A tale of two turrets
Homage of the week goes to the lovely Beth, who whisked me off on a belated birthday mini-break to Kent, which as my devoted readership will recall, is the setting for The Nov.
The main attraction of the trip was to be a visit to Sissinghurst, the home of Virginia Woolf's lover Vita Sackville-West, renowned for her stunning gardens. We hoped for a bevy of literary ladies (for me) and some strapping but sensitive gardeners (for Beth).
Having dumped our luggage at our charming but chintz-ridden 16th century oast house, we arrived at the castle in the middle of a downpour.
Resisting the temptation to retire to the nearest pub, we pushed on through to the nearest hayfield where Beth's army background was put to the test in fashioning a bivouac out of a bale of hay, an umbrella and a mackintosh square.
Whereupon we indulged in a light picnic and a bottle of Macon-Villages. We started to feel rather jolly. A Spitfire circled overhead in wartime fashion, the proof of The Nov was presented to Beth for approval, and we banged on about the pleasures of the English countryside. I haven't had such fun in a haystack since 1987.
Coming to our senses a few hours later we proceeded to my new spiritual home, the turret. On purchasing Sissinghurst in the 1930s, Vita immediately claimed it as hers, banishing her husband Harold to the modest cottage next door. She furnished it with wall-to wall-bookshelves, a writing desk and a chaise longue. On the desk was an ashtray, a picture of Virginia Woolf and a painting of the Bronte sisters by Branwell. I decided to move in forthwith.
Imagine my surprise when, in the National Trust exhibition room, no mention was made of Vita and Vag's twenty year affair. Letters between Harold and Vita (they wrote to each other every day when apart) were proudly on the walls. Virginia was pictured, as 'Vita's lifelong friend', sitting moodily next to her own husband Leonard, accompanied by the stern note that 'SHE NEVER STAYED THE NIGHT.'
I thought of the chaise longue and resolved to write a short memoir entitled 'Scissoring at Sissinghurst'.
Early evening was spent with a packet of crisps and a G & T in bed watching Saturday night TV, then we took a taxi to Benenden (home of the famous girls' school) to the pub. Unfortunately it was school holidays so no teenage totty was to be found.
The next morning we woke early and set off to Scotney Castle. On arrival we were overjoyed to find a sheep trial, in which sheepdogs compete to herd sheep into a pen. We laid our the trusty macintosh square once again and spent a happy couple of hours watching ruddy-cheeked farmers managing not to lose their tempers at stupid animals. It brought back so many childhood memories that I was forced to indulge in another mini-bottle (English and organic so almost as healthy as Beth's elderflower cordial)
As luck would have it, Scotney also had a turret, although not as impressive as Vita's. But I am now resolute that that nothing less will do if I am to come up with inspiration for the next book. I have communicated the same to my partner in crime, who is touring the Italian countryside As We Speak in search of suitable locations.
On return to London, we decided to end the weekend with an epic viewing of Brideshead Revisited. Quite simply the perfect ending to a very British weekend. With yet more turrets. Bliss.
The main attraction of the trip was to be a visit to Sissinghurst, the home of Virginia Woolf's lover Vita Sackville-West, renowned for her stunning gardens. We hoped for a bevy of literary ladies (for me) and some strapping but sensitive gardeners (for Beth).
Having dumped our luggage at our charming but chintz-ridden 16th century oast house, we arrived at the castle in the middle of a downpour.
Resisting the temptation to retire to the nearest pub, we pushed on through to the nearest hayfield where Beth's army background was put to the test in fashioning a bivouac out of a bale of hay, an umbrella and a mackintosh square.
Whereupon we indulged in a light picnic and a bottle of Macon-Villages. We started to feel rather jolly. A Spitfire circled overhead in wartime fashion, the proof of The Nov was presented to Beth for approval, and we banged on about the pleasures of the English countryside. I haven't had such fun in a haystack since 1987.
Coming to our senses a few hours later we proceeded to my new spiritual home, the turret. On purchasing Sissinghurst in the 1930s, Vita immediately claimed it as hers, banishing her husband Harold to the modest cottage next door. She furnished it with wall-to wall-bookshelves, a writing desk and a chaise longue. On the desk was an ashtray, a picture of Virginia Woolf and a painting of the Bronte sisters by Branwell. I decided to move in forthwith.
Imagine my surprise when, in the National Trust exhibition room, no mention was made of Vita and Vag's twenty year affair. Letters between Harold and Vita (they wrote to each other every day when apart) were proudly on the walls. Virginia was pictured, as 'Vita's lifelong friend', sitting moodily next to her own husband Leonard, accompanied by the stern note that 'SHE NEVER STAYED THE NIGHT.'
I thought of the chaise longue and resolved to write a short memoir entitled 'Scissoring at Sissinghurst'.
Early evening was spent with a packet of crisps and a G & T in bed watching Saturday night TV, then we took a taxi to Benenden (home of the famous girls' school) to the pub. Unfortunately it was school holidays so no teenage totty was to be found.
The next morning we woke early and set off to Scotney Castle. On arrival we were overjoyed to find a sheep trial, in which sheepdogs compete to herd sheep into a pen. We laid our the trusty macintosh square once again and spent a happy couple of hours watching ruddy-cheeked farmers managing not to lose their tempers at stupid animals. It brought back so many childhood memories that I was forced to indulge in another mini-bottle (English and organic so almost as healthy as Beth's elderflower cordial)
As luck would have it, Scotney also had a turret, although not as impressive as Vita's. But I am now resolute that that nothing less will do if I am to come up with inspiration for the next book. I have communicated the same to my partner in crime, who is touring the Italian countryside As We Speak in search of suitable locations.
On return to London, we decided to end the weekend with an epic viewing of Brideshead Revisited. Quite simply the perfect ending to a very British weekend. With yet more turrets. Bliss.
posted by Lady V at 8:15 pm
5 Comments:
england prevails!!!
i want machintosh square to call my own!
You are in danger of morphing into Eleanor Lavish...
That Sissinghurst "turret", as you called it, is actually a rather fine example of a very distinctive type of sixteenth century domestic brick tower, and played a major part in my dissertation on exuberant Elizabethan shafts (there's a jolly watercolour of it by David Gentleman -- of course -- which I used as the frontispiece).
So no queer history at Sissinghurst, eh? When we next meet I'll tell you a similar story about our airbrushing out of Kensington Palace, where the Duke of Teck -- cousin of Qeen Victoria and one of the most notorious philandering sodomites the world has ever seen -- was airbrushed into a 1950s-style family man who lived quietly and happily with his wife and children.
Bastards.
What happened in the haystack?
I love that picture of Beth.
For a minute there I thought I was one Le Duc's blog. All those turrets thrusting skyward, penetrating the heavens with their domed heads.
Brilliant. The countryside sounds like so many things all at once. Delightful!
It will be interesting to see how Italian turrets compare to the English.
Heidi
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