Winchester City Mill

How often are we able to say "he was really bad at baking" about a member of the royal family? Is Prince Charles a dab hand at a clafoutis? Does Princess Anne bake the best clootie dumpling south of Gretna? We don't know, even in these times of social media and 24/7 news channels. But we do know that Alfred the Great, born in 849 and 33rd great grandfather of Charles and Anne, was rubbish in the kitchen.

The story goes that Alfred was on the run from the Vikings and took refuge in the house of a peasant. She asked him to watch her cakes – small loaves of bread – that she had baking on the fire but he took his eye off the ball and the cakes burned. There was no Hollywood handshake for Alfred that day.

This is why I headed to Winchester City Mill with some trepidation. They love Alfred in Winchester - he made the city his capital after he was crowned King of Wessex in 871 - so I wasn't sure if burning baked goods on a daily basis was seen as a way of honouring the great man.

But let's begin with some history of the mill itself:

Winchester City Mill: probably the oldest working watermill in the UK

There has been a mill on this site since Saxon times, possibly stretching back even further to the Roman era. The Domesday Book reported that it was the most valuable mill in Hampshire. From 989 it was owned by the nuns of Wherwell Abbey.

The Mill declines after the Black Death

The plague devastated the population of England and once-productive land was left uncultivated. The poor harvests impacted the mill (known as Eastgate Mill). At the same time, Winchester itself lost its position as capital. By 1417 the mill was derelict.

Queen Mary gifts the Mill to the town

Winchester Cathedral was the venue for Queen Mary Tudor's marriage to Philip of Spain in 1554. In gratitude, Mary gifted the mill to the town and it was renamed the City Mill. I'm not entirely sure how they felt about being given a derelict mill as a thank you for hosting an expensive royal wedding but let's assume it's more generous than it sounds.

James Cooke rebuilds City Mill

In 1743, a man called James Cooke leased the mill and rebuilt it. He retained a lot of the medieval materials but spent a huge amount creating the building we see today. In 1795, JMT Turner painted the mill during a visit to Winchester. There's a lovely story about how this was 'discovered' in 2013 by the mill's assistant manager. He was looking through the Tate's digital archive and found the painting from Turner's Isle of Wight Sketchbook from his student days at the Royal Academy: 

City Mill stops being a mill

The mill remained in use until the early 1900s. It was used as a laundry during WWI but then fell into disrepair. In 1928 it was put up for sale and purchased by a group of benefactors who gave it to the National Trust. It was leased to the Youth Hostels Association in the Thirties and the hostel remained until 2004.

City Mill starts being a mill again

In 2004, City Mill started to produce flour again. This was thanks to 12 years of restoration work. I've said it many, many times on this blog but I'll say it again: we really should put National Trust mill enthusiasts in charge of all the world's big problems. They just make things work. (See also Acorn Bank, Houghton Mill, Anglesey Abbey, Dunster Castle and Cotehele).

The Winchester City Mill scones

I knew that the tea room at the mill was small and I also knew that it hadn't long reopened after lockdown. However, I wasn't expecting it to be takeaway only and I had chosen the worst - and I mean THE WORST - day of the year to visit. The rain was sheeting down in that way where you seriously wonder if it will ever stop (apparently it also rained non-stop on Mary and Philip's wedding day). And let's face it: a cream tea is not the easiest thing to consume on a takeaway basis.

Luckily for me, I had a very resilient companion on this scone mission. The very lovely Helen, better known to many as the handler of Hattie the Otter, lives in the area and came along to the mill with me. 

Once it was clear that we couldn't eat our scones inside, we trudged out into the little garden and defiantly ate them in the pouring rain, which is probably the most British thing that anyone can do. The scone was very tasty though and well worth the drenching.

I cannot praise Helen enough - she was a lovely, entertaining and interesting guide and I could not have had a better companion for the day. But - and she must get this a lot - when we greeted each other beneath the looming statue of King Alfred, all I wanted to blurt out was "have you brought Hattie Otter??" I managed to not do that but Helen knows what's what and Hattie was indeed with us. 

Hattie Otter: unconvinced by scones eaten al downpouro

It was particularly fitting that Helen and Hattie joined me at Winchester City Mill, as it's a hotspot for otters. Back in 1994, three otters were reintroduced to the River Itchen and they've thrived ever since, along with the trout, water voles, kingfishers and other wildlife that can be found. You can watch 'otter footage' at the mill, showing them marauding around late at night.

