Welcome to the Hall

Dear Reader,

I hope this finds you well.

If you are reading this, then you are either a resident tidying the kitchen (in which case hello and apologies for the wall behind the Rayburn – please would you return this letter to the board when you’re done), OR you are my successor, in which case WELCOME and please read on to hear a little about my time here, plus a few things I think I would have found helpful to know in the beginning.

My hope is that you may find some comfort from my words, or perhaps even some useful advice.

I most often seem to be here in winter, when the ground is hard and twinkling with frost. The morning skies are clear and bright and of the richest blue. The sun sits low, casting golden beams through the ethereal mists. Take time to enjoy the ever present chorus from the abundant bird life. The sound which fills the air and makes the scenery, with it’s towering trees and clusters of snowdrops, then later daffodils, all the more beautiful.

After daffodils come the bluebells. Their stunning purple blankets the ground beneath the trees, interspersed with banks of wild garlic. When finally, those flowers show their colours, the sun gains strength and the frost eventually thaws, the feeling is one of pride (and relief!), that you survived a Galloway winter, and all being well, thrived.

I won’t silver line it too much for you – it will be long and hard. The days are short, and believe me; they are not always glorious sunshine. Far from it. There is a brutal frequency of many types of wet. From sleet to snow, to saturating icy rain. And the outdoor work must continue regardless. Because if it doesn’t get done, then it is literally the community that suffers – and very quickly you will realise that includes you. This hand to mouth way of life is challenging, but in time you will come to appreciate it. Everything you need is right there – but if the wood isn’t moved, chopped and stacked, then it won’t be there to warm your toes at night.

Get into the routine of joining the regular wood trips, regardless of the weather. It counts towards your work-share and will keep you strong, as well as being a great way to socialise during the cold months when even the more reclusive members will venture out from time to time, before scurrying back into hibernation again.

The wood trips are among my favourite memories from my stay here; I proved a lot to myself and thoroughly enjoyed the camaraderie. Let me tell you about one in particular that I still feel proud to have made it through.

In February, we had three weeks of snow. It settled and then remained, topping itself up and refusing to melt until it was inches deep. But there was still work to be done.

Some felled logs needed moving down to the sheds for stacking. I found myself included in the small party of five, and we set off up the hill with our axes and gloves. The snow crunched as we trudged along the track and then through the trees. Frozen vegetation snapped like crisps beneath our tread.

We reached the wood pile; a gargantuan heap of logs at the edge of the woods, already sawn into chunky rounds. The first job was to clear the marshmallow crown of snow which had formed fungus like atop the mound. I was almost up to my knees and there was little I could do to avoid the top layer of fresh snow filling my boots, while my gloves began caking as I worked.

It is near unavoidable that your gloves and socks will become wet as the ice creeps closer to your skin and begins to melt, but I most often found that working steadily would keep me warm and I could continue for a good while before feeling the effects.

Of course, if you are resourceful enough to equip yourself with decent boots and gloves without holes or defunct weatherproofing, and clothes which fit as they should, then you will be fine. But as is the nature of this unique community, items are generally worn until they are worn out, and often borrowed (in my case, from previous owners far taller than myself), and so you find you toughen up to meet each item’s particular inadequacies.

So with the snow clear, we then had to pry the hefty rounds apart, having been saturated through the autumn and then frozen together since Christmas. Many were too large for me to get my arms around to lift, so I mostly rolled and flipped them to my chosen spot for splitting.

I had, as always, managed to get my hands on the little Fiskar axe. I like to think that my axe wielding skills are pretty good, but I am very aware that most of the credit is owed to this nifty little blade. It is the lightest of the decent axes, and contrary to the advice most residents offered me in lesson one; about the weight of a heavy axe doing the work for you, I find that actually being able to lift the thing above your head in the first place, and continuing this action all morning without breaking your shoulders, is far more useful. The handle of this particular design swings sweetly and I find it better for my skeleton to put in a little more effort on the way down than on the way up. Things also got a lot easier once I began to learn the art of reading the wood. Get it in half first, right down the middle – the satisfying thock will soon tell you if you’ve got it right. Avoid knots at all costs (unless you’re feeling particularly burly), then slice off wedges like a cake. A big frosty wooden cake.

