On its website, Pashley Manor Gardens in East Sussex claims to be “one of the finest gardens in England”. That may or may not be a bit of an exaggeration – I’m no expert on things horticultural! – but when we visited last autumn it seemed like a pleasant place to while away an afternoon. The flowers were colourful and the manor house was a picture of Tudor charm, but for my taste what raised Pashley to another level was the mix of modern sculptures scattered throughout the gardens. The most compelling of these depicts the tragic figure of Anne Boleyn.
“To the Show” by Helen Sinclair. The flower towering above her is Brugmansia or Angel’s Trumpets, a member of the nightshade family.
The current manor, which is not open to visitors, dates from 1550 and retains its classic Tudor half-timbered frontage. But this is not the estate’s original house, as prior to its construction there was a hunting lodge on another part of the grounds.
Pashley Manor House dates from 1550
The hunting lodge was owned by the Boleyn family, and it is believed that Anne Boleyn – King Henry VIII’s second wife, who was executed in 1536 – spent part of her childhood here. Appropriately, there is a sculpture of Anne near the spot where the hunting lodge once stood. This haunting work by local sculptor Philip Jackson is a moving tribute to a woman who married for love, and later died on the orders of her paranoid, brutal husband. The gardens that we see today bear little if any resemblance to what Anne would have witnessed 500 years ago, but clearly her ghost still walks the land.
Anne Boleyn by Philip Jackson
Following Anne’s execution, the fortunes of the entire Boleyn family went into freefall, and in 1540 the estate was sold to Sir Thomas May, who set about building the house that still stands today. In the centuries that followed the Pashley estate passed through the hands of several more families, who further developed it in accordance with the fashions of their age.
The manor house was unoccupied during the period 1922-45, and fell into disrepair. When the current owners, Mr and Mrs James Sellick, bought the property in 1981 the gardens had been long neglected, but the Sellicks were determined to restore them to their former glory. They opened Pashley Manor Gardens to the public for the first time in 1992. Just five years later the gardens won the Historic Houses Association / Christie’s Garden of the Year award, and in the decades since then work has continued to develop them further.
“The Sky Turned Upside Down” by Helen Sinclair “St Francis” by Mary Cox“Pan” by Mary Cox“Amelia” by Yvonne WildiSadly, the title and attribution of this one are unknown
The Sellicks clearly spotted the growing popularity of sculpture parks and gardens, and calculated that a scattering of sculptures would enhance the Pashley offer. No doubt these sculptures, which range “from abstract to engagingly figurative” also generate a bit of extra income, as most of the pieces on display are for sale. The works on show are not as imposing or spectacular as those at, say, the Leonardslee Gardens and Sculpture Park, but the best of them are good fun.
Left: “Dancing Dog” by Mary Cox; Centre: “Dancer” by Mary Cox”; Right: “il Marchese” by Philip Jackson.
Pashley Manor Gardens were definitely worth a visit. When we’re next in that part of the country I’d be pleased to call in again – perhaps earlier in the season, when a different range of flowers will be in bloom – to see how the Sellicks’ project is developing, and to spot some new sculptures. Hopefully the ghost of Anne Boleyn will still be in attendance.
Have I mentioned that Mrs P is fascinated by windmills? She grew up in a village just a few minutes drive from here, a village that boasts a highly unusual six-sailed windmill that I wrote about in this post a couple of years ago. I guess it was this magnificent structure that fired her interest in all windmills, wherever they are. And so it is that, whenever we’re travelling about the country, we seek out and visit any windmills in the neighbourhood. Last year, 2023, was a good year for windmills! 
Chinnor windmill, Oxfordshire
Perhaps I should clarify what I mean by a windmill. Encyclopaedia Britannica defines it as a “device for tapping the energy of the wind by means of sails mounted on a rotating shaft.” I understand this to mean that windmills power machines used to process a range of materials, including the milling of grain into flour, the sawing of timber and the manufacture of goods such as paper and paint. 
Jill windmill, Clayton, West Sussex
These days, however, “windmill” is also used in some quarters to describe those towering, gleaming edifices used to generate electricity from wind power. Most people I know refer to the latter as wind turbines, and although we have no problem with them (in the right place!), they all look pretty much identical and have nothing to recommend them in terms of their individual character or history. To be absolutely clear, Mrs P and I do not spend our days out visiting and taking photos of wind turbines…we may be a little bit eccentric, but we’re not totally out to lunch!
