Hardy was born, and where he wrote some of his most famous works gazing out of the windows to Thorncombe Wood and beyond

On this settle, by the fireplace, the family would gather to tell stories, sing songs, play their fiddles, celebrate birthdays and Christmas, mourn the loss of family and friends, and enjoy all the customs and traditions of Dorset.

Here is the ancient floor,

Footworn and hollowed and thin,

Here was the former door

Where the dead feet walked in

She sat here in her chair, 

Smiling into the fire;

He who played stood there,

Bowing it higher and higher

Childlike, I danced in a dream;

Blessings emblazoned that day;

Everything glowed with a gleam;

Yet we were looking away!

'The Self-Unseeing'

'Once more the cauldron of the sun

smears the bookcase with winy red,

And here my page is, and there my bed,

And the apple-tree shadows travel along

Soon their intangible track will be run,

And dusk grow strong

And they have fled'

From 'The Sun on the Bookcase'

As a young boy Thomas would sit on the window seat or at his little old table writing poems about the countryside. Four of his early novels were written here including 'Under the Greenwood Tree' and 'Far From the Madding Crowd'.

Hardy's little old table had a special place in his heart as it was a gift from his mother, so much so he wrote a poem about it:

Creak, little wood thing, creak,

When I touch you with elbow or knee;

That is the way you speak

Of one who gave you to me!

You, little table, she brought -

Brought me with her own hand

As she looked at me with a thought

That I did not understand.

Whoever owns it anon,

And hears it, will never know

What a history hangs upon

This creak from long ago

The little table shown here is a replica - the original now resides in the Dorset County Museum 

via

Thomas Hardy - 1840 - 1928

One of the most renowned poets and novelists in English literary history. 

When he died his ashes were deposited in Poets' Corner, Westminster Abbey, London, and his heart was interred in the graveyard at Stinsford Church, Dorset, where his parents, grandparents, and his first wife were buried.