In 1840 the foundation stone was laid for a column on the Brocklesby estate which can be found near Grimsby, in Lincolnshire. Eventually reaching a height of 130 feet, it could soon be seen from miles around. The plantations surrounding it have long since matured, and today you have to look a little harder to find what became known as Pelham’s Pillar.

Charles Anderson (1749-1823) succeeded to the Brocklesby estate of his great uncle, Charles Pelham, in 1763, and added the Pelham name to his own. Pelham, created Baron Yarborough in 1794 greatly improved the vast estate, ornamentally and productively, with advice from Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown.

Building work on his monument was begun by his son, Charles Anderson Pelham (1781-1846), created 1st Earl of Yarborough in 1837, and the column commemorates the 12,532,700 trees planted by his father between 1787 and his death in 1823. Construction was completed by his son, Charles (1809-1862), 2nd Earl of Yarborough, after he succeeded in 1846.

The architect was Edward James Willson (1787-1854) of Lincoln and the builder was Mr Tomlin of Grantham (probably John Tomlin, stonemason). Work was well underway by 1844 when ‘many workmen’ were reported to be on site. By 1845 it was rising above the trees and visible from boats on the Humber. The urn was fixed on the top in autumn 1847, and by 1848 it was said to be ‘now completed’. The lions that guard the entrance were carved by William Day Keyworth (1817-1897) of Hull.

The inscription on the column gives 1849 as the official opening date and one of the first to see the new column was Prince Albert, who was staying at Brocklesby in April 1849 when on official business in Grimsby (noting Albert’s visit to Lincolnshire in her diary, Queen Victoria wrote ‘I always miss him terribly when he leaves me’).

The Prince was driven around the park, where large groups gathered hoping to catch a glimpse of the royal visitor. Elizabeth Dixon, a local farmer’s wife, watched the procession from the Newsham Lodge and then followed the Prince to the pillar where she had ‘an excellent view of the whole party’.

Even before it was complete the pillar had become not just a landmark for travellers on the roads and river, but a prominent spot for the Earl of Yarborough’s hounds to assemble before the chase.

Brocklesby was already home to other ornaments, including a garden temple, a hermitage and an exquisite mausoleum of 1787. In 1844 it was noted that visitors were welcomed into the park. There they could ‘wander in extensive and beautiful plantations’ and take refreshments in a woodland cottage ‘built in the Swiss style’ which stood near the rising column. In 1885 the Brocklesby estate was described in a tourist guide as a ‘place of holiday resort’, with the pillar and the Swiss Cottage amongst the highlights.

Unfortunately some of these tourists were not on their best behaviour, and in 1849 the estate office offered an ultimatum: if the carving of names in trees and the disfiguring of seats did not stop, then access to the park would be limited. The announcement continued that in future access to Pelham’s Pillar and the mausoleum would be by ticket only, obtainable on application to the estate office. Once access to the column had been gained, the message was reiterated on a plaque requesting that persons visiting the pillar refrain from writing or cutting their names or ‘otherwise disfigure the walls’.

For generations the men of the Jackson family, who lived at Pelham Pillar Lodge, were both woodsmen for the adjacent plantations and custodians of the monument. Their address was often abbreviated, making it appear that the family inhabited the column itself:

Happily the behaviour of the visitors must have improved, and the estate continued to allow access. In 1889 the Primitive Methodists met at the pillar for a bank holiday gathering, perhaps tempted along by the ‘meat tea’ that was provided. In that same year, a local cycling club visited Pelham’s Pillar and the Swiss Cottage with their ‘wives, sisters, and lady friends’. Fear not any frail female readers alarmed at this exertion: the ladies were ‘conveyed in wagonettes’.

But sadly history repeats itself: in the late twentieth century the Brocklesby estate created a popular permissive path which took in a number of the monuments, many of which had been restored. In 2021 it was announced that the route was to be permanently closed after several incidents of ‘anti-social behaviour’. Pelham’s Pillar too is out of bounds, but it can be glimpsed through trees (in winter)  from the adjoining road.

The Flâneuse climbed the tower many years ago when public access was allowed, but has no decent photographs, so thanks to the Garden Historian for the photo of the lions, and to Mike Booth of M.A.B. Media for the title image and the view above. His excellent film showing the detail of the architecture and the landscape setting of the column is well worth a look and can be found by clicking here.

Thanks for reading. Your thoughts are very welcome and you can get in touch via the comments box at the foot of the page. If you would like a complimentary folly story in your inbox each Saturday morning please click the ‘subscribe’ tab. 

In rural Northumberland an elegant stone column rises in a field. A passer-by would guess it to be an eighteenth century ornament, and they would be right: work to erect it was completed in 1786. But it was not built in Northumberland, where it has stood for a mere century. The monument actually started its life at Felbridge in Surrey, some 350 miles to the south.

The monument was commissioned by James Evelyn (1718-1793) of Felbridge Place, in Surrey, from the architect Sir John Soane, whose original designs show a fluted column. This was rejected in favour of a plain column, but this tweak to the design would still keep the stonemason busy: the shaft carries a Latin eulogy to Evelyn’s parents, and is also inscribed with the 13 verses of Joseph Addison’s Hymn to Gratitude — or rather 14 verses as the penultimate verse was added to Addison’s original. The story goes that a local clergyman felt 13 verses was inappropriate and added one of his own. The drum is carved with the motto Manners Makyth Man and is encircled by a snake swallowing its own tail, representing eternity. Just two years after its completion The Honorable John Byng passed by and noted the ‘extraordinary monumental obelisk’.

