Kettlethorpe Hall is a
Grade 1 listed building. Surprising then that there seems to be so little about
it on the Internet, even when you delve as deep as page 5 of Google.
Here’s what I managed to
find out besides its Grade 1 listing: it was built in 1727 for a rich local
family. That’s it – and that was garnered from the same site that told me it
was Grade 1 listed. So I can only assume that not much of interest has happened
there. It’s in a strange, tucked away position, behind Kettlethorpe School, and
most Wakefieldians are probably completely unaware of this minor stately home.
But I’ve not really come
here to visit the hall, which looks to be an occupied private residence. I’ve
come to see if there’s still any evidence of the boathouse folly that stood on
the lake, the boathouse that just happened to have been the original western
front of Chantry Chapel.
Remember our friend George Gilbert Scott from Post 3? He made the unfathomable decision to allow a chunk of Chantry Chapel – and the best bit at that – to be taken away to someone's stately home two miles away. He could have restored this medieval piece
of church history to its former glory, but for whatever reason, didn’t.
I’ve just been checking up on Scott on Wikipedia and it turns out he was a really big cheese in architecture. He was made a Sir in 1872, around 25 years after he’d butchered Wakefield’s historic landmark, so it can’t have done his reputation that much harm.
To be fair to old George, he apparently reflected on this episode in his dotage with the ‘utmost shame and chagrin’ to use his words. In fact, he tried to whip up interest in getting the Chapel’s frontage returned to its original position, but his Crowdfunder page came to nought.
I’ve just been checking up on Scott on Wikipedia and it turns out he was a really big cheese in architecture. He was made a Sir in 1872, around 25 years after he’d butchered Wakefield’s historic landmark, so it can’t have done his reputation that much harm.
To be fair to old George, he apparently reflected on this episode in his dotage with the ‘utmost shame and chagrin’ to use his words. In fact, he tried to whip up interest in getting the Chapel’s frontage returned to its original position, but his Crowdfunder page came to nought.
So the Chapel’s front remained a boathouse folly for a hundred and fifty years (from 1840-odd to the late 1990s). As such, it
seems to have been something of an attraction, being well loved by Victorian
artists and the subject of many early picture postcards. You can find all sorts
of pictures of it on Google Images, many of them presumably stills of those
postcards.
It doesn’t sound like it was particularly well-cared
for by its new owners but it seems only to have been slowly deteriorating till
that well-known group of malcontents known as the Vandals discovered it and
started to administer their version of TLC. Such care included pushing many of
the ancient carved stones into the lake.
You can just imagine the depressing scene.
Kevin’s just given Sandra a bunk up against the boathouse walls as dusk
descends on the balmy summer evening. ‘Eh, Sand,’ Kev says, between swigs of
his Skol lager, ‘watch this.’ Sandra giggles as she pulls her knickers back up
and watches Kev shove part of the boathouse wall into the water.
Kettlethorpe Hall had apparently lain empty for many years by the 1990s. Maybe the grounds had been separated from the hall years before that and therefore open to the public, as they are now. What is clear is that the boathouse/Chantry Chapel’s western front were going to be lost for ever like a forgotten shipwreck if nothing was done at this stage. As Edward Green says in his 2002 article in Cathedral Communications, this ‘lovely 14th century facade, which had survived the Reformation, the Civil War and centuries of Yorkshire weather [had been] reduced to a heart-breaking pile of rubble by mindless vandals.’
Plans were put forward to move it out of harm’s way, such as reconstructing this part of the old chapel in Wakefield Cathedral, but nothing got off the ground. In the end, all that anyone managed to do was the bare minimum – move it out of harm’s way. The stones were collected, many from a shallow watery grave, and put into storage by the Council.
Is there any evidence still of that romantic folly? I got Ellie the Boo out of the car (that’s the dog, in case you’re not reading these posts in order) and went out searching for clues. The small man-made lake whose banks the boathouse must have stood on is down a short path from the Hall. Ellie sniffed every post as we went, but I think she was checking for evidence of dog pee, rather than that of a 14th century church.
As we began to circumnavigate the lake, I took out my phone to check the images I’d taken off Google that showed the boathouse in situ, to see if I could work out where the boathouse might most likely have been. One corner of the lake seemed the most promising, at the far side, so I negotiated the duckshit on the path and headed over.
As soon as I got there, I could see large stones that looked to be the right sort of colour and style. There were a few in the water and others on the water’s edge. Not many, but enough to think I’d found the right place and enough to also wonder who they employed to clear the site – a team of professional historians/archaeologists or a bunch of apathetic delinquents running down a few hours of their community service?
Surely a few of the stones left here were part of the boathouse. If they weren’t, they should at least have been taken to make the area tidy. There was even an iron gate left on the water’s edge. Was this bent piece of railing once part of the boathouse? Frustratingly, you can’t see a gate on the pictures I’ve found, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. There were openings in the building that could have had a gate.
Ellie looked at me at this point with a face that said ‘why are we hanging about in the mud here – I thought we were going for a walk?’ I’m not quite finished playing Poirot, though, and explore the area a bit more. I soon find something strangely thrilling (when I say thrilling, I cringe a little because if you’d asked the 21-year-old me if my find was thrilling, I would have said no, this is definitely boring old person crap). A few metres from the water’s edge, there are some stone steps amongst the trees. These must surely have been the steps that led down to the boathouse. Why else
would they be here? This was definitely the place (‘Whoopee-friggin’-do’ says 21-year-old self).
Ellie got her walk at this point, me content with my finds. As I went, leaning more and more heavily on my stick, I wondered if there was any way a member of the public can get to see the rescued stones in storage. Further investigation would be required.
POSTSCRIPT
Some of you may be hoping that I couldn’t be arsed to do any further investigation and that this is the end of the story of Chantry Chapel’s old frontage. It’s hard cheese for you, my friend, as there’s more.
Firstly, I later found one source describing the Kettlethorpe Hall estate at a time when the boathouse still stood. It describes the boathouse’s position as being at the south west end of the lake. A quick examination of Google Maps, confirms that my sherlocking was carried out very much in the south-west corner of the lake.
I then found a story in the local news from 2014 about how the stones were coming out of storage and were going to be put on display in the Secret Garden in Thornes Park. Thoughts of ‘that’s good news’ were mixed with other thoughts of ‘where the hell’s the Secret Garden in Thornes Park? Is it the garden that’s just beyond the little aviary at the corner of the lake where the geese hang out?’
I discovered that it is not. That’s the Rose Garden. I’ve fond memories of the Rose Garden, as it’s where my son learnt to ride a bike, but it’s clearly not secret, as it’s so easy to find. The Secret Garden, apparently, is a little way beyond that, in an area I have never ventured in all my years of living in Wakefield and visiting the park. I dare say many Wakefieldians know nothing of it either. Maybe the authorities thought this would be somewhere safe from the vandals, as you have to search it out. Kev and Sandra surely aren’t going to be bothered to find it. Let’s hope not. The project to move the stones was set to cost £20,000.
This three-year-old article said that the relocation work would take around two weeks so, as the Council and a lot of money seemed to be involved, I’m fully expecting it still won’t have got done. Of course, I will be tracking down this secret garden and letting you know if I’m wrong. After all, if you’ve read this far, I’m guessing you have some interest.
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