Day 5: In the shadow of Anne Boleyn at Hever Castle

Out at 0630 for a trot round the woods. Not a lot different from the previous mornings. It’s better when it’s early as there are no people around. The traffic around here is horrendous – or perhaps I am just not used to narrow roads, fast drivers and lots of them.

But speaking of traffic I have to talk about this wretched rental car I have from Hertz. I know that bad workmen blame their tools but as our friend Samuel Johnson said “you do not need to be a carpenter to criticise a table”. It is a Kia Sportage and while it may not be the worst car I have ever driven, I am struggling to think of a worse one. It is a diesel which gets me off to a bad start as I don’t like ‘em. Never have. But let’s get over that. It has a six speed manual gear box. Changing gear is a bit like stirring porridge. There’s no feel to it. It’s also pretty gutless lower down and is devoid of any character at all. In fact, that’s not fair – if it had no character then I wouldn't have anything to dislike. I think what I mean is that it has no soul. It is not a driver’s car. It’s just a car. Dreadful.

The Kia Sportage: A contender for the Worst Car in the World

We decided to go to Hever Castle today. It’s in Kent which so far as I am aware is the land of at least some of my fathers. My father’s father Sydney William hailed, as I understand it, from Kent. Sydney William was a bit of a character. I have few memories and no photographs of him. But he did send me a set of 1951 Festival of Britain coins and a covering letter in which he wrote that “these pennies would mean nothing to you now but when you are as old as I am now in 2005 you will be able to show them to your cronies”. He drank, apparently, a mix of whisky and Drambuie into which he would dip bread. When in his cups he was known to remark of this concoction “damn fine stuff, the Bristol Cream”. He drank a lot and smoked too and reaped the reward of these pastimes by dying at a relative young age in 1959.

1951 Festival of Britain coins just like I have at home. My grandfather gave me a set.

But back to Hever Castle. As readers will know, if they know their medieval history, Hever Castle was the childhood home of Anne Boleyn. Anne is one of the most intriguing (to me at any rate) women that have lived (apart from The G of course). The mother of Elizabeth I and Henry VIII’s second wife, she was known to the Catholic hierarchy as The Great Whore. The story is a simple one (well it isn’t really but we'll make it simple): Catherine of Aragon had produced but one child to Henry: that child was the girl who became Mary, the queen before Elizabeth. She (Mary) was in my view a weirdo. But anyway, Henry needed a son and decided that because Catherine of Aragon had been previously married to his brother that the marriage was null and void. This led to the split with Rome and over time the creation of the Church of England and the monarch’s title “Defender of the Faith”.

This is Hever Castle enhanced by the appearance of The G at the castle gate welcoming guests.

Henry had previously had a dalliance with Anne’s older sister Mary. Anne seems to have been a highly accomplished young woman who had spent time in the Netherlands and at the French court in the service of queen Claude of France (1499 – 1524: the died young then). She must have been fairly manipulative. She didn’t sleep with Henry until she was certain that he would indeed marry her but she clearly drove him wild with lust. He did marry her in June 1533 and she produced the baby that would become Elizabeth I in September (clearly a very premature baby!!). Unfortunately she did not manage to produce a male heir. She had three miscarriages but by 1536 Henry was tiring of her and was still worrying about his male heir. Thomas Cromwell (the Lord Great Chamberlain) developed trumped up charges of adultery with five men (including, improbably, her brother) and she was eventually beheaded at the age of 35. Henry went on to marry Katherine Seymour who did produce a male heir, Edward VI who died aged 15 when the throne passed to Mary.

We drove to Hever Castle down small country lanes which look really lovely but are a nuisance when someone comes the other way. It was an almost perfect English summer’s day (even though it is September). The trees are still in leaf and the landscape rolled away over green hills and chalky cliffs.

A couple of English country lanes. They look reasonably tasty because the leaves are still on the tress and the sun is shining.

Hever Castle is one of the smaller seats in England. The oldest parts date to 1270 and Anne’s father inherited it in 1505. The building passed through several owners (not surprisingly!!) until William Waldorf Astor bought it in 1903. He used it as a family residence and apparently spent £10m restoring it!!

Well if you had that much money you could look like a prat as well!! Don't you love the boating blazer with the cravat. They go perfectly with the superciliously aristocratic look!!

Here are a few snaps of the castle interior and its grounds.

No English garden would be complete without its roses and these ones looked and smelt real good!!

Topiary is one of those strange English pastimes. No garden is complete without a hedge trimmed into some weird shape. I think there must have been a competition to determine what this is supposed to be. In fact European topiary dates from Roman times.  Pliny's Natural History and the epigram writer Martial both credit Cnaeus Matius Calvinus, in the circle of Julius Caesar, with introducing the first topiary to Roman gardens. Now you know.

The Italian Garden featuring The G. This was created between 1904 and 1905 (the garden, not The G) by Joseph Cheal & Son (whoever they were). They turned marshland into a pretty spectacular garden. It was designed to display William Waldorf Astor's collection of statuary and sculpture. As you will see in the next picture some of this was pretty dubious.

Some of William Waldorf Astor's stuff. Remember this was done in 1904/1905 so dispel any romantic notions of Anne Boleyn slinking around the garden smelling a demure rose.

The African Queen. Quite what this was doing at Hever Castle is anybody's guess. I leave it to you, gentle reader.

Meanwhile …

Back at the ranch the wedding preparations continue unabated.

My sister who is at fever pitch excitement, with associated levels of stress and general heartache, has been constructing the cake. This is, I have to say, a magnificent confection. There is apparently to be a woodland theme of sorts to this wedding. The cake, therefore, is designed to look like a pile of logs that are bestrewn with leaves, mushrooms, toadstools and other woodland folk. Actually there aren’t other woodland folk. 

The cake. Looks pretty good to me!!

I watched Ali make the toadstools, her eye for accurate detail is excellent.

My sister Ali as a toadstool-maker. Dig those glasses - they are the jam!!

The toadstools are Fly Agarics (Amanita muscaria). When the white spots are applied to the toadstool’s head they stand proud of the red surface. You may think this would not be as in the real live toadstool. You would be wrong. My sister’s research has determined that if you found a Fly Agaric in the woods you would find that the red spots stood proud of the red surface. Remarkable attention to detail. No wonder the woman is stressed to buggery.

Left: A Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria): do not eat with steak or you will be sorry!!
Right: My sister's version - far more attractive and they won't make you sick.

We went in the evening to Will’s intended’s family for their Shabbat dinner. The main meal of the week (and a festive one at that) in Jewish households the world is the Friday night dinner, Aruchat Shabbat. The meal begins after sundown. Some readers will know that my ancestry is Jewish: my great great grandfather hailed from Pultusk in Poland. His name was Moishe Chaim Borenstein (born 1859) and he emigrated to England in 1914 with his son, Jacob, and grandson (my maternal grandfather) Abraham.

Our dinner was, as The G described it, a joyous occasion. And it was so. There were myriad aunts, uncles and cousins and of course Jodie’s parents whom we like greatly. Will and Jodie were both in good form as you might expect at two days before The Big Day. We travelled up with Will’s brother David and his lovely (nay, beautiful) girlfriend Kristen. She is an American epidemiologist (we all have our crosses to bear) but is a match for David’s massive intellect.

We didn't get back until midnight - really late for us!! - and tomorrow I take part in the Banstead Woods park run. You will need to wait for that!!