Monthly Archives: May 2023

Moving up, Moving out, Moving on

by thehistoryinterpreter

Seventeen years ago this week I fell in love with my house. After a very protracted moving process during which my chain free, mortgage free, in a hurry  buyer turned out to be none of those things, six months later, I moved in. It has been an honour to be the custodian of such a special property but for various reasons, none of which are connected to the house or the wonderful friendly village in which I live, it is time to go.

What will I miss most? The garden, the woodburner, the privilege of living in a cottage that is almost certainly four hundred years old and belonging to a community. I will miss waking up to the sound of birdsong and occasionally sheep baa-ing but it is time for the next phase of my life.

My house is on the market – if anyone wants a seventeenth century cottage in north Devon, complete with a documented house history back to 1750, now is the time to say. It is in the centre of a village, yet intriguingly hidden away, it is quirky, it is home. I’ve lavished time, effort, love and a significant amount of money on it since I have been here. It might have been my rest of my life home but I have decided otherwise. It is a weird feeling. Mentally I have had to move on but I am still here and may be here for some time, waiting for that special person who will also fall in love with this unique property. I am trying to put the whole horrendous process that is moving home in the UK to the back of my mind, whilst making sure the house is looking its best and obsessively checking Rightmove to see what is currently top of my to buy list for when that right person comes along.

As I am giving up such a lovely place I need my new home to be special too, so I need to find something I will love but not fall in love with it quite yet, in case someone else buys it before I can, or I am gazzumped. I need to think about what I might get rid of before I move but not yet, as I don’t know what I might need or have room for. So there’s an awful lot of ‘not yet’ and even more trying to convince myself that what is meant to happen will happen and everything happens, or doesn’t happen, for a reason. This is, of course, interspersed with raised stress levels and convincing myself to stop mentally redecorating the current favourite to buy property.

Much as I don’t want to wish my life away, it would be good to just jump to moving in day in a few months (please don’t let it be years) time. Oh, to save you asking, I won’t be going far.

Photo credit Harding and co

A Few Welsh Days

by thehistoryinterpreter

Having left Sheffield we headed for Tredegar House caravan site, where we have stayed before. Turns out it isn’t in Tredegar, who knew? In my defence I wish to put it on record that it wasn’t me who left the book with the directions in at home. To add to the problem, we had accidentally pressed mute on the new satnav without realising it (this probably was me), so lacked verbal instructions. The Welsh detour was to see the Strictly Professionals Show (this time I was delivering a birthday present), so more angst about finding the venue. I was a little less concerned about accessing tickets via my phone this time, having cracked it in Sheffield. Instead, the major stress factor was, will there be a parking place? This was exacerbated when we learned that Beyonce was playing to a 74,000 strong crowd in Cardiff on the same evening. We did have to wind our way up to the sixth floor of the multi-story car park but we did find a space. The main drawback of the evening was the people sitting next to me who chatted in very loud voices the whole way through. Perhaps they thought they were auditioning for Gogglebox. Hard stares from all around made no impact. They also decided they couldn’t wait until the interval to get drinks – cue squeezing past from the middle of the row along the very narrow gap between seats. This was followed by the slopping of cider over a few hapless audience members on their return journey and yes, the inevitable results of copious amounts of cider consumption, which couldn’t wait until the interval either. Maybe people should have to sit an etiquette entrance test before being allowed in to theatres, sporting or concert venues.

Concert over, we went to play find the car. The lift queues in the multi-story car park were impressive, so we opted for the stairs. By the fourth floor this seemed like a less good idea and I debated whether it was time to remember that I allegedly have a heart condition. Fortunately we weren’t amongst those who didn’t realise that you had to pay on the ground floor before finding your car.

Time in Wales allowed us to pay some return visits, first to Tredegar House, which was on our doorstep and was home to the Morgan family before more recent generations squandered the assets on partying and the house became home to a convent school. Not sure how well the ‘classical’ wall paintings would have gone down but apparently they remained on view.

We also went back to St Fagans. You really do need more stamina than we have to see all it has to offer in one day, so it was a good opportunity to see bits we missed last time. There was an excellent exhibition about Welsh life, with artefacts representing several thousand years of history. Next we went to the weaving shed, where today’s activity was spinning on a loom that spun and wound eighty bobbins at once. We walked round the lovely gardens and looked at several of the reconstructed buildings that have been brought on site from all over Wales. My favourites were the row of miners’ cottages that were each furnished to represent a different era. Now home and with a busy time ahead.

Visiting Homes of Status and Power

by thehistoryinterpreter

Are you still there? I hear you cry. Well, actually I don’t but yes, I am still here. There’s been a lot going on lately, of which more another time but for now, I thought I’d share some details of a few days we recently spent on the Yorkshire/Derbyshire borders.

We travelled via grandchild sitting to a quiet caravan site just outside Sheffield. This was in part to deliver a Christmas present in the shape of attendance at an André Rieu concert. Inevitably, this was accompanied by the usual angst – will we find the venue? Will we find the car park? Can I make the app work to display our tickets? Come back actual printed tickets, all is forgiven. It turns out that all the fears were unfounded and the concert was safely attended.

We also took the opportunity to meet up with family, which was lovely and do some touristy things. First stop Hardwick Hall, home of formidable Tudor woman Bess of Hardwick, familiar to me from the exam syllabus. Hardwick Hall was built in the sixteenth century to showcase the power and status that Bess accrued, largely due to four advantageous marriages. Our visit coincided with a parade by the parachute regiment, who were stationed at Hardwick during World War 2.

The Earl of Shrewsbury, one of Bess’ husbands, was responsible for Mary Queen of Scots during her house arrest and although Mary was never in residence at Hardwick there are artifacts that are believed to have belonged to her. The many tapestries are a feature of the house and adorn almost every wall. The gardens were lovely too.

Next stop Bolsover Castle, where I fell out with the audio guide, which kept defaulting to the introduction rather than the area we were in. Bolsover was the home of the Cavendish family and another symbol of wealth and power, this time of William Cavendish, Marquis of Newcastle, grandson of Bess of Hardwick. The seventeenth century castle was built on the site of a Medieval fortress and has some impressive views.  The late C11th castle was owned by William Peveril and its ruins were the inspiration for Cavendish’s ‘Little Castle’, built in the early 1600s. Charles I and Henrietta Maria were entertained at the castle. The Cavendishs suffered for supporting the king during the Civil War but returned to the castle after the Restoration and commenced a programme of building and rebuilding. The riding house and stables are a reminder of Cavendish’s passion for equestrianism. There are some unusual wall and ceiling paintings that have been preserved. William met his wife Margaret whilst taking refuge in Europe; she was maid of honour to the exiled queen Henrietta Maria. Margaret was a prolific writer and philosopher who challenged the female stereotypes of her time. Her eccentricities meant that she was later known as ‘Mad Madge’ and described by Pepys as ‘mad, conceited and ridiculous’.

When the male line died out the castle became little more than a holiday home and gradually fell into disrepair. The opening of the nearby mines in 1889 were the death knell of the castle as it suffered from subsidence and the associated pollution. It was given to the nation in the mid-twentieth century and further decay has been prevented.