A hidden jewel – Lady Waterford Hall

Viewed from the outside, Lady Waterford Hall in the tiny Northumberland estate village of Ford is unremarkable, pretty enough in its own way but easily forgotten. Take a look inside, however, and everything changes. The Hall’s interior is extraordinary, the walls lined with a series of outstanding watercolour murals featuring Biblical subjects. Perhaps even more surprisingly, this magnificent work of art was once the village schoolhouse.

The murals were painted in life-sized watercolour on paper stretched on wooden frames or panels, which were then washed with distemper to tighten them before being mounted on the walls. Louisa painted them in her studio at Ford Castle. .

The schoolhouse and its 16 massive murals were a decades-long project of Louisa Anne Beresford, Marchioness of Waterford (1818-1891). Her well-connected father was appointed British Ambassador to France in 1816, and Louisa spent much of her childhood in Paris. Given her high society background it was no surprise that she married well in 1842, when she got it together with Henry Beresford, 3rd Marquess of Waterford.

The exterior of Lady Waterford Hall offers no hint of the marvels to be found within

Louisa spent most of her married life at her husband’s family home in County Waterford, southern Ireland. When he died in a riding accident in 1859, he left Ford Castle and its estate in Northumberland to his widow. She was clearly a kind and caring person, and as such she wasted no time in turning the redevelopment of Ford village, and the welfare of her tenants, into her “great experiment”.

Jesus Midst the Doctors (Luke, ch.2, v.46)

Building a schoolhouse for the village children was one of Louisa’s priorities. Work began in 1860, but did not end with bricks and mortar, nor with desks and blackboards. She was an accomplished artist who had received some tuition from the Pre-Raphaelite master Dante Gabriel Rosetti, and she decided to use her talents to paint a series of magnificent murals to help decorate the school’s interior walls.

Left: Moses and Miriam (Hebrews, ch.11, v.23). Right: Samuel and his Parents (1 Samuel, ch.2)

As well as showcasing Louisa’s artistic abilities, the murals’ religious theme enabled her to shine a light on her deeply-held Christian beliefs. Her paintings were intended to act as a teaching aid, encouraging pupils at the school to learn from the moral lessons underpinning the Biblical stories she depicted. In an attempt to make these seem more relevant to their intended audience, she used local estate workers, villagers and children as models for the people featured in her paintings.

Joseph sent to his Brethren (Genesis, ch.1, v 14)

The murals took Louisa just over 20 years to complete, and one can only imagine the pupils’ wonder as they watched their school gradually morphing into a wondrous art gallery. The building continued to operate as the village school until 1957, meaning that several generations were able to benefit from her efforts.

The Child Saviour (Luke, ch.2, v51)

Today known as Lady Waterford Hall, the former schoolhouse is now managed by a charitable trust which aims to preserve the building and the collection housed within it.

Left: The Sacrifice of Cain and Abel (Genesis, ch.4, v.7). Right: Abraham and Isaac (Genesis, ch.22, v.7 & 8)

In addition to its current role as an accredited museum that celebrates Louisa’s artistic legacy and philanthropic endeavours, the building continues to serve the local community by acting as the local village hall. Until we visited a few months ago I had never heard of Louisa Beresford nor encountered any of her work; from what we witnessed and learned during our time there, she clearly deserves to be better known.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, at Wentworth Woodhouse

With the Big Day fast approaching, and our recent encounter with Covid weighing less heavily upon our bodies, we decided to make one more attempt to get into the festive spirit by checking out the Christmas decorations at Wentworth Woodhouse in South Yorkshire. I’ve written previously about Wentworth Woodhouse, one of England’s grand stately homes, which is being rescued from a state of near ruin by a determined Preservation Trust.

The theme for Wentworth Woodhouse’s Christmas 2024 decorations was “A visit from St Nicholas”, based on a nineteenth century American poem. Beyond the first four lines (“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”) it’s not a poem I know at all well, and the connection between it and the lights display was largely lost on me at the time.

But who cares, the lights were bright and colourful, and the scattering of highly decorated fir trees – with wrapped presents piled up beneath – left us in no doubt that Christmas was indeed upon us. This has been a tough year in so many ways and I’m grateful, therefore, for the couple of hours of innocent escapism that Wentworth Woodhouse’s Christmas decorations offered us. It wasn’t sophisticated, it wasn’t artistically challenging, it wasn’t – in any sense of the term – “high culture”, but it was fun, and don’t we all need a bit of that right now.

