Ashburnham Place

 

Ashburnham Place used to be the country seat of the Ashburnham family. They were Earls. Turner drew it- nestled in wooded grounds designed by "Capability" Brown. In front of the house is a lake with waterlilies and a bridge. Successive Ashburnhams remade the house according to architectural fashion until- in the mid-20th century the direct family line died out- and the property passed to a theological student called Bickersteth. He inherited debts and taxes- and had the building demolished- all except for a truncated central block, Capability Brown's Orangery and the stables. Inspired by the prophet Haggai, he turned the estate over to a trust (of which he remained director) which ran it- and still runs it- as a Christian Retreat House and Conference Centre. The place is staffed by attractive young people known as "Catalyst Volunteers". They come from all over the world, get free board and lodging and learn about Jesus. I'm not trying to be flippant but using the sort of language the Trust itself uses.  We were there with a group from the Eastbourne Meeting House. The weather was hot and heavy- with enormous, thundery clouds piled up along the northern horizon. We weren't retreating or conferring, just having a lazy sociable afternoon in congenial surroundings. We wandered about by twos and threes. One couple went swimming in the lake. Eventually we convened in the orangery which is run as a (very decent) cafe. It houses a camelia which is claimed to be the oldest in England. We kept noticing an old chap with a beard who was pottering about, dressed in a Franciscan habit and a baseball cap. My best guess is that he was the groundsman. Two of us spent our wandering time in the church which- for the convenience of the Ashburnham family and the inconvenience of the people of far away Ashburnham village- is tucked in behind the the house. It's that rare, rare thing, a mid-17th century building in the gothic style. The churchyard is largely unmown- for the encouragement of wildflowers and wildlife. Inside is a monument to a couple of 17th century Ashburnhams by the Italian-trained sculptor John Bushnell. It is theatrical, baroque, unEnglish and- because Bushnell wasn't Bernini but only his apostle- endearingly clumsy.  A wife collapses stage right, a putto places a wreath lopsidedly on her head, the husband, in curly wig, emotes stage right. According to legend the wife's head broke off as the piece was being delivered and had to be stuck back on again...