In the first half of the 1760s Thomas Farr, a Bristol merchant, bought land at Henbury near Bristol, which included the prominent eminence called ‘Blaize Hill’. In 1766 he commissioned designs from the architect Robert Mylne for a sham castle eye-catcher to top the hill.

Early Bristol historians describe the hill as the site of a Roman camp, and Farr was said to have dug up ‘great quantities’ of coins when the foundations for the castle were made. It was also said to have housed an ancient chapel, and more recently had been home to a summerhouse approached by a formal double-avenue. Farr (1732-1791), a ‘person of exquisite taste’, followed fashion and abandoned this straight approach, creating instead meandering serpentine walks and rides which wound through woodland up to the fine new gothic folly.

A single drawing by Robert Mylne (1733-1811) is known to survive, and as it is annotated ‘no.3’ it is assumed that Mylne provided several variant designs. The castle had offices at ground level where the servants could prepare food, and three rooms on the first floor for socialising. The principal circular room was 25 feet in diameter and ‘very highly finished in the Gothic stile’. Stairs in one of the smaller turrets led to the roof, where the views took in ‘many miles’ of the River Severn and the Bristol Channel, as well as a prospect over the surrounding counties and across to Wales. Contemporary sources suggest that Farr would watch his ships arriving in Bristol from the top of his ‘Summer or Pleasure House’, and it was also an eye-catcher, announcing Farr’s elevated status to all who saw it.

Farr’s ambitions for his estate were foiled by bankruptcy in 1778, and he sold the estate to one Dr Denham Skeet. The poet Edward Davies was a guest of Skeet and recorded his visit in verse. This was published in 1783 as Blaise Castle: A Prospective Poem, and he includes a rather disturbing description of the effort required to ascend the footpath to the folly:

The fat and lazy would ne’er reach the Top.
Were there not Seats prepared for them to stop,
And breath [sic], while they their reeking Foreheads mop.
But after various Perils, Stops and Pain,
With trembling Knees, we reach the Castle Plain,
And panting view the Horizon again.

The artist Samuel Hieronymous Grimm visited a few years later (it is not recorded if he walked the tortuous footpath or opted for a sedate carriage ride) and took a number of views of the folly. His sketches show that the door was originally flanked by a pair of sphinx statues, which are sadly no longer in situ.

In 1789 the estate was bought by the Harford family. They built a new mansion, and invited Humphry Repton to remodel the grounds: he suggested raising one of the turrets of the castle to give it a more interesting silhouette, but his advice was not taken.  Tourists were allowed to explore the walks through the woods to the folly, although there were restrictions: one early nineteenth century visitor was unable to persuade (bribe?) the ‘churlish porter’ to allow access on a Sunday.

Blaise Castle (the folly soon gave its name to the entire estate) remained in Harford ownership until the early decades of the twentieth century, and by the later nineteenth century the ground floor of Blaise Castle was earning its keep as a residence for estate workers. The family continued to allow access to parties of naturalists, antiquarians and ramblers, and the reports of their visits in the first decade of the twentieth century provide detail of the upper room in the tower. It was by then furnished with a collection of arms and armour, rare old china and furniture, and had ‘beautiful stained glass windows’. Like the earlier tourists, the groups could climb up to the top to appreciate the magnificent scenery.

In 1926 access became available to all when the Bristol Corporation bought the estate as a ‘charming natural playground’ where the city’s citizens might enjoy ‘the beauty with which nature has endowed this place so lavishly’.

As well as the hilltop folly the grounds also featured a castellated lodge, a ‘fairy tale’ thatched lodge and places of ‘childish delight’ such as ‘The Butcher’s Cave’ and ‘The Giant’s Footprint’. In 1949 a Folk Museum was opened in the mansion, and there was also a ‘pleasant restaurant’ where visitors could dine off elegant crockery bearing the arms of the city.

