The Blackmore Country

by F. J. Snell

Apart from inevitable decay, the mansion remained practically unaltered until about the middle of the last century, when it was thoroughly restored by the late Sir John Walrond, who planted the fine avenues of oak and cedar. Sir John did nothing to destroy or impair the character of the place, and the changes he introduced were extremely judicious, as indeed was to be expected from a gentleman of his refined taste. Son of Mr Benjamin Bowden Dickinson, of Tiverton, who assumed his wife’s name on his marriage with the heiress of the last of the Bradfield line, he came into possession in 1845. At that time the house consisted of north and south gabled wings, united by the old hall, and in ruinous repair, roughcast and whitewashed. Low offices disfigured the west side, and the south wall was propped with timber. A farmyard and other buildings occupied the site of the present entrance.

Such was Bradfield. To-day it is one of the most charming and beautiful homes in the West. The most ancient and characteristic portion is the noble hall, which is forty-four feet long by twenty-one feet wide, and glories in a magnificent hammer-beam roof, adorned with carved angels, a rich cornice, carved pendants, and old oak plenishings. The napkin panelling is in excellent preservation, and the fine woodwork, once covered with many coats of paint, is now fully exposed. Quaint and delightful features of the apartment are the open fireplace, the minstrel gallery, and a dog-gate which kept canine favourites below stairs. Just off the minstrel gallery is the state bedroom, containing a good sketch of the hall and gallery in days of yore, which gives one to see how rich the colouring must have been. Below the gallery is the “buttery hatch,” and beyond the “buttery hatch,” the old kitchen, now the library.

The drawing-room, communicating by a doorway with the hall dais, and one of the last rooms to be restored, has, in lieu of paint and whitewash, walls of moulded oakwork, a richly panelled and decorated ceiling, and a Jacobean mantelpiece. On the screen over the doorway are coloured figures of Adam and Eve; and among other curios are an embroidered silk sachet, in which is enclosed a love letter from Mr Walrond to Anne Courtenay, written on parchment, and dated October 27, 1659, and a prayer-book belonging to the old family chapel. Many other charming sights the interior affords, such as the oak panelling of the dining-room, its old chimney-piece, its pictures. And outside is a rare plesaunce, with clipped box-trees, and great clipped yews, and a lake, and an old bowling-green. Truly, an ideal country-house!

Another branch of the Walronds lived at Dulford House, which is also in the neighbourhood. Neither of these mansions can be exactly identified with the “Walderscourt” of the romance, which is represented as standing on a spot roughly indicated by Pitt Farm, in the parish of Culmstock, and not far from the village.

There are coloured effigies of the Cavalier period in Uffculme Church, which, by the way, has a magnificent screen, sixty-seven feet in length, probably the longest in the county. Nothing authentic is known about the effigies, but many have the impression that they represent members of the Walrond family. It is possible, however, that the originals of the busts were Holways, of Leigh, since the oldest monuments in the church were erected in memory of their dead. Leigh Court is the name of the present mansion, but Goodleigh, as is shown by old deeds, was the description of the more ancient manorial residence, which did not stand on the same site. And thereby hangs a tale.

The late Mr William Wood, father of my kind friend, Mr William Taylor Wood, of Gaddon, owned and lived at Leigh, and, being of an economical turn of mind, he thought he would clear away the few mouldering ruins of the old manor house, which only cumbered the ground, and thus extend the area of one of his fields. Men were engaged for the work, and had already proceeded some way with their task, when suddenly a workman threw down his tools and vanished clean out of the neighbourhood. For years there were no tidings of him. Eventually he returned, but never vouchsafed the least explanation of his extraordinary conduct. The people of the place, by whom a new coat or pair of boots would have been scrutinised with suspicion, all decided that he had found a “pot of treasure,” whilst Mr Wood, who, with all his good qualities, was somewhat touched with superstition, commanded the operation to be stayed.

Wandering about in this pleasant and hospitable region one gathers many a charming idyll of bygone times. Such, for instance, is the story of the young lady who arrived at Gaddon on a short visit and remained fourteen years. It seems that the old housekeeper was sitting on a box before the kitchen fire, preparing lamb’s tails for a pie (by dipping them in water brought to a certain temperature, in order to facilitate the removal of the wool), when all at once she fell back—dead.

The master of the house, Mr Richard Hurley, had relations living in another part of the parish, and, on learning the sad news, sent off to them for assistance. There were a lot of girls in the family, and they and their mother were sitting cosily round the hearth, when there came a knock at the door. In those days a knock at the door was enough to throw any country household into a ferment of excitement, which, in this instance, was not diminished when the messenger announced his errand.