In 1953 Barbara Jones published Follies & Grottoes, a ‘handsome book on a fascinating subject’. It was the first book to look at follies in any depth, and was well-received. Almost twenty years later it was announced that there would be a revised edition, for whilst the first edition was remembered as a pioneering book, it was ‘not a comprehensive survey’. Upon publication in November 1974 (fifty years ago this week) the new edition was judged ‘double the size and more than twice as good’.

Constable & Co. commissioned the first edition after Jones and Ralph Arnold, one of the directors of the publishing house, had become friends – Arnold had given Jones one of her first jobs in illustration in 1938. In February 1953 Bookseller magazine announced that ‘Barbara Jones has completed her long-expected work on Follies and Grottoes – a blend of melancholy, horror, genial extravagance and elegant conceits’.

In 1972 Jones was awarded a Leverhulme Fellowship to allow her to ‘revise and extend’ two of her books: The Unsophisticated Arts (1951) and Follies and Grottoes. The funding allowed her to travel across the nation to revisit follies and explore the many new ones which she had been made aware of since 1953. The book was originally to be published in 1973 and Constable & Co. plugged it as forthcoming in November 1972, but Jones had so much new material to work with that it would be November 1974 before the book was in the shops. It was priced at a then substantial £10: the reviewer for the Birmingham Daily Post wrote that the ‘mammoth’ book was ‘surely the last word on the subject’* with the caveat ‘as it should be at that price’.

One criticism of the 1st edition was the paucity of images, with Clough Williams-Ellis in The Spectator describing Jones’s ‘rather scratchy sketches’ as ‘starvation rations’. As well as including more follies, the 2nd edition also featured many more illustrations, although all are printed in black and white. These were mainly by Jones herself, but there are a handful by artist friends such as Mary Adshead (above), James Gardner, Bill Howell and Raymond Fieldhouse. Reviewing the new edition for the Times Literary Supplement, Julian Barnes summed up what Jones had achieved: ‘It is wholly thanks to Barbara Jones that the wider public knows about, let alone cares about, the towers, ruins, grottoes, tunnels, and other architectural oddities which adorn the countryside’.

Follies & Grottoes was featured in The Times in November 1974 as one of their recommendations of ‘Lovely presents for lovely people’, and the article was illustrated with one of Jones’s ‘dramatic ink drawings’: a view of the conical folly at Barwick Park (above). The Scotsman gave the book a mention, clearly delighted to find the Pineapple at Dunmore on the cover of the new edition.

Follies & Grottoes has long been out of print, so look out for a second-hand copy if it isn’t already on your bookshelves.

*Apparently not.

Thank you for reading. Please scroll down to the foot of the page to share any thoughts or comments.

In 1959 the inhabitants of Matching Green, east of Harlow in Essex, were horrified by the appearance of a 6 foot 3 inch statue of a naked lady in a village garden. The figure was the work of Horace Saville, the village blacksmith, and he claimed it was a model of how he wanted his future wife to look.

The statue had originally stood 5 feet high on Saville’s lawn, but after ‘somebody’ knocked it down he rebuilt it on a sturdy concrete plinth. The outraged locals included Mrs Harold Smith who thought the statue a ‘hideous monstrosity’ and Mr George Burnett who lived next door to Saville. He worried that the statue would attract day-trippers who would come to ‘gawp’. And presumably that is exactly what happened when Burnett spoke to the Daily Mirror and the paper published a photo’ of the statue. Saville was unperturbed and told the reporter that he was a ‘genuine bachelor’ who didn’t really know what a lady looked like ‘without her clothes’.

Saville (1904-1980) was 54 when he erected the statue of his dream wife and it doesn’t seem to have found him a partner. Nine years later he was still single, and it seems doubtful that his latest wheeze would attract suitors: he had taken to moulding his own dentures in concrete and coating them in a secret formula to make them sparkle.

The statue of a naked lady was soon joined by some other garden ornaments. In the years after her appearance Saville had sculpted a whole range of figures with no apparent connection. By 1973 there were statues of the Queen, Prince Philip, General de Gaulle, the broadcaster Cliff Michelmore, the Earl of Avon (presumably former Prime Minister Sir Anthony Eden), the devil waving a top hat and Horace Saville himself. One of best records of the garden found to date is this sketch which Raymond “Tim” Fieldhouse sent to his friend Jones in 1973. Fieldhouse had met Saville in Matching Green and described him as ‘a great old Essex character […] every bit as weird as one of his own creations, a real old eccentric’.

Further statues included a policeman, a racegoer, a huntsman, an army officer, a horse and jockey, and a gorilla with a bunch of bananas. Smaller sculptures could be found in the long grass of Saville’s wild garden, all with piercing blue eyes made from marbles.

Saville was very serious about the project to which he had dedicated his retirement, and a sign in the garden announced his creations as ‘Concrete Art’.  Horace could often be found at his gate chatting to visitors and showing the tools of his trade – an old table knife and a saucepan. A Mr Tyle who was given a tour of the sculptures in 1966 wrote to a local magazine to say that ‘anybody who has not had the pleasure of viewing these fine works of country art is missing a unique exhibition’.

