The tower on Leith Hill was erected in the 1760s by Richard Hull. The hillside wasn’t actually his property, but his home was nearby and he leased the plot from the landowners, the Evelyn family of nearby Wotton. It became a popular attraction and in 1790 it was said that the view from the tower was ‘esteemed equal, if not superior, to any in the kingdom’. Hull was so fond of his tower that he designated it as his mausoleum.

From the very start Hull, who lived at Leith Hill Place, intended the tower to be a public amenity to be enjoyed by ramblers and day-trippers. A plaque was placed above the entrance and, in summary, the Latin inscription recorded that the tower was built for the prospect, which Hull wished to be enjoyed by all.

Hull died in 1772 leaving an extraordinarily detailed will in which he gave some ‘further direction’ for his executors, setting out how he wished to be laid to rest. He desired to be buried in a very private ceremony, with only his servants present, ‘in a Grave made for me under my Tower on Leith Hill’. A plaque recorded his death as having taken place on 18 January 1772 and stated that he had purchased ‘Leith-hill Place’ for his retirement where he lived as a ‘true Christian and rural Philosopher’.

Soon after Hull’s death the tower was allowed to decay and, ‘accelerated by the hands of the mischievious’, the interior was stripped leaving the tower a shell. In 1788 the antiquarian and traveller William Bray told an audience how sorry he was to find that the tower was ‘already become a ruin’. Although the plaque on the tower gives a date of 1766, it has clearly been recut at some point (the stone has eroded but it appears to give the date of construction in a bizarre combination of Roman and Arabic numerals as MDCC66), and Bray gives the more likely date of 1763, which is corroborated by title deeds which mention the tower in 1765.

In the last years of the eighteenth century William Perrin of Tanhurst, who then owned Leith Hill Place, had the exterior of the tower ‘thoroughly repaired’. To stop further vandalism the lower room was filled with ‘lime and rubbish’, and the entrance walled up. He also raised the height of the tower to make it ‘still more conspicuous as a sea-mark’.

In 1864 William John Evelyn of Wotton added a staircase turret to the tower so that the views from the top could once more be enjoyed by what Barbara Jones called ‘county counters’. She didn’t specify just which shires are allegedly visible from the rooftop, but in 1899 it was suggested that ‘visitors with a glass’ could see twelve counties and a circuit of 200 miles.

In the later years of the ninetenth century tourists could also enjoy teas and ginger beer provided Mrs Skilton, the custodian of the tower. After 30 years in that post, aged 72, her sight was apparently so good that she could see the dome of St Paul’s, ships in the English Channel and Windsor Castle without a telescope. She also claimed that forty churches were visible from the top of the tower. There are countless picture postcards of the tower showing the many visitors who climbed the hill, but sadly no photographs have been found showing the kangaroos that Evelyn ‘set loose’ on Leith Hill, although they apparently ‘flourished for years till gradually exterminated by ruthless individuals’.

The tower also inspired the artist Samuel Palmer (1805-1881), who could see it from his studio. He used it as a model in a number of works, including this watercolour of the ‘high lonely tower’ in Milton’s Il Penseroso

In 1922 the tower was offered for sale, and there were fears that public access would be lost. In March 1923 it was announced that ‘all lovers of rural Surrey’ would rejoice to learn that the tower, and five acres of land around it, were to be given to the National Trust, thanks to the generosity of Reigate businessman W. J. MacAndrew. The tower was restored in 1984 when workmen uncovered Hull’s tomb during the works.

Follies have appeared on stamps, stamp-books and coins, but this is the first example the Flâneuse has found of a folly on a sugar cube wrapper. At date unknown Tate+Lyle featured Leith Hill Tower on a wrapper which celebrated Surrey as the home of the Magna Carta. How many people idly stirred two lumps into their coffee without even noticing the handsome folly on the wrapper?

The tower can be climbed on certain days in the summer season, taking visitors to the highest point in the county, and there is always access to the hillside to appreciate the exterior. As early postcards show, it was a stiff climb up to the tower, but today a car park on the slope of the hill allows a gentler ascent. The wider site remains part of the Evelyn’s Wotton Estate, and public access is managed by Surrey County Council. A cafe operates from a hatch at the foot of the tower serving light refreshments (alas, no sugar cubes with a view of the tower). Leith Hill Place is also in the care of the National Trust and can be visited in the summer season. There’s more access information here.

