Wellington Shoots

Recently seen on Midsomer Murders, this is Wellington College near Crowthorne in Berkshire. It stood in as a dodgy university with people in those funny crash helmets cycling all over the inner quadrangle whilst the usual surfeit of corpses piled up in the surrounding countryside. I spent a lot of time working here last year, but was continually drawn to the south elevation. On this occasion it's about eight o'clock on a summer's morning, after a very early start and a hearty breakfast with yawning masters. Founded in 1853 as a memorial to the Duke of Wellington, who'd died the year before, it opened six years later. So this year sees its 150th anniversary. Pevsner thought the building highly important in the history of Victorian architecture, and it's one of those eyecatching structures you just can't stop looking at. Originally intended for the orphaned children of military servicemen, the entire first intake ran off in fright across the then bare heathy landscape after just a week. Now it's a 'vibrant and popular co-educational boarding and day school where girls and boys learn to be leaders for life'. And presumably how to avoid Inspector Barnaby.

Holt, Who Goes There?

At first glance it's like coming across a small town, high in High Leicestershire on a hilltop above Medbourne. This is Nevill Holt, and essentially it's just the hall, a vast late 17th century stable block and a church that was as convenient to the household as it's possible to be. Hoskins tells us that there had been a clearing in the woods here since the 12th or 13th centuries, and a manor house was here in 1302. This core was added to by Thomas Palmer, who died in 1474, and additions made by Sir Thomas Nevill between 1591 and 1636. The Papworths had a go in 1830 and it was a country home of the Cunards (the shipping ones) from 1876 to 1912. One can only imagine the huntin' and shootin' parties that went on here. When I first went inside it was a prep. school, which it became in 1919. I was negotiating its presence in a little film we were attempting, and the headmaster stared at me blankly over tea in delicate china cups. Nevill Holt is now in very private hands, bought with the fruits of the mobile phone. But a path runs in front to Great Easton, the views are magnificent and it's always so invigorating, particularly on an early spring afternoon when the only sound is the wind in the trees, or in the summer when the accompaniment is likely to be the 'chock' of willow and leather on the cricket pitch. Stands the clock at half past three, but are there toasted teacakes dripping with hot butter still for tea?