Ovenden windmill, Clayton, West Sussex
In terms of their history, windmills have been around for over a thousand years. The earliest written references are from Persia – now Iran – in 644 AD and 915 AD. The use of windmills in Europe expanded rapidly from the 12th century onwards, and they remained a visible and vital part of the landscape until the early 20th century. Today they have little practical value, but as reminders of a simpler, lost world they have many fans. Across the country nostalgic groups of windmill enthusiasts work hard to maintain many of those that still survive, much to the delight of Mrs P.
Left: Chailey windmill, East Sussex. Middle top: Berkswell windmill, West Midlands. Middle bottom: Oldland windmill, Keymer, West Sussex. Right: Brill windmill, Buckinghamshire
An interesting example of this enthusiasm is Chinnor Windmill in the county of Oxfordshire. Built in 1789 as a flour mill, it was abandoned in 1923 and finally condemned in 1967 to make way for a housing development. However, someone involved with this decision had the foresight to recognise that future generations might be interested in this local landmark, so instead of outright demolition the mill was dismantled and some of its components put into storage.  Forgotten for many years, the pieces of old windmill were rediscovered in 1980 and plans were set in motion to rebuild it a short distance from its original location. As Mrs P’s photo shows, this was good decision!
Left: Hawridge windmill, Cholesbury, Buckinghamshire. Middle: Lacey Green windmill, Buckinghamshire. Right: Herstmonceaux windmill, East Sussex.
The “Jill” Windmill at Clayton in West Sussex is another fine example of a restored windmill. First built in 1821, it ceased operation in 1906 and was badly damaged by wind two years later. Basic restoration was carried out in 1953, and in 1978 work was undertaken to restore it to full working order. Flour produced by the mill is sold to visitors on Sundays, when it is opened to the public.
Left: Green Ridge windmill, Patcham, West Sussex. Centre left: West Blatchington windmill, Brighton West Sussex. Centre right: Ringle Crouch Green windmill, Sandhurst, Kent. Right: Stone Cross windmill, East Sussex
Ovenden Windmill in Polegate, East Sussex survived longer as a commercially active mill. Built in 1817, the mill continued to be wind powered until 1942. It was then powered by an electric motor until it ceased operation in 1965. At this point it was bought by a Preservation Trust, which set about restoration work. The windmill’s future now appears secure, but sadly members of the public are no longer able to enter it as the floors in the tower have been deemed unsafe. Hopefully, one day, they will raise enough money to sort out the problem, but until then visitors will have to be content with viewing the windmill from the outside only.
Left: Rottingdean windmill, East Sussex. Top right: Quainton windmill, Buckinghamshire. Bottom right: Kings windmill, Shipley, West Sussex
Each windmill in today’s landscape has its own unique history and challenges. Mrs P took photos of nearly 20 new windmills last year. It seems like a lot, but there are still hundreds more to track down, scattered up and down the country. That should keep us busy for a few more years!
The Bluebell Railway is without doubt a gleaming jewel in the crown of the UK’s heritage railways. Its locomotives puffing serenely through 11 miles (18 km) of rolling countryside in the county of Sussex, the Bluebell is thought by many to be England’s best steam railway experience. So, when we were in the area earlier this year, we decided to check it out for ourselves.
Railway nostalgia is big business in the UK. There are, astonishingly, well over 200 “minor and heritage railways” operating across the country as a whole. According to the government’s Office of Rail and Road (ORR):
“Minor and heritage railways are ‘lines of local interest’, museum railways or tourist railways that preserve, recreate or simulate railways of the past, or demonstrate or operate historical or special types of motive power or rolling stock….Much of the rolling stock and other equipment used on these systems is original and is of historic value in its own right. Many systems deliberately aim to replicate both the look and operating practices of historic former railways companies.
The Bluebell Railway, which is named for the profusion of bluebells that flower in the area each spring, fits the ORR’s definition perfectly. It is Britain’s oldest preserved standard-gauge railway, and is run by the Bluebell Railway Preservation Society. The Society ran its first train in August 1960, less than three years after British Railways closed the line to “regular” rail traffic. A ride from one end of the line to the other takes around 40 minutes, but most passengers break their journeys to explore what each of the stations along the route have to offer.
