So last month, I had this picture - the one on the right hand side - to deliver. Not a million miles away, to an area we thought we knew inside-out. But somehow, this secret place had evaded us. It was an oasis of quiet, a little settlement near one of the Oxford rivers, where you wouldn't go unless you had business there. For a start, there is a large elderly lady goose, keeping a watchful eye on everything and everyone. She was formidable - look at that chest!
Almost as soon as we were in our host's front door, I was intrigued by a pair of photographs which looked rather familiar - anyone else recognise this rather famous statue?
That's right - it's the Peter Pan statue which stands in Kensington Gardens. Although it's not quite. These are a pair of silver nitrate photographs of the original plaster casts of that very statue. They were rescued from a skip by my client's father and then rescued again by her, from being binned again in a clearout. They are signed by the sculptor, Sir George Frampton - or just George Frampton as he has called himself here. Because of the usual problems of photographing glass I am afraid the image qualities are not great and I inadvertently appear in this one. I haven't been able to find any mention surviving pre-casts online, who knows if these are not the only records?
After coffee, we were given a grand tour, the main feature of which was this magnificent old disused corn mill. A mill was recorded here almost a thousand years ago in the Domesday Book and was still grinding in the 20th century. It is divided into three parts and we were privileged to be allowed to view the corner section to the left.
It is not entirely disused - it does hold the most amazing amount of - stuff - imaginable. The ground floor is crammed. Oh hoarders, rejoice!
Inside, it has barely changed structurally since it's working days. This includes the steps joining the floors, which sent the fear through me - heights and the vision of me falling down them, breaking my arm again. Andy went up first.
The first floor, smelling faintly of -
- apples!
When I first saw the mill from the outside, my first thought was what an amazing studio complex it would make. As I gingerly climbed each level I was proved right - the light is incredible, pouring in through two sides and once you get past the jumble, the space is immense.
A scythe rather casually propped up against a wall - old, but not unused; the blade looked fresh and new.
If you don't mind heights (I do) the views are stunning. This is as far as I could bring myself to get to that great big gap just waiting to be fallen through, showing the river to the right and the towpath where we would continue our walk.
The upper levels were more dusty, simply storing various beams and architectural gumph. Not so much light, but I could see a library in my mind's eye, cosy and labyrinthine with bookshelves and armchairs at strategic places.
Descending the steep steps backwards was even more heart-stopping than going up them. Andy stood nobly at the bottom of each flight, to catch me (or rather, cushion my fall) if the worst happened.
Outside, still mentally planning my studio mill-conversion (should I somehow acquire a couple of million pounds) there were more charms. A dear little vardo in need of love - me please! Who would not treasure this sweet wagon?
As usual, I got left behind, taking dozens of photographs.
There were chickens fussing about -
- and a pair of mischievous looking runner ducks.
We finished up almost back where we'd started, on the side of the sluice gates, which can just be seen to the right of the mill, where the red brick bridge is.
Such immense water power pounding through, and the sound fills your ears like thunder.
After a lovely lunch, we left with a homemade quiche, a leg of Scottish red deer (as you do) and the invitation to come back again - which I will, because there are a hundred and one things I want to draw - especially Madame Goose. Oh, and did I mention the goats?
"I believe the goose is Chinese and the goats are African Pigmy Goats. The big black one (Fred) is quite evil but Lulu Alfie and Daisy are really sweet. The Mill is not being restored or converted - YET"
Almost as soon as we were in our host's front door, I was intrigued by a pair of photographs which looked rather familiar - anyone else recognise this rather famous statue?
That's right - it's the Peter Pan statue which stands in Kensington Gardens. Although it's not quite. These are a pair of silver nitrate photographs of the original plaster casts of that very statue. They were rescued from a skip by my client's father and then rescued again by her, from being binned again in a clearout. They are signed by the sculptor, Sir George Frampton - or just George Frampton as he has called himself here. Because of the usual problems of photographing glass I am afraid the image qualities are not great and I inadvertently appear in this one. I haven't been able to find any mention surviving pre-casts online, who knows if these are not the only records?
After coffee, we were given a grand tour, the main feature of which was this magnificent old disused corn mill. A mill was recorded here almost a thousand years ago in the Domesday Book and was still grinding in the 20th century. It is divided into three parts and we were privileged to be allowed to view the corner section to the left.
It is not entirely disused - it does hold the most amazing amount of - stuff - imaginable. The ground floor is crammed. Oh hoarders, rejoice!
Inside, it has barely changed structurally since it's working days. This includes the steps joining the floors, which sent the fear through me - heights and the vision of me falling down them, breaking my arm again. Andy went up first.
The first floor, smelling faintly of -
- apples!
When I first saw the mill from the outside, my first thought was what an amazing studio complex it would make. As I gingerly climbed each level I was proved right - the light is incredible, pouring in through two sides and once you get past the jumble, the space is immense.
A scythe rather casually propped up against a wall - old, but not unused; the blade looked fresh and new.
If you don't mind heights (I do) the views are stunning. This is as far as I could bring myself to get to that great big gap just waiting to be fallen through, showing the river to the right and the towpath where we would continue our walk.
The upper levels were more dusty, simply storing various beams and architectural gumph. Not so much light, but I could see a library in my mind's eye, cosy and labyrinthine with bookshelves and armchairs at strategic places.
Descending the steep steps backwards was even more heart-stopping than going up them. Andy stood nobly at the bottom of each flight, to catch me (or rather, cushion my fall) if the worst happened.
Outside, still mentally planning my studio mill-conversion (should I somehow acquire a couple of million pounds) there were more charms. A dear little vardo in need of love - me please! Who would not treasure this sweet wagon?
As usual, I got left behind, taking dozens of photographs.
There were chickens fussing about -
- and a pair of mischievous looking runner ducks.
We finished up almost back where we'd started, on the side of the sluice gates, which can just be seen to the right of the mill, where the red brick bridge is.
Such immense water power pounding through, and the sound fills your ears like thunder.
After a lovely lunch, we left with a homemade quiche, a leg of Scottish red deer (as you do) and the invitation to come back again - which I will, because there are a hundred and one things I want to draw - especially Madame Goose. Oh, and did I mention the goats?
Update - A final comment from our hosts that day -
"I believe the goose is Chinese and the goats are African Pigmy Goats. The big black one (Fred) is quite evil but Lulu Alfie and Daisy are really sweet. The Mill is not being restored or converted - YET"
