BEFORE the introduction of 20thcentury boundary changes, the tiny rural parish of Broughton Poggs in west Oxfordshire occupied a thin sliver of land between Broadwell, Langford and the county border with Gloucestershire, stretching for three miles from the high downland of the Cotswolds in the north-west to the village beside the Broadwell brook in the south-east. From the 18th century, the village itself effectively merged with neighbouring Filkins and the two parishes were formally united in 1954. Throughout that time, the only building of gentry status in Broughton Poggs was Broughton Hall, an imposing country house set in extensive grounds on the south-western edge of the village, which was adopted as the manor house in the 17th century and later enlarged.
According to British History Online, Lord Hastings, later Earl of Huntingdon, sold Broughton manor to Thomas Cromwell, later (briefly) Earl of Essex, in 1537. Following Cromwell’s downfall and execution in 1540, the manor reverted to the Crown and, in 1541, a life interest was granted to Anne of Cleves by Henry VIII as part of her divorce settlement. In 1545, the reversion was sold to Sir Thomas Pope of Wroxton, who owned a large estate in Broadwell. Broughton then passed through the Godfrey, Mowse and West families, before being sold in 1670 to William Goodenough, scion of a prominent Broadwell family.
In 1747, Broughton Poggs manor was acquired by the distinguished naval officer William Burnaby, who was knighted in 1754 and served as High Sheriff of Oxfordshire in 1755. In 1824, Sir William’s grandson sold the estate to the Revd Bowen Thickens, after which it passed through the Thickens family to John Thickens, who was declared bankrupt in 1886. In 1902, Sir Charles Murray Marling sold the estate to Robert Trollope, who sold it in turn to John Norman Hardcastle; his executors offered Broughton Hall with a few acres of land for sale in 1950 and the rest of the estate was broken up.
Denne historien er fra December 04, 2024-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra December 04, 2024-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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Give it some stick
Galloping through the imagination, competitive hobby-horsing is a gymnastic sport on the rise in Britain, discovers Sybilla Hart
Paper escapes
Steven King selects his best travel books of 2024
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This year may have marked the end of brag-art’, bought merely to show off one’s wealth. It’s time for a return to looking for connoisseurship, beauty and taste
Mary I: more bruised than bloody
Cast as a sanguinary tyrant, our first Queen Regnant may not deserve her brutal reputation, believes Geoffrey Munn
A love supreme
Art brought together 19th-century Norwich couple Joseph and Emily Stannard, who shared a passion for painting, but their destiny would be dramatically different
Private views
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Shhhhhh...
THERE is great delight to be had poring over the front pages of COUNTRY LIFE each week, dreaming of what life would be like in a Scottish castle (so reasonably priced, but do bear in mind the midges) or a townhouse in London’s Eaton Square (worth a king’s ransom, but, oh dear, the traffic) or perhaps that cottage in the Cotswolds (if you don’t mind standing next to Hollywood A-listers in the queue at Daylesford). The estate agent’s particulars will give you details of acreage, proximity to schools and railway stations, but never—no, never—an indication of noise levels.
Mission impossible
Rubble and ruin were all that remained of the early-19th-century Villa Frere and its gardens, planted by the English diplomat John Hookham Frere, until a group of dedicated volunteers came to its rescue. Josephine Tyndale-Biscoe tells the story
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Weather, wars, elections and financial uncertainty all conspired against high-end house sales this year, but there were still some spectacular deals
Give the dog a bone
Man's best friend still needs to eat like its Lupus forebears, believes Jonathan Self, when it's not guarding food, greeting us or destroying our upholstery, of course