The little village that could...and did

 It's all about this house. Well, technically, it's about an artist's representation of this house in historic Queensborough. It sits across the road from the oft-painted millpond (indeed a painting was underway the day we visited.) But it's A.Y.Jackson's painting of this little Ontario farmhouse with its peaked Gothic gable, which created the buzz at Historic Queensborough Day last Saturday. The  painting, generously loaned by its owner, was the centrepiece of an art show featuring close to a hundred works portraying the village and its quiet beauty, at the restored Orange Hall in the hamlet.

A.Y.Jackson

Oh, yes, for a sleepy little spot, there is a great deal of buzz in Queensborough.

Katherine Sedgewick, one of the amazing volunteers for the day, whose promotion of the event spanned the globe (this post in her Meanwile at the Manse blog contains scads of history about Q'boro's artistic past) explained that Jackson's point of view was somewhere near the bridge; with his back to the millpond he painted this house and the shed beside it (gone now) and a view deeper into the hamlet.








 It took a visit to the hall, and a wander - Q'boro invites meandering - to orient myself within the painting.

 Visitors to this blog will know that I have a special affection for the hamlet of Queensborough, north of Highway 7, above Madoc, in Hastings County. I also have a special affection for the people there - two of whom I am pleased to call friends, and many other friends whom I haven't even met yet. You'll feel the same when your venture to the picturesque historic spot, because it is a friendly village, and a much 'improved one', sharing the love that the locals have for it.




















I wrote about the early days of the Orange Hall revival, after I visited in 2017. This post also provides a link to Katherine's more detailed history  and its renaissance. Enough to say that it was a perfect venue for the art show - have no photos to show you as there were such crowds that a vantage point could not be found!

home of the daughter of the Manse

 I've written about Queensborough and its renaissance several times on 'ancestral roofs'.' Here's one; for the others you'll have to use the handy search engine on the blog. And if my enthusiasm doesn't influence you, I suggest you visit the delightful blog Meanwhile at the Manse, written by Katherine, who is a daughter of the manse (she'll tell you the story) which is bound to win you over.

 For the rest, I leave you to wander at will. During my wander last Saturday, I was taken by the general friendliness of the place- visitors clearly absorbing the Queensborough mood. Smiles blossomed into conversations, groups forming and dissolving as we walked around, admiring, photographing, reminiscing about the way things were.

And just where a weary body needs one, a bench, in the shade, flanked by bright planters, a spot to watch the falls and the pond, and just BE.

best travelling companion

Definitely not Coronation Street

Victoria Park adjoins Bath's Royal Crescent's private lawn

I'm browsing a book on town house architecture, the eponymous Town House Architecture by David Eveleigh, which I picked up in Bath. At Royal Crescent, actually. It's a fascinating history of the growth of urban architecture. The writer travels through architectural periods from Georgian to WWII, exploring the changes in taste and design, for both detached and terrace housing.

My special interest is in the terrace or 'townhouse' form characterized by rows, squares, crescents and circles of conjoined residences. Cities like London, Bristol and Bath still have them, in magnificent numbers.

23 Ewart Street

These 'townhouses', as we call them in most of the world (not UK) remind us of the common roots shared by posh addresses like Bath's Royal Crescent and working class terraces (row houses) like Ewart Street, Lincoln, where Den grew up.

view from the gravel walk, the short cut to the Baths

 I'm not going to impart too much town house lore at the moment (particularly as I haven't yet read the book.) Suffice to say that Eveleigh places the beginnings of this urban residential concept at the 1630s in England, with a Covent Garden square designed by Inigo Jones, Surveyor General to the King, no less. Bound to take off. Real estate developers and speculators loved them. People of fashion gravitated to these new "socially exclusive suburbs." (The hoi-polloi were relegated to their own residential developments, cheek by jowl with their tanneries, shops and mines. Here's a photo gallery. Feast your eyes and get indigestion. Shades of  Frank McCourt's Limerick. )

Oxford

The third reason for the significance of the 'townhouse' (and to me, most intriguing) was the architecture.

Inigo Jones, as you might know if you've been paying attention to my meagre UK offerings (Jones designed the Queen's House at Greenwich), overturned old style timber frame building (eg. at left) with a bright new "style derived from Renaissance reinterpretation of the ancient architecture of Greece and Rome." (Eveleigh, p.6) Typically called 'Classical' or 'Palladian' (I've certainly gone on about that in past posts, try out the AR Search function if you're at all curious), this architecture spoke "with an Italian accent." (Eveleigh again, sigh.)


















