Saturday 2 March 2013

Believe It Or Not


Moseley Old Hall is not an especially beautiful building, although its Elizabethan origins and rustic setting do lend it a degree of charm. It's the centrepiece of a farm which was expanded with the help of dowries amassed through prudent marriages, thereby enabling the elevation of a once humble farmhouse to the more gentrified status of a Hall. Somehow, perhaps because of its relatively remote location, it survived intact for long enough to become adopted by the National Trust and preserved as an example of life as it was lived in the rural heart of England in the mid 17th Century. Last week a small party of us took a guided tour of Moseley for a first-hand taste of that life which, judging by what I saw, would have been uncomfortable, gloomy and sometimes dangerous. The 21st Century may have its problems but I count myself fortunate to be here and now.

The French Renaissance essayist, Michel de Montaigne, wrote "nothing is so firmly believed as what is least known" - an observation on the human mind which explains one or two things quite neatly. For example I had, through ignorance, firmly believed that the expression "sleep tight" was a reference to keeping one’s eyes tightly closed during sleep. Not so. Our guide at the Hall showed us an ancient wooden bed-frame strung with hemp rope. She explained that, in order to ensure a good night’s sleep, the rope needed to be kept tight by twisting some pegs at the side. At once I understood how knowledge loosens the ties of belief.

When exploring old houses every room may be seen as a potential treasure trove of useful facts that can be used either to fascinate others of a like mind or to bore those who prefer to remain unenlightened. Which reminds me: did you know that the working classes of that period, if they were sufficiently civilized, used square, wooden trencher plates to eat from and that this accounts for the origin of the phrase "a good square meal"? This is just one of the many insights revealed by our guide illustrating, if nothing else, the evolution of household furnishing design and the failure of language to keep up with it.

But Moseley is not all about domestic trivia: it is also the site of a headline historical story as romantic as any episode from a Walter Scott novel. It seems the family held to the Roman Catholic faith at a time when its practice was prohibited. They defied the law and put their lives in danger by equipping the Hall with a secret chapel for saying Mass and a priest-hole for hiding the evidence. So, when fellow Catholic and would-be king Charles II turned up on the run from the Republicans after being defeated at the battle of Worcester, they were well-placed to accommodate him for a few days while he sorted out a plan B. On the first night they put him in the priest-hole but he protested that it was too small (I can vouch for that) so they did a risk-assessment and decided it would be safe to upgrade him to a decent room with a double bed, fireplace and en-suite chamber-pot. This turned out to be a wise move since he was enthroned nine years later, Cromwell having died and the people having become disenchanted with his austere dictatorship as a form of government.

When he became King, Charles II swam against the tide by coming out in favour of religious tolerance. Perhaps he had read M. De Montaigne, that pioneer of the sceptic school of thought, whose quoted comment, was, on reflection, probably not aimed at our perceptions of domestic furnishings.



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