Having to dream a little longer. A memorable visit to Basildon Park.
Basildon Park.
It has been awhile. Yet again, a while. History repeating itself. No sooner had I returned for the summer amongst the wine lands of the beautiful Western Cape in South Africa, the creepy virus rears it’s ugly head and ‘boom’ we are back to closed borders, chaos in the airlines, broken hearts, torn tickets and the prospect of quarantine - which I believe to be a transgression against our human rights, particularly for those who are citizens, double vaccinated and should be allowed to isolate at home. But, the small voice of the sparrow against the cry of parliamentary owls is lost in the gust of these ill winds that blow across our earth.
Deja vu. Blessed by the fact that I did managed to spend time with my family, I will be patient, and instead, dream of places been and places waiting for my first introduction, or return. One such delight was Basildon Park, a National Trust property close to Reading and a day’s trip from London by train, although a secondary bus trip is needed.
About Basildon Park. If, like me, the gardens and parklands of any National Trust property almost peaks the actual houses, gardens and garden design being my true passion, the arrival at Basildon Park will not arrest you with magnificent laid out gardens, walled gardens, kitchen gardens and the like. Park land a plenty, as far as the eye can see, and with the horizon creeping toward hill views or copses, it is the magnificence of space that marvels. Oceans of space. Numerous trails are laid out to explore throughout the year, be it to crunch frozen leaves in Autumn or spot the first bluebells in the spring, which of course begs for picnics with tartan cloths and wicker baskets -the mind goes to woodland animals and wasps on this occasion but the idea is still adorable.
Our visit, deep in November wrapping up, meant the house was closed for the winter. A quick look to remind me of the house on a Youtube clip and I was set.
Stuff dreams are made of, not so? All the drama. Basildon Park, the one we see today, was commissioned by Mr. Francis Sykes, a gentleman who made his fortune with the East India Company. In current climes one is apt to wonder just how and at what cost did this fortune come about (cost to others that is), that it may be tainted money after all, but that can be said of many colonialists and families who came into large swathes of land and estates in the 17th century. We need to see it for what it is, history, a story that is there to educate - not to be ignored or eliminated, and so to The Sykes family we look for an insight of what life was like back then in this incredible house and grounds.
The house played an important role throughout the First and Second World Wars. In the 1st WW, the house was used as a convalescent home for solders and officers of the Berkshire regiments, and in the second, both as a base for the 101st Airborne division of the American Army training for D-Day, and later as a prison camp for German and Italian prisoners of war. Just me, sort of whole Downton Abbey playing through my head with the war scenes and make-shift hospital. The battering and seconding did not bode well for the house and grounds, resulting in a neglectful state by the time she was rescued and restored by Lord and Lady Iliffe in 1952.
Warmed with coffee and the dependable Barbour (now into her 11th year), we sauntered down a farm road beside the house to pick wild berries and greet the resident cows, when tucked away in a tiny valley, a glint of light touching upon a turret. Something special is down there, hidden partially from view.
Folly from far away days? Gate Keeper’s house?
For some, an abandoned place, for me a secret chapter in the life of Basildon Park. Do not tell me the truth, the boring version, let me imagine a Lady Chatterley’s, a secret garden, a hidden child raised by the Estate manager, unaware of his title. This is what this little castle oozes forth in imagination. Long forgotten, crumbling and pieced together unsympathetically years after, two rusted chairs in an overgrown garden, remnants of hot summers and cool drinks. The kitchen garden is strewn with broken pots and rusted wire. Perhaps it is part of a neighbouring farm, I don’t know, but I have heard of love affairs, secret trysts and for me, adds to the hauntingly beautiful aura that surrounds the main house and the many people who lived there.
Having exhausted all potential chapters of the storyline, we turned back to the house in the late afternoon sun. Wind clipping our red cheeks, first of the season gloves brought out, it was time for the café reward. A brisk walk always deserved a cup of tea and a National Trust scone. Harty conversations beneath the belly of the house. Still distancing and wrapped in plastic, tea time is not the same, yet for me, always a cherry ending to a National Trust visit, is a visit to the gift shop. National Trust gift shops are like the department stores of my childhood; being back with granny and cookbooks, bath soaps and stories of foxes and how to make your own insect hotel. Scratchy mohair knee rugs and loads of curd and jams.
Woodland folk Christmas decorations
How to resist six little Christmas felt creatures of the forest, tucked up in an egg container? Impossible. They are now home on their own tree at the tip of South Africa, bringing memories and England closer.
About the gardens - along the side of the house, there is a built up garden, but she too, like me, was bedding down for the winter.
Basildon Park, like all the National Trust properties, offer a host of events during the winter. Please go to their website to see what is on offer and even though travel outside of the UK is not simple at this time, there is much to do with your families, or even a glorious day out with friends, or just you. Take the opportunity.
https://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=basildon+park&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8