So there you have it: the National Trust Scone Quest is back, back, BACK and Winchester City Mill was a great place to restart. A big thank you to the lovely Helen and Hattie for showing me around.

Winchester City Mill: 5 out of 5 - especially the fantastic volunteers
Scones: 4.5 out of 5
Fortitude of the Sconepals when faced with eating a scone in lashing rain: a gazillion out of 5

West Green House Garden

If you're ever bored out of your mind and want to entertain yourself, you could do worse than read the TripAdvisor reviews of National Trust properties.

You'll notice that most places have something like 373 Excellent reviews, 307 Very Good reviews and then 3 Terrible reviews. And you find yourself worrying about the 3 people that wrote those Terrible reviews, because they did so knowing that 99.6% of the population completely disagreed with them.

Anyway, I think West Green House Garden has one of my favourite TripAdvisor reviews of all time: a man complaining that the walls between the toilet cubicles were too thin. I felt compelled to investigate this atrocity, so off we went.

My expectations of West Green House Garden were low, and not just because of the toilets. It wasn't the ideal weather for visiting a garden. I've mentioned previously that gardening is not really my thing - I actually avoid National Trust gardens for fear that one day they'll make me think "you know, I could do this in our garden" and so would begin twenty years of failure and misery.

I'd also been to Speke Hall the day before and had one of the greatest National Trust scones of all time, so poor old West Green House Garden had little-to-no chance of measuring up.

But I was WRONG. West Green House Garden is FANTASTIC. If I could choose any garden in the world as my own, I'd choose West Green House Garden any day. 

I better start with a bit of history: West Green House Garden doesn't feel like a National Trust property because, in many ways, it isn't. It has been leased by the Trust to Marylyn Abbott, an acclaimed garden designer who was previously marketing and tourism manager for the Sydney Opera House, and she runs the place.

The actual house was built in the 18th century by General Henry Hawley, a not-very-nice man who led the cavalry at the Battle of Culloden. It was left to the National Trust in 1971 and Lord McAlpine took on the lease, restoring the gardens and adding follies and features. 

The house was damaged by an IRA bomb in 1990 and it was almost pulled down by the Trust. However, they decided to lease it to someone that could restore it once again and Marylyn took it on.

It's also famous for its opera season - every summer, there are performances of operas by the lake. It must be quite an experience. 

To summarise my favourite five things about West Green House Garden:

1. Its size
It's a perfectly sized garden. It takes about 10 minutes to power-walk around it, or a lot longer if you were admiring flowers that you knew the names of. If you have to look after it, then it's probably about 9.5 acres too big.

2. Its variety
There's a bit of garden for every mood. If something had got on your nerves - say the toilet cubicle walls weren't to your exacting standards - and you wanted to sit and listen to a calming water feature, you can do it. If you wanted to admire a perfectly kept parterre, you can do it. If you wanted to watch potatoes growing, you can do that too. 

3. Its water features
There aren't any of those standard fountains with big fish and Neptune looking angry - the water features are very contemporary and are almost part of the ground, which makes them seem much more powerful. I absolutely loved them:

4. Its bridges
There are five little bridges that wind through the garden, making it feel like you're on an expedition. The man on reception told us to look out for the irises but it wasn't until we actually found them that I understood what he was talking about. They were stunning:

5. Its neatness
I felt very safe at WGHG, because there's no way in a hundred million years that I could even attempt to achieve something like it. What's even more amazing is that there are only FOUR gardeners maintaining the whole area. It's incredible.

I also loved the tearoom at West Green House Garden. It has a relaxed, modern atmosphere - probably helped by the opera music playing in the background. The scones were the dinkiest little things I've ever seen, but you got two and a cup of tea for £3.75, so I wasn't complaining. They weren't fresh but they were very nice indeed.

Of course, you've all been reading this thinking "never mind the scones and the gardens, Scone Blogger, exactly how thin were the toilet cubicle walls?" I sent the Scone Sidekick in to investigate, almost hoping he would return with tales of old compost bags or a bead curtain. He wasn't very forthcoming; "They were toilet cubicles." I don't think we can expect a Toilets of the National Trust blog any time soon. 