The serpent gave rise to the local legend that the monument was erected to mark the spot where two people and a horse were killed by an enormous snake. A local reporter called the story ‘absurd’, and was bewildered that it was ‘firmly believed in by many local people’

The Felbridge Place estate changed hands a number of times after Evelyn’s death. In 1924 it was on the market once more, with the ‘memorial column’ included in the deal. A year later a diarist in a local paper wrote that the column was deteriorating rapidly, and that if something wasn’t done soon the top of the ‘grand piece of stonework’ would come ‘crashing down’. He ended with a question: ‘will not the owner of the estate show sufficient interest to have it repaired?’ In short, no, they wouldn’t, as the land was destined for lucrative housing development.

But someone who did show an interest was Stephen Aitchison (1863-1942) who had recently bought and restored Lemmington Hall, near Alnwick in Northumberland. History does not seem to record how Aitchison learned about the monument, but he purchased it and the plot of land on which it stood. The monument was dismantled in February 1927, and a local paper reported that ‘while deeply regretting that there was so little public-spiritedness in the village of Felbridge that this beautiful obelisk was not acquired and preserved in situ, it is gratifying to know that it is not to be demolished but is to grace northern instead of southern England’.

The dismantled monument was then moved north to be re-erected as an object in the park at Lemmington. Writing in Country Life in 1978, Margaret Hudson states that the work was completed in 1928 at a cost of £1,470.

It is appropriate that Aitchison was erecting a monument to gratitude in 1928, for the New Year Honours list of that year bestowed upon him a knighthood (he would be created a baronet in 1938). Although some of the lettering on the monument was recut after it was moved north, the family appear to have added no words of their own.

And now a confession: the Flâneuse did not see the column at close quarters as the field in which it stands was home to a herd of boisterous beasts. Hence the slightly blurry image above, taken from the edge of the field. But the excellent Geograph website saved the day with this image:

Meanwhile, the Uncouth Companion was earning his wings as a trainee drone pilot:

In 1995 Felbridge Parish Council began to consider how to mark the Millennium. One suggestion was that the column be returned to its original home. It is unlikely that anyone took this suggestion very seriously, as the cost would have been enormous (even assuming that the then owner had agreed to part with it). Unsurprisingly, the column (grade II*) remains in its northern home.

And as if the lovely column wasn’t treat enough, after viewing the column you can turn and look to Lemmington Branch, a castellated hilltop folly (history yet to be investigated) now converted into a very smart house.

When James Evelyn, the original builder of the monument, wasn’t commissioning fine monuments he was carrying out good works. As well as founding a village school he established the splendidly named Beef and Faggot Charity which ensured that the poorer members of his local community were cared for. There’s an account of the charity, which continues today, here.

You can read the whole of the hymn featured on the column here.

Lemmington Hall was leased for many years to a convent, but was sold by the Aitchison family early this century. It has recently been renovated as a wedding venue.

Thank you for reading. Comments and thoughts are always welcome – scroll down to the foot of the page to get in touch.

Barbara Jones is best known to readers of these pages as the author of Follies & Grottoes (1953, revised 1974), the first book to consider the subject of garden and landscape buildings in any detail. She also wrote books about popular art, erotic postcards and furniture amongst other subjects, and as an illustrator and designer her work appeared in magazines, on calendars, dustjackets, greetings telegrams and much, much more.

One of the more unlikely places where her work could be found was in an elegant little magazine called Pan. Published on behalf of the pharmaceutical company Schering A G Berlin, Pan was sent to doctors and medical professionals and featured advertisments for the company’s ‘sex hormone preparations’ alongside medically themed cartoons by the likes of Michael Heath. Issues were compiled and produced by Napper Stinton Woolley, an advertising agency based in London’s Soho.

Magazine number 61 appeared in January 1969 and contained a very entertaining review of the spoof ‘Post-Op Art Explosion’ exhibition at the fictitious ‘Medic’s Gallery’ (very clever) by the Yorkshire GP Leonard Rosenthal. There was also a most peculiar short story about aphrodisiacs, and then, incongruously, an article by Barbara Jones about Follies with a wonderful title illustration:

The brief editorial introduction suggested that readers might like to take a ‘cosy afternoon run in the car’ to find a hermitage, or ruined tower, or counterfeit castle, and then Jones is given three pages to elaborate.

She began with a definition, describing a folly as a ‘largely pointless fantastic structure built by a fashionable land-owner in the eighteenth century’, and concluded that they were ‘a very clear manifestation of a certain quirky streak in the English character and they may look something like this:’

Jones picked out some of her favourites: the Sham Castle on the Bath skyline (top picture), the Pineapple at Dunmore in Scotland, Clytha Castle near Abergavenny and Jack the Treacle Eater in Somerset (all of which have featured in these pages – use the search button to find out more).

Moving on from the curious tales attached to Jack the Treacle Eater, Jones recounted the then recent story attached to the monument to William Pitt at Burton Pynsent, also in Somerset: in 1948 a cow is said to have climbed the spiral stair and, after rescue attempts failed, fell to its death from the top. (There has been some debate about the veracity of this tale: newspaper reports in 1947 and 1948 tell of heifers climbing the tower, but on both occasions with a rescued cow and a happy ending).

