A personal remembrance of Newark Park (1974 – 2011)

This week I report on  a rather poignant  moment  in my life as I say goodbye, for the last time, to an old family friend.

We were first introduced in the summer of 1974  and what a profound impact that introduction had on my life. I  speak not of a person but a house.  Not just any house though. I’m talking about a 16^th century Hunting Lodge which might not be the most historically significant  or architecturally beautiful house in the world  but to me it has always held a very special place in my heart.

As a family we came to be associated with Newark Park through my mother’s London Landlord, Bob, or Uncle Bob as he came to be known to my sister and I.  My mother was very fortunate that during the 60’s when the passion was to find a  Slum landlord she found the rather wonderful   Robert Parsons.  A larger than life Texan (although he was born in Oklahoma in 1920 – raised in Wichita Falls Texas – never losing his wonderful Texan drawl)  Bob came to England with the American army during the 2^nd World War.  He fell in love with the country and after studying architecture at Harvard returned to England in the 1950’s.  A successful antique dealer, property developer and wonderful landlord, he went to Newark Park in 1970 and found a house sadly in decline. (Not unlike McG at the beginning of this year.) The property had come into the hands of the National Trust in 1949 but unsure of what to do with it they had rented it out to a series of tenants, one of whom had turned it into a nursing home for the elderly.  This has to be a low point in its history.   I think of these as the house’s  “Dexter” years, except rather than killing low life street scum, the house was helping to dispatch coffin dodgers – through hypothermia.   

Bob had taken on Newark on the basis of a repair lease,  with I  believe an annual rent of just £1 a year but an agreement to spend something in the region of £10,000 annually on restoration. He took on the task with gusto and, I suspect, spent considerably more than £10,000 a year.  He almost single handedly brought Newark back from the brink and by the time of our first visit, the house had moved out of intensive care and off the endangered list as Bob continued to breathed new life into it....

Our first visit  was in the days before Sat Navs or mobile phones and I remember my father struggling to find Newark. No one in the neighbourhood knew of the house and in those days there were no helpful National Trust signs pointing the way.  We seemed to end up driving through muddy fields and farm yards as we attempted to hone in on the place.  My sister and I had a vision of it being a town house as our only knowledge of Gloucestershire was based on the following children’s Rhyme:

Doctor Foster
Went to Gloucester
In a shower of rain.
He stepped in a puddle
Right up to his middle
And never went there again!

The book where we read it showed a Georgian town house and to a 9 and 10 year old was exactly what we were expecting to find at Newark.  The sight, however, as we finally drove in through the gate (Dad having at long last given up mucking about in muddy fields), passed the gate lodge and down the long curving drive with glorious golden corn fields flanking either side, was beyond our wildest imagination (which, to be honest, at the time consisted mainly of owning more sweets than we could eat and getting out of the car before we wet ourselves with excitement).    

Having the run of the place my sister and I  truly felt like Lord and Lady of the manor.  Bob would even leave Trudy, his beautiful Great Dane (and incidentally my favourite ever dog), with us while he returned to  London.  Trudy was such a character and I remember one time when Bob had packed his car to the gunnels, leaving hardly room for himself.  Somehow, Trudy managed to get into the car and squeezed her not inconsiderable bulk into the space that would have been a tight fit for a fairly small Chihuahua.  It took an age to lure her out and you will never see a dog look so miserable and dejected as when Bob drove off without her. However as soon as the car was out of sight Trudy perked up and returned to her normal  happy self....

Ghosts and things that don't go bump in the night (but might flutter)

Ever since my first visit to Newark I have been plied with stories about the ghosts that haunted the house.  It was built from the stones of Kingswood Abbey (one of the many churches that Henry VIII had dissolved) and two monks are said to hang about  the main staircase.  I can report that, other than the terrifying paintings that  lined the main staircase, with eyes that followed you in the most scary of fashions, ensuring my sister and I didn’t hang around when we went down to collect our night time cup of cocoa,   I never once felt a ghostly presence..... I did however get scared shitless one time while watching a vampire movie, in the old Library at the top of the house, when a bat flew through an open window (I can confidently predict there would have been far more underwear staining if the bat had flown through a closed window).   



If you look very carefully you will fail to find a

ghost gazing  out from any of the windows...

Not unless you have taken loads of drugs or

not slept for a couple of weeks....

Newark - the Mrs B years

For a young man in his early twenties, coming from just an ordinary home, to be able to take a young lady to this wonderful remote house, perched on a high bluff in the Gloucestershire countryside proved to be a wonderful dating weapon.   

Who could fail to be impressed? 

