Earsham Hall stands near Bungay in Suffolk, but is actually just over the county boundary and in Norfolk. In the later years of the eighteenth century it was home to William Windham and within the grounds stood this elegant classical pavilion, which terminated a vista. It was originally built as a greenhouse, but in 1784 the architect Sir John Soane was asked to convert the building, which had a front ‘enriched with columns, niches and other ornaments’, into a ‘music-room’.

Arriving at Earsham in August 1784, John Soane quickly sketched out the proposed alterations to the greenhouse. Windham (c.1706-1789) must have been happy with the new design as the masons were quickly instructed to start work.

Soane published a section of the building in his Plans, Elevations and Sections of Buildings Erected in the Counties of Norfolk, Suffolk, Yorkshire, Staffordshire, Warwickshire, Hertfordshire et caetera [sic] of 1778. Plate XLV shows the interior and the text gives a comprehensive picture of the Music Room when work was complete: ‘The ceiling is highly finished with stucco ornaments in compartments, as are also the circular ends; the walls are stuccoed and decorated with paintings in chiaros oscuro and other enrichments. The chimney-piece is of white marble, and the floor is paved; it being with the possessor to have the building as elegant as possible.’ The paintings are gone, and the fire surround removed, but the beautiful plasterwork and paved floor survive.

Frustratingly, Soane’s published description is ambiguous – he notes that the building was ‘intended for a greenhouse, and completed for that purpose’. Was the greenhouse also a Soane design, or is it the work of another architect? Soane did not publish an elevation of the building, suggesting it was not his work. Greater minds than the Flâneuse have failed to reach a conclusion, although all can agree that the building we see today is an absolute delight.

The estate was maintained into the early years of the twentieth century, with the gardens, then owned by Captain Meade, being opened for fetes and flower shows. Regular readers will know that the Flâneuse loves a diversion, so she was intrigued to discover that one of the ‘well-known floriculturalists’ who exhibited was Mr H. Rider Haggard, better known as the author of adventure stories. In the 1940s the estate was dispersed, with the house being sold to a school. Captain Meade retained ownership of the Music Room, which gradually disappeared inside an overgrown shrubbery.

In 1953 Ian Nairn, soon to become admired as a journalist and broadcaster, was an RAF officer stationed in Norfolk. During flights he looked out for anything of architectural interest: spotting the pavilion from the air, he returned to explore on foot. He shared his find with Dorothy Stroud, the ‘Inspectress’ of the Sir John Soane Museum in London, and she included the Music Room in her article on Soane’s early works published in the Architectural Review in 1957 (as Gillian Darley has noted, Miss Stroud did not acknowledge Nairn’s discovery). It was probably at the instigation of Nairn and/or Stroud that the National Buildings Record commissioned photos of Earsham in 1954, showing that the building was then being used as a rather elegant junkroom.

One of the Directing Editors of the Architectural Review was Nikolaus Pevsner. In 1959 he visited Earsham to see the Music Room and, having fought his way through the shrubbery to reach the building, he described it as ‘going to rack and ruin’. Concerned for the future of the building, he suggested it might find a new home at Portmeirion, the Welsh village where Clough Williams-Ellis was rehousing architectural waifs and strays. The elegant garden building was described by Pevsner as a ‘little gem’ and a ‘peach for Portmeirion’, but before any further action could be taken the building was listed at grade I in December 1959, ending any question of moving the structure.

The school closed in 1973 and a few years later Earsham Hall became home to the Derham family. The house is their home, and they run a number of businesses from the former stables and ancillary buildings.

The Music Room remained with the Meade family, and in the 1990s work began to convert it into a holiday let. Renovation was not fully complete when the buildings, adjacent workshops in various stages of conversion, together with the overgrown kitchen garden, were brought to the market by Savills. Happily the Derham family was the purchaser, and the properties have been reunited with the house, offices and pleasure grounds.

The house and gardens are private, but open for occasional tours. The courtyard is home to an antiques centre, shops and tearooms and you can glimpse the house as you drive in. Their is currently no public access to the Music Room, but the plan is for it to be available as a holiday rental in due course: the Flâneuse is grateful to the Derham family for permission to see this gorgeous garden ornament. You can read more about the businesses and special events at Earsham Hall here.

Williams-Ellis missed out on a second music pavilion. In 1957 it was suggested that the facade of the Music Room in Lancaster might find a home at Portmeirion. Happily, that too was saved to remain in situ, and it now houses a Landmark Trust apartment, with magnificent plasterwork in the principal room.

Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are welcome, as is further information. Please scroll down to the comments box to get in touch.

Overlooking the village of Braunton, in North Devon, a ‘prominent church-like’ tower was once a landmark on the heights of East Hill. It was however ‘less ecclesiastical’ than it looked, being a belvedere that was inaugurated in 1857 in commemoration of Sir Robert Peel and his efforts to repeal the Corn Laws in 1846. Only a crumbling ruin remains today, which is a great shame as it has the most fascinating of histories.