Having swung our axes for a good while, we had each made a large pile of fresh clean wedges, and worked up enough body heat to be down to scarves and t-shirts, the steam rising from our backs and from our mouths as we conversed. I am always tempted to try blowing steam from my nose like a dragon at these times, but my nostrils are usually so heavily lined with snot from breathing the icy air, that I fear it may not be wise. Snot gloves and axe handles. Not a great combination.

Tea break. There are always a healthy number of tea breaks. We sat like kings on our respective heaps at the edge of the tree line, sipping coffee from our plastic Thermos cups and admiring the view. The rolling fields were white and still, with numerous red kites circling majestically overhead against the blue, seeking their carrion. The only disruption being that Steve had just begun muck spreading in the adjacent meadow, so the old tractor engine rattled on as the glorious stench of a summer’s worth of cow dung came drifting along on the breeze.

Thankfully, the pine sap oozing from the freshly split logs beneath us was sweet enough to balance the earthiness of the manure. This is all part of the particular aroma you will find yourself wearing from now on; the unique scent that sets you apart from the rest of the population on earth and identifies you as a Hall dweller to those in the local town.

It’s that pine, infused with the ever present wood smoke which creeps into everything. Add to this the water you bathe in – direct from the burn. It flows steaming hot from the old Victorian taps, yellowed from the rich minerals of the peaty banks. You become a part of the land here and it becomes a part of you.

Along with the land comes the weather, which in Galloway is a particularly unsettled beast at the best of times. And this time was no exception: as we sat atop our logs, we could see a dirty pink cloud beyond the clear blue sky. It hung heavy over the village, unmistakably laden with snow and creeping in fast.

Some very valuable advice – when you go anywhere in Galloway, always be prepared for any climatic eventuality. It is not unusual to experience torrential rain, brilliant sunshine, blizzards, hail and gale force winds all in one morning (though frequent and awe inspiring rainbows are the plus side to this). The trick to survival is layers. Layers, layers, layers. And make at least two of them waterproof. Don’t bother with an umbrella. It will only blow inside out after ten minutes and get in your way when the sun comes out and you have to carry your discarded layers.

As it happened, we were all prepared. So having rested and re-layered, we had just got our hats on and hoods up as the first flakes began to fall.

Loading the trailer was then a matter of heads down and do, as the snow began in earnest. Forming two chains, we spent the next half hour passing the chopped wood from one to the other, the snow deepening around us, until all two tons (or thereabouts) was on board, ready to be driven down to the sheds for stacking.

I love riding on that trailer – most others choose to walk; perhaps they know something I don’t – but it’s high from the ground, and makes you feel like a big kid as it bumps along behind the tractor. Usually (when there isn’t a blizzard), the view down into the valley where the burn runs its course into the loch is so pretty.

It’s like a fairy glen, with rich moss draped over everything, so green it almost glows. And trees so old and wizened they seem to have grown into one another like a web, all so intrinsically connected that a single one could not stand alone. It saddens me that many people don’t get to see woodlands in this way and to live around them. I think it could change the way a lot of us see nature; when it has been left to grow freely. Be sure to make the time to explore this wonderful place while you’re here. And learn to take these moments between splitting and stacking to appreciate where you are.

I haven’t intended to put you off the wood trips. My wish is that I’ve shared how even the hardest times can be beautiful and enjoyable here. The trick is to clear your mind and focus on the job in hand. Stay present and value the fact that each time you swing your axe or refuse to be defeated by the cold (or wet), that you are getting stronger in every way.

And have a bath. Oh my! A hot bath can heal all manner of things. Especially after a wood trip – and believe me there is nothing better than a bath at the Hall. I mentioned the taps already; thickset and formed from solid brass that would not be out of place aboard the Nautilus.

The baths themselves too, of which there are several to choose from. All are sturdily built, original enameled cast iron and enormous. The biggest and most extravagant is by far the one on top corridor; worthy I’m sure, of Nemo himself. It is so deep and wide that even the longest of mermaids could take pleasure in a luxurious soak. (If you can find someone to scrub your back in this bath I must say it is worth the indulgence!) The plug hole is ridiculous. There is an arm sized brass plug which you lift into the drain – an opening large enough to reach inside. In equal proportion is the inlet – from which water flows like a hydrant, controlled by the lever like taps above.

