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 1956 John Betjeman’s poem ‘Lord Barton-Bendish’ was published in The Saturday Book, an annual anthology of words and pictures edited by John Hadfield. It told the tale of the eerie mausoleum of Lord Barton-Bendish – but neither baron nor burial place was real.

In December 1955 Betjeman (1906-1984) visited the ‘very pretty village’ of Letheringsett, in Norfolk. He met up with friends who included the Reverend C.L.S. Linnell, who was both vicar and historian of the parish church, and Wilhelmine ‘Billa’ Harrod, the writer and architectural conservationist. Linnell and Harrod were working together to compile the Shell Guide to Norfolk (Betjeman was the series editor).

At nearby Letheringsett Hall lived the 3rd Baron Cozens-Hardy (1873-1956) who according to the impertinent Betjeman was ‘in his dotage’ and part of a ‘very pompous’ family. In the village church Betjeman saw the monument to Cozens-Hardy’s father, Herbert Hardy Cozens-Hardy (1838-1920), Master of the Rolls, and 1st Baron Cozens-Hardy and it captured his imagination.

Betjeman invented a mausoleum in which Lord Cozens-Hardy might have spent his eternal rest – he had spotted a hilltop copse of trees in which he thought such a structure might stand. On his way home from Norfolk, on a ‘very cold train’, he composed a poem about the imaginary tomb, which begins:

Oh Lord Cozens-Hardy!
Your mausoleum is cold;
The dry brown grass is brittle
And frozen hard the mould.

Betjeman sent the poem to Billa, with his thanks for her hospitality. His Norfolk friends soon heard about the composition and the Revd Linnell was agog, writing to Betjeman ‘Oh, please, please let me see the verse’.

Betjeman submitted the poem to John Hadfield, editor of The Saturday Book. Hadfield liked the poem, and wanted to publish, but was understandably nervous about using the name Lord Cozens-Hardy. Betjeman consulted the vicar: was the poem libellous, would it cause grave offence to the family? The vicar’s response is not known to survive, but was presumably in the affirmative, so the poem appeared in The Saturday Book under the title ‘Lord Barton-Bendish’, with artist John Piper imagining how the mausoleum might have looked. There does not seem to be a record of why Barton Bendish was the chosen alternative: it is the name of a Norfolk village, nowhere near Letheringsett, and was presumably picked for its scansion and pleasing alliteration.

But Betjeman didn’t try very hard to disguise who the poem was about, and Letheringsett remained the setting. In what was a spectacular piece of mistiming, The Saturday Book was published in September 1956 and the 3rd Baron Cozens-Hardy died only a month later.

The poem was published under its original title of ‘Lord Cozens-Hardy’ in John Betjeman’s Collected Poems in 1958. Lord Cozens-Hardy’s family wrote to the publishers to ask that they might print a reply to refute the ‘creepy’ atmosphere of Betjeman’s poem: the poet described the ‘curious mausoleum’ as a sinister place which the villagers avoided after dark in case they encountered the ghost of Lord Barton-Bendish. Joan Silvester Horne, a member of the Cozens-Hardy family, did however exhibit a wonderful sense of humour by writing a pastiche of Betjeman’s poem. It began:

Oh my dear John Betjeman
Your poem is quite wrong…

Billa Harrod had been Betjeman’s hostess during his stay in Norfolk, and she too had advised Betjeman to change the name ‘in case of hurt feelings’. But there is a happy ending: in correspondence with the Norfolk author Peter Tolhurst, she wrote that Betjeman was later forgiven, and the Cozens-Hardys became friends.

Letheringsett Hall is now a care home, and there is no longer the ‘butler and a footman’ that Betjeman’s poem imagined serving tea on the lawn. Instead, when the Folly Flâneuse visited a few years ago (as the Covid pandemic drew to a close), the garden was occupied by the residents enjoying a rather jolly al fresco performance of Abba’s greatest hits.

Some sources claim that a copy of the poem, signed by Betjeman, can be seen on the wall of the Kings Head in the village. The Flâneuse couldn’t find it, and enquiring as to its whereabouts she was met with a shrug and a ‘John who? Never heard of him’.