Georgian Palladian features - gigantic pilasters with Ionic capitals, the harmony of proportions, strict formulas for the placement and size of windows (note the shorter windows of the 'lesser' top level),  rusticated first (below ground) level, a balustrade concealing roof elements, pediments, regularity and symmetry.

the stately rhythm of 114 giant (47') Ionic columns

This is the Royal Crescent at Bath, a Georgian crescent of thirty terraced houses in the majestic Palladian style, designed by John Wood, the Younger and built 1767-74. I've visited once before, but this time, got to spend several days in its regal presence. The visit was made splendid by the travels of a generous sun  lighting the Bath stone, by several enjoyable hours in Royal Victoria Park in front of the Crescent, yet separated from the masses by a ha-ha (bet you'll look that up. Here's a source.) Royal Victoria Park was opened by Princess Victoria when she was 11, and is the first to  have her name. Then there was the Bath Preservation Trust museum house at No. 1 Royal Crescent, when  I wandered mute with wonder, through the rooms. See my previous post - and the most welcome visitor in the comments.

The crescents and circuses of Bath and other fashionable Georgian towns were built by developers and speculators to attract the nation's upcoming upper middle class, who wanted some of the airs of the country houses of the wealthy and titled, without the bills.

pedimented entrance to left pavilion

 The terraces were often rented for 'the season', or taking the waters (Bath, of course, was all about the Roman baths and the water's healing powers, and the attendant cultural and social events.)

a tricky property to capture in its entirety - stand back, way back

Here's more history, if you're so inclined. I love this writer's comment about 'vestigial Blenheim.' Although the minor gentry to whom Woods was catering did not inherit vast country estates like the Churchills  they still aspired to some of the style. Large town-houses would have to do - the presence of the larger end 'units' or pavilions of bright Bath stone contributed the cachet of a Blenheim.

The Ha-ha, taken from the gentleman's bedroom window

I've enjoyed plowing through a number of Royal Crescent history sites. One of the most surprising facts, given the august classical regularity of the Palladian fronts, is the back-story of the leases for the units. Buyers were required to maintain the exterior symmetry, but were free to individualize interior layouts, roof treatments, and the more prosaic rear elevations which led to the expression 'Queen Anne fronts and Mary-Ann backs.' . If you trace our steps up Marlborough Road, keeping the left pavilion to your right, away from Victoria Park, this Streetview peek at the rear elevations of the gives a sense of the rugged individualism at play.

Blogger below stairs

 Due to the exceptional online skills of our darling niece Nicky (and maybe because the universe felt we needed a break) we managed to obtain lodgings on Upper Church Street, Bath, over a summery-hot Easter weekend. Upper Church Street abuts the right end of the arc of  Bath's iconic Royal Crescent.

our address was in the terrace at centre

My guy elected to spend an office day online at our lodgings, so I was free to spend hours across the street at the Georgian house museum at No.1 Royal Crescent, A wonderful wee video on the museum website captures the house wonderfully; but I took several hours longer. (couldn't link it directly - it's the 1:43 minute Vimeo at left of your screen.)

servants' stairs at No.1 Royal Terrace

 From the window of the servants' staircase (the area of grand houses which intrigues me most) I was able to look out from the museum house and see our row of Georgian townhouses along Upper Church Street.

As I wandered the below stairs area of the museum house, I saw what our AirBnB suite had once looked like. Uncanny.

The kitchens at No.1 Royal Crescent are recreated to show the harried daily life for the below stairs folks - without whom the refined life upstairs would not have run so smoothly.










Notice the niches which once likely contained fireplaces; they've been modernized with cast iron stoves.

warm work in winter, unbearable in summer?

above you looms the crescent

 Doors from the below stairs areas (which included the housekeeper's domain) open onto a below-ground terrace of sorts. It was accessed by stairs from street level, so the servants' comings and goings, and the delivery of goods, would not disturb the serenity above stairs.

On my return to our accommodations, I noted all the Georgian conventions at work here. But we got to enjoy the cool below ground suite, with none of the toil.

our window on the Upper Church St. world...