The monument was the work of Thomas Mortimer (1798-1866) who lived at nearby Franklin Cottage. According to the 1851 census, Mortimer worked in the Civil Department of the Ordnance, and contemporary documents note him as a ‘linguist, politician and above all philanthropist’. As a ‘staunch liberal’ he had ‘deep sympathies with the working classes’, and is remembered as one who would ‘rather wipe the dew-drops from the brow of an honest labourer than salute the cheek of a duchess’. He was ‘an ardent admirer’ of Sir Robert Peel (below), to whom the tower was dedicated.

Mortimer was also a poet, and he composed some lines about Braunton, in which he described his reasons for settling in the village:

For here, contented with my humble lot,
I early built myself a lowly cot;
Where varied prospects, land and sea,
All tend to my felicity.

His ‘lowly cot’, which he named Franklin Cottage, stood in a large garden and a zig-zag path led up to Mortimer’s ‘pretty tower’ which had a rooftop terrace, complete with battlements and pinnacles, giving magnificent views.

The tower was described as ‘in course of erection’ when Billing’s Directory and Gazetteer of the County of Devon was published in 1857. When completed, the book announced, the tower would have a greenhouse in the lower storey, a study in the upper room, and an observatory at the top. The author was also informed that a bust of Sir Robert Peel was to be placed in a niche between the second and third floors.

Guests from the worlds of literature and politics met in August 1857 to inaugurate the tower, the building of which had been delayed by illness and death: Mortimer’s wife Elizabeth died in 1848 and his teenage son in 1854, and Mortimer himself had spent two years confined to his cottage with an illness from which he feared he would never recover. A flag was flown from the rooftop bearing three Ps for Plenty, Peace and Peel.

Happily, the long inscription was recorded before the tower fell into disrepair:

This tower was built by THOMAS MORTIMER, a Working Man, in honour of SIR ROBERT PEEL, the first British Minister who regarded the claims of Labour, and who when plainly perceiving the justice of FREE TRADE PRINCIPLES, promptly sacrificed his private predilections, and resigned his leadership of a powerful Party, in order to promote the permanent prosperity of the PEOPLE.

He filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he sent empty away.

While Grandeur’s sons seek Glory’s shrine,
At War’s grim Moloch kneel:
Let Labour lovingly incline
To Plenty, Peace and Peel.

One room in the tower was home to a display of local fossils, and built on at the base was a space described as of a ‘more NECESSARY than ornamental kind’ – in other words it housed a privy. This space was ‘dedicated’ to Benjamin Disraeli, who had clashed with Peel over his proposal to repeal the Corn Laws, and the inscription demonstrated Mortimer’s aversion to the man:

DISRAELI’S REFUGE
Sneering, jeering, satirical BEN –
Most specious of sophists and spiteful of men.

Inside the ‘refuge’ were what the reporter delicately called ‘some lines appropriate to the place’. This was presumably nineteenth century toilet humour, and the newspaper declined to elaborate further.

Within only a few years of Mortimer’s death the tower’s history had become muddled, with a gazetteer published in 1879 claiming that the tower had been erected in 1833 to commemorate the passing of the Reform Bill. The tower seems to have been left to moulder and by 1936 it was overgrown with ivy and ‘battered by storms’. In that year the local parish council decided to buy the land at East Hill as a public open space, and to accept the gift of the tower from the then owner, Captain Stephen Chugg. The councillors thought the hillside would be the ‘perfect space to celebrate’ the forthcoming coronation (of Edward VIII, although of course it would be George VI who was eventually crowned).

The Flâneuse arrived in Braunton keen to visit the tower and this public space but was, alas, thwarted. For reasons unknown, the council’s purchase of the land does not seem to have gone ahead and, after driving round in circles, she couldn’t find any access to the tower.

Post-war, the condition of the tower had been raised, and an article in the local paper asked if there were any ‘Braunton people sufficiently interested in its preservation to take some action in the matter’. It doesn’t appear that there was any interest, and the tower continued to deteriorate.

By the time the Ordnance Survey map was updated in the 1960s it was described as ‘Peel Tower (Ruin)’. The tower was listed at grade II in 1985, but sadly there is little left of Mortimer’s platform for his views – political and panoramic.

Sir Robert Peel died in 1850 and he was buried at St Peter’s at Drayton Bassett in Staffordshire. With monuments and statues being erected across the country, his family chose to install a simple plaque in the church:

In memory of
The Rt Hon Sir Robert Peel, Bart.
to whom the People
have raised Monuments
in many places.
His Children
erect this in the place
where his body
has been buried.

Among the many monuments raised by the people was another ‘Peel Tower’. This was erected on Holcombe Moor, near Ramsbottom in Lancashire, and opened in 1852. Unlike the Braunton tower, the Flâneuse did not struggle to find this mighty landmark.

Thanks to Rosemary Madgett of Braunton Museum for her help with this post.