The Flâneuse is indebted to W.S. Peterson’s John Betjeman: A Bibliography (2006).

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

The Flâneuse is taking a short break and will be back in two weeks.

As part of Bradford 2025 UK City of Culture a new landscape ornament has appeared on an elevated spot above the little town of Haworth, best known as the home of the Brontë sisters. Creative Director Shanaz Gulzar commissioned four artists to create site-specific works for Penistone Hill Country Park. The project is called Wild Uplands as the artworks are sited on a lofty and lonely common (the wily, windy moors of Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights) that is only ten miles or so from busy Bradford.

County Durham-based artist Steve Messam has created The Tower, a 10 metre high arched structure clad in the raw fleeces of two breeds of sheep that can be found on the local hills: the Lonk and the Derbyshire Gritstone. In his own words Messam ‘draws inspiration from geology, cultural histories, and farming methods, to create installations that bring a sense of place to life’.

Messam’s work references both the importance of wool to the development of Bradford, and the very stone that was used to build the handsome stone town in the nineteenth century (it became a city in 1897). Close to The Tower is a former quarry, and abandoned blocks of stone can be seen scattered on the hillside.

The Tower is built of blocks of plywood and steel mesh around a steel and aluminium frame. The blocks are clad in the untreated fleeces, which echo the muted beiges and greys of the building stone from the quarry.

There’s an immersive sound walk that accompanies the artworks, created by Opera North, or you can just enjoy the ever-changing soundscape of the breeze rustling through the grass and (when the Flâneuse visited) the song of the meadow pipits.

Visitors can walk up to the four installations from Haworth village, or it’s a short level stroll from Penistone Hill car park. The temporary landmark can be seen until 12 October 2025 and there’s more information on the Tower and the other artworks here.

Thank you for reading. The comments box is in its usual spot at the foot of the page if you would like to share any thoughts.

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.

Early in 1789 Samuel Lacy, a military man, bought Salkeld Lodge near the village of Little Salkeld and not far from a very beautiful stretch of the River Eden. In the 1830s he built a new home across the river, which he called Eden Lacy. On both banks of the river he created caves and seats, all carved out of solid rock – the lovely red sandstone so characteristic of the Eden valley.

Little is known about Lacy (1766-1847) other than that he was born in Northumberland to what must have been a family of some wealth, for he was admitted to Queens’ College Cambridge as a Fellow-Commoner in 1785. After Cambridge he joined the army, ending his career as Lieutenant-Colonel in the Royal Cumberland Militia.

Records don’t seem to survive to give an exact date for the creation of the caves on the bank of the river, of which there are five in total. They were described as ‘lately scooped out and formed’ in 1836 and a map of 1841 shows ‘The Grotto’ in ‘Grotto Plantation’. Across the river from the caves, and also on Lacy’s land, is another curiosity – a table, and seats all carved out of the solid rock and known in the 19th century as ‘Benson’s Chairs’. There is no explanation for this name, although the Benson family were quarrymen in the Salkeld area, and may have worked the stone for Lacy.

The only early history of the caves discovered is anecdotal: the story is told that Lacy’s former batman was a deserter who came to Lacy for refuge. Instead of turning him in Lacy is said to have set him to work hollowing out the caves. More likely (but sadly without evidence) the projects might have provided work for men from Lacy’s regiment when they returned home from war, and were unable to find employment: such ‘job-creation’ schemes led to the Druid’s Temple on the Swinton estate, and the Three Stoops at Pateley Bridge, both in North Yorkshire. In 1883 it was admitted that no-one knew for ‘what purpose’ Lacy had the rock carved in such a way, and it was concluded that it must have been to ‘satisfy a mere whim’. Although marked on maps as the ‘Grotto’, the rocky chambers soon became know as the Lacy Caves, or Lacy’s Caves, after their creator.

The chambers are made all the more mysterious by the curious markings on the stone. These are apparently an ‘intense network of highly inclined veins of secondary silica in which the sand grains are bleached’ (thanks to the Cumbria GeoConservation website for that enlightenment).