West Green House Garden: 5 out of 5
Scones: 4 out of 5
Irises: 5 out of 5

Hinton Ampner

The approach to Hinton Ampner in Hampshire is a bit like Planet of the Sheep - there are absolutely loads of them stood along the driveway watching you go past, with their impassive yet knowing eyes. Hinton is famous for its ghostly history but I'd take my chances with the ghosts any day. 

Anyway. Hinton Ampner is a lovely place, once you get past the sheep:

I hope they don't mind me saying this though, but it doesn't really have The M25 Factoid that most National Trust properties have. By that I mean; when I say to the scone sidekick "let's go to X", his first question is always "where is it?" followed by "what's there?". He hates the M25, so if the answer to the first question involves driving one measly junction of it, the answer to the second question better be good. And Hinton Ampner doesn't really have anything to make you think "I MUST see this".

It's a truly beautiful property though, with pretty and homely gardens, and we were both really pleased that we made the trip. The history in brief:

• Ralph Dutton handed the property over to the National Trust in 1985
• His ancestors had lived on the estate for 500 years
• The first house had been built in the 1500s and was said to be haunted
• It was demolished in 1793 and a Georgian house was constructed instead
• Ralph's grandfather renovated the house in a style that Ralph detested
• In 1935, Ralph inherited Hinton and restored it to its Georgian glory
• He filled it with historic furnishings to fit the Georgian theme
• But the house caught fire in 1960 and Ralph had to start again
• This means that the house you see today is actually the newest house in the care of the National Trust - it was built in the 1960s, which is after the Beatles' childhood homes and everything! And there's The Factoid! Hurray!

You had to ask permission to take photos in the house and I just couldn't be bothered, so I didn't take any. I'm sure the rules were something simple like 'don't use a flash' or 'don't climb on the sofa to get an aerial shot' so why they couldn't just put that on a sign somewhere I don't know.

The Hinton Ampner scone
Anyway. Let's move on to the scones because I did get a photo of those. The scones at Hinton were melt-on-the-tongs, which is why they look a bit dented in the picture below. A stale scone doesn't crumble when you pick it up though, so I was very hopeful. And I wasn't disappointed: the plain scone was lovely, while the fruit scone was a complete triumph. Even the scone sidekick declared it a 5 out of 5 and he's normally harassing me to give a 2.

I'm going to finish with another observation on the Hinton Ampner sheep. I said earlier that it was all a bit Planet of the Sheep as they stood at the side of the drive staring, but I actually don't think we have anything to worry about - they're too lazy to take over the planet and enslave us all. Look at them:

Hinton Ampner: 5 out of 5
Scones: 5 out of 5
Get-up-and-go of the sheep: 0 out of 5

Mottisfont

What a difference 800 years makes. Today I set off on my humble little pilgrimage to Mottisfont in Hampshire with the primary objective of eating their scones. If I'd gone there in 1214, I would have been queuing to see the forefinger of St John the Baptist. Not quite as appetising, I agree. 

It seems that St John had quite a few forefingers knocking around Europe in medieval times. Back then Mottisfont was a priory, located between Salisbury and Winchester, so plenty of pilgrims would have been passing and a holy relic would have been a massive draw, even if that relic wasn't 100% (or even 0.001%) genuine. 

However, the holy relic didn't save Mottisfont from two catastrophies: 1) the Black Death, which struck in 1348, and 2) Henry VIII, who dissolved the monasteries in 1536 and gave Mottisfont to his pal William Sandys.  

Sandys then did something very unusual; he built a new house around the priory structure. Most abbeys were either knocked down or the building materials looted but that didn't happen at Mottisfont. 

The result is that you can still see bits of the medieval priory beneath the mansion. The very atmospheric cellar is stunning: 

And in the actual house itself, there are glimpses of the old underneath the relatively modern. A corner of this room, for example, has been opened up to show the nave of the old priory beneath: 

After Sandys, Mottisfont was owned by the Mill and Barker-Mill family before being bought by Gilbert and Maud Russell, who turned it into a country house for entertaining artists, writers like Ian Fleming, and other eminent people.

But it's not just the layers of history that make Mottisfont so special. It also has a warmth about it and some really lovely little stories:

1. Whistler painted one of the rooms before he went off to war

The Whistler Room at Mottisfont is amazing. Maud Russell was a friend and supporter to many artists and Rex Whistler painted the whole room with striking trompe l'oeil murals, so that the flat walls appear lavishly sculpted. The story goes that he argued with Maud about how the room should be painted - she wanted plain colours - so while she was away he stuck some colours into one of the pictures and added plumes of smoke pouring from a vase, as she hated bonfires. 

