THE RUINS OF BASING HOUSE
of art, gold and silver plate, coin, and provisions; and all partook of it, from Cromwell to the rank and file. ‘One soldier had a hundred and twenty pieces of gold for his share, others plate, others jewels.’ No wonder they had, with this dazzling prospect before them, rushed to the assault ‘like a fire-flood.’
They made a rare business of this pillage, taking away the valuables, and selling the provisions to the country folks, who ‘loaded many carts.’ The bricks and building materials were given away, probably because they could not wait for the long business of selling them. ‘Whoever will come for brick or stone shall freely have the same for his pains,’ ran the proclamation, and, considering this, it is quite remarkable that even the existing scanty ruins of Basing House are left.
The area comprised within the defences measures fourteen and a half acres, now a tumbled and tangled stretch of ground, a mass of grassy mounds and hollows, overgrown in places with thickets. These ruins are entered from the road by an old brick gateway, still bearing the ‘three swords in pile’ on a shield, the arms of the Paulets, with ivy overhanging and tall trees behind. A tall curtain wall of brick, with a quaintly peaked-roofed tower at either end, now looks down upon the Basingstoke Canal, which many strangers think is the moat, but though a picturesque addition to the scene, it cannot claim any such historic associations, for it was only constructed close upon a hundred years ago.
Near by is Old Basing church, with square tower built of red brick, similar to that seen in the ruins of the House. It is said to be of foreign make. Bullets have up to recent years been extracted from the south door of the church, the original oak door in use two hundred and sixty years ago; and the flint and stone south walls and buttresses bear vivid witness, in their patching of brick, to the ruin that befell this part of the building in those troubled times. Strange to say, a beautiful group of the Virgin and Child still occupies a tabernacle over the west window, uninjured, although it can scarce have escaped the notice of the fanatical soldiery. Within the church are memorials of the loyal Paulets, Marquises of Winchester, and for a period Dukes of Bolton. Their glory has departed with their great House, and although a smaller residence was built in the meadows, close at hand, that has vanished too.
THE ‘GREY LADY’
When Basing House was laid in ruins the Marquis of Winchester retired to his hunting lodge of Hawk Wood, to the south of Basingstoke, and, enlarging it, made the place his residence. His son, created Duke of Bolton, employed Inigo Jones to build a new house on the site of the lodge, and this is the present Hackwood Park. The existing house stands in the midst of dense and tangled woodlands, and although imposing, is a somewhat gloomy pile, with a ghost story. That bitter lawyer, Richard Bethell, of whom it was said that he ‘dismissed Hell, with costs, and took away from orthodox members of the Church of England their last hope of everlasting damnation,’ when he became Lord Chancellor and was created Baron Westbury, purchased Hackwood Park, and it was to one of his friends that the ‘Grey Lady’ of the mansion presented herself. Lord Westbury and a party of his friends had arrived from town soon after the purchase, and at a late hour they retired to rest, saying good-night to one another in the corridor. One of the guests woke up in the middle of the night and found his room strangely illuminated, with the indistinct outlines of a human figure visible in the midst of the uncanny glow. Thinking this some practical joke, and feeling very drowsy, he turned round and fell off to sleep again, to wake at a later hour and see the figure of a woman in a long, old-fashioned dress. With more courage than most people would probably have shown under the circumstances, he, instead of putting his head under the bed-clothes, jumped out, whereupon the lady modestly retired. Instead of going to bed again, he sat down and wrote an account of the occurrence; but when at breakfast Lord Westbury and his other friends kept continually asking him how he had slept, his suspicions as to a practical joke having been played upon him were renewed. He accordingly parried all these queries and said he had slept excellently, until Lord Westbury said, ‘Now, look here, we saw that lady dressed in grey follow you into your room last night, you know!’ Explanations followed, but the story of the ‘Grey Lady’ remains mysterious to this day.