After describing the thrilling chill of grottoes Jones declared that ‘the Hermitage type of Folly is much more cheerful’. Her accompanying sketch illustrated how they were ‘picturesquely confected from rocks, branches, moss and bark, with a simple room or two, a rustic sacking bed, tables and chairs made from tree stumps…’

Jones ended her brief introduction to follies with some words of advice that remain pertinent for anyone embarking on a folly-finding expedition today – take a map, a torch and a flask of tea.

Your thoughts are always welcome – just scroll down to the comments box to get in touch. Thank you for reading.

In 1896 a new publication was launched in Britain. Pearson’s Magazine was a miscellany of fact and fiction, and is best known today for a landmark event of 1922: the appearance of the first ever crossword puzzle in a British publication. Only a year after it first appeared on newsstands the magazine was attracting writers of the highest calibre, including H.G.Wells whose The War of the Worlds was serialised in 1897. But of course what caught the eye of the Folly Flâneuse was an article from 1898 when Edward le Martin-Breton, wrote an illustrated article on ‘Famous Follies’.

Mr le Martin-Breton declared the raison d’être of follies to be the desire of men who are ‘possessed of more money than they know what to do with’ to proclaim their ‘wealth and position’. Whilst this is unarguably the case with some follies, le Breton-Martin seems to have been almost totally immune to the romance, charm or glorious eccentricity of the genre.

At Leith Hill Tower (Surrey) le Breton-Martin read the Latin inscription claiming the edifice was built not only for the enjoyment of the owner, Richard Hull, but also for his neighbours and ‘for all’. But he remained sceptical: here, he thought, was a tower that perfectly fitted his definition of folly, and he suspected Mr Hull of ‘vainglorious motives’.

He found the view from Broadway Tower (Worcestershire) impressive, but dismissed the folly as ‘a monument to a woman’s whim’. Meanwhile, the panorama from the belvedere at Powderham (Devon) was thought not worth the effort of the climb.

And he described Bond’s Folly, aka Creech Arch (Dorset), an eye-catcher built by Denis Bond in the middle of the 18th century, as ‘a piece of useless architecture’ (surely the reason why so many of us are fascinated and delighted by it?).

He wondered if the builder of the Ammerdown Column (Somerset) could not have found a better way to spend his money, and declared the Sham Castle on the Bath skyline to be a ‘hollow fraud’.

The obelisk at Woolverstone (Suffolk) seems to have particularly irked him. The obelisk was erected in 1793 by Charles Berners in memory of William, ‘the best of fathers’.  Whilst admiring the structure itself, our hard-to-please Mr le Martin-Breton did not find this a noble gesture. Instead he wrote: ‘Filial piety is a very beautiful thing, but at the same time I fail to see why such piety should be made the excuse for perpetuating such a useless object’. Sadly, we can’t visit and judge for ourselves, as the obelisk was pulled down in 1943 after being damaged by fire. This was a particularly sad loss, as this most interesting obelisk contained a staircase leading up to a ‘huge globe’, representing the sun.

Two follies built within his lifetime failed to impress, either. Turner’s Tower (Gloucestershire) ‘built within the last ten years’ was ‘hideous’ and a ‘monstrosity’ and Peterson’s Tower at Sway (Hampshire) elicited the response ‘Beautiful the tower can hardly be said to be’.

Happily two follies did meet with his approval. Conygar Tower on the Dunster Castle estate in Somerset was deemed to be ‘sufficiently picturesque enough to escape the censure that has been given to so many similar erections’. Top marks went to the sham ruined castle at Hagley (which he called Miller’s Folly, after its architect) and it was declared an ‘excellent example of the pseudo-antique’.

Edward le Martin-Breton would go on to write numerous articles for magazines, as well as publishing poetry and producing radio broadcasts. He was best known though to generations of Boy Scouts: his Boys of the Otter Pool was serialised in The Scout magazine in 1908 and it and its sequels were later published in book form with translations into French and Finnish.

Turner’s Tower (which featured in these pages recently) was demolished in the 1960s and Woolverstone Obelisk is gone. Happily, all of the other follies mentioned here survive to be appreciated today.

Thank you for reading. If you would like to share any thoughts or comments please scroll down to the box at the bottom of the page. 

‘Follies Can Be Fun’. So read the headline of an article in the Times in October 1959. But apparently not all follies: the anonymous author* dismissed sham ruins, grottoes and shell rooms, and expressed a preference for towers and columns. The Folly Flâneuse, who wholeheartedly agrees with the headline, thought it might be ‘fun’ to revisit some of the follies featured in the piece, to see how they had fared more than 60 years later.

The sub-heading ‘Hurt by a Mosquito’ was initially perplexing, until it was revealed that the Mosquito in question was an aircraft, and the hurt was inflicted on King Alfred’s Tower. The tall tower stands on the Stourhead estate (most of which is in Wiltshire, but the folly is just over the border into Somerset) and was built between 1762 and 1772 by Henry Hoare. A plane hit the tower in 1944, sadly with the loss of lives, although historians now dispute that the aircraft was a Mosquito. When the article was published the tower was closed to the public, but it is now restored to excellent condition and the tower can be climbed on open days.

