Shugborough Estate

Recently I paid a return visit to Shugborough, ancestral seat of the Earls of Lichfield.  There was no time for looking at the Mansion House, Servants' Quarters or Farm on this occasion (I'm planning another visit later in the year), but I did manage a tour of the walled garden and parkland and thought I'd share some photos :0)

Shugborough is a rarity, a complete working historic estate.  Thomas Anson, MP for Lichfield and created Viscount Anson & Baron Soberton in 1806, was the architect of large scale developments at the estate.

Thomas had married Anne-Margaret Coke, daughter of the great agriculturist Thomas Coke of Holkham.  Coke's drive and ambition obviously rubbed off on his son-in-law and Viscount Anson recruited Samuel Wyatt to create a self-sufficient working estate to rival the best in the country.

The result was the development of a walled garden, a model farmstead, an extended and improved mansion house and a number of classically designed labourers' cottages.

The walled garden, originally designed and built in 1806, was sited half a mile from the mansion house so that it did not restrict the view from the house.

The revolutionary brick walls were hollow inside and contained intermittent furnaces which sent hot air around the garden to produce a mild micro-climate for more tender plants, vegetables and fruit. The impressive head gardener's house (see above), series of bothies (structures which provided accommodation for young unmarried gardeners), stores and workshops were constructed along the north wall.  From the head gardeners house, a large heated greenhouse extended towards the central plunge pool.  Plunge pools (seen in the centre of the picture below) were believed to have been used as dipping pools allowing gardeners to water their crops with rainwater.   Further greenhouses were erected either side of the house along the north wall and you can still see the gable markings of these greenhouses today in the photo. 

 

By 1809, there were at least twenty gardeners employed in the gardens, earning between 5 and 13 shillings a year.  It's almost certain that the Lord Anson Blue Pea was grown in the walled garden.  This lovely bluish purple variety of sweet pea was introduced to Britain by Thomas Anson's (1695-1773) sea-faring brother George.  It was found in the Straits of Magellan in 1744 and adapted well to the British climate.  I've grown it myself and it's a beautiful variety.

William Pitt (in his Topographical History of Staffordshire) described the gardens in 1817 as having:

 '...very extensive ranges of hothouse, in which pine-apples, the grape, peach, the fig and other varieties of hothouse frtuits, flowers ad plants, are cultivated in the highest perfection.  One of the hot-houses is heated with steam, in which melons and cucumbers are produced in perfection at all seasons.'



Just a little bit more on this post about one of the parkland monuments at Shugborough.

The Tower of the Winds (1765)

          

The Tower of the Winds (see left) was completed in 1765 and is based on the Temple of the Winds in Athens.  It was reached by bridges to the porches over a surrounding lake.  Downstairs was once used as a dairy and the 1st Viscount Anson supposedly used the upstairs as a gambling den!

Upper floor, looking back towards the spiral staircase

Ornate ceiling, based on Nero's Golden House in Rome

 

Midsummer Eve at Rookery End - Ebook at 50% discount

Now here's a great offer!  As part of ‘Read an E-book’ week, 6-12th March, E-scape Press are offering a 50% discount on all their E-books purchased through Smashwords.

Follow the link below to buy Midsummer Eve at Rookery End - simply add the promotion code ‘RAE50′ at the checkout during the above dates :0)

Midsummer Eve at Rookery End

Brief Encounters - Judge the Cover Poll

Vote! by Gil Elvgren

As mentioned in my previous post, a collection of short stories by me, Phillipa Ashley and Nell Dixon will be coming out later this spring.  The stories (published by E-scape Press and entitled Brief Encounters) are a fantastic mix of contemporary and historical shorts which we hope our readers will love!

At the Brief Encounters blog we are running a poll on potential covers and we'd like our readers to comment and vote for their favourite image.  The poll will be open until midnight on Saturday (GMT) and as an extra bonus, Nell will choose a random commentor to receive a PDF copy of her latest release, Making Waves. 

Please pop over to the blog and vote - we want to hear what you think! :0)

Happy Valentine's Day and Launch of Brief Encounters

Here's some very exciting news for Valentine's Day – a brand new short story collection called Brief Encounters will be published by E-scape Press this spring.

It’s a collection of six fun, romantic stories written by the members of the Coffee Crew – Nell Dixon, Phillipa Ashley and me. I hope you're going to love them.  You can read all about the new collection on the new Brief Encounters blog here - do pop over and leave a comment!