Oh to have been by the Eden in March 1847 when the Kirkoswald Choir of Singers were rowed over to sing hymns in the sublime and sonorous setting of the caves. Colonel Lacy died only two months later, but hopefully he was present to hear the performance. Lacy’s heirs, his natural daughter Caroline Sanderson and later her son Samuel Lacy William Sanderson, continued to allow access to the estate on special occasions, although trespassers were not tolerated at other times. Throughout the 19th century Lacy Caves and Benson’s Chairs were the location of many a picnic party frequented by ‘young men and women with light hearts and smiling faces’. Brass bands played and there was dancing, refreshments and boating.

Also on Lacy’s land was the ancient stone circle called Long Meg and her Daughters, a site which in Lacy’s time was believed to be the work of Druids. A tale told in an 1857 guide to the county is that Lacy planned to blow up Long Meg, but just as the blast was about to be detonated ‘the slumbering powers of Druidism rose in arms against this violation of their sanctuary’ and a violent storm broke. The labourers fled for their lives and, as the story goes, Lacy never again meddled with Meg.

What makes this story seem unlikely is that Lacy appears to have had great respect for the ancient Druids. He incorporated acorns and a sprig of mistletoe into a reworked family crest, writing that he had chosen the design ‘from my being in possession of Long Meg’.

…and in 1832 he commissioned the artist Jacob Thompson (1806-1879) to paint a work called The Druids cutting down the Mistletoe, with Long Meg and her Daughters in the background.

Today Lacy’s Caves are a popular attraction and can be visited from the riverside path on walks from Little Salkeld or Long Meg (but see below). Benson’s Chairs are on private land and there is no public access.

The Eden valley is full of treats. Even the road signs were perfectly picturesque when the Folly Flâneuse visited in May 2023. At that date the footpath to Lacy’s Caves was closed because of flood damage, and the Flâneuse was unable to visit. Two years on, she decided to see what was happening: the footpath closed signs are still up, but the footpath closure notice has long since expired. Taking advice from the folly-spotter’s greatest resource – a friendly local walking their dog – the Flâneuse set off and the footpath is fine (in dry Spring conditions, at least) and there were plenty of walkers enjoying the route.

Thank you for reading. There’s a comments box at the foot of the page – the Flâneuse is always delighted to receive your thoughts and any further information.

In 1917 Tabley House was home to Cuthbert and Hilda Leicester-Warren and their children Margaret and John. That summer twelve year old Margaret and ten year old John made the folly tower, on a tiny island in the lake, their own private domain. On Saturday 7 July, with ‘due pomp and ceremony’, the tower was declared open for the season.

N.B. If you haven’t seen last week’s post you might want to catch up on the history of the tower here.

The family had a number of boats on the lake including a motor-launch called ‘Rainbow’ and a sailboat called the ‘Ark’. These vessels transported the family to the tower which was equipped with a ‘suitable supply of furniture, cups, saucers and plates’.

Formal invitations were sent to guests staying with their parents at Tabley House, requesting the pleasure of their company at the tower. Margaret (1905-1964) was the hostess on these occasions and styled herself the ‘Chatelaine of the Tower’. As John (1907-1975) wrote in 1918:

In the Boat we go to see
The Chatilaine [sic] who owns the key
Of the Tower on Tabley Lake
Then she gives us all a cake.

In the summer of 1918 the motor launch was out of action because of wartime petrol restrictions, so transport was only by the more ‘antiquated’ means of sail or oar.

Timetables for the boats to the lake were published to help guests make plans, and happily in 1919 the petrol restrictions were relaxed, and ‘Rainbow’ was back in action.

The visitors were invited to ascend to the rooftop viewing platform or perhaps try to catch a fish or two. After tea and cake was served they were asked to contribute to a visitor’s book called The Tower Book. Some praised the picnics (which sometimes included ‘excellent meat pies’) and others added poems or sketches.

One guest, T.W. Turner couldn’t resist mentioning his artist namesake, who had painted the tower a century earlier:

O lovely Tower, O limpid lake
For thee my feeble pen I take:-
See there the oaks and wavy beeches
Beautify the farthest reaches:
See here the sparkling wavelets beat
Upon the stones beneath one’s feet:
Right well might Turner near this spot
Call for pencils and paint pot.

In July 1920 Margaret was given a birthday present of a new tea service for use at the tower. The children kept the tower spick and span with a housekeeper’s box of brushes, and at the start of the 1921 season they ‘stained’ (painted) the upper room.

