Nyn Park

*Nyn Manor

*The Grange

*LEE VALLEY PARK

Memories of Nyn Park Summers Long Ago.

It must be remembered that the fragments of memories flow from a few short stays spent at Nyn Park some 80 years ago drawn from the minds of three very young children and a lot has happened since that time.  By far the greatest and saddest obstacle to their thoughts is the total destruction of that great and beautiful mansion.

Anne’s memories Aged 8 or 9

A mansion, set at the root of three mile long driveways with a wide open gravel strewn sweep leading to the imposing from door with its broad step, in which at dawn one morning a fox was seen basking in the early sunshine.

If one opened that front door there were twin bathrooms on each side.  Then one stepped into the great hall and beyond it the drawing room, beautifully furnished with French windows looking out on to the spacious lawn and gardens beyond.  To the right of the drawing room was the large flower-filled conservatory.  To the left of the front door, the dining room with its massive table and chairs.  There were a number of smaller sitting rooms and a library, then further on, a large kitchen with its accompanying porch, storerooms and scullery.  Upstairs there were long carpeted corridors which led to the lovely bedrooms, each named for a flower and decorated appropriately.  Each guest was awakened with a dish of home grown fruit, though there was also a sumptuous breakfast served downstairs till 10.30 a.m.

Outside around the large croquet lawn there were many great trees and a pleasant summer house full of interesting wet day pursuits for all ages.  Beside the lawn and sloping upwards were flower beds in terrace formation and greenhouses full of exotic plants.  Chickens roamed free and the hunting for their eggs made a morning delight for young guests.  One could play golf on a nine-hole course, tennis and croquet and the walks were an adventure whichever way you went.  One led to a great oak tree where there was a swing that seemed to take one to the sky, then, further on, a large pond full of ducks and fish and wonderful water lilies.

I remember tea on the terrace in the afternoon was formal, with ladies in their best dresses and sporting parasols, while the men in white flannels played croquet (if I ever hear the sound of croquet balls colliding, I am once again on the lawn at Nyn).

I and my two young brothers were given a separate small dining room near the kitchen for our meals which we took with our beloved maid, Maude, who we brought with us, though it was not all holiday for her, I’m afraid.

Sometimes we were summoned to join the grownups in the drawing room before dinner.  We had to be very clean, well-dressed and on our best behaviour, but a better memory for me which lives for ever is the evening strolls with my father up the hill behind the house, called “Scotland” where we jumped thistles together and played with the dogs, and his dignified parson bearing melted away as the sun set.

Martin’s memories aged 5 or 6

 My father was curate of St. Peter’s Bournemouth and I believe my father and mother got to know the Misses Le Blanc and Kidston when they were there on one of their seaside holidays.  A family invitation to Nyn Park followed and a number of summer holidays were spent there.

 It seems now that I went on one fortnight visit, but perhaps there were more.  At that time, 1925 or so, I was about 6 or 7 and my elder sister, Anne, was about 9.  We both enjoyed the sheer delights of freedom and almost inevitable sunshine of late summer.  We had every luxury afforded by the enormous, lovely house, constant attention of an army of servants and total freedom.

 It was a surprise each morning to find on waking a dish of selected fruits – gooseberries, plums, a few grapes, all gleaned from the garden.  Mother and Father had their main meals in the dining room with the ladies of the house.  We had our meals in a small room overlooking the lawn at the West, rear, of the house, next to the kitchen.  Bryan, my younger brother, was not old enough to join in most of our excursions, but we have always been a close family and shared the enjoyment of the stay.  Standing on the edge of the lawn at the back of the house – I suppose looking West, in the far corner on the left was a magnificent Lime tree and further to the left, a little up the hill was a large double cage.  In the left hand one was a big white cockatoo and in the right hand section a magnificent parrot in full array of colour.

Indeed there was one other small parrot kept in a cage indoors which kept up a continuous squawking whenever anyone was near – the only breaker of peace!  In the photograph, you will see the cage, the cloth was provided to quieten the squawking.  My parents, sister Anne, brother Bryan and I are also in the picture.  The shot is taken just outside a window in the centre at the back of the house; please note the reflection in the window to the right of my mother.  This somehow shows the eaves of the gardener’s cottage behind the hedge.  We couldn’t find any trace of this which at the time of our visit in 1970s  but it used to be at the beginning of the drive leading to the lake and eventually to Northaw.

In the photograph of the afternoon tea party set on the left of the lawn you can see the top of the very large conservatory.  A large water trough in the middle of the conservatory held frogs and fish.  When Anne and I last visited the place in 1973 I believe, remnants of the conservatory were still visible.  Nearer the kitchen yard were some pigsties and back in the 1920’s we were delighted to find them occupied!  Standing at the garden door and looking over the lawn to the right was a small hedged and recessed area with a small summerhouse.  Here we discovered a game of counters and a slot at the top of channels which divided into pockets, each marked with a score.  We were not surprised to find no trace of this blessed spot when last visiting.

The lawns, of course, were immaculate and I remember being interested to see that the horses drawing the gang mowers wore leather boots to protect the sward!  Way back in the 20s, we never even saw the lake, so grown over it had become that the only hint was the half submerged boathouse. 

Not far from the cottage area, off the drive was, and possibly still is, a fine oak tree from which we enjoyed an excellent swing.

Just as you entered the main house door, on your immediate left was a small, convenient lavatory and hand basin.  The hot and cold taps were separately placed and the water came through the mouth of a head of a magnificent lion!  How valuable that little room would be if it had survived!  Curiously I remember watching the butler, wearing a baize apron, busy polishing silver in his pantry opposite the kitchen.

We must have had rainy days because I can remember the nursery, top right hand front room as you look at the front of the house, which housed the largest set of Noah’s Ark figures I had ever seen, and I still can’t quite see how we managed to play with it all.  Ironically we had a fire drill when we were there which involved going down a terrible canvas chute from the nursery to the ground.  They were unable to encourage me to try the escape route!

We must have been to the house on several visits because on each occasion father had to overhaul the two cuckoo clocks!

It was strange seeing the trees on our last visit, their skirts touching the ground, still there.  What wonderful places for hide and seek.

Our hostesses sported a magnificent automobile, built I should think during the first world war and a uniformed chauffeur in charge!

There was a story that Captain Kidston (a relative of Miss Kidston) shot down a zeppelin somewhere near the estate in the first world war en route for a raid on London.*  

Here is a badly written “poem” I wrote in 1976 after we saw the ruins.  It is like the end of a tragedy – a play with so much sheer happiness in the plot and such a sad dramatic end.

Nobody stopped the fire burning the house apart,

And those who tarried turned their tears away.

Hardly a soul heard the crackle of the crying wood

Split and splintered in the searing flames

And those who did, stopped up their aching ears.

Hardly a soul felt the heat from the crumbling walls, 

or the soft hot quilt of the falling, covering ash

and those who did, slipped back into the shade.

Hardly a soul noticed the passing in the night

Of an age-old different way of life

And those who did, sighed and remembered the days

Of blazing summer sun and the quiet green lawns 

Groomed short by the horse-drawn mowers,

Of peaches and plums picked fresh from the garden glass

And the damp smell of heat and the croak of toads

In the lazy time of the day.

It’s gone; and maybe, best forgotten?

Those feudal times, when nobody stopped to wonder 

Who banked up the grated fires, 

When winter raged white

Through the silent skies of the night.

5^th December 1976

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