And with that thought, it’s time for me to sign off for 2024 by thanking anyone out there who ever reads or comments on this blog. Your continuing interest has helped keep my spirits up throughout another challenging year. It’s my absolute pleasure to wish you a Merry Christmas, and Happy & Healthy New Year. See you in 2025, guys!

May Santa be kind to you this Christmas!

The scariest thing about going to a museum

What’s the point of museums? Maybe they exist to remind us, as novelist L. P. Hartley explained in The Go Between, that “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”. Museums reveal the weird and wacky ways of our ancestors, and in so doing make us grateful we’ve not had to live like that. We don’t expect to see our own lives on display in a museum.

Street scene from Beamish 1950s Town

A couple of months ago Mrs P and I made a return visit to the Beamish Open Air Museum in County Durham, a “living, working museum that uses its collections to connect with people from all walks of life and tells the story of everyday life in the North East of England.” Since our last visit in 2019, they’ve opened a major new exhibit: The 1950s Town. And this was where Beamish Museum got spooky – I was born in the 50s, and many of the items on display seemed achingly familiar. I was home again, in a land I’d all but forgotten.

The 1950s Town comprises several houses dressed and furnished in the style prevalent at the time. Walking through them I feel as if I’m back in my dear old grandmother’s West London terrace, the living room with its tedious wallpaper, chunky brown furniture and a curvy clock ticking happily on the mantelpiece; the kitchen with its plain, glass-fronted cupboards, “Belfast sink” and shiny white enamelled cooker. I almost expect her to walk through the door and offer to make me a bread pudding, one of my childhood favourites. Yes please, nan!

There is also a reconstructed street comprising shops and similar outlets, done out in 1950s style. These include a music shop, displaying vinyl records and various electrical appliances that must have been state-of-the-art back in the day. There was no streaming back in the 50s, no Spotify, no Amazon! How did they ever manage, we wonder ironically?

The street also houses a toy shop stocked with items that were popular with mid-century kids, and here I stumble across an item that takes my breath away. It must be nearly 60 years since I last saw or thought about my Bayko Building Set, “the fascinating never failing diversion for Boys and Girls”, but here’s one, staring back at me from its friendly yellow box.

Bayko was a construction toy based on plastic and metal components, and could be used to build little houses of various designs. Other kids in my class had Lego, but I had Bayko and I loved it. For a few months it was my go-to toy, and as I stand in the shop at Beamish the memories come flooding back. Oh, happy days!

I never managed to build anything as grand as this. But I could dream!

But how odd it feels, to see part of my childhood behind glass in a museum display cabinet. I can just imagine kids born a few years ago dragging their attention away from their mobile phones for a few moments to inspect the exhibit, then saying “Mummy, did children really play with THAT sort of thing? Did they? Really?”

And that, I think, is the scariest things about going to the museum – finding your own treasured past put out there for everyone to inspect, and then dismissed as boring or quirky or quaint. A reminder, if ever we needed one, that all things pass, and that stuff which today seems so important will eventually be regarded as odd and inconsequential. Nothing is forever,

Christmas already! Harewood House lights up.

It’s that time of year again, when stately homes up and down the land get dressed up in Christmas finery, and members of the public pay handsomely for the privilege of seeing what they’ve been up to. The grouch in me says that mid-November is way too early for this kind of thing, but as we were passing nearby on our way back from a gig, Mrs P and I decided to call in at Harewood House to inspect its take on Christmas.

Located close to Leeds in the county of West Yorkshire, Harewood is a grand country mansion designed by architects John Carr and Robert Adam. It was built between 1759 and 1771 for Edwin Lascelles, the 1st Baron Harewood, a wealthy West Indian plantation and slave owner. As the Harewood website clearly acknowledges, the origins of the house are totally abhorrent, but the building itself is an outstanding example of Georgian architecture and design, and boasts a wealth of fine furniture and art.

The theme of Harewood’s Christmas in 2024 is Mischief at the Mansion. The website explains that “a troop of not-so-angelic cherubs have escaped from the Christmas tree and Harewood House sparkles into life with singing baubles, swirling ceilings and gossiping statues. Marvel as the House tells you festive tales of bygone times…”

There is much more to admire here than the standard Christmas fayre of extravagantly decorated fir trees and colourful flashing lights, including witty spoken dialogue between the cherubs and extensive use of projected, moving imagery.