The star attractions are, of course, the vintage steam locomotives. They seem to have personality, not something I would ever say about 21st century railway technology. And don’t you just love the sooty smell of a locomotive in full steam, a smell from another era that seems out of place in our sanitised modern age. The Bluebell Railway Preservation Society has more than 30 steam locos under its care, making this the second largest collection in the country after the National Railway Museum at York. We were pleased to see – and smell! – several in action during the course of our visit.
In addition to the wonderful locos there are nearly 150 carriages and wagons, most of them dating back to the first half of the twentieth century. As well as riding some of the rolling stock as it trundles along the Bluebell’s tracks, it’s also possible for visitors to get up close and personal with more examples in the huge loco sheds and carriage workshop.
But it’s not just the rolling stock that offers glimpses of a lost world. The stations have been restored to show how they would have looked at different stages in the line’s history: Sheffield Park Station reflects the 1880s, Horsted Keynes Station the mid-1920s and Kingscote Station the 1950s. As a result, the Bluebell Railway and its stations have been used as locations for scenes in movies including Muppets Most Wanted, and period TV dramas like Downton Abbey.
A souvenir of the Downton Abbey period tv drama!
In common with every other heritage railway, the Bluebell is dependent on volunteers. There are some paid staff, but most of the people keeping the show on the road do it for free, and presumably for fun.
The cynic in me says that the anachronistic steam locomotives are little more than “big boys’ toys,” while the guys (and it is, I think, mostly men) who dress up as train drivers, guards, signal operators and buffet car assistants are a bit like Peter Pan, kids who never quite managed to grow up!
But where’s the harm in that? The Bluebell has clear educational value, it boosts the local economy by attracting tourists and keeping them entertained, and enables ordinary people to play an active role in a wider community venture. Everyone’s a winner on the iconic Bluebell Railway.
Our visit to the south of England earlier this year was full of pleasant surprises. Not least amongst these was the discovery of an unexpected outpost of southern Africa at Leonardslee Lakes and Gardens, located on the outskirts of Horsham in deepest, darkest West Sussex. The gardens were a haven of colourful tranquillity, to which the scattered sculptures of South African artist Anton Smit added an extra, intriguing dimension.
“Ghemo Speed” amidst the colourful tranquillity of Leonardslee Lakes and Gardens
Dating back to the early 19th century, Leonardslee’s ornamental plantings have received a Grade I listing on the national Register of Historic Parks and Gardens, and have been described as “the finest woodland gardens in England.” And yet this treasure was nearly lost forever. Having been sold to “an international business man”, Leonardslee closed to the public in 2010, after which the gardens were untended and left to grow wild…until Zimbabwe-born and South Africa-based entrepreneur Penny Streeter came to the rescue.
From the late 1990s Penny Streeter (b. 1967) developed a successful business in the arena of medical staffing, winning the title of CBI (Confederation of British Industry) Entrepreneur of the Year in 2003. She made so much money that she was able to diversify her business empire, buying up a South African wine farm and estate in 2013 and a West Sussex golf club in 2016, before turning her attention to Leonardslee the following year. Her ambitions for the new venture were, and remain, high:
The present owners…dedicated themselves to restoring, maintaining and further improving [Leonardslee’s] gardens and buildings so that the public can once again experience their beauty and unique qualities…[In 2019] the gardens reopen [sic] to the public after nearly being lost after years of neglect. Extensive restoration is ongoing to protect and preserve this heritage site for future generations.
Despite the challenges caused by the pandemic shortly after it reopened, good progress has clearly been made in restoring Leonardslee to its former glory. The gardens are famed for their outstanding displays of Rhododendrons and Azaleas, which grow in a range of woodland and parkland settings. There are also no fewer than seven picturesque lakes. The overall effect, at the time of our visit, was restful and eye-catchingly colourful.
“Agape”, just one of many Anton Smit sculptures scattered across the gardens
Anton Smit’s sculptures add an extra dimension to any visit to Leonardslee, where his Walk of Life solo exhibition is described as “one of the largest sculpture parks in Europe by a single artist”. Born in South Africa in 1954, Smit is (according to his own website!) “widely revered for his overwhelming heads and monumental African sculptures, evoking themes of suffering, reconciliation, glory and sublimation.”