Whilst perhaps not always popular in the village (they became known locally as ‘Horace’s Horrors’), today the body of work would be celebrated as Outsider Art, defined by the Tate as ‘art that has a naïve quality, often produced by people who have not trained as artists’.  But sadly there is nothing left to see: after Saville’s death in 1980 the statues were swept away*.

You can at least see the man himself – here he is promoting margarine in 1954.

* UPDATE September 2024: Huge thanks to the many people who have shared their memories of Horace and his garden (see the comments below). Particular thanks to Patrick Streeter for the very exciting news that one sculpture does survive – and it is the head of the man himself, as seen bottom left in one of the photographs above. Horace can be found in the garden of the Feast Room by Matching Church.

And thanks to Sarah Sage for sharing an example of Horace’s personal stationery complete with autograph and what is presumably a self-portrait.

UPDATE OCTOBER 2025: Thanks to Richard Keil for sharing these two images from his family’s collection. Both are dated 1967.

Does anyone remember the garden and statues? Your thoughts and comments are warmly welcomed – please scroll down to the foot of the page to get in touch. Thank you for reading.

‘An ill-treated folly’, wrote folly supremo Barbara Jones of the Carnaby Temple in 1953. The late 18th century landscape ornament, on high land above Boynton Hall, was by then disused and dilapidated, but remarkably intact considering the years of neglect. And so it remains.

The temple was built in the early 1770s by Sir George Strickland, 5th Bart (1729-1808) of Boynton Hall near Bridlington in the East Riding of Yorkshire. The design is attributed to John Carr of York, who worked at Boynton in this period. Contemporary accounts note that it was called the Temple of Aeolus, or the temple of the winds, after the original in Athens, but Barbara Jones thought it had ‘absolutely no resemblance to it’. That’s perhaps a little harsh, as the tower is octagonal in form, and the lantern was originally topped with a weather-vane, but it does not carry the carved decoration so admired in Athens. The name may have been partly in homage to the antique, but was probably also an erudite family joke, as the site is exposed to the winds coming in off the North Sea. The name did not stick and the building became known as the Carnaby Temple, or just ‘the temple’.

The basement housed a kitchen, and the upper floor was a ‘beautiful Octagon room’ with extensive views of the Boynton estate and out to sea. The Strickland daughters decorated the room with Grecian figures after the antique. Transparent figures, painted onto tissue paper, decorated the windows, and the furniture featured figures cut from black paper or drawn in Indian ink. The walls were painted with trophies, foliage, and grotesque heads in oil paint, and one visitor in 1801 thought she had never seen a room ‘so completely pleasing’. Sadly, no trace remains today.

The pleasure house was used for picnics, and as a retreat for the ladies of the house. It was also a belvedere with an extensive vista across the Wolds and Bridlington Bay – the reverse view also became important and ‘Carnaby Temple’ soon became an official landmark for mariners.

The tower was originally surrounded by a freestanding arcade, but this was gone by the middle of the 19th century when the temple was extended to form a dwelling for workers on the estate: the census returns show families living there until early in the 20th century. It was a popular attraction, and visitors walked across the fields to explore the curious structure visible from the road. In 1890 one group of ramblers were disappointed to find it had been converted into a labourer’s cottage and ‘with a sigh for its departed grandeur’ retraced their steps.

By the time Barbara Jones was researching the temple for the 2nd edition of Follies and Grottoes in 1972, the temple had been sold by the Boynton estate, and the new owner was said to be ‘not really interested in it’. Raymond Fieldhouse, a Scarborough historian and artist, wrote to Jones about the temple : ‘I think it will stand for years deteriorating only gradually’. He was spot on: the temple does indeed still stand strong, and creates a very picturesque backdrop to the nearby farm’s giant muck heap (bottom).

In 1975 a campaign began to get the temple restored. There was support from the Bridlington MP The Rt Hon Richard Wood, as well as from the Georgian Society for East Yorkshire and the Bridlington Civic Society. The owner, Mr Watts, was keen to see it restored, and offered to lease it to a charitable body for a ‘v small rent’, but he was understandably reluctant to meet the substantial costs of renovation himself. The Landmark Trust was approached in 1975, but it declined to take the building on.

Things dragged on, and in April 1978 the local authority, the Borough of North Wolds, served Watts with a Repairs Notice. By this stage the Bridlington-based architectural practise of Francis Johnson and Partners had been asked to help, and in 1977 Francis Johnson had drawn up plans to convert the temple into a holiday home. As he wrote ‘if they got the place in order they could get a good little rental for holiday use every summer. In any case it is far better to have the building in use than merely standing idle with consequent inevitable deterioration’. But Johnson remained sceptical, and ended the letter ‘We shall see’.

And as we can indeed see, only essential repairs to protect the building from vandals and the elements were carried out. There is still potential to restore the temple for residential use, and just think how fertile the garden would be…

The temple is on private land, but stands beside a public footpath.