The Christmas tree baubles were engaged in lively conversation!

The Christmas cakes also had a lot to say for themselves!

Unfortunately, much of this show – and it is a show – doesn’t lend itself well to photography, so you’ll have to believe me when I say that the result is spectacular. A lot of time and money was clearly spent to impress paying visitors, ensuring that the “wow factor” is alive and well at Harewood this Christmas.

Harewood House is open for visits all year round, and based on what we saw a couple of weeks ago I’d happily return at another time of year. This would enable us to better appreciate its fine architecture, furniture and art without the ongoing distractions of Christmas bling and cheeky cherubs! Next year, maybe?

Searching for seals (timing is everything!)

We recently spent a couple of days searching for seals. It’s not difficult if you know where to look, particularly at this time of year. There are a few UK beaches where grey seals haul out in large numbers, the females to give birth to new pups and the males to mate with those females as soon as they’re given the opportunity.

A mother’s love. Taken at Donna Nook, 27 November 2015.

The UK’s grey seals are a conservation success story. Back in the early 20th century just a few hundred made their home here. Today, the total stands at around 120,000, which accounts for roughly 40% of the entire world population.

Grey Seal at Horsey Gap, 4 November, 2024.

The recovery of these impressive marine mammals in the UK is thanks largely to a change in the law in 1970. Before that date the seals were heavily persecuted by fishing communities, which regarded them as pests. The new law gave them protection for the first time, allowing them to get on with their lives as nature intended.

Grey Seals on the beach. Horsey Gap, 4 November 2024.

The boom in grey seal numbers has made it easier for members of the public to get up close and personal with them. But improved access also increases the risk of disturbance, and to help mitigate this “seal wardens” are on hand at several beaches to watch over them and intervene when problems arise.

One of these beaches is at Horsey Gap on the north-east coast of Norfolk. When we visited earlier in the month the wardens were doing a great job of telling people more about the seals under their protection. We learned that…

  • male grey seals (bulls) live up to 25 years, reaching sexual maturity at six years. Females (cows) can live up to 35 years, and start to breed at some point between the ages of three and five years.
  • grey seals can dive to depths of 300m, and stay under water for around 20 minutes.
  • grey seal milk contains up to 50-60 % fat, ten times more than a Jersey cow’s milk.
  • when they are born pups weigh around 13kg, but just three weeks later they weigh around 45kg.
  • female grey seals abandon their pups after suckling them for just 17 to 23 days. The pups stay behind on the beach, living off their fat reserves, for another three weeks while they moult off their white coats and grow a grey waterproof one.
  • adult cow seals weigh up to 250kg, while bulls weigh up to 350kg (to put this into context, former world heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson weighed in at a mere 103kg for his controversial fight with Jake Paul in Dallas on 15 November 2024!).

Little and large. Donna Nook, 14 November 2014

Our visit to Horsey Gap was towards the start of the pupping season, meaning that we saw fewer adult seals than we’d hoped, and just a couple of white-coated pups. In the winter 2021/21 season, 2,500 pups were born at Horsey and nearby Winterton, so clearly the best was yet to come. But although not the spectacular sight we’d expected, it was still a great experience to watch them squabbling in the waves and chilling out on the beach.

Adorable! Donna Nook, 27 November 2015

It was a similar story at Donna Nook, an area of Lincolnshire coastline that is well known for its grey seals. Unlike Horsey Gap, which was new to us, we have previously visited Donna Nook on a couple of occasions. When we were there in mid November 2014, and again in late November 2015, large numbers of adult seals were hauled out and many fine looking pups were on show, the epitome of adorable cuteness. Even better, the seals were lying at the very top of the sweeping sandy beach, almost within touching distance of fascinated onlookers who were gathered behind the wire fencing that kept the two parties apart.

Squabble on the beach. Donna Nook, 14 November 2014

This year, however, we visited very early in November 2024, and at the time of our visit only a few grey seals had so far arrived for the pupping season. More disappointing still, those that were there had settled down close to the water’s edge and were therefore a very long way from their human audience. The warden explained that it would take a high tide, and perhaps a day or two of stormy weather, to drive the animals further up the beach to a place where they would be easier to observe.

