Wednesday, 1 April 2015

PAPIER-MACHE EASTER EGGS

Beautiful Easter shoot by Green Wedding Shoes.
See their work Here:

I like papier-mâché and used to have a collection of Easter egg boxes. I've no idea how or why I began to collect them, like so many things I have, they just happened. And then they just disappeared, probably during one of many moves in either a pre clear out, or a mislaid box. I used to give and receive them filled with chocolates, and tied with a ribbon. I don't miss them, but I wish I would have owned a camera and photographed them, and I hope that wherever that they are, they found a good home.


A charming Easter egg box

Papier-mâché boxes and eggs always remind me of both Easter and Alice in Wonderland.  Our cottage is adorned with several Alice vignettes. One of my Grandmothers was named Alice and I was given the name as one of mine too, after her.


Mad March Hare from Graham & Green Here: 
Alice cloth ornament from Alice's Shop in Oxford. Here:
Although the Easter egg boxes are gone, I have a small collection of hand painted papier-mâché boxes from Kashmir in which I keep pieces of jewellery on my dressing table.



This box is quite large and the lid is painted in
an exquisite pattern of  mille fleurs.
I keep another collection in it - Miracle jewellery.

This little papier-mâché rabbit came from a shop in one of the
fairy tale cottages in Carmel by the Sea, 20 years ago.
I love the cat shaped box, adorned with bright flowers.

As March ends you would expect Spring to be in full bloom, but it is not so here. I have seen no Deer in the woods, and few Hares, being mad or not. We have had very high winds (we do live on a hill) and rain with hail. It is a bitter biting wind as if the Snow Queen has grabbed hold of you with icy fingers and a sharp nail has pierced your skin.
 
Kelly McMorris, Snow Queen book cover,
for Stephen Player's Fantasy Illustration class
Published: February 02, 2013
Her website: Here:
 
This weekend is a Bank Holiday in England. The church school behind our cottage is very quiet without the children, and the cats have been playing in the wild woods of the church amongst the daffodils and primroses.  This time of year I like to wander in the gardens of English Country houses and ruined abbeys where you feel as if you may at any moment come upon a Mad Tea Party or you could have your own. Alas, I think that the Easter Bunny may even need to don a long tweed coat and a rain hat prior to bringing children their treats.
 
The Mad Tea Party Alice illustration by John Tenniel.
The March Hare is wearing straw in his ears, a sign of madness!
 
Even in this weather, and whatever that we believe,  this is a time for rejoicing in the life that is beginning all around us, and giving thanks for each day we are here to see it.
 
I think I will wrap up warm and venture out to see if I can find some March Hares and then curl up by the fire with a book and the cats. Oh, and chocolate. That diet will just have to wait for a few more weeks until the sun comes back.

 
I love this painting, but do not know who created it.
Please leave me a comment if you do!

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

THE FIRST BUDS OF SPRING




The First Buds of Spring
watercolour, 25 x 16 inches, signed and dated 1885
Lionel Percy Smythe 

It is still very cold here but the first buds of Spring are opening bringing us hope that soon winter really will pass. It has been a mild Winter overall, with snow only coming in small amounts in January and February.

Countryside Info website
 
I've been in the Cotswolds for a week with friends. Driving through the villages and up Cleeve Hill the hedgerows were dotted underneath with the pale creamy blooms of wild primroses. I love seeing this wild flower and much prefer them to the more vibrantly coloured hybrids which people put in baskets. According to the excellent website, 'Countryside Info', "The Primrose (Primula vulgaris) is native to Britain and Europe. It  is a small plant, typically no more than 10 cm (4") high. It produces flowers which generally vary in colour from pale cream to deep yellow." There is also a pale pink variation which is rarer than the yellow. 

Blackbirds are everywhere gathering food for their young, when we drove at dusk we slowed right down for them because they fly very low from hedge to hedge across the road.


Before our holiday I visited one of my favourite art galleries and came across a catalogue from 2000 which caught my eye. The cover had the most exquisite watercolour on it, of a young girl in a wood with a blackbird in the bush beside her. The composition is soft and luminous and somehow conveys an air of melancholy. I found it quite poignant, the young girl perched on the brink of womanhood, and the Spring, both poised to bloom.

