Somerset
A bit of genealogy and a country getaway all rolled into one
No sooner had I returned from Cardiff was I preparing for another outing. This time it would be a journey similar to one I took last year with Darryl in Belgium. There exists in my bloodline a very thin strand of English heritage, thanks to my father's mother's mother's line, and I was on my way to Somerset and the places once inhabited by my ancestors.
I got a call awhile back from my friends John and Marian. They, by coincidence, had rented a cottage last year right in the region of said heritage. They were planning a week's stay and invited me to join them. I decided to arrive Monday evening and stay until Wednesday morning, so that I could get a solid day in without missing more than a day of work. Another lucky break was having a co-worker/boss, Greg, that lives in nearby Taunton, so my ride out that way was already sorted.
I arrived in Taunton where John met me and escorted me to Redlands House, a bed-and-breakfast/cottage spot, where John, Marian, and their two dogs, Penny and Maggy were staying. I had booked a room for the two nights, while they had the Cider Cottage for the week. The cottage had a lush back garden with strawberries and rhubarb abounding. They were encouraged by the owners to pick some rhubarb, which would serve as part of dessert the following evening. After a bit of supper courtesy of Marian, we relaxed a bit and watched the news before retiring to our separate abodes. It was kind of like being neighbours in a very small village.
One of the luxuries I was afforded as part of my accommodation was a full breakfast made to my liking. As I was the only B&B guest, the owners, Brian and Elizabeth, were most generous and offered not only cereal and toast but bacon, eggs and the like. I chatted briefly with them and discussed our plans for the day. Unfortunately they couldn't shed much light on the places we were to visit, as they were themselves quite new to the area.
After breakfast we headed out onto the narrow lanes of Somerset. Our first stop was Lydeard St. Lawerence, where my great great great great great great great great great great (that's ten greats) grandfather Henry Wolcott, married my equally great grandmother, Elizabeth Saunders in 1606. The village is still much like it was four hundred years ago. We asked a few locals about the area. The postmaster gave us some directions, and a woman taking out her dustbin chatted a bit about which buildings would have been around in their time.
The next stop was the church where the Wolcotts were married. It is a mammoth structure for such a small village and was built in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries of the local red stone that is still visible throughout the county. Inside was to be found a solid structure of stone columns and wood ribbing. The intricate wood carving in the pews, screen and pulpit were also standing up to time. It was strange to think, cliché as it might be to say, that over four hundred years ago this space hosted an event that was an essential piece to my existence.
We perused the graves outside to church, looking for the name Saunders, as this was her home village. Henry had lived in Tolland, which would be our final stop on the Wolcott tour. No such graves or tombs were found. However, one interesting stone bore the name of the first Lieutenant-Governor of British Columbia. There is also, I read later, the grave of a man there who had had eight wives and fathered forty-five children.
Our next stop was to be the stately mansion and its grounds once owned by Henry Wolcott's family. Gaulden Manor as it is known now belongs to one Mr. James Le Gendre Starkie. The postmaster and his local friends had told us to speak to him and he would probably let us look around (so long as we spoke up, as he was hard-of-hearing). The house is opened to private groups from June to September. As it was May, I wasn't expecting to be allowed inside. Nevertheless we pulled into the drive and knocked at the gatehouse door. Nought but a dog stirred so we decided to walk the long lane toward the manor. Marian stayed back at the car with the dogs as John and I pressed on.
Rounding the corner Gaulden Manor came into view, and I must say I was surprised at how small it really was. Stately for its time no doubt, it is described as partly Norman and partly Gothic. It originates from the Twelfth Century but the majority of it was built in the Sixteenth. As we approached we could see Mr. Starkie. We spoke to him about our search for Wolcott history, (speaking loudly as instructed). For the most part he would respond with a very posh-sounding, "Oh yes" before asking a few questions of his own. He said that there had been many Wolcotts visiting the area, mostly of the American lineage. We got his blessing to walk around the grounds. We thanked him, and as John went to fetch the car, I took a few snaps. Mr. Starkie retired to the garden from where a very loud book-on-tape documentary about World War II could be heard.
We explored the grounds a bit. The gardeners were preparing for the season. A garden at the side of the house had a small tomb for a deceased Chihuahua. At the very back there was a boggy pond. A friendly greyhound emerged from Mr. Starkie's garden and began to take interest in us and Penny and Maggy. As we receded it slowly followed us until one of the gardeners called her back. We spoke briefly and asked about Watersmeet Farm, where the Wolcotts had lived. Though they owned the manor and the estate, it is believed that they never resided in the house itself, but rather at the mill farm at the bottom of the hill. She told us of a trail down that led down to the farm so we began to follow it.
We crossed a bridge over a stream and followed it along to the bottom, where sat a large farmhouse with sheep grazing in the field behind. It was from here that Henry and Elizabeth would have headed south in 1630 to Plymouth in Devon. From there the ship Mary and John would carry them and the Puritans to Massachusetts, (another wonderful coincidence as it would be Marian and John who would bring me to this place), where their descendants would become governors, signers of the Declaration of Independence and... well, me and my family. Gaulden Manor, upon the hill overlooking the green Somerset countryside, was later sold to the Tuberville family. Thomas Hardy would later write about the house in Tess of D'Urbervilles.
