St Mary's, Bramber

This beautiful house dated c1450 only opens Thursday and Sunday afternoons from May so we had to time our visit, Luckily the sun shone and it was really warm this Thursday afternoon.

This is St Mary’s House, Bramber, now lived in and lovingly maintained by Peter Thorogood (author and composer) and Roger Linton (conservator, designer and landscape gardener) . For the last 30+ years they have renovated and  saved the house from near dereliction, no mean feat. They were each awarded the MBE for services to conservation and the arts.

It’s a lovely friendly house, if a little dark with panelling for my taste. When it was originally built the nearby river Adur (pronounced Ada) came right up to the edge of the garden. There have been several bridges across just here. Pilgrims on their way to Canterbury used to rest overnight in the house which was run by monks. Queen Elizabeth 1 and Henry VIII also visited. Now the private owners are kind enough to share it with the public on a limited basis, beautiful original interiors and landscaped gardens, wonderful artefacts and elegant furniture from both families. The owners are on duty as well as local people to fill us in on the history, as well as one of the nicest tea shops situated in the garden.  All very pleasant and friendly.

Part of the garden used to be an old circular orchard and is now the Poetry garden with poems from various eras lining the walk. This one amused me, quite clever too.

An Original Love Story

He struggled to kiss her. She struggled the same.
To prevent him so bold and undaunted;
But, as smitten by lightning, he heard her explain,
“A vaunt, sir!” and off he a vaunted.

But when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh,
Showing clearly that he was affronted,
And threatened by main force to carry her off,
She cried, “Don’t!” and the poor fellow donted.

When he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet,
Praying aloud, as before he had ranted,
That she would forgive him and try to be sweet,
And said; “Can’t you.” The dear girl recanted.

Then softly he whispered, “how could you do so?
I certainly thought I was jilted;
But come thou with me, to the parson we’ll go,
Say, wilt thou, my dear? And she wilted.

Anon.