A spectacular winter’s day on Sunday. A pale blue polar sky, completely still, with saturated colours in the unfettered low sun. Knole was spectacular, the west-facing Tudor mansion ablaze in the late afternoon.
Despite the various woes affecting travel and holidays there were still visitors from abroad there, which was good to see – a reminder of better times.
“What is this place called?” I heard one man with an Italian accent ask an National Trust volunteer while gazing around the outer courtyard.
It seemed an odd question given that visiting Knole would involve taking a unique route leading to … well, Knole.
“Knole House,” the volunteer intoned with slow, exaggerated clarity, clearly pleased to be asked.
“So, who lived here?” he enquired, gazing at the enormous structure in wonder, perhaps hoping to hear “King Henry the Eighth” or “Queen Elizabeth the First”.
“The Sackville-Wests,” came the reply, delivered in an awed tone deemed suitable for heralding (minor) aristocracy.
“Ah”, said the man, nodding as if he were an old acquaintance of Vita’s, but betraying a false reverence that screamed: “Never heard of ’em”.
I too felt slightly disappointed at the answer, despite knowing what it would be.