Day Out

Day Out

Have you ever visited the Crazy House on Blackpool's Pleasure Beach, or
seen the Disney movie featuring a witch's crooked castle? If so, you
have my first impression of Little Moreton Hall, a National Trust
property deep in the bowels of Cheshire.

As you approach this timber-framed Tudor house (the most famous in
Britain, according to its guide-book), via the bridge that crosses its
moat, your first thought is likely to be along the lines of, I'm not
going in there, it's too dangerous. Like Blackpool's Crazy House or
Disney's castle, it can best be described as wibbly-wobbly, due, I
think, to the fact that its centre section was built in 1440, but its
various additions and extensions were added over the next hundred and
sixty years, by the lowest-quote local builder, whose estimates allowed
no scope for niceties like foundations.

Its original section is reasonably perpendicular but has a squashed
look because the east and south wings, the centre-porch and the
domestic block, all added later by the cowboy builder, lean lazily and
heavily against it. The first floor's great hall windows bulge,
threatening to explode at any moment, showering anyone foolish enough
to be in range with fragments of lead and glass.

The courtyard is cobbled. Not just any old cobbles, but the sort that
strive to fracture your ankle in dry weather or, when it's wet, cause
what at first appears to be a well-practiced gymnastic display worthy
of enthusiastic applause but turns out to be nothing more than a
frenzied but slapdash attempt to stay upright. As I entered the yard,
an elderly fellow visitor was being helped to her feet, having failed
to do so.

Apparently, the Moretons, stayed in situ until 1912, perhaps because no
surveyor would provide a satisfactory report to potential new
purchasers, then they gifted it to Abraham, the Bishop of Derby. It
took him twenty-six years to find someone as gullible as himself, and
the National Trust has owned it since then.

The ornately panelled walls were okay, as were the five hundred
year-old paintings recently discovered under the wallpaper, and the
secret room, which, our guide winked, was actually a cheese store. But
two things he described to us were, I thought, of particular
interest.

The floors are made of cow dung and egg whites and, apparently, about
five hundred egg whites were required to bind one square yard of floor.
In total, that's one hell of a lot of egg whites; what did they do with
eight million (my estimate) yolks? Makes you think, doesn't it? And why
cow dung, for goodness sake?

The second item of interest was the plumbing. All the loos were in fact
wells, dropping straight into the moat. Now there's a novel technique
to discourage marauding invaders.

All in all, a visit to Little Moreton Hall makes for a pleasant
afternoon out. But watch out for those cobbles and, for goodness sake,
don't risk a swim in the moat.