In the late 1730s Mark Amberley, of the Cottington Place estate in Southshire, England, built a sham castle on his estate. He also built a shell-encrusted grotto, which became home to the obligatory bearded hermit dressed in brown hessian robes. The creation of these follies is detailed in the family archive of letters and diaries, which was explored by a descendant in the twentieth century.

The book looks afresh at the murder of Mark Amberley, who was shot in the head on the very day that he returned to Cottington in 1768, after spending twenty three years in exile after the Jacobite Rebellion. The dust jacket gives a precis of the plot and notes that the story was based on unpublished material. But if one reads on to the end the truth is revealed: ‘Mr Bamford’s novel is, of course, pure fiction as are the statements in the above paragraphs’. The Flâneuse is always delighted to discover fictional follies, and the Amberleys, the murder, the sham castle and grotto are all the creation of Frances Bamford, and appear in his 1946 novel Return to Cottington.

Francis Bamford who was born on the Isle of Wight in 1905, the son of a clergyman. In his twenties he mixed with the Bright Young Things and became close friends with the Sitwell family of Renishaw and Weston. The patriarch of the family was Sir George Sitwell, and when his wife died in 1937 it was feared that Sir George’s eccentricities would no longer be checked by his spouse. Osbert Sitwell asked Bamford, who was then unmarried and in need of funds, to be secretary to his father and to accompany Sir George to his Tuscan castle of Montegufoni. When Bamford asked what the duties were, Osbert’s casual reply was, ‘Well, you must just take Mother’s place.’

In 1939 Bamford described himself as ‘Archivist, Historian and Author’, and by that date he had already published the correspondence of a Georgian lady as well as a history of Edinburgh written with Sacheverell Sitwell and a novel. With the outbreak of war, Bamford joined the Gordon Highlanders (his mother was descended from the Duke of Gordon). As the war progressed, Bamford found himself stationed at Stromness on Orkney. There he used his spare time to write his second novel, Return to Cottington, which was published in 1946 and dedicated to his friend Sir Osbert Sitwell (Sitwell’s signed copy is in the library at Renishaw, his Derbyshire seat).

Readers may wish to read the story for themselves, so we will leave the plot and consider the follies built by our protagonist, Mark Amberley. On the edge of the park at Cottington was a small hill, and upon its ‘flattened crest’ Amberley built ‘an improbable ruin consisting of twelve open arches flanked by two incomplete towers’. Work began soon after he inherited the estate in 1738, and was complete by 1742. As well as improving the view from the dining room, the family visited the folly for ‘pick-nicks’.

With the sham castle complete, Amberley began work on his ‘curious Gothick grotto’. This was a natural cave, in a disused quarry, which was extended to create two rooms – the first highly-decorated with shells and stone seats ‘carved to represent oyster-shells supported upon dolphins’. This led to a second chamber with a fireplace with its chimney ‘carried up through the solid rock’. From the grotto there were superb views to the mansion designed by Sir Christopher Wren. Peter the Hermit took up residence as soon as work was complete.

Perhaps the interior of the Cottington grotto was a little like that at Oatlands in Surrey, although that example was not built until two decades later.

In the late 1730s sham ruined castles were yet to appear in British parks, so if he had only been real Mark Amberley would have been at the forefront of folly building. We don’t know which genuine shams may have inspired Bamford, but perhaps he knew Hagley in Worcestershire…

… or Wimpole in Cambridgeshire.

After the war Bamford was employed as librarian to the Duke of Wellington: in 1950 they jointly published The Journal of Mrs Arbuthnot, based on papers in the Duke’s archive (genuine documents this time). By that date Bamford and his wife Marianne had moved to Ayton, near Berwick upon Tweed, to open an antique shop although Bamford also continued to write. He became known as an expert on Scottish furniture, but his sudden death in 1982 meant that his research was published posthumously a year later. Bamford may also have been camera-shy, as the Flâneuse has failed to find a single photograph of him.

According to the story, the sham castle was still standing when Return to Cottington was published in 1946, although by then it loomed over modern housing built in Cottington’s park. The impoverished Amberleys had sold the estate to the County Council, and the mansion was in use as a maternity home for working class mothers. The grotto was intact, but the walls were carved with the names of young men and women ‘seeking for one reason or another its sombre solitude’. Should she ever find herself in Southshire the Flâneuse will endeavour to discover if any fragments survive today.

Meanwhile…

Researching this post was great fun so the Flâneuse will be raising her glass to a group of friends – Guy Marshall for alerting me to the book; antiquarian booksellers Adam and Marianne Naylor for rapidly posting a copy to the eager Flâneuse; Chris Beevers, Archivist at Renishaw Hall, for help with the Sitwells and Mike Cousins (aka the Garden Historian) for helping with a chronology of sham castles and grottoes.

