The Big House: The Story of a Country House and its Family. Christopher Sykes Simon

      THE

      BIG HOUSE

      The Story of a Country House

      and its Family

       Christopher Simon Sykes

       DEDICATION

      To the memory of my grandfather, Mark Sykes, and

      for the new generation, my children, Lily and Joby.

EPIGRAPH

      ‘When I come back here, all the time I have been away seems like a dream. Everything is exactly the same here; the same conversation, the same jokes, the books in the same place on the same tables. My rooms just as I left them. One cannot believe that five months of incident and excitement have passed away. Home seems very calm and comfortable; a refuge quite inaccessible to any of the vexations and troubles of the world.’

      Christopher Sykes, March, 1854.

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Epigraph

Sykes of Sledmere Family Tree

Prologue

I The Merchant

II The Parson

III The Architect

IV The Collector

       V The Squire

       VI The Eccentric

       VII Jessie

       VIII Sykey

       IX Lady Satin Tights

       X Mark

       XI The Traveller

       XII A Restless Spirit

       XIII A New House

       XIV Richard

       XV Sledmere Reborn

       P.S. Ideas, Interviews & Features…

       About the Author

       A Slightly Rebellious Spirit

       Life at a Glance

       Top Ten Favourite Books

       A Writing Life

       A Photographer’s Diary

       Read On

       If You Loved This, You Might Like…

       Find Out More

       Epilogue: My Unexpected Uncle

       Select Bibliography

       Index

       Acknowledgements

       About the Author

       Notes

       Praise

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       SYKES OF SLEDMERE FAMILY TREE

       PROLOGUE

      In the afternoon of Tuesday, 23 May, 1911, in the village of Sledmere, high up on the East Yorkshire Wolds, a passer-by would have been confronted with a shocking and terrifying sight. The large grey stone Georgian house, dominating the village and clearly visible from the main road, was ablaze, thick black smoke and flames pouring from its roof. Had they been there around three o’clock, they would have met with the heavy horses and wooden wagons of the Malton Fire Brigade, at the end of an arduous journey of twelve miles, which had included the navigation of two long steep hills, come to join their fellow-firemen from the other local town of Driffield, and the entire population of the village as they fought to save whatever they could of the contents of a house that had been at the centre of their lives for over 150 years.

      The fire had started because a roof-beam protruded into the chimney above the kitchen in the north-east wing. It had probably smouldered for days before igniting, and even then the progress of the flames was slow, inching their way forward until they