I'd been shopping all day and my bags and baskets were full but I had to have this. It was only a few pounds. I set off weighted down with my captures of the day towards the car.

Royal Albert Primrose Hill teacup

Once home and fortified by a cup of tea in a pretty cup I looked more closely at the catalogue and read the entry about this watercolour. The painting is called, 'The First Buds of Spring' and is by Lionel Percy Smythe (1839-1918). Lionel was the son of the 6th Viscount Stratford. He spent his early years in France before his family returned to settle in London in 1843. He trained in London and some of his paintings were exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1863. Smythe and his wife made their home in Normandy, first at Wimereux (where the artist had spent his summer holidays as a child) and, from 1882 onwards, at the Château d’Honvault, between Wimereux and Boulogne. 
 
Lionel was a student of nature and he often portrayed the woods and fields of the countryside where he lived. His work was popular with a small following of collectors in England and became associated with 'The Idyllists',  a group of Victorian artists and illustrators which included Frederick Walker and John William North.  His work is represented in the collections of the Tate and the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.
 
This piece is one of a series which Smythe painted using the woodlands around his home as a backdrop to a young girl pushing through a thicket in Spring time. The model was his daughter Norah, known as Noe. One of the compositions, 'A Wood Nymph' was exhibited in 1884. I have been unable to find an image of that painting, with that name, but the catalogues states that it is, 'surely close in composition to the present picture with its 'silver velvety bud of the willow palm' and 'a blackbird preening itself'. I wondered if this could have also been named 'Springtime', as this painting is so similar to the description and Noe is also the model here.
 
Lionel Percy Smythe
 'Springtime',
possibly also known as 'A Wood Nymph'
And there is one other painting which I located, entitled 'Bramble' which has the same composition but the girl is dark haired.
Lionel Percy Smyth
Bramble
His paintings of farm and seashore workers and children picking flowers and playing have magic about them although they often portray quite common circumstance. Stephen Ogden Fine Art sums this up in their bio entry of the artist when they say that, writing in 1910, one scholar noted of the artist that ‘Mr. Smythe proves plainly that a man may be as realist and still retain his poetic sense; that he may record the life about him faithfully and convincingly and yet miss none of its poetry, none of its imaginative suggestion, and none, certainly, of the beauty it may happen to possess.’
 
The Chris Beetles catalogue entry ends thus, "Its suggestion of melancholy is given poignant emphasis by the knowledge that Noe developed pleurisy in 1897, and died of tuberculosis a year later, before her 13th birthday'.

I have fallen in love with his work, and with this beautiful girl who lit up his paintings.  I hope to see some of his pieces in galleries when I am feeling better and can travel again.

Lionel Percy Smythe
Playmates
(love the flower collar on the dog)


Credits :

Stephen Ongpin Fine Art HERE:

Chris Beetles Art Gallery

Royal Albert China

Monday, 2 March 2015

TO WULF HALL



BBC production of Wolf Hall
Claire Foy as Anne Boleyn, Damien Lewis as Henry VIII

Life often does not go according to dreams - or plans, no matter who that we are.

Losing friends and loved ones, or having a serious illness serves to remind us how precious that each moment is and how, whatever our own personal circumstances we need to make the most of what we have and enjoy the good times.

It is a new year and time has flown by once again, including Christmas, while I recovered from illness. I was born with an immune disorder which was not correctly diagnosed until adulthood by which time it had left me with permanent damage. It is why I took early retirement from my corporate employment, and began to turn my leisure activity of collecting and selling vintage items into my full time job. I often struggle to make plans for the future, near or far. Deadlines spin past while I rest and I worry about the inconvenience to others when I must cancel an event or meeting. I acutely feel the distress that not being quite well causes to those close to me. Even a slight cold can keep me from doing anything for several days.


our woodland themed Christmas tree 

I love celebrating the seasons and I managed to get the Christmas tree up and the cottage decorated before taking to my bed. We have three different size and shape faux trees which we alternate. I love the scent of real trees, which reminds me of the pine forests of my childhood but I have always felt a close bond to trees and feel guilty that they must die so we can decorate our homes for a few weeks. I fully understand why so many people chose to have a real tree at Christmas, it is an age old tradition to bring greenery into the home in winter. I have a live tree in the garden which we decorate with fairy lights, but indoors I use trees which have been made of wrapped paper, painted sticks or driftwood.  When we lived in the big house we had all three trees up on December 1st. Wherever that I live I always have one tree, even a tiny one,  with animal decorations only. Sometimes I use fantasy ornaments which I call 'The Bestiary Tree'. This year I did a woodland theme on a prelit berry tree with deer, owl and bear ornaments.