The last stop on the Wolcott tour and the one with the most physical evidence of the existence of these ancestors was the village of Tolland, about a mile or so from Gaulden Manor. It was here that the Watersmeet Wolcotts would have been denizens, worshipping at the local church. We parked the car along the road and took the trail up to the churchyard. A mown strip created a path to and around the quaint Thirteenth Century structure of local stone, the majority of gravestones lurking behind tall meadow grasses. Just beside the path were two sarcophagus-type tombs. The writing on one was long since faded but the other, very clearly had written, in Seventeenth Century script, "The body of John Wolcot 21 Mar 1618. Here also lieth the bodie of Johne Woolcot mother of the said John Wolcot who deceased the 5th of April 1637." These Wolcot/Woolcots would have been closely related to Henry, perhaps an aunt and cousin. I'm curious to know who lieth in the adjacent tomb.
The church was locked, which was disappointign, as I had read something about a window donated by the Wolcott family. The Society of the Descendants of Henry Wolcott in the United States had been donating to this for years for its upkeep as an act of preserving their genealogical heritage. Luckily there was a sign that said, "If you find the church locked, please dial..." I made the call and the woman on the other end said she would be there shortly. She arrived within moments and we showered her with thank-yous for her selfless kindness. Once we stepped inside the church, to the left, was the back wall and the two stained-glass windows bearing the Wolcott coat of arms and that of the Bishop of Bath and Wells. A plaque commemorating the donation of the windows by one Henry Wolcott (1855 - 1939) was attached to the wall beneath the window.
The kind villager that let us in and chatted with us, locked the door behind her and was on her way. I was, at that point, quite satisfied that I had seen all that I had hoped to see. These places had finally become more than just words on a page to me. They have, after all, been very real places for half of a millennium or more.
Leaving Tolland we headed back to Cider Cottage for some lunch before heading back out for a drive down more narrow, winding roads, and a walk in the Quantocks. The sun was shining and the temperature was nice - a great bit of luck in timing this holiday. That evening we had a crumble of fresh rhubarb for dessert, sat out on the patio for a bit of evening sunshine and then had a quiet evening inside. In the early morning, John drove me back to the motorway junction hotel car park to meet up with Greg, who would drive me back to another day at work. Within a few days there would be another bank holiday weekend, so I wasn't too disappointed to have to go back.
For photos of my Somerset holiday, click here.
Cheers.
No sooner had I returned from Cardiff was I preparing for another outing. This time it would be a journey similar to one I took last year with Darryl in Belgium. There exists in my bloodline a very thin strand of English heritage, thanks to my father's mother's mother's line, and I was on my way to Somerset and the places once inhabited by my ancestors.I got a call awhile back from my friends John and Marian. They, by coincidence, had rented a cottage last year right in the region of said heritage. They were planning a week's stay and invited me to join them. I decided to arrive Monday evening and stay until Wednesday morning, so that I could get a solid day in without missing more than a day of work. Another lucky break was having a co-worker/boss, Greg, that lives in nearby Taunton, so my ride out that way was already sorted.
I arrived in Taunton where John met me and escorted me to Redlands House, a bed-and-breakfast/cottage spot, where John, Marian, and their two dogs, Penny and Maggy were staying. I had booked a room for the two nights, while they had the Cider Cottage for the week. The cottage had a lush back garden with strawberries and rhubarb abounding. They were encouraged by the owners to pick some rhubarb, which would serve as part of dessert the following evening. After a bit of supper courtesy of Marian, we relaxed a bit and watched the news before retiring to our separate abodes. It was kind of like being neighbours in a very small village.
One of the luxuries I was afforded as part of my accommodation was a full breakfast made to my liking. As I was the only B&B guest, the owners, Brian and Elizabeth, were most generous and offered not only cereal and toast but bacon, eggs and the like. I chatted briefly with them and discussed our plans for the day. Unfortunately they couldn't shed much light on the places we were to visit, as they were themselves quite new to the area.
After breakfast we headed out onto the narrow lanes of Somerset. Our first stop was Lydeard St. Lawerence, where my great great great great great great great great great great (that's ten greats) grandfather Henry Wolcott, married my equally great grandmother, Elizabeth Saunders in 1606. The village is still much like it was four hundred years ago. We asked a few locals about the area. The postmaster gave us some directions, and a woman taking out her dustbin chatted a bit about which buildings would have been around in their time.
The next stop was the church where the Wolcotts were married. It is a mammoth structure for such a small village and was built in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries of the local red stone that is still visible throughout the county. Inside was to be found a solid structure of stone columns and wood ribbing. The intricate wood carving in the pews, screen and pulpit were also standing up to time. It was strange to think, cliché as it might be to say, that over four hundred years ago this space hosted an event that was an essential piece to my existence.
