Murree House was the large, Victorian house I grew up in the leafy suburb of Hampton Hill, London. The house was more than good to us. There was a sense of benevolence and caring about it. It was almost as if it was a member of our family. In fact, as I look back now, I have come to realize it was. Its history may have something to do with that. My mother, who had already visited one hundred and seventy other potential properties, had always said that the moment she walked into Murree House in 1951 she knew it was a happy home – and bought it.
Growing up we knew very little about the house. It had that unusual name, which my father said had something to do with a place in India. He knew the name of the original owner, but nothing more. It somehow was connected to the church at the bottom of the road, but that was it. And then a couple of years ago, with the advantage of the Internet, I was able to piece together the history of the house, and in the process more than the specifics of red bricks and Victorian mortar were revealed.
The large, five bed roomed twin peaked home was built in 1870 by Frances Guadalope Felipe Maria Butler. Her father was Sir Henry George Ward – Britain’s first Mexican Charge d’Affaire. He would later become Governor of Ceylon and Madras. Frances was born in Mexico City in 1825, and was the couple’s first child. Her mother was Emily Elizabeth of the famous Swinburne family who was also an accomplished artist. Both her parents were so taken with Mexico that they not only gave their daughter colourful Spanish names, but Sir Henry wrote the respected “Travels in Mexico” with brilliant illustrations by his wife, published in 1829.
http://ift.tt/1PhDcDa
There were ten children in the family. The most famous of them was Charles “Dudley” Ward, who was born at sea July 9 1827 on the H.M.S. Primrose while the family was returning to England from Mexico. Dudley Ward would eventually emigrate to New Zealand where he became a famous judge and parliamentarian.
Frances married Lt. Colonel Edward Charles Butler in Paris in 1855; one year after her brother had set sail for New Zealand. Frances and Charles most probably first met a couple of years earlier in the Ionian Islands, Corfu maybe, where he was a Captain in the Herefordshire 36th Foot Company. Sir Henry was Commissioner of the Islands at the time, and apparently very tough if not tyrannical. He handed down the death sentence to twenty-one individuals who rose up against British rule.
Frances and Edward had five children, four girls and a boy. The youngest was Alice who was baptized in Shahjahanpore in West Bengal in 1865. Frances and the children must have visited Murree, a small town in the hills near Islamabad. It was a town that had become a home away from home for the British, a place to relax and get away from the Indian wars, and escape the oppressive heat. It was also a sanitarium for the troops, particularly those recovering from cholera. Cholera was epidemic in India at the time. Frances’s father, Sir Henry Ward, had died from the disease just days after he arrived in India to take his place as Governor of Madras in 1860. Edward and Frances must have thought Murree beautiful and memorable enough to build a house in its name. Unfortunately, Edward never had the chance to see the house. He, too, died of cholera 21st May 1868 aged 50 years and was buried at Peshawar. A memorial was also erected at the 13th century St. Michael Anglican Church in Inkpen, Berkshire where his brother John was rector and overseer of the family lands and mansion at Kirby House.
Frances was now a widow.
Upon their return to England Frances and the children stayed at Hampton Court Palace with her mother. Lady Emily, who was now also a widow, lived in the palace with her children, through “grace and favour”. Frances commissioned the building of Murree House in St. James’s Road, Hampton Hill just five miles from the royal grounds, and two hundred yards from the Longford River, which was built to supply water to the royal fountains.
Frances chose this spot because her sister Alice, the youngest sibling and the inspiration for her own daughter’s name, had married Rev. Fitzroy Fitz-Wygram. They lived at the other end of the road in the vicarage next to the newly built (1863) St. James’s church. In between the two residences was a huge swath of open land owned by the church which contained a bountiful orchard. The Reverend had also established, to some degree, the village of Hampton Hill, which had previously been known as New Hampton. Later, when Alice Fitz-Wygram was widowed she moved into the big house opposite the church – Larkfield. Alice became one of the most significant property owners in Hampton Hill. She would be seen in her carriage collecting the rent from her tenants, not so much to wield her power, but to personally connect with her congregation. The family name appeared on the façade of The Fitz-Wygram Working Man’s Club in Hampton Hill High Street, and on the outside of the legacy Fitz-Wygram cottages in Hampton. Today there is the cul-de-sac, Fitz-Wygram Close, just off Windmill Road.
