Holiday cottage was a step back in time
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IT was so dark when we got to our remote holiday cottage on a National Trust estate, the only tiny greenish light by the front door could have been a glow worm.
It took a little courage to turn the key and enter (while everyone else conveniently fumbled with phones and bags) and I did so, clearing my throat and saying hello to the house, and any other spirits that might not have been expecting us.
But I already felt at home.
Red stone Old Linceter is a classic 1800s farmworkers cottage, with four-square windows either side of a lipstick-red estate-painted door.
It creaked, the stairs were steep and uneven, there were spaces left for roosting bats and, set in a sheep-filled damson, pear and apple orchard, I fell hopelessly in love with it.
The view from the front door, of distant, Hereford farms and hop kilns, was like a Ladybird book cover.
Next to the cottage were a series of tumbledown barns, a cart shed and stables.
It looked as if the farmer had recently left; an old coat was hung up and there was the general flotsam of farmwork from 30 years ago – tins of Stockholm tar, (pre-polyprop) baler twine, a dandy brush, old horseshoes.
We walked out through commons, woods and always orchards.
Even in the parched heat of the drought, there were flocks of linnets and goldfinches, redstarts, families of spotted flycatcher.
The cottage belonged to Brockhampton estate and its moated medieval manor house.
Abandoned for a new Georgian mansion in the 1760s, the small, original ‘black-and-white’ manor became home to a series of tenant farmers.
We loved the stories of horsemen and estate workers; of Alice Dennet’s kitchen, where she cooked for shooting and other parties.
Our son and daughters compared those rural roles we’ve all done, a wry love and need for this kind of work, and found much to relate to.
Back at the cottage, I replace, again, a vintage lemonade bottle that has rolled out of the barn, worried about sun on glass and fires.
At sunset, the barn owl flies out of the hay loft, and pipistrelle and longeared bats flit from the eaves.
I imagine the scrape of hoof on stone, the blaze on a long face appearing over the door. Thirsty ghosts in this heat. I’d have so many questions.
Wild diary
Although we may have had rain, as you read this, putting water out for wildlife can be a lifesaver!