The mineral laden water is drawn straight from the burn and heated by the hydroelectric.  It is therefore abundant and I recommend making full use of this luxury while you are here. Do not concern yourself with the flecks of earth floating in it – it does wonders for the skin, but be sure to use only natural products because (aside from being better for you), there is a firm emphasis here that no chemicals should be washed into the water table.

The reason for this is largely to support the ethic of living a self-sustaining life from the land. When you grow the majority of your own food yourself, you develop a much more direct respect for your environment. It seems logical to me: you look after it, and it will look after you.

With that in mind, I encourage you to get involved in gardening. As with the wood trips it is part of your work-share, plus it is only fair to put energy back into something that sustains you.

The incredible walled garden, beautifully managed and growing a wide variety of fruit and vegetables will soon become your larder. The poly tunnels and green houses are my favourite. They sustain a rather exotic selection of green leaves and herbs, amazingly supplying us with fresh salads throughout the winter.

There will be root vegetables, onions and brassicas all year round, but if you are finding the winter selection a little basic, have patience. It will be worth the wait for the summer months to sample plenty more delights from the garden – far too many to list here, but you must be sure to try a strawberry or two at the very least. I’ve not tasted better elsewhere and I doubt you will have either.

The yellow roofed, shed like structure in the corner you will discover, is the compost bin. Do your best to fill it. You will find a compost bucket in your kitchen, along with just about everything else you need. As with the bathrooms, there are numerous kitchens, all with their own personalities and quirks. With each having been shared and loved by many wonderful residents over the years – you can feel the warmth that resonates from their ageing walls and counters.

It’s the same throughout the house, the winding stairs and twisting hallways each hold many a tale. So many lives have passed through this place; you can’t help but feel the weight of history around you. The lost souls yet to move on may show themselves from time to time.

I have myself had some spine tingles, namely in the form of electric devices turning themselves on or off at will. But have no fear; there is little malice in these spirits, though I did find that avoiding leaving my room at night for the first few weeks was a rather good decision. I can particularly recommend avoiding the area around the cellar and nurses dining room in the old part of the house late at night if you can help it. There are few things more unsettling than making a wrong turn in the dark and feeling like something is following you. Of course, it’s possible that it might just be Alice on her nightly fire door patrol. But in all honesty, if you’re anything like me and scare easily, I would not be risking any midnight encounters at all, Alice or otherwise.

Things will become easier as you learn your way around the maze. I found it took a while for my senses to calm enough to explore and discover more secrets; the hidden spaces which are often missed. Take time to visit the tower. There is a curious half sized doorway which leads into a narrow set of spiral stairs. These are dizzying to climb and more than a little cramped, but it will be worth the effort for the commanding views from the four turreted corners at the highest point in the building. There is graffiti up there too, some dating back a century or so, to a time when the hospital nurses would use the tower as a refuge to sneak away for a cigarette, on what I imagine would have been a well earned break!

I love the way the house has been so wonderfully cared for. The original wooden shutters still working as well as they did the day they were fitted. Oh and the billiard room! Glorious with its woodwork, enormous fire place and lofty ceiling. And other original features such as the heavy brass mounted call bells – which patients would have pressed many times to summon their nurses. Though nostalgic, there is also an eeriness to their presence which I am yet to overcome.

They no longer ring out, yet are very telling of times passed. And somehow, this all sits so comfortably with the modern influences – the painted scenes of suns and landscapes lining the corridors, and the drapes and art works dotted around, bringing colour and new life to the house as a whole.

Be sure to enjoy this; the colour and vibrancy. Bring your own too. Paint, make music, whatever it is that you do – do it. Contribute to the atmosphere and happiness that keeps the hall alive.

I wish you well and look forward to meeting you if I happen to return while you are here.

Stay safe and stay warm.

Hayley.

 

© Haylee-Mai 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

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5 thoughts on “Welcome to the Hall

  1. It has a really nice voice to it, like how a letter would have been written in the 18th century, but without sounding old-fashioned. This fits really well when describing an old house.
    It sucks you in straight away and is believable – If I received a letter like this I’d be excited about staying there.
    Obviously goes without saying that the prose is great. Beautiful description and I really got a sense of how much the place was adored.
    It’s a real feel-good piece Hayley. I think this will be your first Number One – I think people will love it.

    Liked by 1 person

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