One of my collection of Tudor houses
 
The decorations did not come down until end of January because I was still so ill. I was sad to miss the celebrations of Christmas and New Year but the green baubles and fairy lights cheered the cottage.

Feverish, in my dreams I wandered in the woods and encountered all kinds of beasts.

Grimms Fairy Tales illustration by Vladimir Stankovic

It was a good excuse to catch up on books. I spent it re-reading books which seemed to compliment one another, Grimms Fairy Tales, and Wolf Hall / Bring Up The Bodies.


I have always felt as if I belonged in the past and none more so than in Tudor times and architecture. When I moved to England I relished visiting, and lingering, in Tudor and Elizabethan buildings and gardens.  My family were not close, scattered across America, and none of us had much knowledge of our family history. That is until my Aunt Grace began to write a book about it and she sent me a copy of some of the pages of her manuscript to ask if I would be able to visit locations in England where our ancestors had lived and take some photographs for her. It was an eerie moment when I read the paragraph that proclaimed that my Mother's family were descended from Henry VIII through Mary Boleyn, that other Boleyn girl, sister of ill fated Anne. That Mary's two children were borne of the King, and not her husband William Carey has never been proven, but the idea continues to intrigue historians and often surfaces in novels and films. The Carey's were a large dynasty, we have a very many relatives out there somewhere!

Mary Carey (nee Boleyn) played by Charity Wakefield
 in the BBC production of Wolf Hall

The Carey family had a long link to British royalty, over the years being in and out of favour, beheaded or bequested lavish properties only to have them snatched away in the following generation. One of the sons, probably fleeing further loss of fortunes and their head fled to America and any titles and lands which were once associated with them were lost from them forever.

It was with renewed interest that I read about and visited Tudor locations. In a final twist to the personal connections to me when I met my future husband his Mother ran a hotel in a property which had been built by members of the Carey family. Once upon a time they owned the fairytale like village of Cockington and Torre Abbey which were nearby.

Torre Abbey, Devon, once home to the Carey family.

When Hilary Mantel's book Wolf Hall came out I was living in a remotely located rambling Devon long house with several feral cats and one tame kitten for company.



 My husband worked near London during the week and travelled a lot abroad. Without distractions of set meal times or human company I was able to give my uninterrupted attention to reading Wolf Hall.

a Devon Long house
As anyone who has read it will know, it is a heavy book. I could not put it down once began and for three days and late nights I read on bewitched by it's astonishing power. Often repulsed but unable to look away. I awoke one morning after a particularly fitful night of phantoms to find that I had fallen asleep, open book and snarling cats playing by my side.



We often had power cuts, but this did not stop me reading - the candle light added to the atmosphere wrought by Hilary's vision and skill.



I had read enough real history not to have harboured any romantic pretensions of Tudor times but Wolf Hall plunged me directly into the dangerous and dark (but lustrously bejewelled) world, making the day to day risks of ordinary folk and Lords and Ladies very real. It was a scary time to live, extremely so for any common folk but also if you lived in the circle of the court.

BBC production of Wolf Hall
The Masque
And, it could be said that if you didn't then you did not really live at all. Like a moth to flame, such was (and still is) the power and attraction of Kings in general, and Henry and his court.


BBC production Wolf Hall
Damien Lewis as Henry VIII
 
When we left Devon and our much loved ancient cottage I felt as if I was leaving Wolf Hall behind too. But then I found it again in the area in which we now live as the real Wulfhall was nearby as are several places which Henry visited.  “…we shall visit the Seymours.’  He writes it down.  Early September. Five days.  Wolf Hall.”