Twelfth Night

I've been unable to blog for a while so I'd like to wish a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy and Healthy New Year to all :0)

 With Twelfth Night fast approaching, let's take a look at some of the old customs associated with this festival.  In the Christian calender, 6th January is Epiphany - named after the Greek word for manifestation and marking the manifestation of Christ to the Magi or wise men.  The secular name for celebrations, however,  is Twelfth Night, the origins of which are obscure but for centuries it was the culmination of a period of merrymaking which began on Christmas Eve.

In Tudor times, Twelfth Night and Day were marked by plays, pageants and masques and by the exchanging of gifts.  Twelfth Night, or What You Will by William Shakespeare was written to be performed as Twelfth Night entertainment and the comedy has many elements that are reversed (such as a woman dressing as a man and Malvolio imagining he can become a nobleman), in keeping with the revelry associated with Twelfth Night celebrations,

Two long-standing features of Twelfth Night celebrations were the games and the baking of a Twelfth Night cake.  The role of King and Queen were chosen at random from those present by whoever found the bean in their piece of cake becoming King, and whoever found the pea becoming Queen.  Once appointed, the King and Queen ruled over the rest of the entertainment.  A clove was also sometimes hidden in the cake, with its finder designated the Knave (Samuel Pepys confessed to finding a clove in his slice, but secretly putting it in his neighbour's portion!)  Thimbles, coins, rings or simple tickets were used to select characters for others present. 

One anonymous writer in the Universal Magazine of 1774 wrote:

'I went to a friend's house in the country to partake of some of those innocent pleasures that constitute a Merry Christmas; I did not return until I had been present at drawing King and Queen, and eaten a slice of the Twelfth Cake.....A noble cake was produced, and two bowls, containing the fortunate chances for the different sexes.  Our host filled up the tickets; the whole company, except for the King and Queen, were to be ministers of state, maids of honour, or ladies of the bedchamber.  Our kind host and hostess, whether by accident or design, became King and Queen.  According to Twelfth Day law, each party is to support their character until midnight.'

The tradition of cakes on Twelfth Night was so strong that it became the busiest day of the year for bakers and confectioners, as demonstrated in this 1827 extract from William Hone's Every-Day Book.

'In London, with every pastry-cook in the city, and at the west end of the town, it is 'high change' on Twelfth-Day.  From the taking down of the shutters in the morning, he, and his men, with additional assistants, male and female, are fully occupied by attending to the dressing out of the window, executing orders of the day before, receiving fresh ones, or supplying the wants of chance customers.  Before dusk the important arrangement of the window is completed.  Then the gas is turned on, with supernumerary argand-lamps and manifold wax lights to illuminate countless cakes of all prices and dimensions, that stand in rows and piles on the counters and sideboards, and in the windows.  The richest in flavour and the heaviest in weight and price are placed on large....salvers; ..... all are decorated with all imaginable images of things animate and inanimate.  Stars, castles, kings, cottages, dragons, trees, fish, palaces, cats, dogs, churches, lions, milkmaids, knights, serpents, and innumerable other forms, in snow-white confectionary, painted with varigated colours, glittering by 'excess of light' reflected from mirrors against the walls.'

But as people gathered around to admire the display, another traditional pastime took place - mischievous youths in the crowd created havoc by surreptiously nailing bystanders clothes to the window frame or tying them to their neighbours!

Here's an illustration by George Cruickshank showing the crowd surrounding a confectioner's shop displaying Twelfth Night cakes.  Look carefully and you'll see the pranksters have tied the ladies' dresses to the gentlemen's coat tails *g*

By the second half of the nineteenth century, Twelfth Night celebrations had begun to wane and the emphasis had shifted to Christmas and New Year.  Nowadays, Twelfth Night still marks the end of the Christmas period but more people know it simply as the day on which decorations should be taken down.  Speaking of which, I have some things to pack away and some cake to eat .... *g*

One of the greatest love stories of the 18th century?

 ' You are all to me.  You can always make me happy in circumstances apparently unpleasant and miserable ... Indeed, my dearest angel, the whole happiness of my life depends on you.’

So wrote Charles James Fox – aristocrat, Whig politician and one of the most brilliant men of his day – to the courtesan Elizabeth Armistead in 1785.  Their love story is one of the most unusual, fascinating and, perhaps, the greatest of the 18^th century.