… and, as ever, thank you for reading. Please scroll down to the comments box to share any thoughts or further information. If you would like a complimentary folly story in your inbox each Saturday morning, please click the subscribe button.

Walking through a glade on the Cilwendeg estate, in Pembrokeshire, one suddenly encounters the prettiest of buildings: one would not be at all surprised if Hansel and Gretel skipped around the corner. The monochrome exterior, with stepped parapet, conceals a vibrant interior with walls and ceiling decorated with shells and minerals, brightly coloured glass in the windows and a floor inlaid with animal bones and teeth. By the end of the twentieth century this curiosity was neglected and the ceiling had collapsed, but an exemplary restoration means that the building is once more an absolute delight.

Credit for the survival of the Shell House goes to the Temple Trust. In the early 2000s, Suzannah Fleming, Chair of the Temple Trust and fresh from masterminding the restoration of Garrick’s Temple on the Thames, spotted the Shell House on a list of endangered buildings. The owner, local farmer Alan Bowen, was keen to see the building restored, and agreed to sell the building to the Temple Trust, enabling the charity to apply for grant funding.

But to travel back in time a couple of centuries, the Shell House was one of a number of landscape ornaments built by Morgan Jones the younger (1787-1840) on the estate he inherited from his uncle, Morgan Jones senior (1740-1826). Jones senior was the owner of the Skerries lighthouse off Anglesey. Every ship that used the busy shipping route, including all vessels heading for Liverpool, then one of the busiest ports in the world, had to pay a toll. Thanks to this incredibly profitable enterprise, Jones junior was able to live a life of leisure as a country squire.

Little is known of the early history of what we now know as the Shell House, and even its original name is not recorded: it is shown on the 1849 tithe map, and on the later Ordnance Survey maps, but it is not named. Nineteenth-century topographical works praise the beauties of the mansion and the demesne, but fail to mention the ornamental buildings. The first mention of the Shell House found to date is in the particulars when the estate was offered for sale in 1906, where it is noted as a ‘Quaint Grotto and Rookery’. It is thought to have been built by Jones junior in the 1820s, but the designer and the hand(s) behind the shell decoration remains a mystery. Shell houses are generally the work of the ladies of the house but Jones was a bachelor, with no wife or daughters, so perhaps he himself rolled up his fine linen sleeves and got to work. Or could his sisters have been the shell artists? Little is known about Margaret, but Jane Martha Jones (c.1780-1864) was clearly a capable woman, and she ran the estate from the time of her brother’s death in 1840 until she herself died in 1864 aged 85.

The plight of the garden ornament was highlighted in the Save Britain’s Heritage report of 1987, Pavilions in Peril. The author, Julia Abel Smith, wrote that ‘mercifully, this little charmer has escaped vandalism but suffers from neglect’. By the time the Temple Trust purchased it in 2003 the interior was in a sorry state, but enough of the shell decoration survived for an informed restoration to take place. The Temple Trust raised £156,000, from a variety of sources to enable work to begin.

Local conservation architect Roger Clive-Powell (1944-2015) was commissioned to oversee the restoration, and shell artist Blott Kerr-Wilson to recreate the interior. Cambria Archaeology conducted an exhaustive study of the building and excavated the area around it to salvage the remnants scattered around. They found that unlike many a Shell House, embellished with exotic specimens brought back from distant shores, the Cilwendeg garden house was decorated almost exclusively with shells from nearby Pembrokeshire beaches: mussels, cockles, oysters, razors, whelks, limpets and otters.

Blott scoured local beaches for replacement shells, aided by her apprentice, who was none other than the multi-tasking Suzannah Fleming. When replacements for the few non-indigenous shells that had once decorated the walls were needed, an appeal was made. Local residents quickly found the required pink conch shells in their family collections (many were descendants of merchant seamen) and donated them to this wonderful project. Blott remembers that finding the sheep knuckle bones and horses’ teeth to restore the floor was a less pleasant process, best glossed over.

The roof had collapsed, and this was the one area where the decorative scheme had been completely lost. Suzannah, Roger and Blott worked together to design a new pattern for the reinstated ceiling.

And there are some delightful finishing touches…

The two windows were restored with new stained glass based on fragments found on site, and even on the dullest of winter days the light streams through. The restoration was completed in 2006 and was awarded the Georgian Group’s prestigious Award for the Restoration of a Georgian Garden Building a year later. Few shell houses of this complexity survive and of those that do, for obvious reasons, there is little or no public access. The Temple Trust should be lauded for not just saving this rare example, but for its commitment to welcoming visitors to this exquisite little building.

Twenty years on there are new challenges, and a corrugated iron cover, supported by scaffolding, is currently keeping the building dry in preparation for remedial work to damp proof the front and rear gables. Planning permission has been granted and a fundraising campaign is about to be launched, so if you are able to help in any way click here to find out more.