Sadly the book ends with the close of the 1921 season and we don’t know if the summer excursions to the tower were continued. Lord Bathurst contributed the final drawing to the book after a ‘turn round the lake’ with the children’s father in 1921.

Margaret was painted by Philip de Laszlo in 1927 when she was almost 22 and making her debut in society. Little brother John inherited the estate in 1954 and was the last member of the family to own Tabley. He had never married and hoped the National Trust would take on the estate after his death, but his offer was declined as there was no endowment to support the estate. In short, under the terms of Lieutenant Colonel John Leicester-Warren’s will the estate then passed to the University of Manchester.

The University of Manchester sold the wider estate, including the lake and tower, to the Crown Estate and sadly there is no public access. But you can see the house and artworks – see the Tabley House Collection website.

All images other than the portrait are taken from The Tower Book (D 5524/8/5) and are reproduced by kind permission of Cheshire Archives and Local Studies.

There’s a comments box at the foot of the page and your thoughts are always welcome. Thank you for reading.

In February 1992 the North Wales Weekly News carried its usual list of planning applications. Among them was an announcement that Bodysgallen Hall Hotel wished to convert a barn and stable into accommodation, and to erect a new ‘leisure building, tower folly and obelisk’. No objections were received, and permission was granted by Aberconwy Council.

In 1980 Bodysgallen Hall, former seat of the Mostyn and Wynn families, had become part of the small Historic House Hotels group, established by Richard Broyd. The house, gardens and estate buildings were restored, and Broyd wished to erect an obelisk as a ‘decorative asset to the landscape’. Plans were drawn up by his architect Eric Throssell, and both the stone and the stonemason, Henry Wilson, were local.

But as work got underway in autumn 1992 locals claimed that they hadn’t been properly informed of the plans, and a vociferous campaign was launched demanding that the Obelisk be demolished. There were genuine concerns, including that the planning officers had not realised that Ffrith Hill was a Site of Specific Scientific Interest.

But among the odder complaints was the fact that the Obelisk ‘dominated the landscape’ – a strange criticism as obelisks are not usually shy and retiring types, and generally prefer to hog the limelight on an eminence. Even more bizarre was the opponent who suggested that placing the Obelisk near the edge of a former quarry encouraged men to ‘urinate over the cliff into the garden of a house 150 feet below’. Reporting this in the local paper, a journalist suggested that such a feat would merit entry in the Guinness Book of Records requiring as it did a ‘jet of some 25 feet’.

Meanwhile Richard Broyd was adamant that the correct procedures had been followed and he was prepared to fight, telling the Daily Telegraph that ‘he who builds an obelisk has to defend it’.

In brief, the council began to get cold feet after the anti-obelisk campaigners made a complaint of maladministration, claiming the council should never have granted planning permission. Despite a barrister assuring the councillors that their decision was robust, and that Mr Broyd had followed the correct procedures, the Planning Committee voted to demolish the Obelisk. The matter then went to the full council and the proposal was defeated by just one vote. On 16 September 1993 the local paper ran the story under the succinct headline of ‘Obelisk is staying’.

There had been support for the Obelisk too, and some who had been concerned later admitted admiration for the completed structure, which stands 19.5 metres high. But some resentment remained, and there are locals who will tell you dark tales of a plot to blow the obelisk to pieces. Even now, some 30 years on, the structure seems destined never to be mentioned as anything but the ‘controversial obelisk’.

The Folly Flâneuse took the Uncouth Companion to Bodysgallen Hall as a birthday treat soon after the obelisk was completed (he having long since learned that such jaunts had one, or more, ulterior motives) and walked up to the Obelisk. The photo’s from that pre-digital age have long since faded away, but this little model of the Obelisk, bought at the hotel, sits in the study as a memento of the trip. And of course a return visit was required in order to snap the shots needed for this post.

In all of the fuss about the Obelisk the little Gothic Tower, designed in the same period, has been overlooked. A sham ruin sits on raised ground in the woodland, and a climb up to the rooftop viewing platform reveals why this site was chosen. There’s lovely vista to the obelisk  – the only spot in the gardens from where it can be seen.