Often when historical novels are brought to film they are unable to capture the essence of the book and the better the book the worse the film. I was thrilled to hear that Wolf Hall would be filmed by the BBC. The production has not disappointed. The cast are superb, even though perhaps one or two of the ladies playing the parts are a little prettier than the real women were. It has fully imparted the spirit of the book, and that is the hardest thing to convey. It shows us the lavish clothes the court wore, the jewels and the splendid dwellings, while all the time a foreboding feeling lurks in the shadows. And many shadows there are. I think using period locations rather than studio sets has made all the difference. Some complained about how dark it has been shot, as Director Peter Kosminsky used candlelight in the night scenes, but it just takes me back to when I was reading it, in the beamed cottage by candlelight. The book was astonishing, and so is the film production.

The many stunning locations used for Wolf Hall are well worth a visit and most are open to the public. One of my favourites is the National Trust owned Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire which
stands in for Wolf Hall, home of the Seymour family and where Henry meets Jane while at a hunting party (the real Wolf Hall sadly fell into disrepair and the last of it was pulled down). Laycock Abbey itself has a long and interesting history, founded in the 13th century as an Augustinian nunnery. After Henry had dissolution the monasteries he sold Lacock Abbey to one of his courtiers, Sir William Sharington, who developed it as his family home.

The medieval cloisters of Lacock Abbey were used for the interiors of Wolf Hall. The Great Hall was also used to portray Henry VIII’s bedroom and a banquet room at his lodgings in Calais before he married Anne.

Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire


Cranford, Harry Potter and The Other Boleyn Girl were also shot at Lacock Abbey.


Why 'Wolf Hall'? The Seymour family seat was named with a nod to the Latin saying 'homo homini lupus est': ‘man is a wolf to man’. It is appropriate. Like the Boleyns the Seymours were a family bent on power and more than willing to sacrifice their own to get what they wanted. In part 6, chapter I of Wolf Hall Thomas Cromwell recalls the phrase whilst reflecting on the Duke of Norfolk's hounding of Cardinal Wolsey.

There is no surviving picture of Wolf Hall as King Henry saw it. Wulfhall was a medieval manor house, most likely timber framed with a double courtyard and a tower (which was demolished in 1569), a long gallery and a chapel. Wulfhall was "derelict and abandoned after 1571" as the family had moved out to nearby Tottenham Park. It was used as servant accommodation until seriously reduced in size in the 1660s and finally demolished in 1723.  Some ruins survived until the beginning of the 20th century, but nothing now remains of the once great house. The famous barn, where King Henry and Queen Jane supposedly celebrated their marriage, burnt down in the 1920s. After Queen Jane died, Henry visited the house again in 1539 – and on that occasion Wolf Hall’s great barn (with an inside space 172 feet long by 26 feet wide) was decorated for a banquet. You can pass the spot where Wulfhall was, and a farm of the same name lies near the road.


Hilary in an interview says this about the title and the writing of the book, "The title arrived before a word was written: Wolf Hall, besides being the home of the Seymour family, seemed an apt name for wherever Henry's court resided. But I had no idea what the book would be like, how it would sound. I could see it, rather than hear it: a slow swirling backdrop of jewelled black and gold, a dark glitter at the corner of my eye. I woke one morning with some words in my head: "So now get up." It took a while to work out that this was not an order to get the day under way. It was the first sentence of my novel."

I am not here to judge those times, or anyone who lived in them. There was not a lot of freedom whether you were Catholic or Protestant, and just one of the many shocking aspects of life then is that the common people could have no access to the Bible because it was written in Latin, and translation to English was punishable by death. It always saddens me that so many wondrous architectural treasures were destroyed when Henry dissolved the monasteries, but the church at that time was all powerful and a lot of ordinary people must have felt abandoned by them. 

The story of Anne Boleyn will forever fascinate people, and it is a sad tale to be sure. That these two people who created the greatest British monarch in Elizabeth I could not have known what their union had forged.

A Tudor Princess by L.M Mackenzie


The final scene of the BBC production of Wolf Hall is extremely moving. The often sharp, pouting and spoiled Anne reduced to shivering in the cold giving her death speech. Was she guilty of all accused? Very unlikely.




