Stories Vol 15: The Preservation Edition

STOR IES T H E P R E S E RVA T I O N E D I T I O N

STOR IES

Preservation (noun) / prεz ə’veı ſən / The act of keeping something as it is.

The act of preserving something might otherwise be described as an act of care and protection. Whether it be fruits preserved for nourishment through the cold winter months, flowers and leaves pressed to catch and hold their transient beauty, or the protection of a historic building or way of life. Preservation can be a practical reaction to beauty or necessity, but it also has a deeper resonance.

The decision to preserve something raises the question: what are we preserving it for? Sometimes, it might be for reasons of survival, but more often than not, it reflects our desire to honour history, to connect with previous generations, and to save and gift precious things for those of the future. It’s part of the thought process that shaped our one hundred year mindset – to create a legacy of furniture that’s carefully considered, crafted and cherished.

Preservation is also a concept brimming with hidden delights – the discovery of a vintage wallpaper tucked behind a radiator during a renovation project, or the surprise of an undiscovered stairwell such as that awaiting the owners of Bussage House in Gloucestershire. It could be the simple act of saving leaves from an autumn walk, a decision that led, eventually, to the creation of our new season paint colour, Clove.

Indeed, acts of preservation have given us much to be grateful for, from marvels of ancient architecture that, through care, have weathered the passing of years, to the sharing of traditional baking methods and the rewilding of our meadows and fields that, at times, were all but lost. But maybe most importantly, such deeds have taught us to honour and respect the way others live; then, now and in the future.

CONTR IBUTORS Thank you to the talented authors and journalists who contributed to this edition, along with our fabulous team of in-house writers.

Claudia Baillie Claudia Baillie is a London-based design and interiors journalist. Formerly interiors editor at The Sunday Times Style and editor at ELLE Decoration Country, she writes for a range of publications across all areas from designer profiles to homes, trends and architecture. @claudiabaillie

Suzanne Imre For 17 years, Suzanne Imre was the influential editor of interiors magazine Livingetc; a renowned style pundit and trend leader.

Today, she lives in London and works as a brand consultant, content director and writer. @suzanne.imre

Amy Bradford Amy Bradford is the former features director of ELLE Decoration. Now a freelance writer and editor, she’s a regular contributor for Neptune and also writes for titles such as The Telegraph and FT How To Spend It. She lives on the Kent coast.

Elizabeth Metcalfe Elizabeth Metcalfe is the deputy features editor at House & Garden magazine. Having studied English literature at King’s College, she gained a master’s in history of art from The Courtauld Institute of Art, before joining the magazine.

She lives in London. @elizabethjmetcalfe

Hatta Byng Hatta Byng has been the editor of House & Garden magazine since 2014. She arrived at the magazine as features editor in 2006, later becoming deputy editor. Hatta studied the history of art and architecture, and has also worked as an interior designer. @hattabyng Photo credit: Dean Herane

Kassia St Clair Kassia St Clair’s book The Secret Lives of Colour was Radio 4’s ‘Book of the Week’. She is also a broadcaster and writes for The Economist and Architectural Digest. Her ELLE Decoration colour column has been running since 2013. @kassiastclair

Dr Annie Gray Dr Annie Gray is a food historian and the author of several books, including Victory in the Kitchen: The Life of Churchill’s Cook. She’s also a broadcaster, consultant and keen pickle-maker. @dranniegray

James Probert James Probert is editor of Historic House magazine, the publication for members of Historic Houses, the association representing the UK’s independently owned historic houses, castles and gardens. James lives in a Grade II* listed house in London, once inhabited by the essayist Charles Lamb. @historic_houses

Sam Baker Sam Baker is a journalist, broadcaster, author and presenter of podcast, ‘The Shift (on life after 40)’. Her book, The Shift: How I (lost and) found myself after 40 – and you can too, is published by Coronet. She lives in Edinburgh with her husband and Sausage the cat. @theothersambaker

Amy Moorea Wong Amy Moorea Wong is an interiors and lifestyle journalist, previously features editor at ELLE Decoration and news editor at Livingetc.