Richard Broyd had always intended that his hotel group would pass to the National Trust, and for all profits to benefit the charity. The three properties (the others being Middlethorpe Hall near York and Hartwell House near Aylesbury) were handed over in 2008.

Pabo Bach, once home to one of the most vocal objectors to the obelisk, is now a holiday cottage where you can enjoy dramatic views of the former quarry with the obelisk perched on the precipice.

The Obelisk can be seen from the A55 and the Royal Welsh Way leading into Llandudno, as well as from across the estuary in Conwy, and there is public access. The Gothic Tower may only be seen by guests at Bodysgallen Hall Hotel.

For Bodysgallen Hall and the other Historic House Hotels see https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/holidays/hotels/historic-house-hotels

For Pabo Bach see https://www.holidaycottages.co.uk/cottage/93622-pabo-bach

Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and recollections are always welcome – please scroll down to the comments box to get in touch. Only your name will appear, your contacts details remain private. 

In 1934 a local paper published a ‘Cleveland Ramble’ featuring a walk around Kirkleatham village. The author looked across the park to the ‘elaborate castellated pigeon-cote’ which was described as a ‘startling example’ of the extravagant ‘pseudo Gothic craze’ of the later 18th century. Only a couple of decades after this account was published the castellations were gone, and the pigeon cote was cracked and crumbling, and soon to disappear.

In 1808 Kirkleatham was praised for both its ‘various natural beauties’ and the ‘many decorations art has furnished it with’. The pigeon cote was one of the most striking of these ornaments, with a circular central tower and linking walls radiating out to three smaller turrets. Sadly no images of the folly before it began its decline have been found, but the Ordnance Survey maps illustrate the unusual plan.

The building’s early history seems to be lost, and although a document in the family archive cross-references an account book for work on the estate, that ledger does not seem to survive. The pigeon cote was most likely commissioned by Charles Turner (1726-1783), who lived at Kirkleatham after his father inherited the estate in 1757. No architect is named, although John Carr of York, who remodelled the house at Kirkleatham in the 1760s, is a possible contender. We do have a terminus post quem for the pigeon cote of around 1775, as it is not shown on an estate map of 1774.

The Kirkleatham estate passed through various families until the middle of the 20th century. The contents were then dispersed and, after attempts to find a use failed, the fabric of Kirkleatham Hall was auctioned as building materials in 1954.

Although promises were made to protect the historic structures on the estate, the pigeon cote and temple, admired by the 1934 rambler as an ‘exquisite little pavilion’, survived for less than a decade before they too were pulled down. The arable field surrounding the pigeon cote now covers the site of the building, with not a trace remaining above ground.

Happily there are still many reasons to visit Kirkleatham. The Free School of 1709 houses the Kirkleatham Museum, and the almshouses called Turner’s Hospital and the church with its adjoining Turner Mausoleum are both fascinating structures (there’s limited public access to the interiors, but they can be admired from the footpath).

The walled garden has been restored and continues to develop, and a wander around the village reveals the elegant stables and a number of other fascinating structures – look out for information boards and maps around the village. Here’s a taster…

Thanks to David Winpenny for introducing me to the archive of Peter Burton’s photographs. Burton (1927-2014) took many of the images which illustrated the Shell Guides that were produced in the mid-20th century. Burton was commissioned to write the North Yorkshire volume by the editorial team of John Piper and John Betjeman, but the project was cancelled before he could complete his research. He eventually published his material as North Yorkshire: a Guide in 2006. Thanks also to Burton’s friend and fellow photographer Harland Walshaw for permission to use images from the collection.

For the Kirkleatham Walled Garden https://kirkleathamwalledgarden.co.uk

And for more on the Kirkleatham Museum https://redcarcleveland.co.uk/enjoy/kirkleatham-museum/

Comments are most welcome – scroll down to share any thoughts. Thank you for reading.

On a rocky stretch of shore at Achmelvich, in the remote Assynt district on the west coast of Scotland, is a little concrete structure. Built in the early 1950s, it is known today as the Hermit’s Castle and the tale is told that having erected a shelter in the form of miniature fortress, the builder spent only one night under its roof.