Elizabeth Armistead was born Elizabeth Cane in July 1750.  Her origins are obscure, and it is not known exactly how Elizabeth came to embark on a career as a courtesan.  According to one source, at sixteen, this ‘tall and genteel’ young woman ‘with a beautiful face and a most captivating eye’ was persuaded by Mr. R., a  friseur (hairdresser), to be his model and in return for his obligation, she yielded to his amorous entreaties.  Another source claimed she was abandoned by her shoemaker-turned-lay preacher father at nineteen and was forced to sell her charms to support herself.  Whatever the truth, there was no turning back for Elizabeth once her virtue and reputation were ruined in the eyes of Society.   In this‘distressed and deserted’ situation, she was taken in by Mrs. Jane Goadby, one of the most notorious procuresses in London.  

Elizabeth Armistead by Sir Joshua Reynolds

Mrs. Goadby’s brothel in St. James’,  London was an exclusive establishment, one of a number in the area which were named ‘King’s Place nunneries'.  Elizabeth was considered striking rather than a great beauty, but she had other qualities that inspired passion in men.  There was a stillness about her, a certain luminosity, that drew attention and entranced her admirers.  Most important of all, she had charm, as well as a genius for friendship and she was a good listener and perhaps it is these qualities which were the real secret of her success.  She soon acquired a succession of rich and aristocratic patrons – a practice known as ‘in keeping’ or ‘high keeping’ - and it’s possible that she took the surname Armistead from a former patron.  The Duke of Ancaster, the Earl of Derby, Viscount Bolingbroke, General Sir Richard Smith (a fabulously wealthy nabob) and the Prince of Wales were among her lovers.  Elizabeth became the toast of the town, a fashion setter and London’s most famous and sought-after courtesan, maintaining that position for a period of ten years, a remarkable feat in a world where a courtesan’s popularity was apt to quickly fade.  She secured the freehold of a house in Bond Street and a second house in Clarges Street, and her movements were reported in the fashionable magazines.  

Then, in 1783, Elizabeth fell in love with Charles James Fox.

Charles James Fox was one of the most brilliant, complex men of his generation.  He was the second son of wealthy politician Henry Holland and Lady Caroline Lennox, daughter of the second Duke and Duchess of Richmond.  As a child he was indulged by his parents, particularly his father, yet Charles was not spoilt by this indulgence and seemed to thrive on it.  He was an intellectual prodigy, reading plays by the age of five and devouring books by the score while at Eton and then Oxford.  A brilliant conversationalist and orator, he was a larger than life figure and after a trip to the continent, he took to wearing the most outrageous macaroni fashions.  He also became addicted to gambling, a pastime that was lead to losses on a staggering scale, even for his wealthy family.  

Charles James Fox by Karl Anton Hickel

His extraordinary physical appearance is well documented.   His thick dark brows (Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire nicknamed him ‘The Eyebrow’), hirsute air and less than fastidious personal hygiene make him sound unappealing yet Charles was a force of nature, inspiring a depth of affection among his friends that transcended even his death. 

Elizabeth and Charles knew one another for several years before they fell in love as they were part of the same (male) Whig circle.   Their affair started without expectation on both sides, but Charles’ early letters to ‘his dearest Liz’ display that she had his confidence and trust.  From the outset, he treated her as his equal and it was not long before the friendship between these two well-known figures was being reported in the press. 

In April 1783, Fox formed a coalition with Lord North, defeating Lord Shelburne.  He was appointed Secretary of State and he took to scribbling increasingly affectionate notes to Elizabeth from the House of Commons or his lodgings in St. James’.

‘I can not have a moment’s happiness or rest until I see you.  I had so set my mind upon seeing you now that I can not wean myself from it, and I know I shall be so nervous and out of spirits if you are not here by the 12^th that I shall disgrace myself, and be thought to be oppressed by the accidents of fortune which God knows is far from the case.  On the contrary I think things look well, and if they did not I think I have courage enough to despise them; but I cannot bear the disappointment of your not coming.  Pray come even if you should think it wise to go away again, and come immediately.  You may be here by 7^th or 8^th.  Indeed I can not doubt your affection for me, but if you do love me, you must come.  Depend upon it there shall be no danger.  If you do not chuse to go to your house you may come to mine.  If I were to write forever it would be to say pray come, pray come.’