By the 1970s, after years of neglect and abuse by vandals, the folly was in poor condition. The interior had fallen into complete disrepair and, as Barbara Jones noted in her research files, the stained glass had been destroyed ‘by hooligans’.

The exterior fabric was also in a poor condition, and in 1979 the council proposed pulling down the most dangerous section, and preserving the rest as a ‘conserved ruin’. Public opinion was vociferously in favour of restoring the whole castle, and in March 1981 a local paper could announce that the dangerous turret was currently being rebuilt and that it was ‘hoped to fully restore this fanciful building over the next three years’.

Today an active community charity, Friends of Blaise (born out of the campaign to see the castle restored in the 1980s) supports the city council in their efforts to maintain the estate. The volunteers open the castle (grade II*) to the public on certain days in the warmer months, but you can walk up to it at any time. There’s a walking guide here. There’s still a museum and a cafe – just don’t expect the fancy china.

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When Barbara Jones published Follies and Grottoes in 1953, she made no mention of the coastal village that architect Clough Williams-Ellis had been creating at Portmeirion since 1925. Reviewing the book for the Times Literary Supplement, Laurence Whistler thought this was a ‘curious’ omission as he believed the whole conception could be described as folly.

Clough, as he was always known, had bought a hillside site on the Welsh coast and extended an existing house as a hotel. On the slope down to the sea he developed a village of houses and pavilions in a variety of architectural styles. Some of the buildings were rescued from houses facing the wrecker’s ball and Clough himself described the place as a ‘home for fallen buildings’.

Laurence Whistler’s description of the site in 1953 perfectly catches the atmosphere of the village:

‘In gaiety of colour, in exuberance of design, in its complete indifference to the surrounding slate-grey Puritan world of the mountains (and in the frivolity of some of the materials employed) Port Meirion is a folly on a generous scale, expressive of the cultured Briton’s perennial craving for Mediterranean warmth.’

Jones took note, and Portmeirion featured in the 1974 2nd edition where it was described succinctly as ‘a complex of hotel buildings and ornamental conceits, new and re-erected, most beautifully arranged around a small bay’. She was particularly interested in the Bristol Colonnade, a structure added to Portmeirion in 1959, but which she had written about in its previous incarnation.

The Bristol Colonnade started life in the middle of the 18th century as a garden building housing a cold bath. It stood in the grounds of Arno’s Court at Brislington near Bristol, the seat of William Reeve, an iron smelter.

Reeve’s estate featured a number of other fanciful buildings including a triumphal arch and battlemented stables known as the ‘Black Castle’, but as Barbara Jones scrawled in her research notes, the ‘Bath House’ was ‘Mr Rs most charming whim’.

By the 1830s the ‘gardens and cold baths’ were being operated by a Mr Clark as a ‘delightful retreat for the Gentry and Public in general’. In 1912 the antique dealers Little & Barber took over the Black Castle as a showroom for their wares. Visitors could explore the surrounding lawns and gardens where a ‘special feature’ was the classical building with bath.

The elegant building contained a central chamber with sunken bath, and a fine plaster work cornice and ceiling. In August 1939 Lord Derwent, Chairman of the Georgian Group of the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings (the group would later become a charity in its own right: the Georgian Group) wrote to The Times asking that ‘this unique building be scheduled’. Sadly, world events got in the way and the bath was damaged by bombs during the Second World War.

Jones described it in the 1954 edition of Follies & Grottoes as ‘delicate and pretty’ with plasterwork that was a ‘wreathing of waves and masks, shells and dolphins’. She concluded it was all of the ‘greatest elegance’ and regretted that by then the  building was only of interest to the local vandals.

The photographs in her files show that the plasterwork was already badly damaged when she was researching for her book, and by the time it was published she had to describe the decoration in the past tense ‘for a later visitor reports that now the plaster is down.’