Although the Carnaby Temple plans did not come to fruition, Francis Johnson & Partners has designed or restored many lovely garden buildings. You can see a selection here https://www.francisjohnson-architects.co.uk/projects/garden-buildings/

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

In 1829 William Bettison Esq. purchased a country retreat on Newbegin in Hornsea, in the East Riding of Yorkshire. From here, he commuted by phaeton to Hull, where during his career he was owner of the Humber Street Brewery and proprietor of the Hull Advertiser. The house came with ‘extensive Pleasure Grounds’ and some time around 1844 he constructed this curious tower built of what are called treacle bricks, over-baked rejects from the kiln.

Bettison left Hornsea about a decade later but his name would live on. The story told locally is that a local lad/sailor climbed the tower and hung a placard from the top emblazoned with the words ‘Bettison’s Folly’, and thus it got its name. The legend also has it that Bettison built the tower so that his son/a servant could clamber up, spot him returning from Hull in his carriage, and give the order to cook to get the supper on the table.

In 1882 the estate was purchased by Mr. C. Shaw, and in 1901 he hosted a garden party in aid of the Wesleyan Society. The Hull Daily Mail sent a reporter who was fascinated by the tower (which could be climbed for twopence) and enquired into its history. A local man, Mr Roxby, remembered the tower being constructed and named the builder as John Russell, a Hornsea bricklayer – although other accounts say that it was built by a Hull builder who was never paid as Bettison went bankrupt.

Whoever the builder was, it must have been an unusual commission given the curious use of Flemish bond with projecting headers. Roxby could even give the source of the bricks as the Hornsea Burton Brickyard (Hornsea Burton was a nearby hamlet now lost to the encroaching sea). These bricks are usually said to have been ‘rejects’, over-baked in the kiln, but our anonymous journalist was told they were a ‘special make’. Whatever their origins, they are extremely unusual and extremely effective, catching the light (on a good day) and making the tower shimmer. The designer was quite a pioneer of recycling: as well as using the waste from the kiln the tower also has beer bottle windows*, presumably from Bettison’s brewery.

The newspaper article didn’t mention any of the tales associated with the tower, but concluded that Bettison ‘simply built it as a fad in order to have an opportunity of admiring the surrounding scenery’. The view would have taken in a local beauty spot, the large freshwater lake called Hornsea Mere.

When Barbara Jones was researching for the second edition of Follies and Grottoes she missed the tower on a 1971 recce and appealed to local contacts for information. By that date the Tower House (as it had become known) had been demolished and in 1966 a care home “The Willows’ was built on the site. Happily Jones must eventually have managed to see the tower, and in the revised book she describes it as ‘enchantingly pretty’.

The key source who helped Jones with information was Raymond Fieldhouse, a Scarborough schoolmaster who had served with Jones’s husband Clifford Barry in India during the Second World War, and later became friends with the couple. His initial response was that he didn’t know the structure, but intrigued he set off to Hornsea to investigate. He admired the tower, especially the bricks which he described as ‘a beautiful dark purplish-red’, but he drew the line at entering after the gardener advised “I wouldn’t if I were you, everything’s a foot deep in pigeon muck’. Fieldhouse also learned that the Hornsea Town Band used to climb the tower and perform on May Day. This must, he wrote, have been quite an achievement in a narrow tower, and he concluded that the ‘trombonist would be a positive menace’.

Fieldhouse (1913-1979) was well known in Scarborough where he contributed a column to the Scarborough Evening News and Mercury, and in 1973 co-wrote and illustrated The Streets of Scarborough, a guide to the town’s architecture. He was a talented artist, almost entirely self-taught, and Fieldhouses’s pen and ink sketch of Bettison’s Tower (above) appeared in the revised 1974 edition of Follies and Grottoes, one of only a handful of contemporary sketches by an artist other than Jones herself.

The nursing home has gone and the tower is now surrounded by housing. It is well-maintained and whilst currently there is no public access to the interior, the exterior is easily seen and there is an information board showing the series of stairs and platforms that lead to the roof.

The Folly Flâneuse is rather susceptible to being sidetracked… In the course of finding out more about Raymond Fieldhouse she discovered that he had designed the cover for the programme for the Northern Command Tattoo, held in Roundhay Park, Leeds, in June 1954. This was quite a spectacle (see film clips below) and Princess Margaret was one of the guests of honour. Fieldhouse’s illustrations are lovely, but equally fascinating is that the schedule of events which accompanied the programme could ‘be seen in the dark’. It was printed on special paper and ‘when held against the searchlights each item can be clearly seen’.

And the wonderful cover too has a luminosity which would make it stand out on a darkening evening.

There are clips from Pathé News showing the Roundhay Park Tattoo here https://www.britishpathe.com/video/princess-margaret-at-military-tattoo-reel-1

Fieldhouse’s drawing of the tower was still in Barbara Jones’s studio at the time of her death. It is currently with Neil Jennings Fine Art. Contact neiljennings20@gmail.com for more information.

Thanks to John Fieldhouse for helping with information about his late father. In another of those curious coincidences which The Folly Flâneuse so loves, John studied at the Royal College of Art in the early 1970s where he would often spend time with Barbara and Clifford.

* Predating Barney and Stig by over a century.