: Gavin Plumley
: A Home for All Seasons
: Atlantic Books
: 9781838954796
: 1
: CHF 7.60
:
: Biographien, Autobiographien
: English
: 336
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
Gavin Plumley considered himself a distinctly urban being...until he met his rural husband, Alastair. Together, they bought Stepps House - a three-storey building in Pembridge, Herefordshire - on love at first sight. But then came the inevitable question from an insurance salesman: 'How old is it?' With ancient beams crossing the ceiling, the date they'd been given of 1800 seemed out by centuries. As Gavin traced Stepps House through various hands and eras, he saw the picture of a past emerge that resonates powerfully with our present. A hybrid work of domestic history and European art, of memoir and landscape, A Home for All Seasons is both grand in its sweep and intimate in its account of life on the edge of England.

Gavin Plumley is a cultural historian. He appears frequently on BBC radio, has written for newspapers and magazines worldwide and gives talks at leading museums and galleries. He grew up in Wales, before moving to London, and studied music at Keble College, Oxford. He lives in Herefordshire.

II.


The Unanswered Question


 

A FEW DAYS LATER, OUR offer on Stepps House was accepted and everything was put in train. But after the initial hurry came the tedium of phone calls to mortgage companies, as well as providing proof of income and engaging solicitors. Spring came and spring went; weeks went by. It blinded you to the potential joy of the situation and the thrill of new discoveries, to say nothing of the realization that we were getting much more than we had ever bargained for. Choosing Stepps House, I had followed my feelings – and persuaded Alastair to do likewise – but we really hadn’t thought about what the property meant: a house in the middle of a village that, as in that view from the Malverns, looked like it had come straight out of a medieval or Renaissance painting.

Quickly, however, we had to start grappling with that history, even before we had completed the purchase and could call the property our own. We were asked the question by our insurance company. The solicitor reminded me that the responsibility for insuring the building was ours from the day that we exchanged contracts. I’d just finished giving a history of art talk to a group of pensioners in a village hall in Oxfordshire when the message arrived. The voice on the other end told me that all the outstanding issues with the purchase were resolved and exchange had taken place. Sitting in a stuffy car outside a pub, I had to phone the insurers.

‘What’s the number or name of the property?’

‘Stepps House. Two p’s.’

‘And how many bedrooms does the property have, sir?’ ‘Three.’

‘Is the roof made of tile or slate?’

‘Tile.’

‘Walls. Brick or stone?’

‘Both,’ I said, ‘though it’s also partly timber-framed.’

‘Tim-ber fray-m-ed,’ I heard, as my answers were typed into the database.

‘Partly,’ I added.

‘And what is the age of the house?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘OK. Could you have a guess?’

‘Well, it’s old! I know that. I’ve asked the estate agent for more detail, because I was curious, and they’ve now checked with the current owner. Supposedly, it’s 1800, but that can’t be right, given the timber frame.’

‘OK . . .’ the respons