About eight miles south-east of Brussels lies a huge mound.
It is made of the earth from one of the most famous battlefields of all time: the one which toppled Napoleon from his dais and changed the political map forever. Waterloo.
Wellington’s victory cost tens of thousands of lives. Almost 50,000 men, all told.
A horrific scene met the eyes of one Major Frye, who arrived to survey the damage: “..On arrival there the sight was too horrible to behold,” he relates.
“I felt sick in the stomach and was obliged to return. The multitude of carcasses, the heaps of wounded men with mangled limbs unable to move, and perishing from not having their wounds dressed or from hunger…. formed a spectacle I shall never forget.”
The darkest of human scenes. Startling and distressing to learn, then, that wandering among all of this, a nameless little girl was found.
She was about six years old, wandering shocked and dazed amongst the carnage.
A captain of Wellington’s army found her. Captain James Adderly and his wife were childless and had often discussed adopting a child of their own: and here, in the direst need, was a child seemingly without mother or father, christian nor surname.
He took her home to England, and he called her Ellen.
She grew up to be a beautiful young woman and made a spectacular marriage: she wed Arthur Edmund Dennis, the 16th Viscount Dillon, titled owner of great estates.
It is an arresting tale of one who chose to welcome a child into his life: a life which included all the privileges to ensure her advancement.
I was standing in an extraordinary house as I listened to this story, next to a sumptuous bed fit for a viscount, surrounded by portraits centuries old.
It is called Basildon Park, and no expense was spared to build it. One of the masterpieces of York’s John Carr, the Palladian villa is a perfect study in grace and power.
But it has been a casualty of the rise and fall of men with precarious fortunes.
The man who commissioned it was a farmer’s son who made a great fortune working for the East India Company. Sir Frances Sykes had it made out of golden Bath stone.
Sir Frances’ son was a spendthrift, and his grandson must solve the problem. He sold the Park to another self-made man: the son of a publican from Middle Wallop: James Morrison.
It is fabled that Morrison hitched a ride in a cart to London to seek his fortune: but his entrepreneurial ability soon began to show itself as he married into a family of haberdashers and built a hugely successful business.
By the time he first set eyes on Basildon, it was in a condition as grevious as Morrisson’s finances were glowing: and he hired renowned architect John Papworth to restore it to its former glory.
That was in 1838. By 1910, the rooms stood deserted once again.
The last of the Morrisons had died. In 1928 a Lord Iliffe bought it to extend his land, and sold the house to a charlatan.
His plan was to dismantle it brick by brick and ship it to America.
It is as well the charlatan did not hold his finances together well enough to achieve his aim: but he stripped the beautiful old place bare, and to this day, if you go to the Waldorf Astoria in London, you will see parts of Basildon gracing its interior.
And so we reach the house’s penultimate chapter.
Lord Illife’s son and his new wife, a woman called Renee, set about restoring it once more.
Renee worked to make a husk into a home which epitomised solicitous hospitality: her taste, her welcome, still hover at every corner to draw you through the rooms she filled with beauty and practicality.
Her endearing fifties kitchen still remains, equipped with all mod cons and a cornflower blue housecoat to wear whilst cooking.
The most beautiful of the bedrooms was always reserved for her sister. For her sister’s husband was what was left of the Dillon dynasty; ancestors of that Viscount who swept a former battlefield child off her feet.
When fortunes frowned and the Dillon’s estate was sold off, Renee carefully procured the most intimate and graceful things: a gorgeous bed, and a collections of paintings.
Whenever they came to stay, they slept in the room with their things in it. Among them was the entrancing face of Ellen, the erstwhile child from the battlefield.
Welcome: the choice to draw a lonely or bereft soul in to the warm; it appears in the strangest stories.
In ours, it began on a terrible battlefield . It was the by-word of the woman who welcomed Ellen’s successors. And Renee made welcome a condition, when she handed her house to the National Trust.
It must never be a museum-piece, she stipulated, but always a home.
And yesterday, I experienced the Basildon welcome.
It is as steadfast as ever.