She has a penchant for Scandinavian design and eco materials. @amy_moorea

Busola Evans Busola Evans is the associate editor of Livingetc and Homes & Gardens. She has been a journalist for 20 years and has written for a number of leading publications including The Sunday Times Magazine, The Telegraph and The Guardian. @busolaevans

Debora Robertson Debora Robertson is a writer and editor specialising in food, homes and gardens.

She has columns in The Daily Telegraph and Delicious magazine, and is co-author of Manners: A Modern Field Guide. She lives in London and France. @lickedspoon

Ben Fogle Ben Fogle is a broadcaster, adventurer and author, and the presenter of C5’s ‘New Lives in the Wild’. He has climbed Mount Everest, rowed the Atlantic and raced to the South Pole, and is also the United Nations’ ‘Patron of the Wilderness’. @benfogle

Lucy Dunn Lucy Dunn is lifestyle editor of The Telegraph.

Previously, she was a founding member of women’s platform, The Pool. She lives in St Albans with her husband, two teenage sons and hyperactive dog, Spud. @lucydunnuk

India Knight Columnist India Knight writes for The Sunday Times and The Sunday Times Style. Her books include My Life On a Plate and The Goodness of Dogs, published by Penguin Books. She lives in Suffolk with her family and dogs. Photo credit: Francesco Guidicini

Cover image: Izzi Hudson @flowerandpress

CONTENTS

4 The one hundred year mindset Suzanne Imre 6 Saving a home Elizabeth Metcalfe

64 Why meadows matter 66 The making of Harris Tweed Amy Bradford

14 A stitch in time

74 What’s left behind Hatta Byng

18 On Clove Kassia St Clair

76 The gentle balance of food preservation Dr Annie Gray

22 Slow and steady wins the race James Probert

80 In the kitchen

28 Nigel & David’s Chichester kitchen

88 Book Club Sam Baker

36 Father Time Amy Moorea Wong

90 Made to treasure Amy Bradford

40 The heirloom tray

98 Kneading time Busola Evans

42 Preserving the art of dining Debora Robertson 48 One step forward Lucy Dunn 50 Previously loved Claudia Baillie 58 One kitchen, three stories Suzanne Imre

104 The search for contentment Ben Fogle 106 Welsh adventures 112 Preserving a domestic history 118 Holding on to memories India Knight

THE ONE HUNDR ED YEAR MINDSET

Neptune co-founder John Sims-Hilditch tells journalist Suzanne Imre how looking beyond the here and now is enabling the business to be more inventive and creative.

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ne hundred years. A century. Per centum. It can mark a mere moment in history or chart an entire lifetime. It is also the vision that Neptune’s co-founder John Sims-Hilditch has for the business: to create things that will last beyond a hundred years. A legacy of beautiful furniture, carefully considered, crafted and cherished.

This centennial mindset is the result of much contemplation, as John explains: ‘The idea started when we were considering the long-term challenges that face any growing business. What are the differences between a company that lasts beyond a century and one that doesn’t?’

In exploring such a conundrum, John fell to thinking about his early military career where defining purpose, not financial gain, was the key to success. ‘When purpose is well established, it can last a long time,’ he observes. ‘Traditional business doctrine teaches that the purpose is to maximise profit. But finance is a resource, not a purpose. Of course, it needs careful management, but if a business looks after its customers, people and finances then it can achieve its purpose. The purpose needs to be front and centre.’

Once established, John saw that this mindset could offer a host of progressive opportunities, not least providing the team with a clear benchmark against which to test their decision making processes. It was an approach that didn’t demand reactionary turnarounds or knee-jerk responses. Taking a long term view could help people navigate complex decisions. ‘This is not about rushing to a destination as a company,’ adds John. ‘The future is over the horizon and we can’t see it, but we know we will be there.’

It’s an intriguing philosophy – future planning for benefits you may never see. Preserving for the generations ahead. It’s not unlike the mindsets of creatives of the past – eighteenth-century gardeners who planted up estates but never got to see the wonder of the avenue of mature lime trees, or Renaissance architects who resolved structural issues but never witnessed the final stones being laid. ‘There is a real sense of humanity and spirit in this approach,’ says John, ‘creating something for someone else’s enjoyment in the future.’