Messy pup. Donna Nook, 14 November 2014,

We left Donna Nook a little deflated. Our previous visits encouraged us to expect much more, but the experience is a clear reminder that, when you watch wildlife, timing is everything. We got it slightly wrong this year. Oh dear, we’ll just have to go back!

Luckily, Mrs P took lots of great seal photos on our two previous visits to Donna Nook, and I have used some of them to help illustrate this post. They are a clear demonstration that, if you get the timing right, watching grey seals at pupping time is one of the UK’s great wildlife spectacles.

Not your normal type of church – introducing the tin tabernacle

I instinctively expect churches to be grand, imposing buildings, fashioned from stone by craftsmen whose skills draw on centuries of tradition. Most of the churches Mrs P and I see on our travels around the UK do indeed fall into this category, but just occasionally we encounter one that challenges my conventional expectations. And as unconventional UK churches go, the tin tabernacle takes some beating.

Henton Mission Room Oxfordshire (now in the Chiltern Open Air Museum). Erected 1886.

Also known as “iron churches” or “iron chapels”, tin tabernacles emerged in the mid-19th century. Comprising a timber framed building externally clad in corrugated, galvanised iron and lined with boarding, they were basically prefabricated places of worship that were sold in kit form.

It was in the late 1820s that an English engineer came up with a way of mass-producing corrugated iron. By the early 1830s, it became apparent that his process made possible the production of a relatively cheap, lightweight system for cladding buildings. In 1837 the final piece of the jigsaw fell into place when another bright spark realised that galvanizing the iron with zinc would stop it rusting. The stage was therefore set for the development of tin tabernacles.

Henton Mission Room.

Demand for more churches and chapels was fuelled by the rapid population growth that accompanied the Industrial Revolution. Existing buildings were simply not large enough, or in the right place, to serve new and emerging communities. Those communities often had no access to the materials, skills or financial resources needed to build “traditional” places of worship, but off-site prefabrication of tin tabernacles offered a practical and affordable way forward.

Tin tabernacles were intended to be temporary and portable, usually providing short-term accommodation for their congregations until they raised the money to build permanent churches. Luckily for us today, some of them survived a lot longer than expected.

Inside the Henton Mission Room.

Many tin tabernacles were built to house non-conformist groups like Wesleyans, Baptists and Moravians whose numbers expanded considerably during the religious ‘revivals’ of the 19th century. However, they were also used to accommodate Anglican congregations during an era of rapid population growth. Pre-fabricated iron churches were also exported to the British colonies, including Australia, South Africa and Canada

The first tin tabernacle anywhere in the world is believed to have been constructed in 1855 in London. They became increasingly popular towards the end of the 19th century, and a few were still being built in the 1920s and 1930s. Today, there are still around 80 scattered around England, although some of these have been re-purposed and others have been moved to museums in order to preserve them.

St Margaret’s Mission Church, South Wonston, Hampshire (now in the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum). Erected 1908/09.

Mrs P and I were pleased to get up close and personal with a tin tabernacle during a recent visit to the Chiltern Open Air Museum. Henton Mission Room was erected in 1886 in Chinnor, a small village in the county of Oxfordshire. Here it served as a place of worship for the local community, who affectionately referred to it as their “little tin church”, until 1973.

Henton Mission Room was an intimate space, housing just 50 chairs arranged in rows either side of a central aisle. The altar was equally modest, just an ordinary table supporting a pair of humble brass candlesticks. In keeping with its modest design, the room boasted neither a sonorous organ nor a grand pulpit – a simple harmonium supplied the music, while the Rector of Chinnor’s monthly Sunday afternoon sermons were delivered from an unpretentious lectern.

St Margaret’s Mission Church.

Following its closure in 1973, the Mission Room remained unused for two decades, until in 1993 it was acquired by a far-sighted museum. Reversing the original process of assembly, the chapel was then carefully dismantled, loaded onto trucks and transported 20 miles for re-assembly at its new, permanent home, where it offers fascinating insights into social, religious and architectural history.

