A folly with a view
Inventing history on the Clent Hills
If you have a garden, you might have a shed in it, maybe a pond, perhaps a greenhouse, or even a garden office. These days, you can even by fake ruins, consisting of a crumbling wall with a window. Now, I have to admit, I wouldn’t say no to some fake ruins in my back garden with jasmine and honeysuckle climbing over it. If I’d been a ridiculously wealthy landowner in the 1700s, I could’ve gone one further. Instead of just a piece of fake wall, I could’ve built whatever fake ruins I liked.
And that’s exactly what Lord Lyttleton of Hagley Hall did. In fact, he went on a folly-building rampage, covering his patch of north Worcestershire with them. He built several pretend temples in the Greek and Roman styles, an obelisk that could be seen for miles around - because why build an obelisk if no one can see it? - a picturesquely-ruined full-sized castle, and last but by no means least, “The Four Stones”,1 a cluster of standing stones at the summit of a very tall hill.
Hagley Hall is to the west of Birmingham, on the lower slopes of the Clent Hills. There’s four hills in all and from certain points on the hills, you can see the city (although fortunately not the dustbins…). I love the Clent Hills. They’re so near to where I live, but with their steep, wooded lanes and valleys, they feel like another world. If I’m heading out west, I often detour my way around the Clent Hills, which must seem like time-wasting madness to most people who would prefer to take the busy dual carriageway and annoying roundabout instead. But there’s something magical about the hills, and I take every opportunity I can to visit them. And yes, because he seems to regularly pop up in my newsletters, JRR Tolkien used to enjoy exploring the Clent Hills, too, just as I suspect he visited the cave houses at Kinver Edge.
The views from Clent Hill, the second tallest at just over 1,000 feet, are astonishing, and even better, you get to take in the views while hanging out with The Four Stones. To the south, you can see the gentle swells of the Cotswolds; to the south-west the blustery Malverns; to the west the majestic Clee Hills; to the north-west the Berwyn range in Wales; and to the north the Wrekin standing tall in Shropshire.
I wonder if Lord Lyttleton had visited the Rollright Stones, up on a hill in the Cotswolds, which had then inspired him to create his own? But imagine having to be the person who lugged those big bits of rock up to the top of a hill that high?
Doctor Who's stone circle and the Whispering Knights
I have some exciting writing news for you, but that will have to wait until after I’ve taken you on today’s trip - we’re heading to the Rollright Stones, three ancient monuments in the Cotswolds, straddling the borders of Oxfordshire and Warwickshire.
I must admit that I have a fondness for the Berwyns; my grandparents called their bungalow “Berwyn” as they loved the mountains so much, somewhat ironically seeing as they each lived for over ninety years in Essex, a county famously devoid of mountains. The northernmost peak of the Berwyns is Moel Famau (pronounced roughly Mole Vama), and can be seen through the window of my friend’s childhood bedroom. I became so fascinated by the mountain - being from Essex, I hadn’t seen mountains from people’s bedrooms windows that often - that we badgered her brother to drive us there. We walked up the slopes which were springy with purple heather that made the mountain smell of honey, and once we reached the top, we could see all the way to Liverpool. Of course, had I only known, I could’ve turned around and seen the Clent Hills.
Unsurprisingly, there was a beacon at the top of the Clent Hills during the time of the Spanish Armada, when England was threaded with beacons to raise the alarm if the Spanish turned up. How effective those beacons would’ve been really came home to me as I stood up there on a hill just outside Birmingham, staring out towards a mountain I’d been up that gives you a view of Liverpool. One beacon lighting up after another, hill to hill, mountain to mountain, up and down the length of the country. It would’ve been a sight to see.
The pretend ancient stones aren’t the only thing to see on the Clent Hills. There’s villages and pubs dotted about, and there’s even a holy well at St Kenelm’s church, which we’ve visited with disastrous consequences - I’ll reveal all another time.