Credits: BBC/COMPANY PRODUCTIONS LTD throughout for images from their production of Wolf Hall.

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

GIVING THANKS

Myott England's Countryside platter, edge detail
a treasured pattern of mine

As we do not have Thanksgiving in England we are tipped straight from 'back to school' to  Christmas, with a small stop between for Halloween and Guy Fawkes, or Bonfire Night. I love the little Trick or Treaters which visit us on Halloween, and on Bonfire Night our village hold a communal bonfire with fireworks.



But I miss the Thanksgiving holidays I had with family and friends when I lived in California, or the early years after I first moved here when we would all meet up at the family home. I like the way that so many people decorate their homes and yards for Fall with pumpkins, scarecrows, primitive dolls and the multi coloured flags. Windows alight each night with scented candles. As if joining in the show that nature provides for us before the dark and cold of winter.



There is something very special about a house full of people of all ages sharing a meal prepared with love. It's worth the early rising to get the turkey in the oven and prepare the mounds of vegetables which need to be washed, peeled, cooked and often mashed by hand. One Thanksgiving the black Labrador who lived on the top of the hill above our house came down to join us. She was quite old and it was raining but she was determined. We were honoured and suspect that she had a second dinner when her owner took her home.



Showing gratitude for what we receive is something I try to make a permanent part of my life.  Autumn seems the perfect time to take a moment and remember the year before retreating indoors and preparing our homes for the Winter. It's a time to thank those who have helped us and shared our lives through the golden times, and the bad times.



Although from California our family scattered across America, as so many do today so this get together in November was precious to us all. As our family Elders passed on this also became a time to remember them, and to do our best to make a meal as good as they had once done for all of us. Our family were not well off and they made the most of whatever they could afford to buy or grow. We are more fortunate than they were and grateful for the guidance they gave to us to assist us in our lives.

Time has diminished my family numbers, big houses were sold, we downsized and we are now the Elders ourselves. The truth is that we will have no more Thanksgivings together and as the youngest I am left with the memories of those days.



I still like to dress the house for the seasons and have a small collection of what I call winter and summer china and ornaments. Because I moved here when I was a young free spirited girl having a big adventure I traveled light and was unable to bring my china with me. In those days few of us owned a camera and sadly I did not record my surroundings but I  remember fondly some of the transfer ware and patterns. Once it was clear that I was settled here I began my collection again and tried to find some of what I had left behind. For me it is a way of remembering my family.




Funny enough I realised most of the things I cherished as a child had been made in England. I love brown transfer ware for it's simplicity and there is something comforting about the mellow shades and delicate designs.



Many of my pieces have chips or hairline cracks but I still use and enjoy them, carefully!



I am very nosy about china and always like to take a peak when visiting stately homes. I love it when the houses have kept their collections. On a recent visit to the National Trust property Tyntesfield I fell in love with a huge glass mold in the shape of a turkey.



It was used as a jelly mold, or as we called it in America, a 'jello' mold. I would love to borrow it !



One of my favourite  pieces I own is this vintage Wood and Sons Burslem jug, 'Woodland' pattern, hand coloured transfer ware, English Staffordshire. I  love the shape and the detail in the design. The border around the rim is so beautiful and it also has a pattern down the handle. The big house set in the country scene reminds me of the stately homes in the landscapes around England, and in some parts of America.

I wish all of my friends across the water a Happy Thanksgiving from our little cottage here in Wessex where we will take time to remember.

Thursday, 30 October 2014

GHOST STORY - The Haunted Bedroom

It's nearly Halloween. In folklore this is a time when the veils between the worlds grow thinner allowing us to feel the presence of the other side. When the spiritual and material worlds touch and a potential exists for magical events to occur. I like a ghost story at Halloween, and I share one with you now. It is a sad tale, but it happens in such a lovely house.

"What's that in the mirror, and the corner of your eye?
What's the footstep following, but never passing by?"

Dr Who, Series eight, episode 4/12: 'Listen' (Saturday 13th September 2014  BBC1)



Have you ever had that feeling that you are not alone? It's impossible to describe, but once felt rarely forgotten. Like a shadow falling across your path, a cool breeze blowing over your shoulders from behind, when there is no open window. You may shrug it off, especially once back in the sunlight, and yet …. something remains. You feel changed.