Moving into Devon, the next folly to be discussed was Bishop Copleston’s Tower in Offwell, which is said to have been built in the mid 19th century to alleviate employment and to give the bishop a view across the Bristol Channel to his Welsh diocese. If the latter, the author noted drily, ‘there was a serious misjudgment about the height of the intervening hills’. He also left the reader to decide if the tower was best described as of ‘Italianate’ or ‘Victorian factory’ character (and one senses that neither was intended to be complimentary), although as the article was not illustrated it’s not clear how one would reach a conclusion. Ever happy to oblige, the Folly Flâneuse dropped by to take a photograph:

Clearly familiar with the follies of the South West, the author then succinctly described the prospect towers at Horton in Dorset (‘lonely in a field’), the Haldon Belvedere in Devon (‘high and eminent’), Beckford’s Tower in Bath (a ‘fantasy’), and poor old Cranmore Tower in Somerset (‘better to have been left as a distant tantalizing mystery than inspected’).

A move east into Hampshire brought the author to Luttrell’s Tower at Eaglehurst: ‘a fascinating example of an elegant habitable tower’. Built by Temple Simon Luttrell in the late 18th century, the tower remains both elegant and habitable thanks to the Landmark Trust, the charity which restored the folly as a holiday home.

Favoured columns were also largely in the South West of England, and particular mention was made of that at Burton Pynsent in Somerset. In 1959 the column was ‘permanently closed’ after a curious cow attempted the ascent and got stuck. It has since been restored, and there are occasional special openings when the column can be climbed.

Bringing the history of folly towers up to date, the writer visited the tower built by Lord Berners at Faringdon, then in Berkshire but now in Oxfordshire. Lord Berners’s folly was then only a little more than 20 years old, but, alas, it was found to be ‘locked against all comers’. Happily, the door is now regularly opened to visitors.

The article ends with the author pondering why owners of great estates were no longer building follies. Surely, he thought, a contemporary folly might ‘be erected as a popular attraction’. And in case any impoverished stately home owners are reading, and tutting to themselves about the potential costs, fear not, our writer has that covered: ‘And why not get the public to build it, by paying sixpence a brick for the privilege’.

So, more than 60 years later, the good news is that all of the buildings featured survive. Although only four were listed buildings when the article was written (including Luttrell’s Tower which was listed the day before the article appeared in print), each tower and column mentioned here is today protected by listed building status. And the article’s author, who bemoaned the lack of access to many of the follies, would be delighted to know that the vast majority are now open to visitors: the tower at Offwell is part of a private house, but is visible from the road, and all of the other follies can be visited or viewed at close range from a public footpath.

*Based on the close similarity to a Country Life article on ‘Tower Follies of the South’, published in June 1960, the Folly Flâneuse suspects the author was J.D.U. Ward, a writer, photographer and forestry expert.

Thank you for reading. Your thoughts are more than welcome – there’s a comments box at the foot of the page.

Somerset has more than its fair share of folly towers, but one of the most audacious examples is sadly long gone. This was the slender tower built by John Turner in the hamlet of Faulkland, near Bath, in 1890. It stood for less than 80 years, having become progressively shorter before its eventual demise in the 1960s.

John Turner (c.1818-1894) was born in Devon but later moved to Faulkland, in Somerset. Here he settled as a gentleman farmer and developer of houses and cottages: according to the 1881 census return Turner had 160 acres and was employing 12 men and 5 boys. Later that decade he suddenly decided to branch out into the entertainment business, and started to build a tower, with a ballroom at its base, all set within pleasure gardens. The grand opening ceremony was held on 25 September 1890 and five thousand people were said to have visited that day. According to reports in the local paper and the building press Turner had invested £4,000 in the project.

Standing 200′ (60m) high, the first section was built of stone, and atop this was a wooden structure, which visitors were assured was fixed with ‘powerful bolts and iron work’. This section had two viewing platforms, and was finished with a wooden spire. The ‘architect & builder’ was ‘Mr J. Wilcox of Terry Hill’: this was Job Willcox, who described himself more humbly as a ‘carpenter’ in the 1891 census.

Most people climbed the belvedere to appreciate the view, and there were window seats where the weary could rest as they climbed the internal staircase. But the tower was also an early theme-park thriller, and the more intrepid visitors could climb out onto the wooden spire and ascend a ladder into an iron cage. Four shillings per annum bought membership of the ‘Faulkland Tower Club’. This was strictly ‘non-political and unsectarian’, and existed to ensure the ‘social and moral welfare’ of its members – which sounds somewhat more sedate than climbing the tower.

Sadly this benevolent enterprise came to an end when Turner died in January 1894. His executors sold his farm stock, his furniture, and finally in April there was the ‘Highly Important and attractive sale’ of his estate. Lot 21 was ‘the substantially-erected tower’ with adjoining dancing and tea rooms, skittle alley, pleasure grounds cottages, houses, shops, stables and coach house. The purchaser, at £900, was Hedworth Hylton Jolliffe, 2nd Baron Hylton who lived at nearby Ammerdown Park.