In fact locals remembered the builder as a sociable man rather than a hermit. His name was David Scott and he was apparently an architect from Norwich who loved this part of Scotland and ‘expressed a desire to build a retreat in keeping with the mood of the coast and mountains’. Scott built the curious structure as a bothy where he could spend the night after walking on the coast and sketching local scenes, and he saw the project as both a ‘practical exercise and artistic endeavour’. He carried the materials to the shore himself and furnished the interior with a stone bed, shelves for basics, and most importantly a fireplace for warmth. Scott is remembered as a frequent visitor in subsequent years.

Scott continued to keep in touch with villagers in the tiny hamlet of Achmelvich for some years after work took him to Norway and Greenland, but then the letters stopped and locals were left to wonder what had happened to the striking bearded figure who had become part of their community.

He had apparently left by 1956 when a visitor was taken to see the ‘hermit’s hut’ by a local boy. The boy explained that the hermit had spent many weeks hauling materials to the site, and had then spent a whole winter living in the structure. When the hermit moved on, the boy recounted, he left the key with the local crofters and asked them to let anyone who needed shelter use his former abode.

In the 1980s Gordon Bryan interviewed Achmelvich residents who wanted to ‘put the record straight’ as newspapers were repeating the inaccurate story that Scott only spent one night in the bothy. Bryan’s article about ‘One Man’s Castle’ was published in The Scot’s Magazine in 1986: it is an invaluable source for the true history of the curious coastal cabin, and one which the Folly Flâneuse gratefully acknowledges as her main source. Bryan ended by asking if any readers knew what became of David Scott, but there does not appear to have been any response.

The so-called Hermit’s Castle has been featured by the crime novelist Val McDermid. Inspired by the poet Norman MacCaig, who spent much time in the area and featured it in his work, McDermid visited Assynt. In her 2017 short story ‘Ancient and Modern’ her characters stumble across the incongruous ‘miniature fortress’:

‘Then we crested a shoulder of hillside and both stopped in our tracks. Ahead of us, on the edge of the cliff above a steep-backed inlet in the promontory was something so unexpected I wondered if I was hallucinating it. But a quick glance at Alan’s face told me he could see it too’

McDermid also featured the bothy in her 2004 novel The Torment of Others and in her 2019 book My Scotland.

The beach at Achmelvich is one of the recommended stops just off the North Coast 500, the popular circular driving tour of northern Scotland. This has brought more visitors to Achmelvich (although the Flâneuse expects many visitors leave without finding the bothy), and yet more repetitions of the myth that Scott was a recluse who only spent one night in Achmelvich, so it is good to once more put the record straight.

It is now almost 40 years since Bryan appealed for information about this fascinating man and his sui generis structure. The flâneuse’s more recent research has also drawn a blank (top marks to the librarian at the National Association of Norwegian Architects for replying to an email in under an hour). So over to you: if by chance you do know anything about an architect called David Scott, who practised in Norwich, loved Scotland, and worked at Dounreay power station and in Norway and Greenland, do please get in touch.

Val McDermid’s short story is from a collection called Bloody Scotland published by Historic Environment Scotland in 2017. ‘Ancient and Modern’ was published in the i newspaper and you can read it here https://inews.co.uk/culture/books/ancient-modern-val-mcdermid-short-story-bloody-scotland-crime-fiction-86913

The bothy is not listed, but it is on Historic Environment Scotland’s Buildings At Risk Register. It is marked on some map apps, but if you visit do just wander and get a little lost before you find it and enjoy the thrill of the chase.

After perhaps a little too much festive frowsting by the fire, the Folly Flâneuse is back in action. Best wishes to all readers for a fun, fit and folly-filled 2024.

Thank you for reading and please scroll down to the comments box at the bottom of the page to share any thoughts or further information.

Just over the river Ure from the market town of Masham is this unusual rotunda sitting on top of a rustic grotto. It was designed to take advantage of the view over the river to the church and the attractive little town. An engraved stone near the temple tells us that in 1770 ‘Samuel Wrather built this grotto’.