When his duties permitted it, Charles spent time with Elizabeth either in London, or at a house in St. Anne’s Hill in Surrrey which Elizabeth had recently begun to rent.  Elizabeth, however, was having doubts.  Now she was with Charles in what was undoubtedly an affair of the heart, she had no patron to pay her bills.  She was in debt and she must have wondered how long Charles’ ardour would last.  In desperation, she wrote to him in the autumn of 1783, breaking off the affair.  Her letter does not survive, but Charles’ heartfelt, pleading reply does:

‘It is impossible to conceive how miserable your letter had made me.  No, my dearest Liz you must not go indeed you must not, the very thought of living without you so totally sinks my spirits that I am sure the reality would be more than I could bear....You shall not go without me wherever you go.  I have examined myself and know that I can better abandon friends, country and everything than live without Liz.  I could change my name and live with you in the remotest part of Europe in poverty and obscurity.  I could bear that very well, but to be parted I can not bear.' 

In the face of such an outpouring of love and distress, Elizabeth capitulated, retiring from her profession to devote herself to Charles.  She sold her two London houses and the annuities bestowed on her by former patrons, but neither she nor Charles could bear to give up the house in St. Anne’s Hill. 

Over the following years, Charles and Elizabeth shared a blissful life together.  She stayed in Surrey and Charles joined her whenever he could escape his parliamentary duties.  He hated to be parted from her and during one long absence, he wrote:

‘It may sound ridiculous, but it is true that I feel every day how much more I love you than even I know.  You are all to me. You can always make me happy in circumstances apparently unpleasant and miserable... Indeed, my dearest angel, the whole happiness of my life depends on you.  Pray, pray do not abuse your power – Adieu.’

The drawing rooms of Charles’ married friends would be forever closed to Elizabeth (as a former courtesan), but she did not repine and made a life for herself and for Charles.  They enjoyed reading the classics together, gardening and planning improvements to the house.  

 In September 1795, Charles finally persuaded Elizabeth to marry him although at Elizabeth’s request, the marriage was to be kept secret.  For the next seven years, it remained so, even from their family and closest friends.  Their love only deepened over time and when Charles James Fox died on 15^th September 1806, the name of the woman he loved - ‘my dearest  dearest Liz’ - was on his lips.  ‘Indeed’ wrote Lord Holland ‘if one had not known it before, his last hours would have convinced us that the ruling passion of his heart was affection and tenderness for her.’

Elizabeth passed away on 8^th July 1842, aged 91 years.  She outlived her beloved husband by 36 years.  Her warmth of spirit and capacity for friendship remained with her, with many friends, relations, their children and grandchildren coming to visit and stay.  Dearest Liz, it seems, was not only loved by Charles, but by all those around her too.

If you'd like to read more about the enduring love affair between Elizabeth Armistead and Charles James Fox, I'd recommend Katie Hickmans' excellent book, Courtesans.

Georgian and Regency Recipes (1) - A Fine Syllabub

After browsing recently through a collection of 18th and 19th century recipes, I thought I'd share a few of them on here.  Hannah Glasse and Eliza Acton were two of the greatest English cookery writers from this period and most of the recipes come from their famous publications:  Hannah Glasse's The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy and Eliza Acton's Modern Cookery for Private Families.    Below is Hannah's recipe for 'A Fine Syllabub'.

Traditionally, syllabub was made by milking a cow into a bowl of ale or cider.  This gave a frothy top to the liquor and so it was partly eaten, partly drunk.  Gradually in the 17th century, milk and ale were replaced by cream and wine, whipped together, which produced a creamy froth on a liquor base.  During the 18th century, the proportion of cream was increased so that no separation took place and the resulting 'everlasting syllabub' existed alongside the separated version throughout the 1700s.

To make a fine syllabub from the cow: Make your syllabub of either Cyder or Wine, sweeten it pretty sweet, and grate nutmeg in, then milk the Milk into the Liquor; when this is done, pour over the Top half a pint or pint of Cream, according to the Quantity of Syllabub you make.  You may make this syllabub at Home, only have new milk; make it as hot as milk from the Cow, and out of a tea pot or any such thing, pour it in, holding your Hand very high.

- Hannah Glasse The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy.

Most of us haven't got a cow readily available to milk *g* so here's the recipe I use for an Everlasting Syllabub - and extremely delicious it is too!

1/2 pint double cream
finely grated rind and juice of 1 lemon
1 tablespoon brandy
1 tablespoon sherry
2 oz. caster sugar

Place all the ingredients into a mixing bowl.  Whisk until light but not too thick.  Place the mixture into small glasses and refrigerate until required.  Serve with almond biscuits.

High Life by Thomas Rowlandson (1764)