And thank you for reading. As ever, you can share your thoughts via the comments box at the foot of the page.

A little east of the hamlet of Azerley, near Kirkby Malzeard, stands a pretty little cottage with a most unusual feature – from the back of the building rises a slender castellated tower. It was built by the Crompton family of Azerley Hall as a belvedere from which the ‘prospects of the most picturesque description’ were obtained, but it also served as a vantage point to look out for poachers.

Azerley Hall had been a seat of the Dawson family, but was offered to let in 1830 after the death of William Dawson two years earlier. It was described as a ‘Desirable Country Residence’ with outbuildings and pleasure grounds in a ‘genteel neighbourhood’. Robert Edward Crompton (1805-1840) was in residence in the 1830s, and the cottage and tower are believed to have been built soon after 1839 (the tower does not appear on the tithe map of that year, but does appear on the O.S. map surveyed between 1849 and 1853).

In 1861 the tenants were John Jackson and William Wilkinson, both described a few years earlier as ‘game watchers in the employ of Col Crompton’. This was Edward’s brother, Joshua Samuel Crompton (1799-1881). Despite the presence of the look-out tower the problems with poachers continued, particularly under cover of darkness, and being a game watcher was a dangerous job. In 1856 Jackson was pelted with rocks by a trespasser, and a year later an intruder attempted to shoot him. Fortuitously, the gun failed, and the poacher was caught and jailed.

The tower also had a more refined use as an observatory ‘from whence to survey the country, not the heavens’, and the rooftop gave a ‘most extensive and interesting view of the surrounding country’. This view often featured the Bedale Hounds in action, and the tower may have allowed the ladies of the family the opportunity to ‘accompany the sportsmen in the chace [sic] with their eyes, if not amazonially on horseback’ – a potential purpose of belvederes suggested by Francis Goodwin in his Rural Architecture of 1835.

The Crompton family opened the grounds of Azerley Hall (by now alternatively known as Azerley Chase) for charitable events such as the Wesleyan Sunday School treat of 1898. On that day there were games in the gardens and a tea, but the highlight was the chance to climb the tower and admire the ‘splendid panoramic view’.

Later still the tower was used by the Corps of Signallers as an army training camp: in 1911 they practised signalling between Ripon Cathedral, Kirkby Malzeard church and Azerley Tower. In the 21st century the top of the tower was put to a novel sporting purpose as a stand for firing clays at a charity clay pigeon shoot.

The whereabouts of a small stone model of the tower, which apparently once stood in front of the full-size version, remains a mystery. It was last seen in situ in 1978 but, despite an appeal for information via the local paper some 20 years later, no trace can been found today.

The cottage and tower ensemble is listed at grade II. It is a private home and there is no public access but the top of the tower can be glimpsed from public footpaths and from the road between Kirkby Malzeard and Ripon (with great care).

Thank you for reading. If you know more, or would like to share any thoughts, please scroll down to the comments box at the foot of the page. If you would like to receive further complimentary folly stories, please sign up via the subscribe button.

On a wooded eminence on the Foxley Estate, Herefordshire, stands a tower that was built as a belvedere by the Price family in the first half of the eighteenth century. By the middle of the twentieth century it had fallen into disrepair, but was restored in the 1970s with the guidance of an impressive group of experts in the field.

The Foxley estate is best known as the home of Sir Uvedale Price (1747-1829), the writer on the picturesque, but the belvedere tower was built before he was born. A letter of 1714 notes that ‘Mr Price is resolved to have a Summer House on top of the mount’. The Mr Price in question was either Robert Price (1653-1732) who built a new mansion at Foxley after he inherited the estate upon the death of his father-in-law in 1691, or his son Uvedale Tomkins Price (1685-1764). Both were keen improvers.

An exact date for the construction of the tower has not yet been found, but it was extant by 1738 when a visitor noted the ‘Room’ which had been erected ‘upon the top of a very pretty Hill of a great Hight, from whence you have also a vast variety of Views for a prodigious Circle round’.

The Castle and Mount at Foxley sketched by Robert Price in 1744. Courtesy of Hereford City Library.

A tourist in 1752 also admired the ‘Prospects’ from the ‘Summer House’, but after that date the building seems to have been ignored, or perhaps it was by then hidden by maturing trees? Visitors instead were shown Lady Lift (sometimes Lady’s Lift), a loftier hill north of the house, which had been laid out with winding walks to the summit and allegedly gave a view of nine counties.

