Day 2
I wanted to see the mansion, in Thames Ditton, Surrey, where I had been taken as an unwanted baby some 83-years previous. It was not to become the adopted daughter of some lord or lady, but rather to be cared for by Anglican nuns who owned the property and called it, The Home of Compassion.
As Pearl drove, I marvelled at daffodils, primroses, and wildflowers blooming in every space imaginable. Arriving, we parked and entered the familiar territory, although the flagstone floors were gone, and the inner hall was also bereft of what it had once been. Instead, polished wooden flooring had replaced it. Although I did spy a heavily carved chair that had been there when I was a child. I said to the secretary sitting at her desk, “Good morning. I’m here because this house was my first home. I arrived here 83-years ago.” She was amazed, and her amazement was punctuated with several ‘wows’ and ‘that’s amazing.’ She then ran to get Christine, the assistant administrator, who was equally amazed. We were invited to sit in a beautiful dining area overlooking green lawns that swept down to the River Thames and across the river, and a little downstream stood Hampton Court Palace. We were offered refreshments and asked many questions. They were astounded to learn about the order of Anglican nuns who once owned the property.
Christine asked us if we would like a tour, and of course, we were more than ready.
Around the corner we went, past the familiar stone staircase, now painted white, and carpeted. Then through the door that had once housed Reverend Mother’s private rooms. Her rooms were gone. The sink room and bathroom was now a treatment room for physiotherapy, and one corner- Christine’s office. A carpeted corridor with three toilets for guests replaced the middle of her sitting room.
I told the ladies that right beneath our feet was a cellar, where Reverend Mother stored apples. The head gardener produced an abundance of fruits and vegetables as well as honey from the apiary. I relayed the legend of secret passages and the possibility that Anne Boleyn had tried to make her escape from Henry V111. I also shared with them the use of the tunnel out in the courtyard, now blocked up. It had been our sanctuary during the war when German bombers were flying overhead.
“We always wondered about that tunnel,” Christine said.
We entered an elevator up to the first floor. The inside had been gutted and reworked to accommodate suites for the residents. Each unit had its own dining room with a café style servery in the corner. We waved to a couple of ladies who were being helped with their meal. I estimated there was one staff to every two residents.
What had once been the Good Shepherd Ward, had been converted back into the Charlotte Boyle library. Charlotte being the lady of the mansion in the 17th century. A picture of Charlotte hung over the fireplace. Her original design on the pilasters of glass had been restored in black and gold.
(For the reader with a historical bent, do Google Thames Ditton, which I learned is recorded in the Doomsday Book. As well visit http://www.moleseyhistory.co.uk/books/surrey/boyleFarm/index.html to learn about Charlotte Boyle Walsingham, and the many guests she entertained at Boyle Farm Estates.
We walked down, what at one time had been the cloisters that led to the chapel. Gone was the flagstone floor; thick carpet had replaced it. Gone the choir stalls where the other children and I had sat and sung evensong, and hymns in the Sunday services. A second floor had been constructed where once the lofty ceiling of the chapel had been. But the rooms I saw were tastefully furnished, and the residents obviously well looked after. As we toured, we were introduced to Simon. I do forget his exact role, but I think he oversees the upkeep of the home. He told us he recalled a lawyer who came to see the home as a possible place for his wife. As they walked in the area where the chapel had been, his visitor said he saw a nun walking before them and going into, what had been, the chapel!
Our hosts were thrilled with these stories, and we finally left with promises to keep in touch. They, in turn, vowed to Google my book, Reverend Mother’s Daughter, and obtain it for the library. However, I said I would be happy to send them a copy. The following link shows pictures of the home and its mandate.
https://www.carehome.co.uk/carehome.cfm/searchazref/65432214628
We left the Home-of-Compassion and strolled through the village, settling in a health food café to indulge in delicious sandwiches filled with avocado, mushrooms, lettuce, and other delights. My mouth waters as I remember.
