Yesterday (day 82) was the furthest we've been for months when we drove twelve miles to the outskirts of Wolverhampton to visit the spectacular Wightwick Manor.
Wightwick (pronounced wittick) was gifted to the National Trust in 1937 by the wealthy industrialist Geoffrey Mander. Sir Geoffrey and his wife, Lady Mander were the first donors to the charity's Country House Scheme to offer their property during their lifetimes and then continue to live in the house, opening up on a Thursday to a handful of visitors.
Built in 1887, Wightwick Manor is one of the few surviving houses built in the Arts and Crafts style. Due to coronavirus restrictions, only the gardens are currently open and operate on a pre-booked basis. At 10.30 we had the extensive grounds to ourselves. What a treat.
As always, the day had started with a Wii Fit session and fruit and yoghurt for breakfast. The forecast was for a cloudy day with intermittent heavy showers but, although the sky went ominously dark on our approach to Wightwick, the weather gods were on our side and the vintage umbrella I'd packed as a precaution wasn't necessary.
We'd last visited Wightwick in 2012 (HERE) when ex-blogger Krista and her husband Chris came to stay. Back then we'd spent our time inside, swooning over the William Morris wallcoverings and fabrics, the De Morgan tiles and the Pre-Raphaelite collection which included original works by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Edward Burne-Jones, Elizabeth Siddal, Ford Maddox Brown and John Everett Millais and, shamefully, hadn't paid much attention to the garden.
After spending the last three months confined to our own garden I can't tell you what a treat it was to explore somebody else's.
In every border, bed or patch of land, something beautiful caught my eye.
I wore a 1970s Janet Wood for Monsoon Afghan dress, a 1920s silk kimono and a pair of cherry red Doc Marten Diva boots topped off with my orange fedora, another precaution against the predicted rain.
With nobody to disturb us, we could really study the garden. I loved the colour palette, the companion planting and most of all, the roses. **True story** I've never understood why people get so worked up about roses, garish colours and blousyness aside, I've always associated them with formal gardens, something I don't particularly care for. However, at Wightwick, the roses seemed almost lawless, scrambling up walls and along fence posts, embracing the vegetables and intoxicating us with their heady scent. I need tumbling cascades of white roses in my life.
It was exciting to tour the kitchen gardens and compare the progress of our veg plants to theirs and loved that they'd fashioned their own bean wigwams from sticks like we had.
After a couple of hours of exploring the unfamiliar, we felt invigorated, inspired and at peace and made a plan to explore somewhere else next week. After weeks and weeks of human doings, we were once again human beings.
After popping back home for some noodles we drove over to visit Liz and Al who live in a Victorian toll keeper's cottage they've restored themselves on the banks of the Wyrley & Essington canal on the outskirts of Walsall.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in their garden drinking gin (that's Liz and me, Al was working and Jon was driving) and nibbling freshly-baked savoury scones and, of course, maintaining a safe distance at all times!
After pizza and salad, we spent the evening drinking rum and watching The Great British Sewing Bee and a surprisingly fascinating documentary on the BBC i-Player tracing the popularity of knitting in Britain in the Twentieth Century (HERE).
What a fabulous - and lazy - day!
Thursday (day 83) started by me wheeling the bins out, a Wii Fit session and fruit and yoghurt breakfast. The rain we'd be promised yesterday had arrived during the night and seemed keen on hanging around, definitely a staying-in kind of a day. While Jon starting the cutting in, I gave the lounge a proper clean.
Glass washed, furniture polished, rugs swept, wooden floors mopped, picture frames and ornaments dusted, fireplace scrubbed. Even The Boy David, my Victorian bronze bust, had his top hat attended to.
I mopped the stairs and did my best to clean the surfaces and floor in the dining room but, as it's currently a dumping ground for most of the stuff that normally belongs in the kitchen I couldn't see a great deal of difference.
After a break for noodles, the high winds had blown the rain clouds away so I went outside and repotted two plants Liz had given me yesterday. Neither she nor I have any idea what they are so, if you do, please let me know.
**UPDATE**
Thank you, Irina and Linda, apparently the mystery plant is known as Mother of Thousands in the UK and Kalanchoe in Kiev.
**UPDATE**
Thank you, Irina and Linda, apparently the mystery plant is known as Mother of Thousands in the UK and Kalanchoe in Kiev.
 |
| WEARING: Vintage Anokhi block printed jacket (eBay), Anokhi maxi dress (Anokhi shop, 2019), Doc Marten boots |
Jon finished his cutting-in, we both got changed and went for a bracing walk around the block.
I couldn't resist giving my new-to-me 1970s Anokhi jacket a whirl. My dress is also made by Anokhi but bought new from their shop in Jaipur when we visited Rajasthan last year. I love that, despite being made 45 years apart, the prints and colours are almost identical. Hooray for a clothing label that isn't fashion-led.
Tea was cauliflower, broccoli, peas, roast potatoes, vegetarian sausages and Yorkshire puddings. Jon had veggie gravy, I didn't.
 |
| SOURCE |
There's nothing on normal TV I fancy watching so I've just had a look at the films on the BBC i-player. I'm liking the sound of this one.
Stay safe and do stay in touch. I love hearing from you.