In fact the first time that I took Mrs B down to Newark we found ourselves sitting down to dinner with Sally, Duchess of Westminster.  Bob was renowned for his wonderful dinner parties.  I believe Mrs B was slightly in awe of the situation and was mortified to find that she really didn’t like the starter – consommé and caviar.  She looked across at me and watched me wolfing it down...Like a trooper she managed to finish the starter and just about kept it down (I'm sure the Duchess of Westminster was having enough trouble dealing with commoners, without one of them throwing up all over her)  ...Mrs B was furious when she found out later that I had also disliked consommé and had not been eating it but using my spoon to crush it down into the bowl and then taking the empty spoon back to my mouth....

My sister’s wedding reception was held at Newark  (it always delights me to be able to report that a fight developed between a mother and daughter which ended up with blood being drawn under the main table.  No, it was not my sister and mother but Portia and Misty, two over-excited Great Danes in residence at that time.  In a nice symmetry,  Bob hosted my sister’s wedding reception just as he had for my Mother and Father in London many years before (I told you he was a good landlord, could you imagine Peter Rachman,  one of the most notorious of Landlords, during the period, offering my parents anything but a swift boot out of the property....  ). 

I had the honour of giving my sister away (despite all my best efforts she didn’t receive a single bid, let alone make the reserve I had set) and during the speeches I proposed to Mrs B (or Miss C as she was then)........... Yes, of course I discussed it with my sister first.  She was delighted with my plan as she felt I had already kept Miss C waiting for far too long – I think it was around 10 years (a nice round number in my opinion).  For the record, Miss C never actually said yes but burst into tears, along with most of the rest of the female contingent at the reception.  The effect was like a scene from Night of the Living Dead with mascara running in rivulets  down the cheeks of once immaculately made up  young ladies... I wasn’t sure if I should run for the hills or start hacking the heads off the army of zombies that had suddenly materialised before me.....

Bob and Michael 

Initially, Newark was a summer venue for us but, as the years went by, Bob’s improvements made the house suitable to be opened to the public and so our visits moved to winter which was out of season. (I’m sad to say that I never saw Newark under a blanket of snow, which looks magical  in the photographs that I have seen.  Although, being so remote, I don’t think we would ever have made it anyway.) Even after the loss of my Father in 1982, we carried on the relationship with Newark and it was around this time that Michael Claydon came to stay for a weekend and, as he puts it, forgot to leave.

While Bob had brought architectural creativity to Newark, Michael – whose previous jobs had included being a theatre manager - brought a business acumen which allowed Newark to start paying its own way and to bring it closer to the more conventional style of  National Trust property.  For almost twenty years (all except an 18 month break when Bob gave up the tenancy after he was mistakenly diagnosed with having Parkinson’s disease – it turned out to be a brain tumour which was successfully removed) until 2000 when Bob died just short of his eightieth birthday, Bob and Michael formed a successful  partnership  continuing to  guide Newark towards safety.  Before Bob had agreed to take on Newark there had been a real danger that the house would have been demolished.... Michael carried on the hard work for another 11 years.

I could not understand why Michael would ever consider giving up Newark Park but our final visit last month was a real eye opener.  The house had been moving into a new phase for a number of years  but because we had always visited out of season we had not noticed the impact of the subtle changes, such as part of the house being transformed into a separate holiday flat.  For almost half the year Michael had become a prisoner in his home as Newark gradually became drawn more and more into the public domain.  Much as I hate to admit it, this is of course the only way Newark can survive going forward.  Michael has met a new partner, Philip, and they need to get on with their own lives.

The sad thing for me is that with Michael moving out of the house, part of what makes the house magical will be lost - the warmth that people living somewhere bring,  giving personality to what is otherwise just an inanimate object.   It was certainly strange to see so many visitors wondering around Newark and the way people talked about the house and asked questions of the room  stewards*  made it feel like a wake.  I guess in terms of my memories, it was....

* A sure sign that things had really changed – It would have been very hard for my sister and I to play Lord and Lady of the manor, although thinking about it we probably could have pretended that they were our servants....

 I know that the days and weeks I spent at Newark, even when added up, barely register as a blink to this extraordinary house**.  I count myself as very privileged to have been able to stay there and have been left with some fantastic memories. We are truly grateful to Bob and Michael for their wonderful hospitality over the years....Yet time moves on and as one chapter closes a new one begins. If you ever find yourself in Gloucestershire, close to Wotton-under-Edge you should pop in and visit  the old place – (as long as it is between March and the end of October from 11am to 5pm, Wed, Thur and weekends) and say hello for me. Sadly I can’t and won’t be going back..... 

** While  there will never be a blue plaque saying that I stayed here –  I have one claim to fame, having slept in six of the ten bedrooms – I doubt no one else has.