So far, so factual (assuming one believes what one reads in the papers), but it wouldn’t be a good folly without an equally good story. Going back in time, Turner was said to have built the tower out of spite because (a) Lord Hylton built an 8′ wall around his estate (b) Lord Hylton reneged on a property deal or (c) that Lord Hylton built the 164′ (50m) high Ammerdown Column overlooking Turner’s land. The latter can be discounted as the column was not erected by Lord Hylton, but by his cousin Thomas Robert Jolliffe: Hylton did not inherit his cousin’s estate at Ammerdown until 1872. It seems unlikely that Turner waited more than three decades to exact his revenge on a man who had been dead for almost 20 years when the tower was completed.

But there was definitely some local rivalry, which may have given rise to the stories. Turner was keen for it to be known that his tower gave views to the Ammerdown Column and two more distant Somerset follies: the Cranmore Tower, and King Alfred’s Tower on the Stourhead estate. And crucially, he boasted that his ‘most formidable’ folly was 50′ (15m) higher than the tallest of these structures.

Another story tells that the building of the tower bankrupted Turner. It is true that Turner did not die a wealthy man, and had perhaps exhausted his resources on the tower project, but he left a modest estate of a little over £450. Another local tale is that the 2nd Baron Hylton hated the tower so much that he bought it just so he could pull it down. But although the wooden superstructure was taken down in 1895, after being badly damaged by a lightning strike, it wasn’t until 1910 that a substantial 80′ (24m) section of the tower was removed. The truncated tower and ballroom continued for some years as a social club (where miners ‘used to drink more than other people thought good for them’), but in 1968 a letter in Country Life magazine announced that the tower was ‘now in the hands of the demolition squad’.

The tower was brought to the attention of a wider audience in 2016 when the independent publishing house Little Toller Books republished In Pursuit of Spring by Edward Thomas (1878-1917). In 1913 the writer, later to become an acclaimed poet, went on a cycling tour with his son Merfyn, taking photographs along the way. Passing the tower, which he at first took for a church tower or a chimney, Thomas asked about its history and was told that ‘Mr Turner used to go up and down it, but it served no other purpose’ – a true folly. The new edition of In Pursuit of Spring is illustrated with Thomas family photographs, and the cover star is Turner’s Tower.

For more on Thomas’s book see https://www.littletoller.co.uk/shop/books/little-toller/in-pursuit-of-spring/

Edward and Merfyn’s cycling tour (they are thinly disguised as ‘David and Philip’) is mentioned in the memoir Edward’s wife Helen wrote to help with her grief after his death. It has recently been republished by Persephone Books https://persephonebooks.co.uk/products/as-it-was

Thank you for reading. Please scroll down to the comments box at the foot of the page to share any thoughts. If you would like a folly story in your inbox every Saturday morning, please click on the subscribe tab.

On Sunday 18 June 1815 the British and Prussian armies, commanded respectively by the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal von Blücher, won the Battle of Waterloo. There were immediate demands for monuments across Britain to celebrate this great victory, but none were so quick to respond as William Kerr, the 6th Marquis of Lothian, and his family. By the end of June funds had been raised to erect ‘a monument on the summit of Penielheugh’, a lofty hill on the Marquis’s Monteviot estate.

Actually, the family had been planning a monument to the Duke of Wellington for some months, and the tenants had been asked to provide sand and lime for the construction of ‘Wellington’s Pillar’ earlier in 1815. The architect, William Burn (1789-1870), designed the monument in the form of an obelisk (or pyramid, the words were synonymous at this period). Whilst no drawings are known to survive, a maquette can be seen in the collection at Abbotsford, the former home of Sir Walter Scott, which shows the form monument took.

The foundation stone was laid in June, and by August the Scot’s Magazine could report that the ‘Wellington pillar on the top of Penhillheuch [sic] is in a state of progress’. The masons were instructed to carve the word VICTORY on the east face, WELLINGTON on the north, and WATERLOO on the west. The south side was to carry a dedication to the Duke of Wellington and the British Army (the Prussian army was not acknowledged). These inscriptions can all be read on the maquette.

On the 14th of October the Marquis of Lothian (1763-1825), his family, friends, and tenants gathered on the ‘romantic hill’. The Marquis paid tribute to those who had lost their lives, and to those who had served, and raised a toast to the King, the Prince Regent, the British Army, the Duke of Wellington, the Navy, Lord Nelson and many more before ending with a tribute to his tenantry. Lord Douglas then proposed a toast to the Marquis, and wished health and prosperity to his family. The four inscribed stones were in place and that on the south read:

To the Duke of Wellington
And the British Army
William Kerr
Marquis of Lothian
And his Tenants
Dedicate this Monument
30 June 1815

It is clear from the newspaper reports of this event that the obelisk was not quite finished. The Marquis himself said that it was ‘virtually completed’, but the monument on its 32 feet square base had yet to reach its ‘intended height of 109 feet’. It must however have been fairly advanced, for it was said that ‘for imposing height and grandeur’ the obelisk had ‘no rival in the United Kingdom’.

The monument was well-received, and the Scots were proud that the Marquis was ‘the first in this country to raise a monument to the heroes of Waterloo’. The 1st anniversary of the battle was marked at the monument in June 1816, when the obelisk was ‘decked with the union flag’. What happened next is a little unclear, but soon after ‘either through faulty design or faulty construction’ the obelisk ‘fell with a tremendous crash’. The estate forester is said to have written to the Marquis with the solemn news that ‘Yon muckle stane has tumbled’.