In the nineteenth century the estate was purchased by the Davenport family, who are still the owners today. By the 1880s the folly, called simply ‘The Castle’ on a sketch taken in the middle of the eighteenth century, had become known as ‘Ragged Castle’ and is marked as such on the Ordnance Survey maps.

The mansion was occupied by the American and Canadian military during the Second World War. Presumably they were not good tenants for the house was pulled down in 1948 as beyond repair, although the Davenport family retained the estate and continued to live locally. The folly was largely intact until 1955 when the lead was stolen from the roof.

In September 1974 Major D. J. Davenport wrote to the Georgian Group asking if anyone could help him find out more about his folly, which was ‘somewhat of an enigma’. The Georgian Group forwarded the letter to architect and folly aficionado Neville Hawkes, who in turn requested the assistance of Dorothy Stroud (curator at the Soane Museum and author of books on Capability Brown and Humphry Repton), Mavis Batey (leading light of the Garden History Society) and Marcus Binney (contributor to Country Life and co-curator of the exhibition The Destruction of the English Country House, which would open at the Victoria & Albert Museum less than a month after Major Davenport’s letter). Sadly, the responses of this learned trio have not been found.

Hawkes, a passionate recorder of follies, was particularly intrigued by Major Davenport’s description of the tower as being diamond-shaped in plan, and confessed that although he had a huge collection of photographs of follies, he had ‘no diamond’. Keen to fill the gap, Hawkes visited the Ragged Castle in October 1974 and snapped the derelict folly.

The Major, obviously impressed by the enthusiastic architect, asked him to draw up plans to restore the little tower in memory of his father who had ‘loved these woods’.

Hawkes believed that the gothic window frames, fragments of which remained in situ, were later additions as they could be seen to be a poor fit. He therefore proposed restoring the tower with 12 paned sash windows.

The restored tower (which sadly the Flâneuse could not gain permission to see) is listed at grade II and is now a Davenport family memorial. There is no public access.

The Flâneuse is grateful to Dr Michael Cousins for sharing the accounts of early visitors to the castle and to the Folly Fellowship for permission to publish the photographs.

Thank you for reading. The comments box is at the foot of the page if you would like to share any thoughts or information. If you would like a complimentary folly story in your inbox every Saturday morning please click the subscribe button. 

In the village with the simple name of ‘Hill’, near Sutton Coldfield in what was then Warwickshire, lived retired pawnbroker Hugh Lewis. At the time of his death in 1908, Lewis was remembered as ‘a man of very eccentric habits’ and chief amongst these were the building of a high wall around his house and the erection of a ‘Look out Tower’ on Hill Village Road – inevitably it became known as Lewis’s Folly.

The plans for the tower, dated 1892,  survive, and they show that Lewis (1832-1908) asked Noah Deeks junior to draw up a plan for a five storey tower with a flat roof for the prospect. Deeks was variously described as architect, surveyor and Inspector of Nuisances (a large and unappetising category that included sewers and toxic soups).

Another interesting survival is the document announcing Lewis’s intention to build the ‘Look out Tower’ which was submitted with the plan, and approved on 26 August 1892 – planning permission was not yet a universal requirement, but some local authorities checked plans on grounds of public health and sanitation. At that date Lewis gave his address as Boswell Road in Sutton Coldfield, but he would soon move to Woodfield House on Hill Village Road, and the tower was erected a short distance from his new home. The bricks were said to be destined for a new church in Birmingham, but when the plans fell through they were acquired cheaply by Lewis for his new project.

Lewis died in 1908, leaving a brief handwritten will in which he left his entire estate, estimated at £80-£90,000 (before duties), to the Guest Hospital in Dudley. This was a substantial sum for Lewis had reportedly speculated ‘with great success’ in his retirement. Affairs were almost settled when Lewis’s estranged wife appeared and challenged his will: the hospital trustees agreed to pay Mrs Lewis an annual allowance, allowing the hospital to benefit from the bulk of the bequest. Lewis was buried at St Peter’s, Little Aston, where an inscription records only his dates and his benevolence to the hospital.

Woodfield House and adjoining parcels of land were offered for sale in 1909. Lot 8 was a field, with frontage onto both Hill Village Road and the Lichfield Road (now the A5127), on which stood the ‘brick erection know as The Tower’. A clue to the tower’s chance of survival is given in the auctioneer’s description of the field as ‘absolutely ripe for immediate development’. The tower was apparently unpopular with the locals (although they had apparently been happy to watch fireworks set off from its rooftop), and within days of Lewis’s death the local paper reported that the ‘hope has frequently been expressed that it may not be long before this not altogether picturesque landmark is razed to the ground’. The unloved (and, in fairness, unlovely) tower disappeared soon after and, as expected, the land was developed and Hill Village Road is now lined with houses.

