Water and Shadows

Listening to Pavarotti (Honest)

It is so dark this morning. Yesterday there was a bright sunrise through the narrow gap between the horizon and the clouds over Winter Hill but today there is only a smudgy, grey sky with squally rain. A morning when being outside only goes to reinforce the idea that you should be still in bed, listening to the rain on the window and wondering how long it will be before you just have to get up. I have noticed a strange polarization of the sadness of the morning and the upbeat feeling in the evenings. I am wondering if it is because I have been alternating the decaff coffee from the kitchen with strong stuff from the machine. The question is whether it is the ”full-fat” that makes me sad or the decaff.

We went to Snowshill Manor at the weekend, a place so full of stuff that it would take days to see it all. In reality, it was so busy that we had to go with the flow of visitors though it never seemed rushed. The collection is that of Charles Paget Wade who filled the house so full of his found objects that he ended up living in the small priest’s house in the grounds. As opposed to a lot of National Trust places, the feel was very much of a living house, as if the spirits of the original owners of all the objects remained with them, happy to bring pleasure to the quietly reverent visitors. My daughter was spooked by a few of the rooms, notably the darkened ones with a number of sets of Samurai armour. It was possible to believe that at midnight, the warriors would return and walk silently through the rest of the house, quietly brandishing their swords and wondering how they had got there. The music room was quite special as well, full of many instruments all vaguely recognizable but all slightly off what you might expect. I have always liked the drone of a hurdy-gurdy and would have given anything to have been let loose with one. My daughter gave a short concert after I pointed out that Mike Oldfield played one of the Elizabethan wind instruments of In Dulci Jubilo. Small boy was also happy, being able to indulge his obsession with clocks. They said there were over forty in the house but I think it was closer to 100.

Despite having the many rooms of the main house, Charles Paget Wade lived in a few austere rooms in the Priest House next door, tin bath stone steps, very little comfort at all. And still full of objects, though in this house, they seemed to be more practical things rather than the generally artistic contents of the big house. Photos at Eleven if I can find some web space.