Thank you for reading. As ever your thoughts are very welcome, as are any further examples of follies on sugar cube wrappers. Scroll down to find the comments box at the foot of the page.

In 1938 readers of the Surrey Advertiser were baffled by an announcement that the Earl of Inchcape was seeking permission to build a ‘Martello Tower’ on his Chinthurst Hill estate. Following up on a notice published the previous week, the paper felt the need to explain to its readers what a Martello Tower was. The article described the purpose of the defensive towers that had appeared during the Napoleonic wars, and the writer then concluded that ‘it seems improbable that Lord Inchcape’s proposed tower will be exactly similar to the coastal originals’.

Kenneth Mackay, 2nd Earl of Inchcape (1887-1939) was a barrister by training, and chaired many companies including the Westminster Bank and the P&O shipping company, as featured in this cartoon from Punch in 1927:

In 1937 he bought the Chinthurst Hill Estate, with a house designed by Edwin Lutyens in the 1890s and a Gertrude Jekyll garden. The selling agent described the estate as sitting in ‘probably the finest position in Surrey’. Inchcape intended it as his retirement home – he also had a London property in Grosvenor Square and the Glenapp Castle estate in Scotland.

Lord Inchcape’s proposal to build his tower was reported in the last days of February 1938, and work was quickly underway. The Surrey Archaeological Society was kept informed of discoveries of flints and other discoveries made as the building of the ‘Martello Tower’ got underway.

Lord Inchcape died suddenly in 1939, aged only 51, so he didn’t have much time to enjoy his new tower. Very few accounts of its early history can be found, but in one of the accounts of Lord Inchcape’s death it is described as ‘commanding views of some of Surrey’s prettiest scenery’. An article in the Daily Express was more sinister in tone, noting that the gardens featured ‘bomb-proof’ shelters and that the tower was ‘gas-proof’ with blinds that ‘close tightly at the touch of a button’. This report suggests that Inchcape’s ‘Martello Tower’, with war looming, was indeed defensive, but this information is not repeated elsewhere, and attempts to discover more, including the name of the architect, have drawn a complete blank.

The Chinthurst Hill Estate left Inchcape family ownership in the early 1950s, with the tower then described as a ‘lookout’. In 1961 some outlying parts of the estate were offered for sale by auction in twelve lots, and there were fears that Chinthurst Hill would fall into the hands of developers. Surrey County Council, with strong local support, bought sixteen acres of the hillside as a public amenity, and the purchase included the ‘stone tower known as THE FOLLY’ which gave ‘panoramic views’. The three-storey tower was described as being in a ‘neglected condition’ and in 1964 funds were allocated to restore the tower and create a car park.

Sadly the restored tower, seen above, remained a target for vandals and quickly deteriorated. In 1986 the tower was given a grade II listing by English Heritage: at that date it was roofless and the windows were boarded up. Sadly this is how it remains today.

The tower is however still a fascinating feature at the end of an invigorating uphill hike, or a ramble on a gentler circular stroll. When the Flâneuse visited very recently the walk was cushioned by a carpet of sweet chestnut husks, and it wasn’t just the tower that glowed in the sun.

Public access to Chinthurst Hill is managed by Surrey County Council and the conservation of the woodland by Surrey Wildlife Trust. There’s more information on parking and walks here.

Thank you for reading. Your thoughts, as ever, are most welcome. The comments box can be found at the foot of the page.

In 1839 Charles Booker leased a plot of land in the corner of Guildford’s ‘Great Hilly Field’. There’s a clue to his purpose in the name of the site: Booker needed an elevated spot on which to build a ‘prospect tower’. After his death the adjacent land became the town’s cemetery, and the tower passed to the Burial Board (who were reluctant custodians). It later came into the control of the town council, and a contract was signed in 1927 to allow its demolition. But by a quirk of fate the tower survived, and stands tall today.