A 1954 article on the follies at Arno’s Castle (prompted by the publication of Jones’s Follies and Grottoes) warned that the building needed ‘attending to very soon’ or it would be lost. But, despite protests from the Council for the Preservation of Ancient Bristol, the local council decided to demolish the scheduled ancient monument to allow a road-widening scheme.

Clough Williams-Ellis (1883-1978) came to the rescue. After negotiation with the building’s then owner, the Bristol Tramway and Carriage Company, the Ministry of Works agreed that the facade of the bath house could be moved to Portmeirion to join what the writer Jan Morris called the ‘merry architectural jumble’.

In 1957 Clough commissioned ‘devoted’ Bristol architects Burrough and Hannan to produce a plan and elevation of the ‘Arno’s Bath House’, with each stone carefully numbered. The exterior masonry was taken down stone-by-stone by a builder who specialised in church restorations and taken to Wales. Clough chose a site in the heart of his village for his new acquisition, and then stood back and admired the work of his Master Mason, William Davies, as he turned the ‘intimidating stone heaps’ into what became known as the Bristol Colonnade. The building was complete in October 1958 when the Bristol Evening Post sent a photographer to capture the ‘really magnificent’ colonnade. It was officially opened in 1959, and was listed at Grade II* in 1971.

As Portmeirion grew to its ‘intended size and shape’ with Clough’s ‘imagined picture being gradually filled in and realised’, the guidebooks were constantly updated. They were just as colourful and charming as the village itself.

The Bristol Colonnade was only a little over a decade old when it appeared in two television broadcasts. Bird’s Eye View: the Englishman’s Home was first shown in April 1969 and was filmed entirely from a helicopter. The commentary, in verse and prose, was by John Betjeman who asks ‘What fair Mediterranean port is this, stumbling to the sea?’

Producer Edward Mirzoeff had so much material from filming the Portmeirion section that he created a ‘little spin-off using the trims and out-takes’. This was shown on BBC2 in June 1969 with a commentary by Clough himself. The good news is that both are available to watch today, as is a later tribute by musician and folly-fan Jools Holland.

For Bird’s Eye View: the Englishman’s Home see https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p013ypx0/birds-eye-view-the-englishmans-home

And for Bird’s Eye View: Portmeirion visit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MUufnXCSrVQ

And equally enchanting is Jools Holland’s 2002 film with boogie-woogie soundtrack https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p03lwzhl/afoot-again-in-the-past-portmeirion

Thank you for reading and do please share any thoughts in the comments box at the foot of the page.

In a patch of scrubby woodland in a Bristol suburb stands this magnificent ecclesiastical eye-catcher. The centrepiece of the structure is the former west window of the Lord Mayor’s Chapel on College Green in Bristol, which was re-erected here when the chapel was restored in the 1820s.

There is some argument as to who actually erected the garden ornament. At Henbury Hill House lived Henry Brooke (1763-1829), whilst nearby Brentry House was home to John Cave (1765-1842). Both men were Bristol grandees – prosperous businessmen who served as councillors, aldermen, and in Cave’s case as Lord Mayor in 1829. The folly, in its woodland setting, is equidistant between these two villas. The Bristol antiquary George Weare Braikenridge wrote (in manuscript) that Brooke bought the window and ‘set it up as a sham ruin on Henbury Hill to serve as an object from his house’. But a generation later, in 1887, John Latimer claimed in his Annals of Bristol in the Nineteenth Century that it was Cave who erected the folly.

What is certain is that Thomas Garrard, Chamberlain of Bristol (he controlled the city purse) was the ‘moving spirit’ in promoting the refurbishment of the ancient Lord Mayor’s Chapel, also known as St Mark’s. Work took place throughout the 1820s, with the sculptor and mason Thomas Clarke being paid £100 in 1822 for carving and erecting a replica of the original window in the chapel.