Woodfield House is also gone, replaced by flats, but you can still see part of its high brick wall. According to local legend this was built by Lewis to alleviate poverty. The Sutton Coldfield Local History Research Group’s website records that Lewis had ‘acquired a large quantity of bricks cheaply. At that time there was a steady trickle of workmen tramping along Lichfield Road hoping to find work and a better life in Birmingham, but rather than give them charity Lewis would offer them a square meal in return for a stint on building the wall.’

This stretch of wall is today the only reminder in Hill village of the benevolent and eccentric Hugh Lewis. Thanks to the Garden Historian for suggesting the tower as a subject.

Thank you to all of the readers who sent congratulations to the Flâneuse on the 400th post on this site. Your kindness made it all the more frustrating when the technology failed last week. This, after a brief hiatus, is post number 401. Thank you for reading. 

Close to Prestwick Airport, a few miles from Ayr, a handsome monument stands on high ground. It was erected in the middle of the eighteenth century to commemorate a local boy, of very humble beginnings, who had made a fortune in the service of the East India Company. The monument came close to total collapse before, hurrah, a local campaign secured its future.

Macrae is said to have left his native Ayr when little more than a boy and found work on boats leaving the busy port. He worked his way up the ranks to the influential position of Governor of Fort St George, a British power base at Madras (now Chennai) in India. In his time as Governor (he held the position from 1725-1730), Macrae ‘acquired a handsome Estate’, and he returned to Britain a wealthy man in around 1731. In 1736 he was said to be laying out his fortune in ‘purchasing Lands’ and this included an estate at Monkton, near Ayr, which he called Orangefield in honour of William III – Macrae also funded the erection of a statue of William of Orange in Glasgow in 1735.

Four years after Macrae’s death in June 1744, work began on his monument. No records have been found to explain the planning behind the structure – there is no inscription and the architect is unknown. We don’t even know who commissioned the monument, although Macrae’s sole heir and executor the Countess of Glencairn, née Elizabeth Maguire, seems likely. Whilst there has been speculation that the structure was intended as Macrae’s mausoleum, his will simply requests that he be ‘decently buried’.

John Swan began work on the monument in 1748, but the near complete structure is recorded as having collapsed the following year before being rebuilt in 1750 (and this is corroborated by the discovery of damaged stone in the rubble infill during the restoration). This information, the only early history of the monument the Flâneuse can find, is recorded in the second volume of James Paterson’s History of Ayr, published in 1852, and all later descriptions of the fine monument rely on his account.

A century after it was built surveyors mapping the county of Ayrshire noted ‘Macrae’s Monument’ as a ‘very prominent object’ (earlier maps simply mark the structure as ‘Monument’). It is unsurprising then that in the second half of the nineteenth century it was used as a landmark for the hunt, with many reports of the hounds and their prey racing by. Robert Bryden (1865-1939) took this view in 1912, and by that date the monument was ‘in a rather dilapidated condition’, although no major issues can be seen in his fine etching.

In 1967 an officer from the National Monuments Record of Scotland visited the site. He wrote that the ‘small pylonic monument’ was ‘well executed’ and noted the maritime motifs which featured on the four faces. There was however ‘considerable decay of the stonework’, although some repointing was underway when he visited.

These motifs include a shell, dolphins, a stylised castellated building on a rock, a trident and an anchor. Mr Hay’s detailed investigation of the monument took longer than expected, with an added delay caused by his Land Rover getting stuck in a stony patch. Disgruntled and hungry, he finished his report with the note ‘No lunch’.

The tower continued to decay, and by the end of the twentieth century it was in a most precarious condition, having been damaged in a storm. The monument was restored in the early years of the current century under the auspices of the Three Towers Trust working with Ayr-based ARPL Architects. There was strong support from the landowner, Glencara Estates, and from the local community, as well as funding from Historic Environment Scotland and the Heritage Lottery Fund. The obelisk had to be taken down to enable the rebuilding of the square base, and the shaft was re-erected once that had been consolidated.

Macrae was buried in Monkton churchyard, but no stone marks the spot (although a modern headstone records that he is interred somewhere in the churchyard). The story is told locally that a group of Macrae’s friends, in high spirits after a two-day drinking spree, exhumed his body from the churchyard and re-interred it in the newly-completed monument. Human remains of four adults and two children were found in the monument during the restoration work, but were thought to be of a later date. Like much else about the monument, the identity of those whose remains were found remains a mystery.