The Shell House awaiting work to prevent water ingress. The wooden porch was long-gone but has been recreated based on the evidence discovered during the survey of the building. The Flâneuse visited on a murky February morning, so here is Suzannah’s cheerful photo taken on a brighter day:

The Shell House can be seen between 1st March and the end of December, but visits must be pre-booked. Further information can be found on the Temple Trust’s website. The mansion and further picturesque estate buildings are strictly private.

Huge thanks to Suzannah for her help with this post. Thank you for reading and, as ever, you can share your thoughts via the comments box at the foot of the page.

In October 1834 workmen discovered a dungeon, or cell, when digging for stone on Market Hill in Hedon, in that part of the East Riding of Yorkshire known as Holderness. It was ‘several yards square’ with stone walls, and ‘a few remnants of military trappings’. James Iveson, an antiquary of the town, took possession of stone from the chamber and removed it to his nearby home. There he already had a hoard of carved stone, salvaged from the remodelling or demolition of churches in Hedon and beyond, and he used these fragments to create a sham tomb in his garden.

To tell the tale the Flâneuse is delighted to be joined by Holderness historian and writer Lucy Brooke…

The mausoleum purports to be that of Albina, a fictional niece of William the Conqueror. The tale (succinct version) goes that in the eleventh century William rewarded Drogo de la Bevrière (there are variant spellings), a loyal follower, with the title of Earl of Holderness and the hand of his niece in marriage. His bride, Albina, was a ‘young lady of extraordinary beauty’, but Drogo was an insanely jealous man, and he accused Albina of infidelity. Although she was proved innocent, Drogo poisoned her and left her to die in a dungeon. When her ’emaciated remains’ were eventually discovered, and Drogo was found to have fled, the local populace razed his castle to the ground.

Not content with simply erecting a sham tomb, Iveson (1770-1850) even commissioned a play telling the story of the doomed Albina. His chosen playwright was the prolific writer John Galt (1779-1839), but the two men were not acquaintances, and it is not known why Iveson chose Galt. Iveson sent him a set of illustrated notes, and this document (a brilliant find by Lucy) gives a firm date of 1834 for the construction of the tomb. The notes were accompanied by ‘three beautiful illustrative sketches’: the tomb, Hedon’s church of St Augustine, and an imagined view of Drogo’s castle in Holderness.

Galt was bed-bound when Iveson’s proposal arrived, but having read the outline with ‘thrilling interest’, he completed The Demoniack of Holderness: an Historical Drama in Three Acts in six sittings, and sent it to Iveson in November 1836. Although largely true to Iveson’s outline, for dramatic effect Galt has Drogo murder Albina with his sword when she refuses to drink a cup of poison.

The document tells that the ‘pilasters, columns and the segments of the front of the arch’ of the folly had only travelled across the road from St Augustine’s church when it was renovated. The floor, front walls and wings were built of stones from the excavated dungeon on Market Hill.

Iveson’s notes record that the two figures of King Athelstan and St John the Bishop were taken from the east end of Beverley Minster when ‘two modern figures of these personages were substituted’. Modern carvings added to Albina’s tomb included ivy leaves, a pun on Iveson’s name.

Iveson died in 1850 and Ivy House (as it had became known during his period of residence) became home to another historian, Godfrey Richard Park (1818-1907). Park wrote of ‘the pleasure and interest attending visits to the abodes and sepulchres of our ancestors’, so Albina’s tomb was in safe hands, and it was probably Park who extended it into a considerable garden room, as shown below. Park was the author of a history of the town, published in 1895. The volume included a few lines of verse about the tomb which begin:

Within a cell a corpse was found
Which told to all the lady’s doom,
And now, upon that spot of ground
Is built an arch, ‘Albina’s Tomb’.

Park opened his garden for charity events and in 1894 ‘The Ruins’ were ‘utilised for the Vicar’s stall’ at the Hedon Bazaar. The local paper noted that the vicar shared the space with the ladies of the town’s Sewing Meeting, although sadly it is not recorded what wares he and the ladies were selling. Rather more exotic was the fortune teller who had set up stall near the re-erected ecclesiastical fragments called the arcade. This sage had travelled ‘all the way from Egypt’ or, as the reporter thought more likely, ‘somewhere else’.

The enlarged tomb was still standing in the 1980s, but by the time the present owner, Greg Butterworth, bought Ivy House in 2016 the upper section had collapsed, the tomb was completely hidden in a dense web of ivy and thorns, and the interior was filled with rubble.

With Lucy’s help this has since been cleared, and the collapsed masonry rescued for safekeeping, but the folly (grade II) remains fenced-off until funds are available for further consolidation. But the tomb does have regular visitors – the ghosts of Albina and Drogo are said to haunt the ruin.

The gardens were also home to a rustic tea-house (only the tiled floor survives) as well as the arcade mentioned above. This was a substantial structure built out of fragments of masonry from churches in the district. It too has been rescued from the brambles and awaits further research and restoration.

