Winderton

Winderton, Warwickshire

For today's wander I thought I head out for darkest south-east Warwickshire. My destination was centred upon Compton Wynyates, perhaps one of the nation's finest country houses from the reign of the two Henry Tudors. I remember going there in the 60s as a schoolboy and being handed a packed lunch as we got of the coach. There are Comptons this that and the other around south Warwickshire, and all this Compton interest stems from a Compton occupation of the present day site Compton Wynyates since the very early 1200s. It was Edmund Compton who decided to build the property we see today. However, Edmond died in 1493, aged about 33, and it remained for his son William to complete the construction. William was only aged about 12 at the time of his father's death (some sources fix his dob as 140, others as 1482) and as was the norm, William was placed a ward of court, coming under the care of Henry VII. Henry appointed him a page to the then Duke of York, then a boy of about two. Though there was a gap of some 10 years, the boys grew and remained friends so that, by when Henry became king in 1509 aged 17, William was a close and trusted friend. His friendship was 'rewarded' with the office of Groom of the Stool.

It was under the Henry Tudors that this office reached its zenith. It was, among other body bits, an intimate pathway to the heart and ears of the monarch who thus might be influenced in the giving and taking away of patronage. thus, and as David Starkey put it 'The Groom of the Stool had (to our eyes) the most menial tasks; his standing, though, was the highest ... Clearly then, the royal body service must have been seen as entirely honourable, without a trace of the demeaning or the humiliating.'

William set about the completion of Compton Wynyates using not the local cotswold stone, but by transporting the 'raspberry' brick from the dilapidated castle at Fullbrook granted to him by the King. The castle had been built in the 1400s, an early example of a brick built one, but was ruinous apart from the lodge, by 1478. There is some evidence to suppose the 'praty castle made of stone and brike' built by John, Duke of Bedford, aroused the jealously of the neighbouring Richard Neville, 16th Earl of Warwick, aka 'The Kingmaker'. The lodge went to Compton Wynyates as did numerous example of heraldic stained glass, Nothing appears on the ground of Fullbrook today though its position as parched crop marks may be seen from the air above Castle Farm between Barford and Snitterfield, as may moats to the north of the site.

Compton Wynyates enjoys tales of valour from the late Tudor dynasty through the civil war and restoration periods. William's grandson, Henry, as Baron Compton, sat as a peer during the trial of Mary Queen of Scots. Henry's son, William, the 2nd Baron Compton was elevated to the Earl of Northampton in 1618 by King James I. He died in 1630. His son, Spencer, the 2nd Earl fought for the King during the Civil War at Edgehill, but was killed on 19 March 1643 at the Battle of Hopton Heath. Spencer's son James from 1643 the 3rd Earl, also ought for the Royalist cause, commanding the cavalry at the First Battle of Newbury some six months later on 20 September 1643. His younger brother, Henry, was Bishop of London from 1675 to 1713. James' second son, Spencer, styled the 1st Earl of Wilmington in 1730, is regarded as Great Britain's second prime minister, the next after Robert Walpole. Spencer Compton's elder brother succeeded his father as the 4th Earl in 1681, aged 17. However, Compton patronage of the Stuart line seems to have dissolved by the time of the Glorious Revolution. The 4th Earl switched sides and backed the winner. At the coronation of William and Mary in 1689 he bore the King's sceptre and cross. The year after that coronation, the Case is Altered was built! Yay!!

Anyway, I didn't bother with boring Compton Wynyates.

Instead I took the climb up the Compton side of Windmill Hill to look at the now sail-free Tysoe Windmill. It was pretty windy up there and the crop of trees by the wall, including the neighbouring cedars, were stretched at the shoulders. I descended back the same way and on reaching the road stepped into the field on the other side and followed the path directly towards the sun, now annoyingly low in the sky. A couple of trees at the far end of the field were quite interesting as were the colour and folds of the ploughed field, but apart from this, there was not much to see.

By when I reached the Winderton Road apart from windmills there was little in my camera. Plus I didn't want this Sunday to end. So instead of turning back or take a left to Winderton, I entered yet another field, thinking I could link up with a path some distance yonder which would bring me out at Winderton and thereby avoid the road. There might be something of interest just a stone's throw away.

There wasn't. And as I trudged along, watching the sun drop then vanish below Brailes Hill, making slow progress up the softly mudded hill to Winderton church, I wondered what the afternoon had all been for. There was an unmistakable sense of disappointment and waste, both with what had gone before and what I had still to do in order to get home. By when I reached Winderton the air had caught a chill.

I have fond memories of Winderton. For no special reason other than about 10 years ago I enjoyed a potter around here. It was one autumn. I only know that it was that time of year because hanging on my wall at work is a picture I made of Brailes Hill, taken from the stile by the windmill, and the oaks are dressed in amber. It was also here that I spoke to my Dad on the phone and gave him a running commentary of a stealthy approach I was making to Compton Pike. And it was at this very spot, that autumn long ago, that I shot this road and buildings with a crappy plastic Holga. So I like it a lot, and all along I think I knew that once I reached this place, provided nothing had changed (and it hadn't), this shot would rank at the top of today's blip parade.

From here it was another mile and a half back to the car. At the edge of the village I was touched to read a sign announcing that this coming Saturday, 13 December, Brailes Picture House would be showing Miracle on 34th Street at Winderton Church. Candles, roasted chestnuts and mulled cider would be available. However, there was a caveat concerning when the infra-red heaters were turned off during the film. So the more folks the merrier and warmer too, with parishioners encouraged to bring their own jumpers, onezies, blankets and hot water bottles.

As I drew nearer the car, dropping down a steeply banked roadside lined with a dark curtain of tall trees and roosting crows, so I came alongside the Pike. The ground rose swiftly up the bank and I was miffed to discover the entrance gate was locked. Nonsensically, I then wandered back up the road to a place I had clocked earlier had a gap in the hedge, leading to a field with an un-gated means of access to the field containing the Pike. Barely able to see, I stuck my head through and gained a measure of what branches and other things I would need to hang on to or avoid in order to make it up the steep bank. Halfway through this gap, squinty-eyed in case I should cause something thorny to swing back at me, I wondered what the dickens I was playing at. I might be able to clamber through and up with a modicum of day light. But in 30 minutes it would be pitch black. Assuming for one moment I was able to see this lowly hedge gap from the lofty advantage I was seeking, the prospect of my returning to the roadside without slipping in the mud and injury free seemed a pointless difficulty, considering the doubtful quality of a photograph of the Pike this time of night. So I backed up out of the hedge and resumed the road.

It was either I didn't want Sunday to end, or most likely, and the subtle difference is important, I didn't want Monday to start.