“The Beginning of Wisdom”“In Moment I”“The Age of Grace”
The collaboration between Leonardslee Lakes and Gardens and Anton Smit began in late 2019 and flows from a long-standing professional relationship between Smit and Penny Streeter. My guess is that both parties do very well out of the arrangement: Streeter gets to add a unique attraction to her business that sets Leonardslee apart from rival attractions, while Smit gets to showcase – and maybe even to sell – some of this magnificent sculptures.
“The Walking Man”“Faith” standing beside Leonardslee House
Yes, that’s right, many of Smit’s sculptures on display at Leonardslee are for sale. The relevant websites are, however, noticeably shy about the price of his monumental pieces, and I’m not nearly brave enough to ask! Next time, maybe?
“Madison Cloud”“Stream of Consciousness”
Meanwhile this blog, illustrated by Mrs P’s photos of our visit, will have to suffice as reminder of a delicious sculpture trail, and of the unexpected role two people from Southern Africa have had in the restoration of a significant English horticultural landmark.
When I was a kid I thought I knew all there was to know about castles. In my mind these ancient, grim monstrosities were built for heroic defence in times of war. Their imposing ramparts were, I believed, always surrounded by an unfathomably deep moat and punctuated with soaring towers in which the lord could lock up captured enemy warriors, as well as random passing princesses. A single, rickety drawbridge crossed the moat and led to a sturdy gate, above which was one of those ominous holes through which the defenders could pour hot oil and other nasties onto the heads of their adversaries. This romantic image of castles inevitably beguiled and seduced my younger self.
Arundel Castle
In my innocence it never occurred to me that castles were also homes, that people lived out their daily lives in them. And of course, as the centuries passed and a fragile peace took hold across the land, castles outgrew their original purpose. No longer needed for defence, they were redesigned to become places where the wealthy and powerful could show off to their neighbours. Castles morphed into mansions meant for boasting rather than battles.
Arundel Castle in West Sussex is a case in point. Work began on the construction of the castle in 1067, just a year after the Norman conquest of England, and the towering walls and sturdy gates leave the visitor in no doubt that defence was once the main purpose of this place. But even the most well made of castles are not impregnable, as Arundel’s 800 Royalist defenders learned to their cost when besieged by Parliamentarian forces during the English Civil War in 1643. They surrendered after just 18 days, and in due course Parliament ordered the destruction of the fortifications to ensure that the castle could play no role in any future conflict.
Gatehouse, Arundel Castle
The castle’s fighting days were over, and it languished in ruins for many decades, its owners – successive Dukes of Norfolk – having other priorities at the time. The 8th Duke eventually carried out a few repairs around 1718, and about 70 years later the 11th Duke (aka “the Drunken Duke!”) undertook some further restoration. And in the early 1840s the 13th Duke internally remodelled the castle in preparation for a visit in 1846 by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.
The Baron’s Hall, Arundel CastleDining Room, Arundel Castle
Wealthy Victorians were never happier than when “improving” their homes, so it’s no surprise that between 1875 and 1905 the 15th Duke embarked upon yet another grand project to modernise Arundel Castle in line with upper-class fashions of the time. It is the 15th Duke’s legacy that is most visible to visitors today, and it’s thanks to him that Arundel Castle became one of the first English country houses to be fitted with electric lights, integral fire fighting equipment, service lifts and central heating. Although the walls and gates make the castle’s defensive origins abundantly clear, many of the internal fittings are grand – opulent, even – and obviously belong to a totally different, post-medieval world.
The Duke of Norfolk is still king of his own private castle, but a charitable trust maintains the buildings, grounds and contents, guaranteeing public access for at least 100 days per annum. The Trust seeks to
“maximise the public enjoyment and education by refurbishing and improving displays and the condition of artefacts, supported by hosting special events such as jousting, civil war re-enactments and other events in keeping with its history.”
The Library, Arundel CastleCanaletto Room, Arundel Castle
Arundel Castle is an interesting place to visit, but vastly at odds with the image of castles that so captivated my imagination as a child. On the one hand I guess we should be grateful that successive Dukes chose to preserve it, rather than simply bulldoze it to the ground and replace it with something extravagantly tasteless. But on the other hand no amount of jousting events or civil war re-enactments can mask the fact that – aside from the walls and gatehouses – the medieval world that gave birth to it is difficult for casual visitors to identify. I don’t think a trip here would have helped me much with that school history project on castles I wrote nearly 60 years ago!