After some discussion, work began on an entirely new structure in 1817. This was designed by Archibald Elliot (1761-1823) in the form of a Doric column, which was considered appropriate ‘on account of its manly form’. Sir Walter Scott dined with Lord Lothian in September 1817, and the monument was sufficiently advanced for Scott to proclaim it ‘simply grand’, and ‘the finest piece of masonry I have ever seen’. The local whinstone was quarried nearby, and probably as a result of a lesson learned, the tower was later described as ‘very substantially built’.

The Marquis pondered whether to dedicate the tower exclusively to Waterloo, but eventually decided to stick with the original wording dedicating the monument to the Duke of Wellington and the British Army. So the tower, although marked on an 1822 map as ‘Waterloo Monument’, doesn’t actually have any inscription naming the great battle.

Work was ongoing late into 1823, only a few months before the 6th Marquis died in April 1824, and although Elliot’s original design showed a viewing platform, it is not certain if this was built. The super-structure carrying a gallery which we see today was not added until 1867, when the 8th Marquis (1832-1870), grandson of the builder of the monument, commissioned John Hungerford Pollen (1820-1902) to design a wooden viewing platform under a lead roof. News of the ‘intended restoration and embellishment’ of the monument soon spread, and the Marquis was hailed as a patriot. A poem was published celebrating the monument as a memorial that would (albeit on the second attempt) withstand the elements and ensure the valiant were remembered:

But thou proud monument, shall stand
A statute in the living land!
And ever rear thy giant head
‘Mid lightnings wild, and tempests dread.

Pollen was a cleric turned artist/architect/curator who had also worked on interiors at the Marquis’s Blickling estate in Norfolk. The builders, Messrs Herbertson of Galashiels, assembled the new balcony in their yard before taking it to Penielheugh for erection, and when complete the gallery, spire, and vane added another 37 feet to the height of the tower.

The tower was restored by Lothian Estates in the early 1990s with the support of Historic Scotland, Scottish Enterprise and the Borders Regional Council. Under normal circumstances it can be climbed, but there is a temporary closure due to Covid. For details visit https://www.lothianestates.co.uk/waterloo-monument

Sharing the hilltop with the Folly Flâneuse when she visited were Mark and Kerryanne of Borders Aerial Photography. They have kindly given permission to reproduce a dramatic image taken in better conditions.

For more of their amazing photo’s of the Borders see https://www.bordersaerialphotography.co.uk

And the monument features in this short film https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sROeyfEmevY

For more on visiting Monteviot house and gardens https://www.monteviot.com

For Sir Walter Scott  https://walterscott250.com and Abbotsford https://www.scottsabbotsford.com

This post expands upon, and updates, a paper by Kitty Cruft published in the Annual Report & Bulletin of the Scottish Georgian Society (now the Architectural Heritage Society of Scotland) in 1982.

Please scroll down to the comments section if you would like to share any thoughts. Thank you for reading. 

The arrival of an updated volume in the Buildings of England series is always a cause for celebration. Better known simply as ‘Pevsners’, after Sir Nikolaus Pevsner (1902-1983), the author of the earliest volumes, the books are regularly revised. The latest volume to be painstakingly brought up to date covers the county of Wiltshire, and is the work of Julian Orbach. The first edition of the Wiltshire volume appeared in 1963, and was close to Pevsner’s heart, as he had a home in Clyffe Pypard where he and his family spent much of their time: his dedication calls Wiltshire ‘the county of the cottage’.

Pevsner was always keen to include the garden ornaments that embellished the landscapes of great houses in his volumes, and in Wiltshire there were plenty of outstanding parks: Bowood, Wardour, Fonthill and Wilton to name but a few. And of course Stourhead, which Pevsner ranked alongside Stowe as ‘the best place in England to enthuse in landscaped grounds and garden furnishings’ (a very Pevsnerian phrase). But it is in discussing a lesser known landscape ornament that Pevsner’s dry style is best illustrated. At Wick Hill, near Bremhill, stands the Maud Heath Monument. As the legend goes, Maud Heath was a ‘public-spirited old pedlar woman’ who became very wealthy. In 1474 she created a trust to fund the construction of a causeway from Wick Hill to Chippenham, and an endowment for its future maintenance.

Centuries later the 3rd Marquess of Lansdowne (1780-1863) of nearby Bowood House, and William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850), vicar of Bremhill, two of the Trustees of Maud Heath’s Charity, erected a column topped with a seated figure of Maud. Bowles composed the poem which features in the inscription:

Thou who dost pause on this aerial hight [sic]
Where MAUD HEATH’s Pathway winds in shade or light,
Christian Wayfarer in a world of strife
Be STILL and ponder on the Path of Life.

Bowles composed sonnets which were admired by the young Coleridge, but later in life, as his poems grew from 14 to over 2,000 lines (his publisher, John Murray, unsuccessfully suggested that his compositions might be condensed a little), his work fell out of favour.

Work began on the column in October 1837, and was completed the following year. A stone chair was erected at the same date, but broken by vandals soon after. The ‘handsome reward’ which was offered presumably led to information on the culprits, and as this drawing by Charles George Harper (1892-1933) shows the chair was restored and it remains in place today. The sculptor of the odd, but rather endearing, depiction of Maud and her basket of wares is not known, but occasional restoration work has kept her looking her best – including after she literally lost her head in a storm in 1990. Trees now obscure the full panorama, but Maud certainly enjoys an extensive prospect.