...and the way we got there

at least Georgian townhouses had light on lower levels

from our comfy bed, we admire former cooking niches

 In Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen puts these words into impressionable Catherine's mouth: "I really believe I shall always be talking of Bath, when I am home again - I do like it so very much."

Well, I'm considerably older and a bit more cynical, but I concur.

Osborne: Was I Really Here?

a spot we passed near Laiano, Tuscany

I have long been a fan of the picturesque Tuscan Villa, in its original form (might need another trip to Italy) and in the versions which appeared during the Italianate era in nineteenth century Ontario.

So as not to fall into repeating myself, these links will take you to some local Tuscan enthusiasms in Belleville,  nearby Kingston and Cobourg.



This past spring, I visited the granddaddy (or more correctly, grandmammy) of them all, when we had a chance to visit Osborne, the summer home built by Queen Victoria and her designing husband Albert, on the Isle of Wight.

terrace landscape fit for a queen

It was their refuge from public life, not a bit pretentious, surrounded by carefully choreographed drives and pathways, all ending at the family's private beach and yacht harbour on the Solent.

Three Italianate terraces overlook the valley and the sea.

the Pavilion, private family quarters

Since I remain a bit speechless, I'll let this photo essay speak for me.

The most surprising thing to me, was that Osborne was built of brick, with cement render coloured to resemble stone. The area with the square tower was the pavilion - the family wing - built in 1845 after an earlier house on the property was demolished.

the marine monsters of the Andromeda fountain

As the house was funded by the queen's privy purse (though it doesn't scream 'budget' to me) terrace designer Gruner cut corners by purchasing bronzed-zinc copies of classical statues from catalogues. The salt air corroded them; today's shiny perfection is due to applied (reversible, should anyone become nostalgic for the pitted zinc era) acrylic compound.

the shell alcove

view from the terrace to the Solent

The terrace, which, to her credit, Victoria frequented in fair weather or foul, breakfasting, lunching and working in a series of outdoor shelters, is just wonderful. I've been reading biographies - it seems the sovereign's tolerance of wretched English weather far surpassed that of her family and staff. But they wouldn't get to say so.

view from the Pavilion terrace

The arched alcove encrusted with sea shells, designed by Prince Albert, emulating Roman stibarium, or garden seats, has been superbly restored. Note the dolphin seat supports, which I have personally experienced. There was a lovely colonnade nearby, very dank and unrestored, that spoke volumes to me.

 Ludwig Gruner's massive 1849 sphinx vase was assembled from mail-order bits. The four sphinxes holding up a huge fluted bowl were improved upon by the addition of wings.

 










The view from the terraces to the Solent is superb. I've read that the wooded valley leading from the house to the sea was completely remodeled by massive earth-moving equipment, to create the naturalistic fall to the coast.

the scaffolding conceals Albert's clock tower, under restoration

Cement copies of the Medici lions (1851) flank the steps leading to the broad walk to the beach. The final fountain, just below them, a bronze boy with a swan, was the scene of a dramatic rescue the day of our visit, a group of wild-life types trying to net abandoned ducklings.

Here's more about the clock tower, from Victorianweb.org

The house from the south. The wing to the right was the household and main wing - the arcaded second level was the grand corridor, built to link those wings to Victoria's private apartment. Long galleries, every one filled to bursting with contemporary versions of classical sculpture, paintings, treasures and lots of pet sculpture.

To the left of the carriage ring is the Durbar wing (here's some detail) the interior of which is beyond splendid. We were rocked by the sheer magnificence of everything - the wealth on display, like intricately carved ivory and silver address caskets, containing greetings from Victoria's loyal subjects of the Indian sub-continent.

The central complex, of course,  is the Pavilion.

To the beach.

Queen Victoria's (restored) bathing machine

the wooded valley walk from Osborne to the beach

memorial bench to faithful Scottish servant John Brown

Sadly, Osborne was a beloved family home for only 55 years. When Queen Victoria died, the new Edward VII (formerly the playboy Prince of Wales) couldn't get rid of the place fast enough. It became (but for the sacrosanct private apartments which were closed off behind wrought-iron gates, only opened to the public by Queen Elizabeth, in 1954) a convalescent home for officers, opened in 1904, and home of the Royal Naval College.

memorial plaque above Victoria's bed