The folly must have been erected by 1830 when it is marked as ‘Summer House’ on the 1st series Ordnance Survey map. The window was set between two tall towers to give stability, and a further section of sham ruined wall was set at a right angle. It was noticed by a visitor to Bristol in 1833 who described the ‘modern ruin’ on an ‘elevated Knoll’ which had been erected ‘as a point of view, and to preserve an ancient and fine Gothick window’.

Subsequent editions of the map only mark the building’s L-shaped footprint, with no accompanying name, but locally it was known as The Lookout, presumably because one of the supporting towers contains a staircase to a viewing platform. From the top the view was said to encompass six counties.

A generation later historians were scathing about Garrard’s ‘so-called restoration’ of the chapel, and the new window was dismissed as inferior to the original. Writing in 1887 Latimer pointed out that the old window had now stood as a mock ruin for around 60 years and after ‘being buffetted by the storms […] its sound condition still demonstrates the recklessness of those who expelled it from its original site’.

For around a century the eye-catcher was a local landmark, visible from some distance with the tracery standing out on the horizon. But there was great demand for building land in the Bristol suburbs, and after the First World War the open fields behind the folly began to be developed. Frederick M. Burris (1881-1948), one of  ‘Bristol’s best-known citizens’ built a house called Longacres, and the screen was incorporated into the garden he designed and laid out there. Burris and his wife, Eileen, supported numerous charities, and the garden was frequently the venue for fundraising garden parties. It was around this date that a picture postcard of ‘The Ruins’ was issued. The section with the arched entrance to the right of the window has since been rebuilt as a plain stretch of wall.

When Nikolaus Pevsner first saw the eye-catcher in 1958, it still stood in the garden of Longacres (‘a large house’) and he declared it ‘more intensely picturesque and romantic than any of the sham castles of Bristol or Bath’: high praise indeed as this category includes such delights as nearby Blaise Castle and Ralph Allen’s sham castle on the Bath skyline. In 1989 the Longacres site was redeveloped by Berkeley Homes and the folly was offered for sale for one pound – with the tiny proviso that you also buy one of the £400,000 new homes.

The window section of the folly (listed Grade II*) can be viewed from the woods (entrance from Sheepwood Close) but the rest of the sham ruin is inaccessible in the private garden. It is an amazing experience to suddenly find the folly looming above one in the woods – thanks to Peter Godfrey for the big reveal.

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The fact that a building in the Albano hills above Rome has been known since the 18th century as the ‘so called’ mausoleum of the Horatii and Curiatii speaks volumes: it was in fact constructed on the Appian Way centuries after the legendary rival Horatii and Curiatii triplets are said to have battled for their pride and people. But the legend and the sham sepulchre must have made an impression: back home in England it inspired at least three monuments in landscape gardens.

To quickly summarise the story told by the Roman historian Livy: the Horatii (from Rome) and Curiatti (from Alba Longa) families each had triplets. With their respective cities at war it was decided that rather than lose whole armies, the two sets of boys would instead settle the two communities differences with a fight to the death. Rome were the victors, with only one brother surviving the battle. It’s not clear when this monument became associated with the triplets, but the legend was certainly told to the many Grand Tourists who passed along the Appian Way in the 18th century. The Duke of Buckingham and Chandos saw it in the early 19th century and noted that there ‘seems great reason to doubt it being rightly called’, but felt that nonetheless it had an ‘imposing air’.

These visitors brought home sketches, watercolours (professional and amateur) and engravings which circulated amongst their friends and family on their return.

Three people in particular took notice: Sir William Morice at Werrington in Cornwall, Norborne Berkeley, 4th Baron Botetourt at Stoke Park near Bristol, and William Aislabie at Studley in Yorkshire. Each of these men built structures on their estates that took inspiration from the monument, and contemporary visitors recognised the tomb of the Horatii and Curiatti as the source of the design.