To return to Nikolaus Pevsner: he was no fan of the stanza or the sculptor, and his wonderful deadpan conclusion was that ‘The quality of the poetry matches that of the statue’.

Maud Heath has given her name to a vineyard close to her monument. It seemed only right that The Folly Flâneuse should toast Maud Heath and everyone who has contributed to a ‘Pevsner’ over the years.

The new Wiltshire volume contains follies and landscape ornaments that have been built in the years since Pevsner’s death in 1963 (he is buried with his wife in the churchyard at Clyffe Pypard). To pick just two: in the first years of the present century Sir Henry and Lady Keswick erected a stunning glass pyramid, to a design by I.M. Pei, at Oare House. Completely different in character is Colin’s Barn near Chedglow, a rustic, organic, labour of love built by Colin Stokes in the last decade of the 20th century, and recently listed by Historic England.

An early Pevsner would fit in your pocket. After updates by Bridget Cherry in 1975, and now Julian Orbach, a backpack might be in order, but it will be worth the effort. For more on the new Wiltshire volume, which is published on 8 June, see https://yalebooks.co.uk/display.asp?k=9780300251203

There’s more on Maud Heath and her philanthropy here https://bremhillparishhistory.com/article/maud-heaths-causeway/

Oare House and Colin’s Barn are private. Maud Heath’s monument has full public access.

If you would like to share any thoughts please scroll down to the comments section at the bottom of the page. Thank you for reading. 

On the edge of Alnwick, in Northumberland, stood Swansfield House, an elegant villa that in the late 18th century was home to Henry Collingwood Selby (1748-1839), agent to the 1st Duke and Duchess of Northumberland of Alnwick Castle. Following the lead of his monument-building patrons, he embellished his small estate with a tower, a column, and a curious gothic structure.

In 1789 Selby had married Frances Wilkie, and they settled at Swansfield with its ‘beautiful walks and plantations’. Soon after the couple commissioned a watercolour from the artist John Downman: the work is particularly poignant, for Frances died in childbirth on the first day of August 1790. The child survived, and was named Frances Wilkie Selby in honour of her mother.

Henry Collingwood Selby erected a monument to his wife in St Michaels’ church in Alnwick, and lived on at Swansfield for another five decades. As well as looking after the Duke of Northumberland’s affairs, he was also Clerk of the Peace for Middlesex for more than six decades. His story is not well documented, and the little we know tells that he was kind to the poor of Alnwick, but struck a hard bargain in business – ‘the Duke of Northumberland’s rapacious steward’, was Horace Walpole’s damning description.

On 30 May 1814 the Treaty of Paris was signed, and it seemed that the Napoloeonic Wars were over. Selby decided to erect a monument to commemorate the end of the war with France, and made plans for a column on Camphill, a ‘commanding eminence’ in the parlance of the day, above Swansfield House. Initially it seems he intended the column to be topped by a statue, and he paid 40 Guineas for a ‘fine 6ft Statue of Peace and Victory, with wings, a caduceus, olive branch, cornucopia etc’ from Mrs Coade’s artificial stone manufactory in Lambeth, London. The order also included 4 tablets for inscriptions to ‘fix on the column’ (16 Guineas), and the cutting of the letters for the inscriptions (£21 3s 9d). No architect is recorded, but a strong contender is Newcastle-based David Stephenson (1757-1819); he was architect to the Duke of Northumberland and a regular customer of Mrs Coade.

Three panels praised key figures in the war: Vice Admiral Horatio Viscount Nelson for the campaigns at sea and the ‘decisive victory at Trafalgar’; Field Marshall the Duke of Wellington for having ‘vanquished the armies’; and The Right Honourable William Pitt for his statesmanship during the conflict. The fourth praised the ‘persevering and victorious efforts of the British Empire by sea and land’, and of course preserved for posterity the name of Henry Collingwood Selby, erector of the column.

However, by the time the column was ready to be topped with the statue, it had become apparent that Britain would have to wait a little longer for the ‘peace and victory’ represented by the figure. The ‘downfall of Napoleon Buonaparte’ celebrated in the inscription was short-lived – in Spring 1815 he had escaped and was once more governing in Paris. The idea of the terminating statue seems to have been abandoned, and the Camphill Column is topped with a simple ball, as illustrated in William Davison’s A Descriptive and Historical View of Alnwick published in 1822 (above).

But the figure did find a home on the lawn in front of the house, as shown in another engraving in the same book, and this time it was accompanied by an inscription which brought matters triumphantly up to date with the Battle of Waterloo and Napoloeon’s subsequent surrender:

The Pillar on the Camphill
records the events which led to
the first overthrow of NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE
and the Peace of MDCCCXIV,
this Statue is designed to commemorate
the return of NAPOLEON from Elba, his triumphal entry into the capital,
and his resumption of the sovereign power
in France;
the annihilation of his army
by the DUKE OF WELLINGTON
and PRINCE BLUCHER
at the ever-memorable Battle of Waterloo,
his second abdication,
his surrender to the British Fleet,
and his confinement in the island
of St. Helena;
the second capture of Paris,
the second restoration
of the Bourbon monarch,
and the Peace of MDCCCXV

Another landscape feature stood not far away. This was an ‘unfinished tower […] intended as an observatory’, which the late T.L. Adams had begun before his death, and which Selby now owned. In 1815 Selby celebrated allegiances closer to home and inserted a tablet with medallions of the profiles of the Duke and Duchess, and the ducal coronet. These medallions may have been a gift from the Duke and Duchess, who must have ordered a number from the Coade manufactory. Two appear on the Brizlee Tower, and two at Hulne Abbey, both within Hulne Park, part of the Alnwick Castle estate. Others remain unused in the collection of the Duke of Northumberland.