In the jet-setting 1940s Macrae’s former estate became home to Prestwick Airport, with the mansion as its centrepiece – Orangefield is probably the only country house to end its days with an air traffic control tower plonked on its roof. The building is sadly no more.

The monument (upgraded to Category A in 1994), was once a distant landmark, but is now on the edge of a new housing estate and is easy to reach from the road named…

The Flâneuse thanks Susan Kellerman for sharing her research into the monument, undertaken at the time of its restoration. Thanks also to Peter Drummond, of Peter Drummond Architects. Peter was part of the ARLP team at the time of the restoration.

UPDATE: thanks to John Malaiperuman for the fascinating observation that the monument echoes the tower and spire of the church of St Mary at Fort St George, a building that Macrae would have known well.

This is the 400th post to be published after 8 years of the Folly Flâneuse. Thank you for reading!

Late in the eighteenth century, the Grant family lost their livelihood in their native Scotland and set out to find work in the rapidly developing industries of Lancashire. Pausing to rest on their journey they admired the ‘beautiful valley’ of the River Irwell, which reminded them of Speyside. Decades later they bought the ground, and erected this tower to commemorate that moment.

William Grant (1769-1842) recounted this history in a letter of 1839. He told how he found work in Bury, historically Lancashire but now Greater Manchester, and with his brothers became ‘very successful’ in the textile business (the ‘rags to riches’ story of the brothers is said to have inspired the characters the Cheeryble brothers in Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens). In 1827 the family added the Park Estate to their considerable land holdings, and there, as Grant wrote, they erected a ‘monument to commemorate my father’s first visit to the valley’. Almost immediately the building became known as ‘Grant’s Tower’.

The architect is not known, and few early descriptions of the tower can be found, but we can assume that the Grants used the tower as a belvedere and party venue. There were wedding festivities at John Grant’s Nuttall Hall in 1848 and banners were hoisted on Grant’s Tower, high above the house (Nuttall Hall was demolished in 1952 and the grounds are now a public park).

The public were initially invited to visit on set days, but by 1892 it was open daily and a popular destination for picnic parties. Refreshments were available, and no doubt picture postcards were also sold – many different views of the tower were in circulation.

In the early years of the twentieth century the tower could be discovered in many kitchens  as it featured on the label of a ‘delicious relish’ called Tower Sauce. Manufactured by Scott & Rosse of Bury, this condiment could, if one believed the advertisements, aid digestion, produce an appetite and ‘please every palate’.

It is first mentioned in newspaper ads in 1904, and the marketing department hit their stride in 1905 when a housewife could send the company three one penny stamps and in return receive a free sample of the sauce and six picture postcards. The cards were ‘guaranteed to be free from advertisements’ – were they perhaps views of the tower?

By 1911 the tower was ‘showing signs of neglect’ and in 1914 the interior of the tower was said to be in a ‘ruinous condition’. There were plans to repair the ‘famous Lancashire landmark’, but the outbreak of the First World War meant that plans were shelved.

Around 1940, with another war underway, Ramsbottom Urban Council began negotiations with the tower’s owner, Sir Peter Lawson, to take control of the tower as soon as the hostilities were over. No agreement was reached, and soon after the tower was closed to the public as unsafe. In September 1944, when ‘Ramsbottom’s weather beaten landmark’ collapsed, the local paper reported that this ‘did not come as a big surprise’. The more dangerous walls of the truncated tower were demolished, and only the roofless lower storey was left standing.

In 2017 Bury Council granted the owner of the tower (it had by now changed hands) permission to repair and reroof the remains of the tower to prevent any further damage to the interior. The renovated remains can be seen from the public footpath that passes the tower.

The Flâneuse would be delighted to hear from you – the comments box is at the bottom of the page if you would like to share any thoughts. If you would like a complimentary folly story in your inbox each week please see below. Thank you for reading.

In 1823 the Rev. Oliver Raymond was instituted into the Rectory of Middleton, a village which although very near Sudbury in Suffolk, just sneaks over the boundary into Essex. On 9 November 1841, Queen Victoria gave birth to her first son, Albert Edward (the future Edward VII). Almost immediately he was given the title Prince of Wales, and Raymond marked the occasion by planting an avenue of trees which became known as the Prince of Wales Avenue.

Partway along the avenue Raymond (1794-1889) erected a ‘handsome entrance gate’ of brick and flint, inset with older carved stone which is thought to have been salvaged from local church rebuilding projects. The fragments carry a star, emblem of the De Veres of Hedingham Castle, so the stone is said to have been salvaged from a church under their patronage, but no firm evidence has yet been found.

