Morris Magic and The Lost State

Sunday morning I met Sally and Trev for another busting breakfast. A full English has to be the best meal ever and I certainly partook in a few of these while I was home. But despite me stuffing myself every day I only gained a couple of pounds, because I did so much walking. After my huge meal which would last me through the day, I went with Sally and Trev to say farewell to Dad Derrick. It was a painful parting, knowing I'd never see him again. God bless this wonderful man, I will miss him dearly. He certainly made an impact on my life. Saying goodbye to Sally was also difficult, knowing I wouldn't see her for so long. And then a couple of hours later I met another dear friend who is also suffering from poor health and more tears were shed. We parted after a pint at his local pub and it was with a very heavy heart that I left my hometown and began a slow drive to Mum in Dorset.

I took the back roads through the countryside, avoiding all main roads, and was delighted to find that I had them to myself for most of the afternoon. My driving confidence increased and before long I was whipping along the lanes the way I always used to. High hawthorn and cob nut hedges walled the narrow roads and then opened up to landscapes of patchwork fields and the rolling South Downs. I stopped to take photos, particularly loving St. Mary's Church in Leigh with its mock Tudor gate. A passing gentleman informed me the church was open so I passed some quiet time within its walls, enjoying having this beautiful place of worship to myself for a while. Magpies fluttered across the grass between gravestones and the air was sweet with grass as I looked across the stone wall to tall chimneys on centuries old houses and fields. A public footpath sign stood enticingly by a wooden stile but unfortunately I didn't have the time for a hike.

I stopped again at Chiddingstone, considering stopping the night in one of the oldest and most beautiful villages in Kent, but there was a special house I wanted to visit the following day so I continued driving to Royal Tunbridge Wells. It seemed rather nice that as I drove into the town towards my hotel I was followed for about 2 miles by a powder blue vintage Rolls Royce, a splendid escort. At the old hotel I had to lug my suitcase up 4 flights of stairs to a large garret room with skylights to the night stars. After a dinner of battered sausage and chips and a pint of Wiper and True Brewery's Kaleidescope IPA at The Pantiles, I walked up the long hill back to the hotel, up the stairs and slept like a log.
I was up early on Monday and demolished yet another huge breakfast. There must have been some powerful pepper in their pots; I sneezed loudly after sprinkling my eggs, and then 4 others on separate tables in the dining room followed suit once their breakfasts arrived. A couple of others sniffed vigorously. I'd loved spending 3 nights in 3 such different hotels, even with having to climb stairs at each one. They'd all been old buildings with no room for elevators yet I was fine with that, enjoying the quaint uniqueness of each hostelry and definitely preferring them to the sterile cookie cutter styles of the modern and more convenient hotels.
 I started to make my way south across towards Dorset but first I was visiting a National Trust property, Standen House in Sussex. While studying for my graphic design degree I had fallen in love with William Morris, an English textile designer, and Standen House was full of his work. For me, it was like Christmas morning as I parked and walked towards the house. I had got there early, before the house itself opened, and so I walked the grounds.

I strolled through formal flower beds, dewy lawns with William Morris deck chairs, bee hives, wooded groves and the largest rhubarb bed I'd ever seen. The gardens were created while the house was being built and the kitchen garden had been converted to 'no dig' area. This meant that they were mulch beds with a layer of compost added periodically which would rot down. It maintains the soil structure, improves drainage by better soil aeration, avoids weed seeds being brought to the surface, reduces watering and increases yields. And no digging!
I sauntered up to the house and waited for the doors to open, I was first in line. The house was designed by Arts and Crafts architect Philip Webb in the 1890's for James Beale, whose wife Margaret helped to design the gardens. Philip Webb was a partner of the architecture firm of Morris and Co. The house has many styles with multiple Morris fabrics and wallpapers in the rooms, beautiful concoctions of colors and patterns.

Above are just a few of the wallpapers by William Morris. It was amazing to see them up close and touch them, I was in my element. Some had to be restored; note the trellis paper above. The top is original but the bottom half is is replicated, and the outlines are heavier. Morris was the first to use the 'trellis' design which first appeared in 1862. Possibly inspired by the rose trellises at Red House, Bexley Heath, this pattern was a favorite of Morris and Webb.

Margaret Beale made the olive tapestry above, taking her about 6 years to complete. She would also read to the children and to keep them occupied would get them to string beads onto thread which she later made into radiator covers.

John Pearson made copper fittings designed by Philip Webb while the lamps were made by WAS Benson, nicknamed Brass Benson by William Morris.

Each room was a delight to enter. I'd never seem so much of William Morris' work in one place at once before, it was mind boggling. The originality of the house and fittings designs were so unique that really I needed to spend the whole day at this home to take everything in. The patterns and designs of the fabrics and furniture worked so well together, it was obvious that this home had been created by design geniuses. I loved the little touches, tiny pine cones on seats that weren't to be sat on and even cherry seeds in the 'pip trays' attached to plates in the dining room. This home has been put on display with every tiny detail meticulously thought out. I wanted to move in. But I had to move on. Mum was waiting in Dorset so I visited the gift shop to buy a Morris mug and some cards. I left with his words imprinted on my mind, "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." Oh yes indeed.

As I continued meandering along narrow lanes, a church with a crown spire rose above me in the distance looking like a fairytale castle. I turned down a little lane to see it closer. Known as the Scots Crown of All Hallows Church in Tillington, West Sussex, the spire was a later addition to the church, around 1807, and is supposed to be the most southern example of a Scots Crown spire, and possibly inspired by the artist Turner. The church itself is thought to date back to 1180. John Constable also painted the church in 1834, the painting hangs in the British Museum.

Drivers in America would benefit greatly from road signs such as these. My father cursed the roads in the USA with their lack of direction; I'm very happy that GPS has been invented as I was always losing my way.

I drove slowly along more country lanes, never passing any other vehicles, but finding plenty of baby pheasants in the verges. I had one more place to visit which meant a steep climb up the South Downs. My small rental car struggled with the inclines but eventually I reached the summit and parked up. I was here to see the Vandalian Tower, an obscure monument to commemorate a failed American state. The story had intrigued me and I wanted to see the folly up close.

This was quite an endeavor as once I had found somewhere to park the car I then had to find out how to access it. I eventually followed a footpath through woodland, the path a mixture of chalk and flint. I then had to scramble up a steep slope and across part of a field. There were deep furrows and I twisted my ankle but plodded on regardless. A barbed wire fence prevented me from going further, with  'No Trespassing' signs attached to it so I had to be content with photos from afar. But I'd seen it and was happy. It seemed strange that it was so inaccessible, tucked away on top of a hill in a sheep field. If you're interested in the long story, James Donald Anderson wrote an essay which also shows a map of the proposed new state. More info here.
I continued on towards Dorset, arriving at Mum's by late afternoon. Just in time for a very much needed cup of tea.