THE ancient village of Barcombe, on the edge of the South Downs National Park near Lewes, East Sussex, is actually three villages in one: the original settlement surrounding the village church of St Mary; the newer village of Barcombe Cross, to which the villagers fled to escape the Black Death in the 14th century; and Barcombe Mills, an old watermill complex on the banks of the River Ouse, at the bottom of the hill on which Barcombe Cross sits.
There have been mills at Barcombe since Roman times and local records reveal the existence of corn, paper and even button mills on the site from the 16th century onwards, notably in the 1790s, when the River Ouse became navigable from Lewes to Cuckfield. In 1870, a grand new mill was erected on the site. Built over four floors of pitch pine, with an imposing, semiClassical façade, it was powered by two enclosed water-wheels and eventually closed in 1918. In March 1939, the former mill building mysteriously caught fire and swiftly burned to the ground.
Today, the only evidence of its existence is a grass mound, two peak millstones that lie discarded by the river and the name Barcombe Mills, now a peaceful hamlet, nature reserve and wildlife haven. Traversed by the Ouse and its tributary, St Andrew’s Stream, its waters provide a rich habitat for many varieties of fish, including large sea trout that swim up the river to spawn in its higher reaches. Such is the tranquil setting for Barcombe House, a fine mid-19th-century country house, currently for sale through Savills Country Department (020–7409 5945) at a guide price of £4.5 million.
Denne historien er fra March 10, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra March 10, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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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.