Around the arch is the inscription: PLANTED BY OLIVER RAYMOND LLB RECTOR OF THIS PARISH IX NOV MDCCCXLI THE DAY OF HRH THE PRINCES BIRTH.

By the time Barbara Jones saw it in the middle of the twentieth century, the arch had become a picturesque ruin. It is not clear if this was as a result of natural decay or of vandalism, but the arch was certainly the haunt of those intent on carving their names in the stone, with graffiti evident today from within the first decades of the arch being completed.

Raymond remodelled his parish church of All Saints and improved the graveyard. In September 1853, a newspaper report likened the burial ground to a ‘miniature Pere-la-Chaise‘. Raymond had apparently removed years of accumulated soil and trimmed back the overgrown cypresses and laurels to create a park-like setting.

A contemporary poem entitled ‘Middleton Church-Yard’, questioned why a burial ground should only display ’emblems drear to view’, and praised the planting of flowers at Middleton:

Then there let many a flower unclose
Its blossom to the Spring,
There let the Lily and the Rose
Round them their odours fling.

Raymond had built a new rectory, in white brick, where he and his family lived. The rooms were hung with a number of works by Raymond and his family, and he also built up a substantial art collection of Old Masters and works by contemporary artists, including local boys Thomas Gainsborough and John Constable.

In 1853 the ‘picturesque little church’ and the rectory were described as amongst the ‘most attractive objects in [the] neighbourhood’. Two decades later a visitor wrote that ‘around this bijou of a church Mr Raymond has lived to see noble oaks arise, planted by his own hand, and vistas flourish, looking over a great extent of country’.

Church and rectory were approached along a drive which curved past an ‘ornamental sheet of water’, seen in the engraving above. In Raymond’s own words, the view from the rectory across the pool was ‘unusually imposing and picturesque’.

In January 1881, in ‘blinding sleet’, a cab driver swerved on the Rectory’s drive and skidded onto the frozen pool, where the ice gave way. The driver and horse were rescued, but the partially submerged vehicle had to be hauled out the following day.

Raymond quickly erected a string of pedestals by the lake, each topped with an urn and connected by iron fence-panels.

One pedestal carries a carved inscription reading CAVE STAGNUM – beware of the pond. A ‘time-stained’ notice, in which Raymond explained his actions, was reportedly discovered by a workman in the 1950s: it read ‘To prevent a future accident of the kind this Barrier was erected by Oliver Raymond, L.L.B., R.D. Rector of the Parish of Middleton, Essex, February 17 1881. GOD save the Queen!’.

Raymond died in 1889, having lived in Middleton as curate from 1818 and then as Rector from 1823. His children erected a new reredos in the church in memory of his seventy years as priest in the parish.

The rectory is today a private home but the church and pool can be seen. The arch stands on a public footpath across the field from the lane leading to the church. Remnants of the avenue survive.

The Rev. Oliver Raymond was a younger son of the Raymonds of nearby Belchamp Hall, where another curious arch was erected and architectural fragments were reused.

Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and further information are always welcome. The comments box is at the foot of the page –  a reminder that only your name will be published and your contact details remain private.

Close to the border between Wales and England stands a simple, but elegant, stone tower. It was built in the early nineteenth century, but was later abandoned and left to decay. It was renovated in the 1980s, and again more recently, and is now a lofty holiday let.

The tower is actually in Herefordshire, but its postal address is Hay-on-Wye which is just over the border in Wales. It was built in the park of an estate called ‘The Moor’, which in the 1820s was home to the extravagantly-named Francis Rigby Brodbelt Stallard Penoyre – the family name being extended in 1824 as a condition of an inheritance.

Architect George Phillips Manners (1789-1866) remodelled the house at The Moor in the 1820s, and is thought also to have designed the tower. The original purpose is unknown: the Historic England listing suggests it was a water tower, but if so it must have doubled as an eye-catcher and belvedere. It is marked simply as ‘Tower’ on the first Ordnance Survey maps in the 1880s.

The house at The Moor was let to tenants in the later nineteenth century, and occupied by the United States Army during the Second World War. In peace time it was considered too large to be used as a family home and, when an institutional use could not be found, it was demolished in the 1950s. The tower was not maintained, and by 1964, as the photo’ above shows, it had fallen into desuetude.

Some years later the Penoyre family offered it to John Nankivell, an artist and friend, for the sum of one pound a year, subject to him renovating the ‘gutted’ structure. Work was described as ‘almost complete’ in 1989 after Nankivell had fitted out the tower with architectural salvage, including ironwork from a hotel in Ilfracombe and doors from a convent in Wantage.