Ivy House (grade II), a handsome red-brick Georgian residence, is a private home but the garden is opened regularly for Heritage Open Days in September.

There are no records of The Demoniack of Holderness being performed in Iveson’s lifetime, but a manuscript copy survives in Hull History Centre should anyone wish to bring it to the stage. Thanks to Martin Craven, Greg Butterworth and the team at Hull History Centre for their help with this post.

Lucy writes about the history of Holderness at her new website theholdernesshistorian.com

Thank you for reading. Your thoughts are always welcome – scroll down to the comments box to get in touch. If you would like a complimentary folly story in your inbox on Saturday mornings please visit the ‘subscribe’ page.

In 1836 General Loft, a committed church-crawler, visited Fotherby, near Louth in Lincolnshire, and found the ancient fabric of the church of St Mary’s ‘now terribly mutilated’. In the later 1850s a major rebuild was proposed, and the Bishop of Lincoln threw his weight behind the appeal with a donation of £20. James Robson, tenant and later owner of Brackenborough Hall, an attractive moated Georgian house about a mile from the church, was also a donor. As work got underway, he salvaged some of the stone from the old church and used it to build a sham ruin on a mound in the corner of his garden.

James Fowler of Louth was chosen as architect for the new church at Fotherby, and with funds in place it was agreed that work could begin in 1861. The crumbling old church was pulled down and, after a period of worshipping in nearby barns and meeting rooms, the congregation assembled in the new church in May 1863. Fowler was congratulated on the ‘imposing appearance of the edifice’.

At Brackenborough the folly was built on a mound in the corner of the moated enclosure that surrounds the garden. It was probably built contemporaneously with the new church at Fotherby, in the first years of the 1860s, but no records seem to survive to confirm an exact date. Robson (1820-1899) was a churchwarden and contributed to the cost of the new church, but no records of him acquiring the stone have yet been found. The folly no doubt functioned as a belvedere, summerhouse and eye-catcher, and in what was described in 1887 as ‘fine hunting country’ it may also have been a landmark for the hunt. When first built the south elevation was higher than the other sides and incorporated further recycled masonry, as seen in this 1907 view. No architect is associated with the folly: Fowler may have given advice, or it may have been Robson’s own design.

Brackenborough stands in an elevated position (relatively, in the flatlands of Lincolnshire), and before the plantations matured the view from the folly would have taken in local churches: there is still a vista to the elegant parish church of St James in Louth, with its spire said to be the highest of any parish church in Britain (the church was restored by Fowler in the 1760s).

Robson was declared bankrupt in 1887, after a collapse in the prices of agricultural produce, and the estate was put up for sale. Frustratingly, the sales particulars for the auction of the estate that year make no mention of the folly, although it was certainly extant a year later when the 25″ Ordnance Survey map was surveyed (published 1889) and the square tower is shown on its mound. The earliest written description found to date is in the sales particulars when the estate was again put up for auction in 1907. The folly was then noted as a ‘picturesque keep erected from stones from an old Ecclesiastical house’ (with house used in the sense of a church, or house of god). The estate was purchased by Frederick W. Bennett, whose family remain at Brackenborough today.

In the first edition of the Buildings of England: Lincolnshire, published in 1964, John Harris described the garden ornament as a ‘felicitous folly concocted from the remains of Fotherby church’ (for the Lincolnshire volume Nikolaus Pevsner concentrated mainly on churches and left secular buildings to Harris). Harris identified the fragments incorporated into the little tower as a thirteenth century arch, a three light Perpendicular window and a Decorated window ‘all built into a rugged ruin’. Photographs taken by Harris in 1959 during his research (Historic England collection) are similar to that shown above, and show that the south elevation was largely intact at that date.

The folly was ‘toppling precariously’ by the time Barbara Jones saw it in around 1970. The building was listed at grade II in 1986, by which time the upper section of the south elevation must have collapsed and it is not mentioned in the description. For years afterwards the folly was smothered in ivy and brambles and a large sycamore had taken root within the structure: it had become what Jones called a ‘ruinous sham ruin’ (Follies & Grottoes, 1974).

In 2015 Paul and Flora Bennett commissioned a structural survey from Capstone Consulting Engineers which concluded that the options were to repair and consolidate the folly as a ruin, or to repair and restore the folly creating a more ‘robust structure’. In 2020, after discussions at local and national levels, the Bennetts were given listed building consent to dismantle and reconstruct the badly listing folly under the supervision of Historic Building Consultant Liz Mayle.

The folly was dismantled, the stones numbered, and the folly rebuilt on secure foundations with new oak lintels and steel ties to support the structure. Flora even trawled the moat in search of stones that had toppled from the folly. In 2023 the restoration was recognised by a Pride of Place award from Louth Civic Trust.

Brackenborough Hall is a private residence, but the folly can be seen from a public footpath through the park. Or you could celebrate your wedding there, with the folly as a backdrop to your photographs, or stay in one of the holiday lets on the estate (which include an apartment featuring both the workings of the Coach House clock and a grain winch). To find out more visit brackenboroughhall.com.

