PARCEVALL HALL is an unlikely place to find a great garden. It stands on a valley side in a quiet corner of the Yorkshire Dales, tucked away down a lane amid a landscape of moor and fell. The approach from the friendly market town of Skipton leads through deliciously romantic scenery, reaching its climax at the evocative ruin of Barden Tower. Those who are unmoved by such places should stop reading now.
The clue to this desire to live apart from the world lies in the personality of Sir William Milner, whose garden this was. He bought the Parcevall estate in 1927, when he was 34 years old, and made it his life’s work to adapt it to his own enthusiasms and yearnings. When he found it, the ruggedly handsome 17th-century yeoman farmhouse was protected by the usual big tree here and there, but was otherwise exposed to the elements. Although he added thoughtfully to the house, the most dramatic change he made was the sheltered woodland atmosphere around it, which has enabled such beauty to be cultivated here.
Sir William was something of a curiosity. He had private means and applied his spending handsomely to various causes that interested him. Chief among these was the building of a new Shrine Church at Walsingham in Norfolk, which he designed jointly with his partner/architect Romilly Craze. Sir William was himself engaged on a kind of lifelong pilgrimage towards an especially High Church Anglican faith, which subtly pervades Parcevall. Although determinedly ascetic, he liked home comforts and was particularly fond of taking breakfast in bed, surrounded by the paraphernalia of his ongoing projects.
Denne historien er fra June 10, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra June 10, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