Early this century the tower reverted to the family, and in 2018 work began to restore the tower as a holiday let. The London-based practice MICA was commissioned to create completely new interior spaces, and even ‘squeezed in an extra floor’ to give more space. Jenkinson Builders of Brecon carried out the work, which was completed in 2021.

A little distance from the tower stands an obelisk which would have been visible from the tower, but is now masked by mature trees. This was once one of a pair, but as a photograph taken in 1964 shows one column had fared better than the other, and that in the foreground collapsed soon after this picture was taken. The story is told that the obelisks were built to create employment at a time of need, with the stone being collected from nearby fields.

In the 1950s Barbara Jones noted ‘fragments of a tablet’ inscribed ‘B.S. Penoyre’ and dated 1826 at the foot of one of the obelisks, and concluded that they were built by Anna Maria Brodbelt in memory of her father, Francis Rigby Brodbelt Stallard Penoyre. However her father was still alive, if failing in health, in 1826 (he died in January 1827) so either Jones misread the date or another explanation is still to be found.

The tower and surviving obelisk are both listed at Grade II.

The Moor Tower is available to book via this link. There is no general public access to the tower or obelisk.

You can read more about the restoration project by clicking here.

There’s a short illustrated article on John Nankivell’s time at the tower in an early edition of Follies, the magazine of the Folly Fellowship. Thanks to a superb digitisation project you can read it here.

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Blagdon Hall stands close to the former Great North Road, a few miles north of Newcastle upon Tyne. At the end of the lake stands a circle of Doric columns known as The Temple. The columns were first erected as part of a rotunda ,with an unusual domed roof, at Heaton Hall, on the edge of Newcastle. Part of the grounds of Heaton Hall later became a public park, but when it looked as if the Temple was going to be a drain on corporation funds, it was removed to Blagdon in around 1937.

Matthew Ridley (1711-1778) of Heaton Hall was a successful businessman and represented Newcastle as mayor and as Member of Parliament. He succeeded his father to Heaton Hall in 1739, by which date the ‘beautiful house’ already stood amongst avenues, gardens and a wilderness. Ridley added a new stone front to the existing brick mansion, with towers at the corners and by 1766 Heaton Hall was noted by Sir Roger Newdigate as a ‘well looking house with round Towers at each End sashd & modern’ (confirming that the house was remodelled by Matthew Ridley, and not by his son Sir Matthew White Ridley in the 1770s as has previously been stated). An account in 1787 confirms that the architect of the new front was William Newton of Newcastle.

Ridley must also have been laying out his grounds in the then fashionable natural style: the park was described in 1769 as planted with ‘small clumps of young forest-trees’ (there is a tantalising mention of the landscape designer Richard Woods leaving Harewood in Yorkshire to visit ‘Mr Ridley’ in Northumberland in 1765). The watercolour below shows that there was a vista through a plantation to the Temple as a distant eye-catcher when approaching the estate.

The Temple probably also dates from this period of improvements. It is described as a ‘tempiato’ in Wallis’s The Natural History and Antiquities of Northumberland… of 1769, and in the 1770s William Beilby painted it for the Duchess of Northumberland’s album of views. It may also be the work of William Newton, although no evidence is known to survive.

Sadly no trace survives of some ‘mock ruins’ built by Ridley ‘as ornamental objects from Heaton Hall’. This folly, also extant by 1769, stood on an eminence at nearby Byker and as well as being an object from Heaton Hall, it gave a ‘most extensive prospect’ of the town of Newcastle and the shipping on the Tyne.

The Ridleys left Heaton in the middle of the nineteenth century, and the estate became home to the Potter family. In 1878 Addison Potter sold part of the pleasure grounds to the Corporation of Newcastle for use as a public park – this portion included the ‘ornamental temple-like building’, which was one of the first things to be seen when entering the new park via the South Gate. The Gardeners’ Chronicle magazine liked how the corporation had conserved the pleasure garden ‘very much as it was as a residential place’. Picture postcards show the Temple at the top of a slope, with steps rising through a rockery, although it is not clear if this was created by the Potter family or if it is a later landscaping by the Parks department.

In 1932 the Potters sold Heaton Hall, and the remainder of its ground, to a firm of builders. Under the headline ‘The End of Heaton Hall’ the local paper announced that the hall would be razed and the land developed for housing.