Samuel Wrather (1727-1806) was a wool-stapler of Masham. In 1773 he married Miss Spence, a ‘young lady of merit and fortune’, and he died in 1806 ‘at an advanced age universally respected’. He was succeeded by his son, Samuel junior (c.1778-1854), who is best known today as the owner of Nutwith, the champion racehorse bred by his late brother, which won the St Leger in 1843. The family had a small estate at Beggars Bush, in nearby Grewelthorpe, and also owned property in Masham town.

The early history of the Grotto Temple is unclear, and apart from the stone near the building there is little to go on. Late 18th century maps show that Samuel Wrather owned the strip of land now called Grotto Plantation, but the Grotto Temple itself is not marked.

The earliest image of the Grotto Temple found to date shows it as the property of Samuel Wrather junior. An engraving after a sketch by the artist George Cuitt (1779-1854), who moved to Masham in 1821, was made in 1837. It was published a year later in a fashionable pocket diary called Le Souvenir, or Pocket Tablet and captioned ‘Temple in the Grounds of S. Wrather, Masham’.

The 1st edition Ordnance Survey map, published in 1859, shows the structure as ‘Pavilion’, within woodland called ‘Grotto Plantation’. At that date there was no house nearby, suggesting that this was a detached pleasure ground (another unnamed building and bridges over a stream can be seen on the map), perhaps to be visited by the ferry which crossed the river not far away. There was certainly inspiration nearby: Hackfall, the famed woodland landscape with buildings created by William Aislabie of Studley in the 1750s and 60s, did not have a principal house attached and is only a short distance away.

A rare lithograph of the pavilion, of which only one copy has been traced, attests to its lost fame. It was published by C. M. Dydynski in around 1850 and was inserted into an extra-illustrated copy of Thomas Dunham Whitaker’s Richmondshire in the collection of Leeds Libraries. Extra-illustration, or Grangerisation, was a fashionable hobby in which prints and original sketches were interleaved into a text to enhance the content. The process took its name from the clergyman and print collector James Granger (1723-1776) who published a biographical history and encouraged readers to embellish it with engraved portraits of his subjects.

The Grotto Temple then featured on a number of picture postcards which were probably produced for the tourists who arrived after the opening of the branch line to Masham in 1875: visitors would have passed the grotto grounds on their way from the station to the town.

Sometime between 1890 and 1905, a house was built which took its name from the existing pleasure grounds: ‘The Grotto’. In the 1910s it was home to Arthur Atkinson, a haulage contractor, but by 1921 it had been renamed ‘The Greens’ and was home to the Burrill family. The engraved stone by the pavilion records that Edward Burrill restored the Grotto Temple in 1935, perhaps in preparation for the wedding of his daughter Lucy in 1936, when the reception was held at The Greens.

A fleeting mention of the ‘grotto in the plantation’ can be found in local novelist and writer Mary Elizabeth Stevenson’s guide to Masham, published in 1919. On Summer Roads in Mashamshire suggests rambles for the visitor to the area, including a walk from Masham town over the bridge towards the weir (since destroyed) to appreciate the views of the church from across the river.

Mrs Stevenson (1853-1935)  introduces the interesting idea that the grotto was a favoured viewpoint of the artist Julius Caesar Ibbetson (1759-1817), who settled in Masham in 1805. Stevenson wrote that Ibbetson painted ‘many fine views of the Church from this side [of the river]’, and this 1816 view certainly looks to have been taken from within the Grotto Plantation (Stevenson would have known the history of this painting, for it had hung above the fireplace in her childhood home overlooking the Market Place in Masham). The Ibbetson and Wrather families were friends, and in September 1813 they and a party of friends spent a day sketching before partaking of ‘tea and syllabub’ at Wrather’s Beggars Bush home.

Sadly the current condition gives great cause for concern: the pavilion’s pretty roof, with its wide overhanging eaves, has fallen and the grotto is overgrown. The structure is not listed and therefore has little protection, an omission that should be rectified urgently. But see below…

Grotto Plantation is private property and there is no public access, but the Grotto Temple can be seen through the trees from a public footpath.

UPDATE JULY 2026 the grotto, pavilion and terrace have been listed at grade II  There’s more here

Huge thanks to Alison Brayshaw and Gail Falkingham for their help in compiling the history of the Grotto Pavilion. There are still gaps in our knowledge – do get in touch if you can help.

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