Frustratingly, no views of the tower are known to survive, but again thanks to Davison we know that the inscription on the tower read:

To the memory of his early patrons the most noble HUGH and ELIZABETH DUKE and DUCHESS of NORTHUMBERLAND, not less eminent for their virtues than distinguished by their rank,
this tribute of grateful affection is dedicated by HENRY COLLINGWOOD SELBY MDCCCXV

Swansfield Tower became one of the noted landmarks on the Alnwick skyline, joining the monuments built by the dukes of Northumberland – Ratcheugh Crag, a hilltop eyecatcher (c.1783), Brizlee Tower (c.1781), and the Percy Tenantry Column in the town centre (1816).

Selby died at Swansfield in February 1839 at the age of 91. His estate passed to his great-nephew, who immediately tried to raise an income by letting the tower, by now known as the Stonyhill Tower, as a dwelling. Potential tenants were told that there was a ‘fine view of the sea’, and that it would make a ‘pleasant residence for a small family’. The tower was again offered to let in 1857 and 1861, but soon after it must have been abandoned. By the middle of the 1860s the ‘three storied castellated tower [which] forms a good feature in the surrounding Landscape’ was ‘getting ruinous thru’ neglect’. That deterioration must have continued as it does not appear on the subsequent maps, and is largely forgotten today.

Selby’s descendants sold Swansfield House to the Duke of Northumberland, and it stood until the 1970s when it was demolished, and a new house erected in its place. A substantial part of the former park is now home to the Alnwick Castle Golf Club, and the Grade II* listed column sits in a small copse within the grounds. The fate of the statue to Peace is sadly unknown.

Also surviving is a very curious feature with gothic detailing. Historic England lists the building at Grade II, and suggest it is early 19th century, which fits with Selby’s building spree, but neither they, nor anyone else, seem to be able to give it a history or a purpose. It is a short stretch of wall with gothic detail, echoing decoration seen at nearby Camphill Cottage and on Alnwick Castle. It is not marked or named on OS maps, and for now remains a total mystery.

For Ratcheugh Crag see https://thefollyflaneuse.com/ratcheugh-observatory-longhoughton-northumberland/

For Brizlee Tower see https://thefollyflaneuse.com/brizlee-tower-alnwick-northumberland/

Thank you for reading. If you have any further information, or wish to share your thoughts, please scroll down to the comments box below. 

One of the most curious collections of structures in Britain can be found on a ridge behind the house called Sorrelsykes*, near Aysgarth in North Yorkshire. Often cited as fine examples of follies because of their strange form, and apparent lack of function, the eccentric edifices seem to have lost their history. What are they? Who built them? When? And above all why? 

The question of what they are should be the easiest to answer, but even that poses a challenge as they are so curious and difficult to categorise. The most dramatic structure is a large cone, with doorway and blind windows, supported by buttresses. In modern times it has acquired the nickname ‘the Rocket Ship’ based on its likeness to the intergalactic craft of comic book heroes such as Dan Dare. Next in line is a bizarre arch, or gateway, which stands alone devoid of attached wall or fence, and is too low to walk under anyway. Finally there is a column which has been likened to a cotton bobbin or a peppermill.

The who and when can tentatively be said to be the Misses Tennant, and the mid- to late- 19th century.  Sorrellsykes was once home to the four daughters of Edward Tennant – Isabella, Rebecca, Emma and Ann – and they were described as ‘gentlewomen’. Although from the park the building appears as a classical Georgian mansion, it is actually divided into separate dwellings, and in the 1870s the Tennant family occupied two of the three homes. But the evidence is scant: an account in 1878 notes that the Tennant ladies had ’embellished the grounds with statuary and other ornaments in good taste’. That’s all there is: ask locally and people will just shrug their shoulders.

The why remains unanswered, leaving one of the great folly mysteries intact. Best guesses remain that the follies were built to create employment for local men, or that they were built by apprentice masons, perfecting their craft. In 1993 the structures were consolidated with a grant from the Yorkshire Dales National Park Committee’s excellent ‘Local Historic Features’ fund. You can go and ponder the history of the follies for yourself, as the structures are alongside the public footpath from Edgeley Farm to West Burton.

More conventionally (in folly terms) there was a sham castle facade higher up the hill, seen by The Folly Flâneuse in the 1980s but sadly toppled in a storm a decade later. This is very unlike the bizarre structures on the ridge, and is possibly earlier.

* or Sorrell Sykes, or Sorrowsikes, or Sorrellsikes, or countless other variant spellings just to make the researcher’s life difficult…

Thank you for reading. If you know more about these strange structures (someone, somewhere must), or would like to share any thoughts, please scroll down to the comments box below.