Meanwhile, the Temple in the park was not being kept in good repair and in December 1936 a corporation working group discussed its future. The councillors were divided, with some wishing to see its immediate demolition and others keen that it should be repaired. By that date Viscount Ridley of Blagdon (the viscountcy was created in 1900) had already been consulted, and had agreed to take the columns if the Temple was to be pulled down. The vote was won 4:3 in favour of keeping the Temple, but by autumn 1937 no action had been taken and it was roped off from the public and declared unsafe. Contractors were called in to give estimates for taking the structure down and re-erecting it at Blagdon – a deal must have been struck and the columns were moved the few miles to Blagdon. History does not seem to record what happened to the domed roof, but the columns form a charming eye-catcher at the head of the lake.

Blagdon Hall is a private home but the gardens open for charity on a few days each year. You can find forthcoming dates here.

Heaton Park, with adjoining parks along the valley of the Ouse Burn, is a Grade II registered public park and is freely accessible.

The Flâneuse is grateful to Dr Michael Cousins for sharing his transcript of the travel diary of Sir Roger Newdigate. Thanks also to Fiona Green for sharing her research into Heaton Park and to Richard Pears for information on Blagdon Hall.

Thank you for reading. As ever your thoughts or observations are very welcome. The comments box can be found at the foot of the page.

In 1857 an anonymous article appeared in The Builder magazine under the title Architectural “Follies”. The author used the word ‘architectural’ to distinguish from examples of folly in literature and art: he thought there were far too many books with an eccentric choice of subject, and that there were many follies ‘perpetuated on canvas’. Sadly, he failed to develop this theme, and the reader is left wondering what exactly he had in mind (the Flâneuse is making the assumption that at this date a journalist writing for a building trade magazine was almost certainly male). Happily, he was a little more forthcoming when he moved on to follies of the built variety.

The ‘Chinese bridges and temples of George III’ were confirmed as architectural follies in his mind, as was George IV’s Pavilion at Brighton.

His next two examples were recent additions to the streets of London. Today we would consider them monuments, but to the writer they were the very height of folly. The first was an equestrian statue of the Duke of Wellington in London, which he described as ‘an undoubted architectural folly’. More than one statue of the military hero, atop his horse, Copenhagen, could be found in London, but the author is probably referring to the colossal bronze by Matthew Cotes Wyatt that was hoisted onto the Wellington Arch in 1846. Our writer was not alone in disliking the vast statue, which was thought out of proportion to the arch. When the gateway was moved in 1883 to enable road-widening, the statue was taken down and, after much debate in the House of Lords, moved to a new home in Aldershot.

The writer then makes a brief mention of the ‘never-to-be-forgotten monument once at King’s-cross’. The Flâneuse hadn’t forgotten it – she had never even heard of its fascinating history.

The building was erected in 1830 as a memorial to King George IV, and topped with a cheaply made and, according to the Illustrated London News, ‘very uncomplimentary effigy of majesty’. This shoddy statue (when seen at close range) survived only until 1842, and the whole structure was pulled down in 1845, having apparently served as both a pub and a police station, although presumably not at the same time.

Whilst conceding that many a folly is a picturesque object, the author disliked sham ruins, believing that they mislead the tourist who might sketch them ‘in the belief of their antiquity’ only to have ‘all feelings of romance or poetry’ dashed upon discovering they were follies.  He likened their disgust to that felt by Jonathan Oldbuck, the protagonist of Sir Walter’s Scott’s The Antiquary of 1816. Oldbuck, a gentleman who sees a lost settlement in every bump in a field, fights hard to regain his dignity when the ‘prætorium’ he describes to his guest is announced to be the ruins of a shelter built only twenty years earlier.

Curiously, the writer doesn’t name any actual sham ruins in his tirade, so here are two of the Flâneuse’s favourites, the castles at Balcarres in Fife and Wimpole in Cambridgeshire.

Our high-minded author thought money frittered on follies could be better spent on building schools or cottages, so that the ‘labourer would have felt that he was bestowing his handiwork on matters of utility’. One suspects that as long as he was being paid, the labourer wouldn’t really mind what he was constructing: it’s unlikely a workman ever downed tools in protest when offered several shillings to knock up a sham castle (and, of course, what the writer didn’t mention is that some sham ruins were erected to create jobs and an income for those in need).

The Flâneuse disagreed with many of the author’s assertions, but happily she was wholeheartedly in concordance with his conclusion that follies are ‘worthy of thought’. Indeed they are.

The mention of Oldbuck reminded the Flâneuse that The Antiquary must surely have influenced the builder of a folly tower at Horsmonden, in Kent, which was dedicated to Sir Walter Scott. You can read about the folly tower here.

There’s more information on the King’s Cross monument here.

Thanks for reading. The comments box is at the foot of the page if you would like to share any thoughts or information.