It was a rainy Autumn day a few years back. I had recently moved to a new county in the English countryside and I liked exploring it without plans. Taking unexpected turns from main roads while out on errands. I'd been researching the area and had a raggedy folder stuffed with historical notes, clippings of places of interest, country homes and village pubs and shops. It would take me a very long time to get through my list of visits – but I was in no hurry.  




Especially on that grey afternoon when the rain was coming down so hard that I could hardly see the road let alone follow it. I meant to visit the medieval Littlecote House, but not that day, not in that rain. Instead of taking my normal route home, following the road around the corner by that enchanting thatched cottage on the edge of the woods I found myself going straight on, on a road I had never traveled. I have no idea why.



It was misty with fog and very little light filtered through the trees lining the road. The thought crossed my mind how quiet it was, except for the sound of my windscreen wipers. I realised that I had turned the radio off, as if I needed to hear better, as I could not see well, there in the woods. 



The road meandered down and at the bottom the front of Littlecote  House came into view. It was magnificent, accented by the creeper that adorned it in a rich ruby red. There was no mistaking the antiquity of the house. I barely had time to admire it before the road swept around behind it. There I was, in a car park by the back gate to the gardens of Littlecote House.



I bolted through a tall wrought iron gate up the garden path with my head down to shield from the still falling rain. I found myself there, at the back door, past another gate, and through it into a hall.  

 

The house was eerily quiet, like it had been in my car. I felt I was in a different world, had gone through some threshold either driving, or running. Littlecote House has stood for a very long time. I do not think that the house is evil, but it has seen many lives pass through it in the hundreds of years which it has stood there proudly surrounded by it's woods.

If ever there was a house which was inhabited by ghosts,  watched over by The Fae, Littlecote House with it's Gothic windows and ancient oak and stone - must be just such a place.



Fairies looking through a Gothic arch, in original frame

This painting by the Victorian artist John Anster Fitzgerald is one of my favourites, appropriate for a midsummer night or for Halloween. I think it captures the ethereal quality of Faerie spirits so well. Beautiful free characters, magical but also  mischievous and unpredictable. Littlecote House has this kind of magic about it and you can imagine coming upon a Faerie troupe gazing through one of the Gothic arches there.
ArtMagick describes the painting thus:

"This painting shows a night-time scene where a small troupe of fairies has arrived at the entrance to a Gothic ruin. Through the arch a brilliant light shines, illuminating the fairy group. One of them carries a wreath and a chain of flowers. In its original frame, this is one of Fitzgerald's most haunting and tantalising fairy paintings. The fairies are certainly acting with intent and may, indeed, be up to no good - which would be characteristic of Fitzgerald. If this painting is based upon an actual myth or story, that myth has yet to be unearthed."

Littlecote House is run as a hotel today but much of the house remains as it might have been centuries ago when Henry VIII, Elizabeth I, King James II, William of Orange or Charles II visited. It's said that Henry courted Jane Seymour here after the demise of Queen Jane. One of the owners was a champion of Oliver Cromwell and his campaign to rid England of it's monarchy, then abruptly changed sides and had Charles II and his French Catholic Queen to dinner for which he kept his head and became a Knight of Bath.



A suit of armour beckoned me into the Great Hall.



The history of the house lays across it, like a fog permeating my sight and thoughts. The hotel was full of guests and yet I encountered no one. It was as if they had all just stepped out and would return at any moment. 



There was a half finished jigsaw puzzle upon the enormous heavy oak sideboard. 



Unfinished tea lay on a side table by the high backed raspberry velvet chairs. Light through the ancient stained glass window flickered and danced multi-coloured patterns upon the stone floor.



How long I stood there in the shadows I do not know. The day was near end as something led me through a heavy door and up the stairs. Littlecote House is known to be one of the most haunted houses in England. A sign on the stairs points you towards The Haunted Bedroom and The Long gallery, also haunted according to local tradition. The last light of the day illuminated angels in an  ethereal stained glass window on the stairs. 