Kate Shrewsday 
Another lovely story, Kate.
Glad you enjoyed it, Tilly 🙂
Great tale Kate – I want to rush off now and visit Basildon. The story in the National Trust Handbook is not a patch on yours.
We have the volunteer guides to thank for that, Rosemary. They are passionate about the place and know it intimately….so well worth a visit….
Yes, Kate. Another good story. I’ve read so much about Waterloo but I’d never heard about Ellen.
Nor me: and the tale of a child on a battlefield is an emotive one. Even when I researched the two lines, Adderly and the Viscounts Dillon, I could find no mention of Ellen’s strange beginnings. Perhaps they thought it was best to keep her unknown lineage quiet.
You lucky fish, Kate, I’d give my … no, not quite, but I would love to see it 🙂
If you’re ever over here, Cindy, we’ll visit it together 🙂
http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-basildonpark
I’ll put it on my list!
Do, Pseu. What a pearl of great price!
I appreciated the link and seeing the outside of basildon. Thank you.
How enchantingly you tell this story, Kate, and, oh how I would love to visit Basildon one day. I must go now and take a look see from Pseu’s link above. Thank you.
Oooh, good point: I’ll post a few pix from yesterday at the bottom of the post, Penny.
So much of history relies on pure chance, Kate, …and here we have the past reaching down through time, showing us how a mere fact of a lost and shocked child being adopted leads us through the following generations to the modern day, to The Welcome. I love Genealogy, and being able to track back and see who passed the baton of life onto whom. Lovely blog … xPenx
It is strange how a chance even or act of kindness can have echoes which stretch far and wide, Pen…
Poor child, I can’t help wondering what fate threw her into that carnage – but can one really argue with a fate that turns out so well in the end? I expect not.
I would love to see Basildon myself, your story and photos have whetted my appetite.
Ruth, you echo my own thoughts: how does a child right a start like that? Clearly, though, she managed to: thanks to her adoptive family and their unequivocal welcome. If you’re ever over here, Ruth, Basildon is one to see.
A visit to Basildon is still on my list of ‘to do’. You’ve made it sound even more inviting.
Definitely worth it, Nuvofelt 🙂
Great, Kate! 😀
I was transfixed by your slideshow too!
It was a perfectly wonderful place, Tom!
Truly a rags to riches story. Thanks, Kate.
You’re very welcome, Nancy 🙂
What a beautiful place, that lovely gentle stone.
How sad for a child to find herself in such a place, and how lucky to be rescued. I wonder what her story was?
I love your visits to these places, and how you take us along with you.
I suspect the British tourism thingummy (the ones who promote tourism) should be referring everyone to yyour blog and paying you for all of these lovely posts, making us wish to visit along with you.
Sidey, thanks for those lovely comments. If you are ever over here I look forward to taking you round some of them myself 🙂
I am so envious of the access you have to such inspirationally, exciting historical “stuff” – lovely post 🙂
ps and second what Sidey says about British tourism!
😀 Cheers…
Thanks Bandsmoke. It really was an enchanting afternoon…
Enjoyed the tour, Kate – thanks 🙂
You’re welcome, BB:-)
Savored this post. I love European history, and the way you wove Waterloo into the history of an old house is captivating. I can especially see that kitchen, and the coat of cornflower blue.
You know what, Andra? they make a point of cooking in there to increase the feeling of homeliness. It smelt of fresh shortbread, and we were offered a warm cheese scone and butter.
Maddie loved the cornflower coat too…
What an interesting story – Houses hold so much history – I love the yellow stone work. Thank you for posting so many pictures. I love places like that but my children are yet to get my love of Masonary, Architecture and all things old. I think they will get it eventually as I am planting tiny seeds every time we go on holiday. (Allways England) They seem to have an ifinity with ruined castles – There favourite thing I have found so far. I just have to slowly work my way up to ones with ALL their walls and roofs and maybe even furniture LOL
Have you tried Dover Castle? Its where our started: we go down and stay, and then just live up there. Their halloween week is usually spectacular: it’s a bit of a hike, but worth it.