Published in this section are books and articles relating, so far, to the history, of St Mark's Church, The Highcliffe Memorials and an article about the East Window and Whitefriars.

Additional articles will be added as further material becomes available.


A Pictorial History

History book PDF


 St Marks's Memorials. 

For some time Audrey Brinsford has been publishing a series of articles in our Parish News. These, together with added photographs, have been brought together into a book which can be downloaded from the link below.

Memorials book PDF


East Window article.

East Window PDF


A personal look at old Highcliffe. Does Anyone Remember The Old Estates of Highcliffe?

Let’s start with Highcliffe Castle in my childhood days 1940’s to  the late fifties.  Mrs. Stuart Wortley lived there and it was very private , my aunt had friends in one of the lodges and I was allowed to peep behind the rhododendrums at it.  The only other way was to walk past the grounds from the beach or walk across the golf course to Steamer point. Later it was a children’s home and then some sort of training college for a church. It was eventually bought by some local business men but then had a fire.  Now open to the public.        
 
My Mother as a child brownie went on parade there for Queen Mary.
 
 Behind the Recreation ground Mrs. Powell had a home and there was a gate at the end of the cliff there to prevent us straying  into her grounds She used to collect the cats for nuetering
 
 Somewhere near the Church was General Brown’s we used to be taken to his meadow for a nature walk from school every year.
 
By the Church was the old Rectory a very large old house and Mr Wickham the Verger used to keep the Churchyard immaculate.
 
 Opposite the Church where the New Grave Yard is was Miss Mills ‘s ground Again very private and that stretched along Hinton Wood Avenue at one stage coming into the Common through the woods to Sherret’s lane. Mr Sherret lived next to the entrance to the woods and had green houses, we would go for tomatoes in the summer I  can still remember the lovely smell of them now.
 
 From Hinton station there is a walk along the railway to Walkford, I believe the estate backing onto this was Amberwood and had a lake there. I remember being chased off by the gamekeeper when we children trespassed there. A future policeman was with us.
 
 Then across the Walkford road was Windhams woods where we picked bluebells in the Spring.
 
 Back to Highcliffe Cliffs there was Greystones in my young schooldays it had become an old peoples home and my mother worked there at sometime , they used to have films sometimes and I was allowed to go.  The grounds became open to the public and the house was used for other things . There was a pretty  little garden there with a summerhouse and pond and we children played there Next to it were the Glens a playground for us crossing backwards and forwards over the fallen logs across the bunny. The glen nearest the sea was closed when I was very young because it was mined and the sea had iron bars across it. I can remember the  beach opening  and the big boys playing on the bars. 
 
 Near the second Glen was Tinkers Farm  I believe a very well known hotel was built there.
 
 Then we had Cobbs camp owned by my uncle Reg where I lived next to as a child and used to make lots of friends in the summer.  The fathers of the children used to organize games in the evenings.
 
Highcliffe in the summer used to have many visitors staying at Cobb’s , Naish Farm and various other  places thus there was traffic, cars, extra Royal Blues and other coaches and bringing it to a halt would be Edgars’  Dairies horse and cart holding up the traffic.
 
 These things I remember . I lived in Highcliffe in those days  all because of Greystones which was owned by a Mrs. Denniston ( friend of Mrs. Stuart Wortley )where my grandmother was in service and allowed to bathe in the sea with the staff accompanied by the butler at  6 o’ clock in the mornings.  My grandmother married to a local boy and thus I became a Highcliffe person.



Valerie Bridger ©