Thanks to Steffie S. for alerting the Flâneuse to the restored folly, and to Paul, Flora and Poppy the exuberant labrador for a tour and a welcome coffee on a frosty morning.

Thank you for reading. To share any thoughts please scroll down to 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 on the ‘subscribe’ tab.

In the 1980s follies played a part in promoting a new breakfast cereal: special packs of Kellogg’s Nutri-Grain contained picture cards featuring ‘Gardens to Visit’. The twenty cards were illustrated with views of gardens in Britain and Ireland, all of them open to the public, and five follies or quirky garden ornaments were among the cards to be collected. As the blurb on the box announced ‘Most of us are enchanted by the magic of a beautiful garden’.

Nutri-Grain was launched in 1987 and, as well as publishing the collectable cards, the marketing team promoted it via recipe leaflets: a ‘cosy supper dish’ of trout stuffed with Nutri-Grain was one suggestion. But the Flâneuse digresses…

Once you had the full set of cards you could send off for a folder in which to display your collection…

The album had an introduction by Clay Jones, then chairman of Radio 4’s Gardeners’ Question Time and co-presenter of Gardeners’ World on BBC2. He wrote that ‘no matter where you live in Britain, there is sure to be a magnificent garden not far away’ (although the cards didn’t actually reflect this – only one was in Scotland, one in Wales and two in Ireland and the majority were in southern England). Acclaimed writer and photographer Heather Angel provided most of the photographs, including all of those featured here, and wrote that she hoped ‘this series will stimulate a greater interest in our gardens’.

The cards are small, only 58cm x 75cm, and the print quality is not the finest, but the Flâneuse would still have been very happy to discover these wonderful photographs in her cereal box…

Card three featured the Pagoda Fountain at Alton Towers in Staffordshire. The autumnal view was accompanied by text describing the ‘magical sight and sound’ of the water falling onto the tiered copper roofs and cascading down causing the copper bells to tinkle.

Number five in the series showed the Gothic Temple at Painshill in Surrey, which had been returned to its former elegance after a major restoration only a couple of years earlier. The card explained that work continued to bring Painshill back to life, and that the park deserved to be better known. Work has continued at Painshill since 1987, and the magnificent grotto, described on the card as damaged during the Second World War, once again sparkles and surprises.

Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal in North Yorkshire was the focus of card eight, and in particular the Temple of Piety complete with its much-photographed reflection in the Moon Pond. The card encouraged collectors to visit and find the ‘spectacular’ surprise view of the ruins of Fountains Abbey.

Card seventeen in the set had a view of the Chinese House and Bridge at Shugborough, in Staffordshire. The card praised the ‘Chinese shrubs’ planted to complement the garden building, and recommended seeing the other ‘notable monuments’ in the park.

The only Irish garden was Mount Stewart in County Down in Northern Ireland. The card didn’t feature the famous Temple of the Winds, but instead showed the Dodo Terrace, where quirky concrete sculptures were placed in the early twentieth century.

All of the gardens remain open to the public, although if visiting the follies at Alton Towers you might be distracted by a different kind of folly – the screams of those riding the Toxicator (‘take hold and brace yourself’) or Nemesis Reborn (‘more uncontrollable than ever before’).

Thanks to Cherrill S for introducing the Flâneuse to the cards, and thanks to you for reading. As ever your thoughts and comments are welcome via the box at the foot of the page.

As with all good serials, there will be a wait until the next episode, but the Flâneuse will be back with a snap, a crackle and a pop in 2026. Until then, wishing everyone happiness whatever your plans for the festive season. Goodbye for now, or should that be Cheerios? (Apologies, but it is the season of the corny Christmas cracker joke).

In the last years of the eighteenth century, Shute Barrington, Bishop of Salisbury, commissioned James Wyatt to carry out repairs to Salisbury Cathedral. In an act that would be described as ‘outrageous’ by later generations, Wyatt removed an ancient porch. The Dean and Chapter, recognising that prominent citizen Henry Penruddocke Wyndham knew how to ‘appreciate such curious monuments of antiquity’, presented him with the ‘elegant remnant’ which he re-erected as a feature in his garden.

The porch is said to have started life as part of a cross in Old Sarum, and was reused as the north porch when the present cathedral was constructed in New Sarum, or Salisbury, in around 1250. According to local histories, the ‘miserably truncated’ cross was covered with a flat roof of lead and functioned as a porch for five centuries until Shute Barrington’s renovations in the late eighteenth century.

As the title photograph shows, the garden ornament is looking a little battered in its old age, but happily an enchanting array of images record its appearance when first moved to its new home.

Wyndham’s family home was St Edmund’s College, a former ecclesiastical building later converted into a private residence. The garden had been laid out to an undated plan by the landscape designer Richard Woods (1715-1793). Woods had suggested that a summerhouse might be placed in a corner of the garden, with a view to the house and church, so Wyndham (1736-1819) knew the perfect spot for the summerhouse and eye-catcher he created by embellishing the ancient cross.