And so the two sisters occupied the homes at opposite ends of St. James’s Road.
The Rev. Bligh became the new vicar of St. James’s Church in 1881. He was not only a respected theologian but also an accomplished cricketer for county Kent. His wife would die of natural causes shortly after their arrival. There was said to have been some local gossip, when, in 1883, in his middle age, Mr. Bligh married Annie Elizabeth Dobree Butler, the nineteen year-old third daughter of Colonel and Mrs. Butler and niece of Mrs. Fitz-Wygram.
Annie moved out of Murree House and set up home in the vicarage. She brought energy to the position of vicar’s wife and was well liked. Now the family had three women anchoring the life of St. James’s Road. The widow Alice in Larkfield, opposite her, in the vicarage, her niece Annie, and Frances at the other end of the road in Murree House, a home full of female energy. The census of 1881 shows that Frances was head of the Murree House household: her two other daughters, Frances (jr.) and Alice (jr.) lived with her, as well as a cook and a maid.
Frances died on the 30th of October 1913 and was buried in St. James’s churchyard next to her mother, Emily Ward, and the Fitz-Wygrams, and the Blighs. Their tombstones are the first to be encountered when you enter the graveyard by the entrance to the church. Frances’s daughter, Alice, moved out of the family home and moved into Murree Cottages in Park Road. She was laid to rest in the same grave as her mother when she died in the spring of 1941. The Butler family has stained glass memorial windows in the north aisle of St. James’s church.
“The fifth double window was added in memory of Lieutenant Colonel and Mrs. Butler in 1914 and represents ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life’ and ‘Melchizedek’, the latter meaning ‘king of righteousness’. It was given by their daughter, Miss Alice Butler, and was unveiled in April 1914 with a ceremony, which included an organ recital. “To the Glory of God in loving memory of Edward Charles Butler Brevet Lt Colonel 36th Foot who died at Peshawur May 21st 1868 aged 50 years and of Frances Guadaloupe Felipe Maria Butler born April 19th 1825 who passed in her sleep October 30th 1913 aged 88 at Hampton Hill where she resided for 44 years, given by their youngest child ACB R.I.P.”
My earliest memory of Murree House is not a particular proud one. Just before Christmas my brother and I, we were about four and five at the time, discovered a loose floorboard in our bedroom, and for some inexplicable reason decided to start a small fire in the newly revealed dusty space. After being transfixed for a short while by our experiment we decided we had better extinguish the flames, and so I went to the bathroom to get a cup of water. My father was there shaving and asked why I was interrupting him. I told him I was thirsty, filled a plastic cup with water and quickly retreated to the bedroom. By then the small fire had grown, not out of hand, but one cup was not enough to douse the flames. And so I returned to the bathroom for more water. This time, with suspicion raised, my father followed me back to the bedroom. As I threw the next cup on the fire the flames went out, but my father erupted in anger. It was bad enough to have a fire underneath the floorboards, but what was worse was that we had started it next to the tap that fed the gas fire. The whole house could have exploded! We spent Christmas day in bed.
My parents have now moved into a care home. Murree House, like its contents, has been sold. A young, new family is set to move in and modernize the interior. I’m sure the house will appreciate the upgrade and the laughter of small children once again. On my last day at Murree House I was alone except for the ghosts of my childhood. I put my hand on the cold wall of the upstairs landing and gave thanks for its love. I walked down the staircase, as my family had done for sixty years, and, with my suitcase in hand, double locked the front door, and walked away without turning back, except in my loving memories.
Murree House
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire