I first went to Haddon Hall on a school trip in July 1965. Liz was also on that visit. We were ten. I still have the original guide book from that visit.
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I have been back on several occasions since, and Liz went with her family once or twice either just before or just after the school trip. I know that my next visit was in August 1965 as I couldn't wait to show my parents the most wonderful, magically beautiful place I had ever visited, and my views as to the loveliness of Haddon haven't changed one jot or tittle since then. This was, however, the first time Liz and I had been back there together in 44 years. Before Liz proposed this trip I had already promised Joe that we would go to Haddon this summer, so it was the three of us who went.

Liz and I have long played a game together of choosing our personal stately home/historic house, and, although I have inserted all sorts of rooms and furnishings from other houses (most notably Lady Marjorie's bedroom from Plas Newydd on Anglesey and Winston Churchill's dining room table and chairs from Chartwell) into my stately home, Haddon Hall remains the basis of my perfect house.

When we arrived not only were my companions very funny about my venerable guidebook, but the man at the ticket booth chose to be equally amusing. The new guide book has many colour pictures, but it is far too large comfortably to insert into ones handbag. Some houses change considerably over a period of over forty years, but at Haddon they appear to have moved a few chairs - not far, but their positions in the room have changed since the photographs were taken - and members of the royal family (Prince Charles and Princess Anne) have further vandalised the Earl's Bedroom chimney breast by adding their signatures to those of their great grandparents. By the way I noticed at least three people going round the house with the 1980 edition of the guide book.

I suppose I really ought to describe what is so perfect about Haddon Hall. I could write about its hill top setting above the Derbyshire River Wye, or the perfect preservation of its mediaeval structure, but for me it shares with Jervaulx Abbey in Yorkshire that sense of being forever bathed in the sunlight of a perfect (wasp-free) summer day. Or, as "Uncle Alf" (see earlier blog) might have put it
And one, an English home — grey twilight pour’d
On dewy pastures, dewy trees,
Softer than sleep — all things in order stored,
A haunt of ancient peace.
though we shall be visiting Gunby Hall next week which probably, along with Harrington Hall, has a more genuine claim to be the inspiration of this description.

I'm afraid that I haven't any photos as I discovered that I had forgotten the camera battery which I carefully left to recharge overnight, but (until Liz posts hers on facebook and I 'borrow' them) I have borrowed this by way of googling. (Update: Pictures posted August 24th)
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In 1964 we had a set lunch at long trestle tables in the cafe which in those days still looked like a loft over the stables and then went on to the Blue John Mines for the afternoon. Yesterday we had some very well filled sandwiches in the well decorated and equipped tea room, and on the way home visited the ruins of Sutton Scarsdale Hall which lasted only 200 years before it was dismantled and its treasures sold, some to William Randolph Hearst to be exported to America.
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