It was Wyatt himself who oversaw the taking down of the porch and its re-erecting in Wyndham’s garden. The porch was dismantled in May 1791 and carted to Wyndham’s grounds. During the summer Wyatt’s masons carved 2 pinnacles (the others were presumably salvaged from the cathedral works) and cut stone to make the spire, with work complete by September when Wyatt submitted his bill for £33.7.6.

A Latin inscription on a sheet of lead was placed over the east arch inside the building. It is long gone, but it is known to have recorded that the porch was rebuilt in Wyndham’s garden in 1791, having formerly stood in Old Sarum and then at Salisbury Cathedral.

Wyndham’s house and grounds were sold in the late nineteenth century, with much of the land being developed for housing. The house and ten acres of garden were purchased by the Reverend George Hugh Bourne, who lived there until his death in 1925.

In 1927, on the 700th anniversary of Salisbury receiving its charter, the house and grounds on Bourne Hill were purchased by the city to create new municipal offices. The park was opened to the public and the porch, by now shaded by trees, became known to some locally as the Devil’s Arch.

Earlier this year work was carried out to restore the porch (grade II). Rusting iron clamps were removed, and old cement repairs were replaced with lime mortar. Note that although local histories date the porch to the days of Old Sarum, the information boards in Bourne Hill Gardens call it the ’15th Century Porch’.

This remarkable survival deserves to be better known, so do visit if you are in the area. Bourne Hill Gardens (grade II) are always open. Bourne Hill continues to house offices of Wiltshire County Council. St Edmund’s Church is now an arts centre.

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In the 1740s William Kent designed a new garden ornament for Thomas Coke of Holkham. An artificial hillock was constructed on which the temple was to stand, giving it the name the Seat on the Mount. The temple was later pulled down, but fragments of the four busts which once decorated it were salvaged, and incorporated into a cottage in a nearby village. The Flâneuse has written about follies built from the remnants of houses, but a cottage decorated with the remnants of a garden temple is something new.

The ‘New Mount’ at Holkham was constructed in 1742, and the Seat on the Mount the following year. The sculptor Peter Scheemakers provided the four figures, two female and two male, that decorate the front elevation. Coke (1697-1759), created Baron Lovell in 1728 and 1st Earl of Leicester in 1744, could visit the seat and from its elevated site he is said to have watched as his new house was constructed.

The architect Matthew Brettingham Senior, who had overseen building work at Holkham, produced a volume of views which included an engraving of the Seat on the Mount. His text tells us that the temple was home to a ‘small antique figure of the Nile’ and a ‘Coro Marino’ (Sea Chorus) of sea nymphs, centaurs and cupids in alto relievo. The figure of the Nile was added to the earl’s collection in 1752, and the bas-relief panel of sea creatures was bought by Coke in Rome in 1716, and was originally part of a sarcophagus. It was noticed by a visitor in 1767 who saw the summerhouse with an ‘ancient Bass-relief in the wall’.

It would seem likely that the Seat on the Mount was taken down when parts of the garden were remodelled in the late eighteenth century. The figure of the Nile had been moved into the house by 1817, and the summerhouse does not appear on nineteenth century Ordnance Survey maps. The art historian Adolf Michaelis complicates matters by mentioning the ‘Seat on the Mount’ in his Ancient Marbles in Great Britain, which was published in 1882. Perhaps he was using outdated information? What is certain is that by 1907 the heads from the Seat on the Mount had been used to embellish a simple cottage in nearby Burnham Overy Town (actually a village, but thus named to distinguish it from Burnham Overy Staithe).

How the figures came to be moved to Burnham Overy Town to decorate the little cottage remains another puzzle, and many passers-by must have wondered about the history of the carved heads.

One such curious tourist was the late follyphiliac Jeffrey Whitelaw, and in 1960 he wrote to Country Life magazine asking if anyone knew the origins of the statuary. Whitelaw questioned if the busts were artificial stone from the Pulham factory, but the mystery was solved a couple of weeks later when the Duke of Wellington replied via the magazine’s letters page. The Duke confirmed that the ‘canephoræ’ originally decorated the temple at Holkham. Arthur Wellesley, 7th Duke of Wellington (1885-1972) was an architect, and is of course famed in follydom as the designer of Lord Berners’ tower at Faringdon. Canephoræ are caryatids bearing a basket on their heads that serve as a capital (although strictly speaking canephoræ are female, and two of the figures here are male).

In the later years of the twentieth century the fragments were moved to new positions in the tiny front garden, where they remain today. The cottage is now called ‘The Images’ and can easily be seen from the road through the village, and here’s a rather appealing view of it by artist Richard Swallow.

Holkham may have lost the Seat on the Mount, but other fine garden buildings can still be seen including the Obelisk (see the plate above) and the Temple. The latter was built in 1734 after a sketch by William Kent.