Booker (c.1780-1859) was a businessman and pillar of the community who served as a Justice of the Peace and was three times Mayor of Guildford. Why he chose to build a tower is subject to some argument: some sources say it was a monument to his two sons Charles (1809-1824) and Henry (1812-1827) who both died at the age of 15 – Charles of illness and Henry in a ‘melancholy accident’ when he drowned in the town’s river Wey while bathing. Their resting place in the churchyard of Holy Trinity is clearly visible from the tower, but if the tower was a memorial to the boys it is curious that Booker waited for more than a decade to erect it. Other sources say the tower was built simply to ‘gratify a personal whim’. Although now hidden in trees the tower would certainly have been a prominent statement of Booker’s wealth and status when first constructed.

In June 1839 Booker leased the land for his tower from James Stedman, agreeing to rent 40 square feet at the south-west corner of  ‘the Great Hilly Field and Cradle Field for building a prospect tower’. For a total of 6 shillings per annum Booker also had a right of way across the field. The tower was built by a local builder, the suitably-named John Mason, but no architect’s name is recorded. Soon after completion the ‘newly-erected and elegant tower’ became a focus of Guildford’s celebration of the marriage of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in February 1840. A royal salute was fired from the tower during the daytime and the tower was ‘beautifully illuminated’ and the venue for a ‘pretty display of fire-works’ on the evening of the wedding. By then the building was ‘pretty generally known as Booker’s Tower’, and it was named as such on the tithe award of 1841. From the top Booker and his guests enjoyed wide-ranging views of the countryside and of the rapidly developing town.

Booker died in 1849 and the small parcel of land, complete with tower, seems to have reverted to Stedman. In 1856 the tower became the responsibility of the Burial Board which had bought the field from Stedman to lay out Guildford Cemetery. Stedman gave the tower to the board on condition that they keep it in good repair: this they did with some reluctance as many felt that ‘the building in question was of no utility to the ratepayers, and totally unnecessary for the purposes of the cemetery’. Grudgingly, the board honoured the terms of the donation (once it was clear they couldn’t wriggle out of it) and repaired the internal staircase which allowed visitors to admire the view from the top.

One who climbed the tower was the gentleman scientist John Rand Capron. He had an observatory nearby and in 1885 set up equipment at the top of Booker’s Tower for his experiments in ‘Atmospheric Electricity’.

In 1927 the local paper featured the headline ‘Booker’s Tower to Topple’ and it was revealed that the tower was in a dangerous condition. The council invited ‘competent House-breakers, Contractors and Builders’ to tender for its demolition and nine applications were received. These ranged between £50 and £507.10.0 and, unsurprisingly, the council signed a contract with Charles Strickland of Stoke Newington, who had submitted the lowest figure. Strickland advertised the sale of the stone from the tower in the local paper, but ended up in court on charges of fraud, having accepted a cheque for £25 but not produced the goods.

Whilst Strickland’s case went through the courts, the council began to have second thoughts and in ‘a passing fit of repenting sentiment’ decided to repair the tower, albeit on a very limited budget of £100 (less than half the sum the builders who tendered had suggested was necessary).

In 1928 the Borough Surveyor, J. W. Hipwood, drew up plans for a ‘reconstruction’ and provided two options: a tower with or without battlements. No prizes for guessing that the battlements were binned and the cheaper version with a simple parapet won the vote. The Sussex Advertiser thought even £100 too much to spend on a ‘building with nothing to recommend it’. Remembering that it had been known as ‘Booker’s Folly’ the paper thought that investing in its future would be ‘to add folly to folly’.

The newspaper concluded that the tower ‘will be demolished eventually there can be no question’. Almost a hundred years later the tower still stands, having survived the great storm of 1987 which toppled some of the trees that had grown around it. Local sentiment and a grade-II listing suggest that it will around for some time yet: it is kept in good repair by Guildford Borough Council but there is no access to the interior.

Special thanks to readers Ian and Helen Wright for suggesting Booker’s Tower as a subject. Ideas for future posts are always welcome.

Thank you for reading and do please share any thoughts or comments – scroll down to the foot of the page to get in touch.