The bedroom is through an outer hallway with lush red carpeting and dark wooden panelling. 



The room itself looks out over the gardens otherwise it is in semi darkness. The first thing which you see are two figures, of a man and a woman. You start  - as they look so lifelike that you believe you are not alone in the small room. Or maybe it is just a feeling that you have. The man is dressed as if for travelling, in tall boots, a cloak and gloves. The woman is dressed modestly and she holds a bundle in her arms. You feel as if you have intruded upon some drama which you cannot understand.



Fantastically carved faces on the stark plaster mantel over the fireplace glow against dark wood panel of the walls.   




A small Elizabethan oak canopy bed is simply dressed. In the dark corner by the fireplace is a side table, upon it a man's hat with a feather on it.



An explanation of the scene which you witness is well known in these parts but has passed into legend so that details are impossible to confirm and there are many variations on the story. It is supposed to have occurred in 1575 during the reign of Elizabeth I. The man is Lord of the Manor, 'Wild' William Darrell, well known for his dark character.  The woman a midwife known as Mother Barnes, who was brought to the house blindfolded by an agent of the Lord, sworn to secrecy to deliver an unidentified lady of a child she was carrying. A horrific scene ensued in which William Darrel himself snatched the new-born infant and threw it upon the blazing fire, and held it there by a boot until it had died. The true identity of the man, the lady and the poor child remain unconfirmed but many tales abound with various substantiation available. He was never tried for this crime although it was investigated after the midwife told authorities.  But his story did not end happily. William Darrell made many enemies and accrued great debt. There must not be many who mourned him when he broke his neck in a fatal fall from his horse in 1589 while riding on the estate. We will never know for sure what spooked the horse, but locals like to believe that the ghost of a lady carrying a baby crossed his path. It is said that he haunts this room, the spot on the grounds where he died and the church at Ramsbury, two miles away.

Sir Walter Scott heard tell of this tale and used it for his poem 'Rokeby'

Although this manor is now a hotel, no one ever sleeps in this bedroom. 
 
~  ~  ~
 
I had been taking photographs of the house throughout my visit there and had found that I was having trouble focussing the camera. I put this down to the hour of the day and the lack of light causing difficulty. I quickly recorded this room. As the day grew darker yet I realised how late it was and I hurried through the house and out into the gardens towards my car. Outside Littlecote House seemed different. Had it shared a secret with me?




Months passed with little thought of that afternoon. One day I came upon the photographs from my first visit there and The Haunted Bedroom. All the images from that day are clear, throughout the house. But in the corner of the bedroom where the hat of the man lay on the old table there is a strange blue light, in every photo that I took.


I often visit Littlecote House. I  have  noticed that there are strange lights and shadows throughout the house, and in the gardens. Especially at this time of year, and particularly at twilight.





You never really feel alone at Littlecote, as if ancestors cling to a place they once loved.  


There are faces everywhere, wax figures of past inhabitants, in paintings, tooled into the paneling, in the over mantels and on the furniture. The eyes of angels watch from stained glass windows, and darker beasts from carved oak.


The house itself has a melancholy air yet parts of the gardens are joyous even in winter, and in the mornings you may glimpse a Deer and hear the birds singing in the woods. But there are dark places and spirits here too.

I would not like to wander too far in the woods after nightfall. You may well meet with spirits there. It is said that should you stray close to  "Wild Darrell's Leap," you might encounter him riding a half wild black stallion.

Arthur Rackham, master illustrator
 


NOTES:

In another twist to this tale, the Popham family who owned Littlecote House after William Darrell owned a Derby winner who they named Wild Dayrell. Wild Dayrell was retired to their stud at  Littlecote, and according to the site Thoroughbred Heritage, " he remained "an especial pet" for the rest of his life. He died, "of apoplexy," probably a heart attack, in his stall at Littlecote a few hours after finishing a hearty breakfast on November 27, 1870, age eighteen."


Thank you to Haunted Wiltshire, please see their website for wonderful images and information on Littlecote House.    Read more HERE:

Littlecote House has a Wiki page, HERE:

The page on 'Fairies looking through a Gothic Arch' on ArtMagick, a most useful source for research can be found HERE:



 
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...