And of course there is the mansion itself and the wonderful collection it holds. The statuette representing the River Nile and the bas-relief panel remain in the family collection (not currently on display), although the latter has fallen apart and is now incomplete.

Coincidentally (i.e. the Flâneuse is not on commission) the cottage is currently on the market. There’s more here. Everything you need to know about Holkham can be found on their website.

For information on sculpture at Holkham the Flâneuse is indebted to The Holkham Collection of Classical Sculpture by Elizabeth Angelicoussis.

Further information is always very welcome. You can get in touch via the comments box at the foot of the page (only your name will appear – your email address remains private). Thank you for reading.

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Hubert Walter Wandesford Fenwick, architect turned architectural historian and writer, was a regular contributor to The Scots Magazine, a monthly publication that claims to be the oldest magazine in Britain still in publication, having been launched in 1739. In 1965 Fenwick wrote an article about ‘Features and Follies’, in Scotland, illustrated with his own very attractive colour sketches.

Fenwick (1916-2003) starts, as so many writers on architectural curiosities do, with the thorny question of how to define a folly. He quotes the Universal English Dictionary which states that a folly is a ‘useless, fantastic structure, built from foolish caprice’, but he does not think it is an accurate description. He then launches into an analogy which the Flâneuse rather likes: ‘… after all, most oil paintings are useless, unless they happen to cover a gap or a dirty mark on the wall. Most paintings are fantastic, some even foolish, but they, nevertheless, tend to make life more interesting and civilised, and they express an aspect of the human spirit.’ It is, he concludes, the same with a good folly. He is however strict about his classifications of what is a folly and what is a feature.

McCaig’s tower at Oban, for instance, is a feature, not a folly, as it was originally intended as an ’eminently practical’ museum. According to Fenwick’s rules, the Wallace Monument at Stirling is a commemorative tower, not a folly.

The buildings that do qualify as folly in Fenwick’s opinion are a particularly lovely bunch, and amongst his selection are The Whim at Blair which he describes as a ‘dummy fort’, the sham ruin on Balcarres Crag in Fife, the tower on Kinnoul Hill in Perth which was built to show that the Tay was the equal of the Rhine, Ossian’s Temple (aka the Hermitage) at Dunkeld, the Craigiehall Temple and Hume Castle which is a ‘magnificent fake’. The Pineapple at Dunmore is included for its ‘extremely clever and imaginative design’.

Fenwick wrote the piece in response to a book about follies which he had recently read. He felt cheated as it contained ‘less than a dozen Scottish examples’ (actually there are exactly twelve), and only two that ‘could legitimately be so designated’. He failed to name the book, but he does give the clue that it was produced by a ‘petrol firm’, so we can be sure it was Follies, written by Ella Hatt, beautifully illustrated by Paul Sharp, and published by National Benzole in 1963 (there’s more about that book here.) In case you are wondering, the two true follies that Fenwick approved of in the book were the sham on Balcarres Crag and the Hermitage at Dunkeld.

You can read more about the history of the Scots Magazine here.

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The Flâneuse recently attended the Garden Museum Literary Festival, the annual celebration of gardens and books organised by London’s Garden Museum. It blossoms at a different venue each year, and in 2025 it was held at Iford Manor, near Bradford on Avon in Wiltshire, where stands this exceedingly pretty summerhouse.

It was built in the eighteenth century, but renovated and moved to a new location after Iford Manor was bought by the architect and garden designer Harold Peto in 1899. The simple interior needs nothing more than a good book and a pot of coffee to make it quite perfect.

Speaking of which, the lovely village of Corsham was only a few miles from the festival, and it has excellent coffee shops as well as a great independent bookshop. The Flâneuse picked up the new book by an author she greatly admires – Jenny Uglow. Her latest work is A Year with Gilbert White: the First Great Nature Writer, and White’s charming hermitage, as temporarily inhabited by his brother, is featured.

Of course the main attraction in the village was Corsham Court, where the many beauties include this Bath House. The perfect little building was originally built by Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown in the 1760s, with further gothic ornament added by John Nash around the turn of the eighteenth century.

Back at the festival, the excellent speakers included Cath Kidston, who sold her chain of shops and is now producing a range of perfumed goods inspired by her collection of scented geraniums. Coincidentally, as the Flâneuse travelled to the festival she received the newsletter of the Faringdon Folly Tower Trust containing a pelargonium pronouncement. The trust cares for the tower built by Lord Faringdon in Berkshire (although it is now in Oxfordshire) in 1935. The newsletter announced that the acclaimed nursery Fibrex has created Faringdon Folly, a pelargonium in the same vibrant pink that Lord Berners dyed some of his doves. It will be available in 2026.

The Flâneuse is taking a break and will be back with a folly story in two weeks. The plan is to relax – which brings us nicely back to Iford Manor, and this verdant spot where one can sit back with a cuppa after a busy day.

Thank you for reading.