Warwick Castle is perhaps an even more extreme example of a medieval masterpiece that has been ruthlessly repackaged for a 21st century audience. In many ways it feels more like a theme park than a historical site, a fact brought home to us when we encountered Zog the accident-prone dragon shortly after arriving for our visit last month. Zog is the creation of the wonderful children’s author Julia Donaldson, brought to life by illustrator Axel Scheffler. I have a lot of time for Julia and greatly admire her work – who doesn’t love the Gruffalo? – but I can’t feeling that Zog has his place, and Warwick Castle isn’t it.
Zog at Warwick Castle
Like Arundel, Warwick Castle’s origins lie in the 11th century, in the immediate aftermath of the Norman Conquest. And just like Arundel, it served as a fortification for several hundred years before being re-born as a lavish country house. In 1978 it was purchased by the Tussauds Group, which at one point managed a portfolio of over 50 tourist attractions including Madam Tussauds waxworks, Legoland theme parks, the London Eye, Alton Towers, Thorpe Park and Chessington World of Adventures. In 2007 the Tussauds Group was itself acquired by Merlin Entertainments, which in so doing, became the world’s second largest leisure group after Disney. And that, I suppose, tells us all we need to know about Warwick Castle’s 21st century offer!
Warwick Castle. Left: The Gatehouse. Top Right: Inside the walls. Bottom Right: Reconstruction of a trebuchet on land just outside the castle walls
As we learned when we were there, Warwick Castle today is all about “visitor experiences” – the Zog Playland, the Horrible Histories® Maze, falconry and archery displays, the Castle Dungeon immersive experience, live action performances, and over 200 “special event days”.
There are glimpses of history too – the walk around the castle walls, for example, is worth the considerable effort, unless, I suppose, you suffer with vertigo. The state rooms, many of them dressed as they would have looked at a “Royal Weekend Party” in 1898, are grand but not at all medieval. And the reconstruction of a full-scale working trebuchet (to the uninitiated, that’s a monstrous catapult for hurling missiles at besieged castles) is instructive, if perhaps overly theatrical. But you have to work hard to find serious history, and to avoid being distracted by the shallow 21st century frenzy that pervades Warwick Castle.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that places like this are a welcome attraction for many families, a fun, safe destination to take the kids for a day out. But how many of those young people return home with any real appreciation of what life was like in the medieval period? How many take an interest in understanding and learning more about history as a result of their visit? A few maybe, but not nearly enough, I suspect. To traditionally-minded history lovers like me Warwick Castle seems like a a bit of a lost opportunity, though I guess that most visitors – and shareholders of Merlin Entertainments too! – would strongly disagree.
Warwick Castle. Top Left: Medieval armour displayed in the Great Hall. Middle Left: Diorama depicting life “below stairs” in medieval times. Bottom Left: Part of a diorama depicting the Royal Weekend Party in 1898. Top Right: Part of a diorama depicting the Royal Weekend Party in 1898. Bottom Right: Part of a diorama depicting the Royal Weekend Party in 1898.
Warwick Castle may well be fun for all the family, but it’s not necessarily the place where aging, stuffy, academically-minded history graduates like me are likely to find much comfort. I won’t be going back there any time soon.
Castles ain’t what they used to be!
—– —– —– —– —–
Note for regular readers of this blog: Summer is fast approaching, and we already have exciting trips planned to Scotland, Norfolk, Surrey and Rutland. No doubt we’ll think of a few other places to visit too. All this will provide me with lots more material to write about, while at the same time eating into the time I set aside for writing! So, for the next few months, my schedule will be to blog once every two weeks, on alternate Wednesdays. Weekly posts should resume in November.
Although its primary focus is on the preservation and display of historic buildings from South-East England, the Weald and Downland Living Museum offers other fascinating insights into the lives of ordinary people in times past. A notable highlight of our visit last October was to be able to watch a team of horses ploughing a field that forms part of the Museum’s land. Only a few decades ago such a sight would have been totally unremarkable anywhere in rural England, but these days draught horses have little if any role in country life beyond their participation in ploughing competitions that hark back nostalgically to the pre-industrial world.