Watch of the week
The regular section in support of Joe (Stunt Cock) and his growing watch business Xupes. Joe mentioned that they had been getting a number of hits via the BlackLOG.

Xupes has been trading for over 2 years and  Joe has recently developed some great contacts in the trade which enables him to pick up surplus stock and sell them at great prices. Mrs B is a regular purchaser from his jewellery section, going self service once she finally realised that her husband is not the jewellery buying type…

Rolex Datejust 18k/SS Diamond Dial



Xupes price	£5,495.00
RRP	£6,850.00
Saving	£1,355.00

Xupes price

£5,495.00

RRP

£6,850.00

Saving

£1,355.00

Excellent condition New style Rolex Datejust ladies 18k yellow gold/stainless steel automatic 26mm watch on stainless steel/18k yellow gold strap with stainless steel deployment buckle. This is the mens size measuring 26mm. This is the sought after newer model with solid strap and concealed clasp. The dial is silver with diamond markers. The watch is in excellent condition with original boxes, manuals & guarantee stamped and dated 21st June 2007 purchased from a UK Autorized dealer. This particular model is current and still sold in Rolex Boutiques Worldwide. Strap measures 6.25 inches.

Record of the week
I was having difficulty getting versions of the songs that I wanted to use to load this week - not sure if access to the jukebox is coming to an end  - a shame if it is but it has been a great ride. I still laugh (through gritted teeth) at the woman who commented that the music I selected showed dubious taste,  she missed the point.   Yes a lot of the songs played are ones I like, sometimes however I use songs that just happen to go with the weeks subject no matter how naf they are – a case of you the reader,  well listener really if you choose to hit the play button, having to suffer for my art....
 

Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks - Sentimental hogwash but as it reached No.1 in the UK in 1974 there was just no way that I could not include it here - I can feel the tears welling up already, just not sure if it is through sadness and recollection of times that are gone and can never be again or of having to listen to this painful ditty once again, especially after thinking I had escaped its clutches forever - almost worth going deaf for (Michael count yourself lucky that your hearing is playing up at the moment and while I hope the operation to sort it out goes well try and avoid listening to this rubbish when you get it back)

This Is The Last Time by Keane - very apt for this weeks post - if it had been released in 1974 I think I might have cried again

All Things Must Pass by  The Beatles -A bit strange this,  while I can’t get any of the George Harrison versions of the song to play,  I did find this 1969 Beatles rehearsal of the song – this would have been from the Get Back Sessions,  which eventually became the Let it Be album – When"All Things Must Pass" failed to make it onto "Let It Be",  George Harrisons used it as the title of his first solo album  – incidentally the same year that Bob came to Newark....spooky but true
Photo Finish

A mixture of photo's taken during our last visit and the last time we actualy stayed a couple of years ago.....  



The world would have been a poorer place if this

glorious property had been left to perish...



"Down by the lake", which happens to be
the title of a great little song by a group
called 'Mouse' - sadly not a chance of
getting this for the Jukebox.... 

One of the many Follies littered around the
700+ acres that surround the house ...

Can you imagine what this would look

like in a raging storm with fork lightning

illuminating the sky....

Big Sis doing her Bono (The fly era) impression....

Michael and Mrs B closing a gate on another

chapter of our lives...At 37 years it was certainly

quite along chapter, almost as long as one of my

more badly punctuated sentences ....  

Mrs B trying to demonstrate the art of off road
 driving if someone has stolen your car....

A view of the rolling hills that surround
Newark and add to its charm....



On reflection I don't think that sheep is very well.

It looks like it is suffering from a severe case of

zebra envyitus.  Can prove fatal  if crossed  

with a busy main road...

My sister and I re-creating a photograph of Trudy

(Black Great Dane)and her back in the 1970’s –

My sister had the easier task, just having to play

herself, all be it a much younger version (soft

focus can work wonders) – While I had to spend

hours working on becoming not just a dog but a

female one to boot (or should that be paw). 

Yes I know it would have been a lot more impressive

if I had worn black but you can’t have everything ....

Michael and Philip at the backdoor of Newark..



The Devil is always in the detail....



Regular readers of the BlackLOG (probably

Just Mrs B and I ),  will be familiar with my

love of taking pictures of people walking

away from the lens.  The secret  behind this

technique is simply to get left behind, as

you take pictures of other things around

you, and then find yourself lagging way

 behind, desperately trying to catch up.



 Having already stretched your patience this week,  I shall draw this week’s blog to a close.  If anyone is interested I will trawl the old memory banks and share with you other memories of Newark in a future BlackLOG....