Another tin tabernacle is preserved for posterity at the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum. It originally stood in the Hampshire village of South Wonston. The village was created from scratch in 1892, but originally had no church. The Rector of Wonston determined that this was unsatisfactory, and so in 1908 paid £8 (USD 10) out of his own pocket for a plot of land with the intention of erecting a mission room upon it. Money for buying and fitting out a prefabricated building was raised largely through public donations. The total cost, including the laying of the foundations, was £102.50 (USD 133). The church, named St Margaret’s Mission Church, first opened for business on Sunday 7 February 1909.

St Felix Chapel, Babingley, Norfolk. Erected 1880.

Initially the tin tabernacle served its community well, but as the village of South Wonston continued to grow its small size (just 42 square metres) became an intractable problem. And so, in 1996, all services were transferred to the new church of St Margaret’s built in the centre of the village. Ten years later the tin tabernacle was offered to the Weald and Downland Museum by the Trustees of the St Margaret’s Mission Trust. It was dismantled the same year and opened as a permanent exhibit in 2011.

St Felix Chapel at Babingley in Norfolk is more unusual than the two tin tabernacles featured above in that it boasts a thatched roof and is cruciform in shape. It was erected in 1880 as a mission chapel, a response to the fact that Babingley old church was situated a mile from the nearest road and was in a poor state of repair. When the Church of England came to the conclusion that this pretty tin tabernacle was surplus to its requirements, ownership passed to the British Orthodox Church, which still holds services in the building today.

* * * * *

This short essay demonstrates, I hope, that tin tabernacles are a fascinating piece of our heritage. They are not grand or imposing, but they have real character. And each has its own story to tell. Hopefully Mrs P and I will be able to visit many more examples in years to come as we continue our travels around the UK.

St Felix Chapel.

Roads less travelled – the Western Isles of Scotland

The Western Isles of Scotland are home to many more sheep than people, and are therefore officially my kind of place. We were last there 30 years ago and a return visit was long overdue, so earlier this year we booked tickets for the ferry, packed plenty of warm, water-proof clothing and set off on our travels. The islands themselves didn’t disappoint, though sadly the weather did.

No people. Several sheep. My kind of place!

Also known as the Outer Hebrides, the Western Isles lie at the extreme North-West edge of Scotland. By British standards they are very remote. Head due west from one of the beautiful beaches and your next landfall will somewhere on the northern tip of Labrador, Canada.

The string of islands that together make up the Western Isles stretches for over 100 miles (160 km). They are connected to one another by a series of causeways and ferries which allow tourists like Mrs P and I to island-hop along their entire length, passing scenic sea lochs, dramatic cliffs, rugged hills, sandy beaches, moody moorland and gloopy peat bogs on the way.

You’re never far from the sea on the Western Isles. For tourists the sea’s scenic value is enormous; for many islanders its fish and shellfish have long been an important source of sustenance and income. And when the fishing boats are too old and broken to be safely used, they are left to slowly decay on the shoreline where they give endless pleasure to Mrs P and her fellow photographers.

The islands echo to the sound of bird calls, while gangs of red deer patrol the hills and clusters of seals chill out on the shoreline. We were thrilled to catch a glimpse of a White-tailed Sea Eagle, although it refused to pose for a photo. So too did the Short-Eared Owls, which hunted audaciously along the roadside in broad daylight. Other birds were more accommodating, including a handsome Red-throated Diver. But perhaps the most memorable wildlife experience of our trip was to be able to stand at the kitchen window in our holiday cottage and watch Red Deer in the garden, grazing on shrubs and grasses.

Glimpses of the islands’ rich history are everywhere. The Western Isles were first settled by humans as the climate slowly warmed up after the last Ice Age, around 8,500 BCE. Some 5,000 years ago their descendants erected one of the most extraordinary prehistoric structures in Britain. Calanais (Calanish) is a cross-shaped setting of standing stones, the tallest of which is 16 feet (4.8m) tall. It was an important place for ritual activity for at least 2,000 years, and is believed to have been a rudimentary astronomical observatory.

Another picturesque feature of the Western Isles is the scattering of traditionally designed domestic buildings. Thick stone walls and tiny windows are a reminder of the inhospitable climate that local people have had to contend with over the centuries, while the thatched roofs conjure up (somewhat misplaced!) romantic notions of a cosy lost world.

With a resident population of just 22,000, peace and tranquillity are never far away on the Western Isles: these are indeed roads less travelled. It’s a truly magical place in which to escape the stresses and strains of 21st century urban life, even if the weather is sometimes a bit challenging!