A Throwback Post – The Arts Society
Little Moreton Hall (above) was built in stages but was finalised to look how we see it today around 1560. Compare that to Longleat Hall (below) which was completed in in 1580, only twenty years apart and yet they look like they come from different centuries. Out with the old and in with the new. Architecturally, this was a time a massive developments.
There was a hell of a lot of stuff discussed but the following caught my attention.
Our language grew with our homes
This could be me
Finally, here is a very evocative piece of writing describing a female scholar and her chamber.
Lady Anne Clifford (1590 – 1676) distinguished herself, according to Edward Rainbowe (a contemporary scholar and preacher), by combining effective household management with effective textual management:
“she would frequently bring out of the rich Store-house of her Memory, things new and old, sentences, or sayings of remark, which she had read or learned out of Authors, and with these her Walls, her Bed, her Hangings, and Furniture must be adorned; causing her Servants to write them in Papers, and her Maids to pin them up…. So that, though she had not many Books in her Chamber, yet it was dressed up with the flowers of a Library”
So, a whistle stop tour and the bits and bobs that I got out of it.
Extract from A New Life for Ariana Byrne by Liz Hurley
‘Are we there yet?’
Leo had a point; this was a very long drive with lovely green pastures on either side. The wide green parkland was dotted with the odd large tree and the tarmac drive cut through the green swathe but still there was no sign of a house. Just as she was convinced she had taken a wrong turning, the van crested a small hill and before her, standing behind a second set of smaller gates, was the prettiest house that Ari had ever seen. She stopped the van in wonder.
In the evening sun, the red brick walls glowed and the many panes of glass twinkled back a warm light. The house was huge and charmingly haphazard – with additions clearly having been added over the years.
Roughly, it seemed to be three storeys high or maybe four, and at least twelve windows wide along the front of the house. There appeared to be one initial large building with small extensions added on to one side over the centuries. At the other end of the central building was a large wing jutting forward.
A large bay window fronted one section of the house, continuing up past the roofline to become a tower. It sat along the skyline with an array of chimneys in ornate red brick patterns bristling against the sky. At the other end of the house at the edge of the wing was another tower, round this time, with arrow slits in it. Sections of the building had tall panels of narrow elegant windows, while other areas had lower rectangular windows with lead lines crisscrossing over them like a black and white harlequin. Throughout this mishmash of features ran red bricks and capped and cobbled flint stones, lending the entire structure an exquisite harmony.She looked at the boys, her eyes as wide as plates. ‘That’s it then. At least it’s got a roof on!’ And then she burst into laughter, with possibly a slightly manic edge. She’d been convinced, despite Mr Fanshawes’ reassurances, that the estate was in rack and ruin and that she had actually inherited a great big pile of dung.
To read more, download it herehttps://books2read.com/u/3G2wBO