We visited Town End Farmhouse late one chill, darkening, afternoon - we'd driven from Lowood, along a tricksy lane - the route took us up a steep hillside, with glimpses of a deep, wooded, valley, half hidden by mist - there were passing places every hundred yards or so - Anne drove with the skill and daring of an X 3 rocket plane pilot -
The farmhouse overlooked the valley - it had slate roofs and high chimneys - small windows pierced thick stone walls - the same family had lived here for over four centuries - inevitably, I thought of the Starkadders -
There was a small garden - it started to rain - a wonderful tangle of flowers and tender greenery caught the eye - there were necklaces of raindrops upon the mossy stones -
Once inside, we wandered through a series of dark, unsettling, rooms - everything was left as it was since the last daughter of the house died -
There were carvings everywhere - strange troll like figures adorned the fireplace - magnificent pieces of wooden furniture exuded memory - to my joy, I saw a shelf of Annual Registers for the 1770's - in a hallway, I saw wicked antlers, decorating a wall -
In one mysterious bedroom, a linen smock lay crumpled upon a narrow bed - the air throughout the house smelled of wood smoke -
We were told that the house would be closed by mid afternoon in the winter - the rooms get so dark -
I wondered what it would be like to spend the night here - I would sit by the fire, watching the carvings, waiting to see them move -
No comments:
Post a Comment