The earliest ‘copy’ of the monument was that at Werrington Park, near Launceston in Cornwall. It was probably built after Sir William Morice of Werrington returned from his Grand Tour, which had included a stay in Rome, in 1730. It is shown in this undated portrait of Morice, but as he died in 1750 it was clearly extant at that date. The itinerant Bishop Pococke confirmed that it was based on the monument in Rome: he described it as a ‘model of what is called the Tomb of the Horatii’, although he gives no further information. The forward-thinking Victorians were less-impressed with such ‘pseudo-antiquities of the type of which the 18th century was fond’, but after this dismissal Sir Alfred Robbins’s history of the Launceston area does at least confirm that by 1888 the building was known as the ‘Sugar Loaves’ on account of the three conical pinnacles. When Barbara Jones saw it in the middle of the 20th century it was still in pretty good condition, but what was once both eye-catcher and viewpoint is now lost in undergrowth, and little survives today.

Dating the version of the tomb at Studley Royal in North Yorkshire, is more problematic, and The Folly Flâneuse is grateful to National Trust archaeologist Mark Newman for his help in assessing the available information. John Aislabie (1670-1742), and his son William (c1700-1781) both ornamented the landscape at Studley, but there are no accounts relating to the monument to confirm which man was the builder. A visitor in the late 1750s is the first to mention the monument, and notes that it was based on a plate in Montfaucon’s L’antiquité expliquée, which had been published in 1719 (with an English translation appearing in 1722). That has been taken to suggest that the building was a recent addition and therefore William was the builder. But Mark Newman believes that stylistically the Roman Monument, as it was called, belongs to the earlier period when John was laying out the landscape. Research continues…

It is however certain that the inspiration was ‘the remains of the Monument erected to the memory of the Horatii’, although the Aislabie version was known simply as the ‘Roman Monument’. Being a pragmatic Yorkshireman, Aislabie (senior or junior) built the base as a summerhouse for refreshments and for admiring the view to his Octagon Temple across the valley. The 5 rooftop pinnacles survived until at least the middle of the 19th century, but there is no trace of them on site today, and without them the little building has lost its meaning and impact.

In the first years of the 1760s Norborne Berkeley, Lord Botetourt, who had been in Rome in the 1730s, erected a version of the monument at Stoke Park, near Bristol. The design was drawn up by his polymath friend Thomas Wright. This too was recognised by Bishop Pococke: he visited in 1764 and saw a ‘model of the Monument of the Horati, at Albano’. Pococke’s description of an arched building with four pediments and a frieze topped with four obelisks sounds considerably more elaborate than the original, probably because it also functioned as an eye-catcher from the mansion.

The building was already a ruin a century ago, before collapsing completely, and until recently was largely forgotten. Bristol City Council, current owner of the park, hopes to fully restore the building when funds allow, and some work has been completed. But for now one needs to use one’s imagination.

P.S. The Folly Flâneuse has been indulging in a little armchair travel this week. In her mind she has been transported to Brussels, where an exhibition on Belgian Follies has just opened. Featuring architectural drawings, plans of landscape parks, watercolours, engravings, and photographs, the show encourages the visitor to escape for a moment from the ‘turpitudes of the world’ and immerse oneself in follies. The Folly Flâneuse was happy to oblige, albeit virtually, and thanks to curator Michel Mathy can give a sneak preview here.

Of the many works in the exhibition, this view of the picturesque Vignou Tower in the grounds of the château d’Attre, in the Belgian province of Hainaut, really appealed. It was beautifully painted by Marie-Thérèse du Toict, whose family seat the château was in the early 19th century. Two further views of the estate by Marie-Thérèse are also in the show, as are this 18th century design for a garden pavilion and photograph of a charming Chinoiserie kiosk:

If you are lucky enough to be able to visit, please report back. If not, you can read more about the exhibition, and watch a folly-filled film (in French, with Flemish subtitles, but visually lovely even if you don’t know the languages) here https://civa.brussels/fr/expos-events/belgian-follies

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