If you’re planning a visit, there’s plenty of places to stop for a bite or a pint. When we visited, we had lunch at The Four Stones café, but we’ve also had lunch on other trips through the Clent Hills at the Vine Inn (which used to be a watermill and specialises in seafood), and the Fountain.
Once you’ve seen the stones, walked your legs off, and had some reviving lunch, there’s still more to see. Standing in the middle of a field, visible from the top of Clent Hill, is that obelisk I mentioned. And there’s a whole other story attached to that - both a tragedy and a mystery - which I’ll tell you about in my next newsletter.
Two of the Clent Hills, Clent Hill and Walton Hill, are cared for by the National Trust and they’re free to visit. There are carparks dotted about.
Edited 9th July because, like an idiot, I’d written “Clee” in a few places when I should’ve said “Clent”. Argh.
The mystery hat
It’s been a while since we heard from the mystery hat! Just to clear up one mystery, at least - it is a standard, adult-sized hat. It looks a bit small in the photo because 1. my hand is closer to the camera, and 2. my hand is weirdly enormous anyway.
For years, ever since I randomly bought this hat at the Rag Market in Birmingham, thus demonstrating the delights of ADHD impulsive behaviour, I have been under the impression that it was a train driver’s hat. Possibly a London Underground train driver’s hat. But I can’t find any similar hats online, and certainly not any which are to do with the London Underground. So - because there’s more to research than Google - I contacted the London Transport Museum and the National Railway Museum in York to see what the transport experts thought.
London Transport Museum: there’s nothing in their collections which looks exactly like this hat. But they think it looks similar to a uniform issued in the mid-90s. They have one in their collection although it has a badge and a different band, but it’s made from similar synthetic fibres. I discovered something I hadn’t known before: London Transport colour-code their uniforms. A red hatband is London Underground, yellow is buses, and green is for country buses. Country buses in London? But yes, it’s true.
National Railway Museum: their curator took a look at my photos. He said it’s not a train driver’s hat; it’s more likely to be the sort of hat worn by a guard or station staff. He went further and suggested it’s possibly from the early privatisation period, an even put forward a possible transport company name: Connex. But… he’s not 100% sure.
The verdict: I think it’s safe to say that the mystery hat is still a mystery. I like the National Railway Museum’s idea that it’s from the early privatisation period, and coincidentally enough, that ties in with London Transport Museum’s assessment of it being from the mid-90s. So many train companies popped up seemingly overnight as poor old British Rail got chopped about that it wouldn’t surprise me at all if that’s where the hat has come from. And perhaps also explains why the hat is rare as these companies come and go with speed (in fact, more speed than most of the trains…).
But now I’m wondering something else. What if we’re wrong and it’s not a train-related hat at all? What if it’s military? Then again, military caps like this have shiny brims, not plastic ones. The mystery of the hat rolls on…
Pre-order now!
The Lost Orphans, the first book in the brand new series The Runaway Evacuees, is out on 23rd July and is up for pre-order now on Amazon. It’s written by me and my friend Catherine Curzon, under our joint pen-name, Ellie Curzon. It’ll be available in ebook, paperback, audiobook, and in Kindle Unlimited.
About me
I co-write WW2 saga fiction with my excellent friend Catherine Curzon under our joint pen name, Ellie Curzon.
I’ve written two books on Victorian crime and forensics, and articles for Fortean Times and Family Tree magazine. I’ve appeared on BBC1’s Murder, Mystery and My Family, and BBC Radio 4’s Punt PI. I live in the West Midlands with a cat who looks like a Viking.
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Do I need to do a joke about the Rolling Stones here? Maybe crossed with The Four Tops? Let’s just pretend I did and move swiftly on….
I was only walking by Sham Castle in Bath yesterday - always appreciate a folly and the often slightly obsessive/eccentric people who create them (or at least put in the order).
Enjoyed this post, Helen. Clent Hills look/sound great.
JRR Tolkien allegedly took inspiration from The Hollies, a park near my house in Leeds, too!