What is achingly poignant is that he drew a little paint-pot on one of the ledges, apparently to indicate that he'd be back to continue. But he went off to fight in the Second World War and was killed. You can just see his pot sitting on the ledge below:

2. The National Trust managed to buy a portrait of Gilbert Russell with funds raised from the second-hand book shop

There's also another lovely little story in the Whistler Room. Next to a portrait of Gilbert Russell, a sign explains that the picture turned up in Canada when it was put up for sale by the private collector that owned it. The National Trust heard about this and managed to buy it, using funds from their second-hand book shop. I thought this was fantastic - I see second-hand book shops at National Trust properties all the time and I always assumed they were more of a helpful service to members than a money-making venture. Just shows what I know. 

The Mottisfont scones
But let's move on to the scones. The Mottisfont scones looked absolutely amazing. If you were going to design a plastic scone to adorn dining room tables in B&Q, then it would look like the Mottisfont scones. And they lived up to their looks - they were crunchy on the outside but soft and tasty, with plenty of fruit. Delicious.

I've never really warmed to the idea of the country house weekend, so it's just as well that I don't know anyone that owns a country house or would want to invite me to one. But Mottisfont has a wonderful atmosphere - the gardens and surrounding estate are large and inviting, and the thought of sitting in the Whistler Room with a dry Martini waiting for dinner is enough to make me accept should the invitation ever come. A really lovely place.

Mottisfont: 5 out of 5

Scones: 4.5 out of 5

The Vyne

I've decided that I want to donate myself to the National Trust. The 'winter clean' was underway at The Vyne today and it's an idea that really appeals to me. Everything gets covered up and then each piece of furniture or wall or ceiling is checked to see if it survived the summer season without a load of woodworm moving in or someone spilling a Fruit Shoot on it. I could definitely do with three months under a dust sheet and someone restoring me lovingly with a hog's hair brush to get me ready for Spring. 

But never mind that. Let's start at the beginning. THE VYNE. It really does have the best name of any National Trust property if you ask me, apart from Horsey Windpump, which sounds like the Kenneth Williams character had there been a Carry On Farming. The Vyne sounds mysterious, like the title of a Virginia Andrews novel, or, for any younger readers who haven't heard of Virginia and her books about children being locked in attics by their mothers, a Twilight sequel (note to self; write Twilight sequel called The Vyne, make squillions).

The Vyne is actually an estate near Basingstoke. This is a rubbish photo of it:

However, it does have an ABSOLUTE CORKER of a literary connection. If you're sitting comfortably, I'll begin.

The story goes that in 1785 a farmer ploughing his field up the road in Silchester found a gold Roman ring with an inscription on it. Later, a 'curse tablet' was found on the site of a Roman temple in Gloucestershire - apparently if you did something to irritate a Roman, they would get their revenge on you by writing a curse on a piece of lead and offering it to the various gods asking them to send terrible misfortunes your way. The curse tablet found in this story seemed to invoke misery on a man who had stolen the gold ring found in the Silchester field from its owner. 

The archaeologist who was researching the tablet and ring took his findings to the Professor of Anglo-Saxon at Oxford University, as you do. That professor was one J.R.R. Tolkien, who later wrote a book called The Hobbit and then a trilogy that you might have heard of called Lord of the Rings. Both feature a ring. You do the math.

The ring is kept in a little exhibition area within the house and it is quite literally awesome:

It's definitely one of the best things I've ever seen in a National Trust property. The rest of the house was under wraps for winter, although the Tudor chapel was open and well worth seeing.

The Vyne scone

The Vyne reputedly got its name from being the site of the first vineyards planted by the Romans when they got here and realised there was nothing decent to drink. Sadly, they didn't leave any record of their views on the scones and my opinions were also nearly lost when we realised it was cash only in the restaurant due to a broken PDQ machine. I had about 47p on me so we ended up sharing a cream tea. It was worth it though - a lovely soft, light, well-baked scone:

I'll definitely be going back to The Vyne in the summer months - it's a beautiful estate with stunning lakes and woodland walks. Just look out for the orcs.

Scones: 4.5 out of 5 

The Ring: 5 out of 5

The PDQ machine: 0 out of 5