The term “draught” horse is derived from the Old English word dragan, meaning “to haul” or “to draw”. They are also referred to as carthorses, work horses or heavy horses. And these terms, I guess, tells us all we need to know. Back in the day, when heavy loads needed to moved or agricultural land had to be worked, the horse was England’s go-to beast of burden. Even as the Industrial Revolution started to kick in, horses toiled along towpaths hauling canal barges laden with raw materials and manufactured goods.
In these modern times, when internal combustion and diesel engines rule the roost, it’s difficult to imagine a moment when we depended not on them but instead on the humble horse. The Weald and Downland Living Museum’s mission is to celebrate and remind us of the world we have lost, and watching three magnificent horses going about their business did just that.
The Museum’s horses are Percherons, a breed of draught horse that originated in western France. Usually grey or black in colour, Percherons are sturdy animals known for their intelligence and willingness to work. They were originally bred as war horses, but later became sought-after animals for agricultural work and hauling heavy goods. As well as ploughing, the horses we encountered also help out with a number of other seasonal farming tasks. These include sowing, haymaking and harvesting, as well as timber-extraction from the Museum’s woodland.
The Museum’s Percherons seemed content in their work, and the guy leading them clearly cared deeply for their welfare. He was practising for a ploughing competition the next day, and although I’m no expert it seemed from what I saw that he and his horsey team were in with a good shout!
In addition to its draught horses, the Museum has several fine examples of historic horse-drawn vehicles. These include a spectacularly colourful gypsy caravan dating from the late 19th century, and a far more humble “living caravan” which would have been home to labourers who travelled the countryside in search of opportunities for paid work.
Like the rest of the exhibits on display at the Weald and Downland Living Museum, the Percherons and horse-drawn vehicles we saw there offered fascinating insights into a world that is almost beyond comprehension from our comfortable, 21st century perspective. I strongly recommend a visit!
When we spent a few days down south last October, one of the places we were determined to visit was the Weald and Downland Living Museum in the county of Sussex. Readers living in the UK may be familiar with the Museum as the place where the BBC’s Repair Shop series is filmed, but there are plenty more good reasons to call in besides the chance of spotting the odd TV celebrity (although, just for the record, I should point out that we were pleased to see two of the programme’s regularly featured craftspeople strolling around the site at lunchtime!)
The Weald and Downland Living Museum preserves and exhibits over 50 fine examples of historic architecture originating in the Weald area of South-East England, which covers parts of the counties of Kent, Surrey, Sussex and Hampshire between the North and South Downs.
The buildings on display date from around 950AD to the early 20th century, and are spread across a site covering some 40 acres (16 hectares). The Museum lies within the scenic landscape of the South Downs National Park, which provides the perfect backdrop for the presentation of buildings that were dismantled, moved and then re-assembled on site in order to protect them from demolition.
Bayleaf farmstead, from Chiddingstone in Kent
Bayleaf farmstead, for example, is a medieval timber-framed hall-house dating mainly from the early 15th century. It was moved to the Museum between 1968 and 1972. The central hall, heated by an open fire, is flanked at one end by service rooms, and at the other by rooms for the owner and his family.
It’s interesting to note that there was no chimney, and smoke from the fire would have exited the building by seeping through the roof. It sounds eye-wateringly uncomfortable from our 21st century perspective, but at least they had a roaring fire and a solid roof to help keep them warm and dry. For the poorest people living in England, when Bayleaf farmstead was built, this would have been an unattainable luxury.
Medieval farmhouse, from Sole Street in Kent
A second farmhouse on display at the Museum is the medieval structure from the Kent village of Sole Street. Also dating from the 15th century, it was finally condemned as being unfit for habitation in 1960, but continued to be lived in until 1967. When efforts to preserve it in situ failed, it was acquired for the Museum and dismantled in 1970. It was not re-assembled until 1991.
Pendean Farmhouse, from Midhurst in Kent
Pendean farmhouse, originally from the Kent village of Midhurst was built in 1609. Times changed and building styles evolved, so this building contrasts with those mentioned earlier by having separate downstairs rooms, rather than an open hall. It also has a chimney! However it retains some medieval features, including unglazed – and therefore very draughty! – windows.
Poplar Cottage, from Washington in West Sussex
Poplar cottage dates from the mid-17th century, and has two rooms on the ground floor with two more on the floor above. It is believed to have belonged to someone too poor to own land, a labourer partially or wholly dependent upon wages.
