And finally, I stopped in Shaftesbury, the old market town that my family members would presumably have known well as it's just a few miles from their villages.
According to tradition, Shaftesbury was once known as Caer Palladwr in Celtic Britain; actual recorded history dates to the 8th century CE, by which time where was an important minster in the town. Alfred the Great built the abbey here in the 9th century and placed his daughter, Aethelgifu, there as the first abbess. The body of King Edward the Martyr ended up buried here after this murder in the late 10th century, and Cnut died here.
It was featured in the Domesday Book and the abbey continued as an important site until the dissolution of the monasteries. After this, Shaftesbury continued as a market town, but faced decline as industrialisation took hold in the country. Thomas Hardy wrote of it:
"Vague imaginings of its castle, its three mints, its magnificent apsidal abbey, the chief glory of south Wessex, its twelve churches, its shrines, chantries, hospitals, its gabled freestone mansions—all now ruthlessly swept away—throw the visitor, even against his will, into a pensive melancholy, which the stimulating atmosphere and limitless landscape around him can scarcely dispel."
I didn't feel any melancholy, I have to say - even though I arrived at the end of a grey day at the tail end of September, after the abbey had closed for the day. I'd have liked to spend more time there.