We perused the graves outside to church, looking for the name Saunders, as this was her home village. Henry had lived in Tolland, which would be our final stop on the Wolcott tour. No such graves or tombs were found. However, one interesting stone bore the name of the first Lieutenant-Governor of British Columbia. There is also, I read later, the grave of a man there who had had eight wives and fathered forty-five children.
Our next stop was to be the stately mansion and its grounds once owned by Henry Wolcott's family. Gaulden Manor as it is known now belongs to one Mr. James Le Gendre Starkie. The postmaster and his local friends had told us to speak to him and he would probably let us look around (so long as we spoke up, as he was hard-of-hearing). The house is opened to private groups from June to September. As it was May, I wasn't expecting to be allowed inside. Nevertheless we pulled into the drive and knocked at the gatehouse door. Nought but a dog stirred so we decided to walk the long lane toward the manor. Marian stayed back at the car with the dogs as John and I pressed on.
Rounding the corner Gaulden Manor came into view, and I must say I was surprised at how small it really was. Stately for its time no doubt, it is described as partly Norman and partly Gothic. It originates from the Twelfth Century but the majority of it was built in the Sixteenth. As we approached we could see Mr. Starkie. We spoke to him about our search for Wolcott history, (speaking loudly as instructed). For the most part he would respond with a very posh-sounding, "Oh yes" before asking a few questions of his own. He said that there had been many Wolcotts visiting the area, mostly of the American lineage. We got his blessing to walk around the grounds. We thanked him, and as John went to fetch the car, I took a few snaps. Mr. Starkie retired to the garden from where a very loud book-on-tape documentary about World War II could be heard.
We explored the grounds a bit. The gardeners were preparing for the season. A garden at the side of the house had a small tomb for a deceased Chihuahua. At the very back there was a boggy pond. A friendly greyhound emerged from Mr. Starkie's garden and began to take interest in us and Penny and Maggy. As we receded it slowly followed us until one of the gardeners called her back. We spoke briefly and asked about Watersmeet Farm, where the Wolcotts had lived. Though they owned the manor and the estate, it is believed that they never resided in the house itself, but rather at the mill farm at the bottom of the hill. She told us of a trail down that led down to the farm so we began to follow it.
We crossed a bridge over a stream and followed it along to the bottom, where sat a large farmhouse with sheep grazing in the field behind. It was from here that Henry and Elizabeth would have headed south in 1630 to Plymouth in Devon. From there the ship Mary and John would carry them and the Puritans to Massachusetts, (another wonderful coincidence as it would be Marian and John who would bring me to this place), where their descendants would become governors, signers of the Declaration of Independence and... well, me and my family. Gaulden Manor, upon the hill overlooking the green Somerset countryside, was later sold to the Tuberville family. Thomas Hardy would later write about the house in Tess of D'Urbervilles.
The last stop on the Wolcott tour and the one with the most physical evidence of the existence of these ancestors was the village of Tolland, about a mile or so from Gaulden Manor. It was here that the Watersmeet Wolcotts would have been denizens, worshipping at the local church. We parked the car along the road and took the trail up to the churchyard. A mown strip created a path to and around the quaint Thirteenth Century structure of local stone, the majority of gravestones lurking behind tall meadow grasses. Just beside the path were two sarcophagus-type tombs. The writing on one was long since faded but the other, very clearly had written, in Seventeenth Century script, "The body of John Wolcot 21 Mar 1618. Here also lieth the bodie of Johne Woolcot mother of the said John Wolcot who deceased the 5th of April 1637." These Wolcot/Woolcots would have been closely related to Henry, perhaps an aunt and cousin. I'm curious to know who lieth in the adjacent tomb.
The church was locked, which was disappointign, as I had read something about a window donated by the Wolcott family. The Society of the Descendants of Henry Wolcott in the United States had been donating to this for years for its upkeep as an act of preserving their genealogical heritage. Luckily there was a sign that said, "If you find the church locked, please dial..." I made the call and the woman on the other end said she would be there shortly. She arrived within moments and we showered her with thank-yous for her selfless kindness. Once we stepped inside the church, to the left, was the back wall and the two stained-glass windows bearing the Wolcott coat of arms and that of the Bishop of Bath and Wells. A plaque commemorating the donation of the windows by one Henry Wolcott (1855 - 1939) was attached to the wall beneath the window.
The kind villager that let us in and chatted with us, locked the door behind her and was on her way. I was, at that point, quite satisfied that I had seen all that I had hoped to see. These places had finally become more than just words on a page to me. They have, after all, been very real places for half of a millennium or more.
Leaving Tolland we headed back to Cider Cottage for some lunch before heading back out for a drive down more narrow, winding roads, and a walk in the Quantocks. The sun was shining and the temperature was nice - a great bit of luck in timing this holiday. That evening we had a crumble of fresh rhubarb for dessert, sat out on the patio for a bit of evening sunshine and then had a quiet evening inside. In the early morning, John drove me back to the motorway junction hotel car park to meet up with Greg, who would drive me back to another day at work. Within a few days there would be another bank holiday weekend, so I wasn't too disappointed to have to go back.
For photos of my Somerset holiday, click here.
Cheers.
posted by Mark Bauche at 11:30 PM
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