Although clearly much smaller than the farmhouses, Poplar cottage still seems quite substantial given that it is approaching 400 years old. However, the almost total absence of windows – although understandable given the price of glass and the need to minimise unwelcome draughts – is a reflection of novelist L. P. Hartley’s famous observation that “the past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.“
A lost world, but not one I’d like to inhabit!
There are many other residential dwellings scattered throughout the Museum’s grounds, as well as some historic farm and working buildings. Photographs of a few of these are included below. Taken as a whole, the buildings on display at the Museum offer us a fascinating glimpse of a lost world, but are also a potent reminder of how far we’ve come.
It’s easy to get seduced by the romantic appeal of ancient, traditional, “authentic” structures, but would I – living in my light, spacious, cosy, centrally-heated, draught-free home with water on tap and sewage disposal only one flush away – wish to live or work in one of them? I don’t think so!
* * * * *
Some of the other residential dwellings in the Museum. Left: mid-17th century house from Walderton in Sussex; Middle: Boarhunt medieval hall house (late 14th century) from Boarhunt in Hampshire; Right: c15th century house from North Cray in Kent
* * * * *
A small selection of the farm / working buildings preserved at the Museum – Top left: Aisled Barn, built c 1771, from Hambrook in Sussex; Middle left: barn built about 1536, from Cowfold in Sussex; Bottom Left: Granary built in 1731, from Littlehampton in Sussex; Right: 17th century watermill from Lurgashall in Sussex
.
.
WATCH OUT NEXT WEEK for “All the Pretty Horses at the Weald and Downland Living Museum”
Here in the UK autumn ends today, 30th November. Unless, that is, you subscribe to the notion that the seasons are astronomically determined, in which case you’ll need to wait until around 22nd December for the official start of winter. But as a cold wind whistles around the house and I look out at naked trees, a garden littered with fallen leaves and sullen skies devoid of swooping swallows, I know that autumn’s over. Sigh!
“Release“, cast in bronze by sculptor Leonie Gibbs, is flanked here by glorious autumnal foliage. We saw it at The Sculpture Park in Surrey.
After a difficult few months in which we found ourselves mostly confined to the house by wardrobe woes, the horrible heatwave and the Covid blues, autumn’s been a welcome opportunity to spread our wings a bit. When we visited Surrey and Sussex in October, a few trees were just beginning to turn. They made a perfect backdrop for the artworks at two sculpture parks we visited, and also for Arundel Castle and the Polesden Lacey Garden Cottage.
Left: “Release” and reflection in the lake. Top right: Arundel Castle in Sussex, viewed from its grounds. Middle right: Autumn foliage at the Hannah Peschar Sculpture Garden in Surrey. Bottom right: The gardens at Polesden Lacey Garden Cottage in Surrey.
Fungi were also much in evidence, a sure sign of the changing seasons.
In terms of its symbolism, autumn is ambiguous, a season of immense joy and unbearable sadness. On the one hand it is a time of plenty, ripening, harvest, and abundance. And yet, on the other hand, it represents decline, decay, old age, and the imminence of death. The colours of autumn are glorious, a celebration of life, but we know it won’t last. The golden leaves will inevitably fall and perish, and greyness will prevail. Autumn is the ultimate proof that All Things Must Pass.
Hidden amongst the autumn trees is “Inca” a one-off sculpture, hand forged from iron by sculptor Nimrod Messeg. We saw it at the Hannah Peschar Sculpture Garden.
But even though All Things Must Pass may sound depressing, it is, for me, a message of hope. Although hard times will soon be upon us, they too shall pass. Nothing is forever, and, in the fulness of time, spring’s awakening will be with us once more.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Musical postscript
Forever Autumn, written by Jeff Wayne, Gary Osborne and Paul Vigrass, and sung here by Justin Hayward, is a plaintively beautiful love song in which autumn serves as a metaphor for despair and loss. The song features in Jeff Wayne’s musical adaptation of H G Wells’ War of the Worlds. Here’s a selection from the lyrics:
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old
And darker days are drawing near
The winter winds will be much colderNow you're not here
...Through autumn's gown we used to kick our way
You always loved his time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
'Cos you're not here
'Cos you're not here
'Cos you're not here
...
A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyeAs if to hide a lonely tearMy life will be forever autumn
'Cos you're not here
'Cos you're not here
'Cos you're not here
Listen here, and gently weep for the loves you have lost…
Now I'm 64 