In practical terms, the one hundred year mindset means the business is focused on creating well-made, sustainable furniture that people will cherish. The solid oak tables and rush-seated chairs of today may, in time, become family heirlooms, imbued with sentiment and history.

Looking ahead, John envisages that the business’s restoration services will grow as more people choose to renovate and preserve their furniture rather than discarding and buying new. An informal refurbishing service already exists, helping customers look after and maintain their investment pieces, but the ambition is to develop this part of the business further. ‘I suspect that a lot of what we’ll be doing in the future is looking after things we’ve made in the previous 100 years,’ notes John.

And so the purpose is set. Beautiful furniture made to last one hundred years. A simple concept. A huge vision.

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S AV I N G A H O M E

A gradual renovation project is revealing more and more, as interiors journalist Elizabeth Metcalfe discovers.

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here are renovations that happen at pace with a flurry of builders, scaffolding and cement mixers, and then there are those that take a more leisurely tack, edging forward over the course of years. For Bussage House, a handsome Georgian house in Gloucestershire, it’s very much a case of the latter. ‘We’ve been here for two years and the only room we’ve completely finished is the downstairs loo,’ laughs interior stylist Alyce Taylor, who bought the three-floor house with her husband, artist and sculptor Henry Castle, in November 2019. ‘Our decision to approach it slowly was partly down to choice, but also a matter of necessity as it meant we could keep to our budget,’ she says.

The house had been empty for two years and was in a sorry state when Alyce and Henry stumbled upon it by chance when visiting friends for the weekend. Although initially daunted

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by the scope of the work – there were cracks in walls and a worrying amount of damp – the couple knew they could take on the challenge, having renovated their previous two homes and developed plenty of resilience in the process. ‘We’ve lived in states of chaos for years now and I actually enjoy it,’ admits Alyce.

From the start, they had a clear vision for this house: it was about returning the space to its former glory by sensitively stripping it back and restoring what was there. The couple knew that they would be living in it while renovating, which meant their approach would have to be more piecemeal than a complete gut job. They also knew that they would be hands-on, aided by Alyce’s father at weekends. ‘We’ve never had to compromise on materials or techniques because we’re not working to a rushed timeline, and we’ve gained an intimate knowledge of the house’s details.’

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‘The house has thrown so many surprises at us,’ says Alyce.

Woodworm has been their ‘trickiest nemesis’, meaning that many joists and floorboards had to be replaced.

But, behind crumbling render, the couple have revealed unexpected delights: fireplaces, old ridge lines in the top bedroom that show how the roof has changed position over the years, and floating doorway lintels that give an idea of previous layouts. Two of their most remarkable discoveries are a ten-metre deep well, which would have originally been the main water supply for the house, and a ‘puzzling’, grand, double-

width stone staircase that leads down to the basement.

‘Often what we uncover confuses us even more about how the house has been used in the past,’ explains Alyce. ‘But, it’s made us really interested in its history.’ Over the years, it’s been a Nonconformist meeting room, a boys’ school and a girls’ finishing school, before becoming a family home in 1937.

‘We’ve tried to preserve the features we’ve found, so it stands as a visual marker of the building’s rich history. They’re beautiful scars of a house that has been changed over a 300-year period.’

Some of the fascinating finds left behind by previous residents (opposite), the original external shutters (above left), and the house covered in ivy in the early 20th century (above right).

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Along with the architectural quirks, Alyce and Henry have discovered fascinating elements that give an insight into the lives of previous inhabitants. A pretty green floral wallpaper, discovered sandwiched between the walls on the top floor, suggests one owner had a taste for chintz, while Alyce thinks a decorative bench in what will become the dining room could be a remnant from a school dining room. ‘There’s also an old built-in cupboard in our bedroom, which I think would have been added by the school,’ adds Alyce. ‘It’s a tricky one for us, because it’s too narrow to be useful, but I’d really like to keep it as a reminder of the house’s history.’

Equally insightful are all the bits and pieces Alyce and Henry have unearthed from under the floorboards and carefully preserved – luggage tags, a candle snuffer, a

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handful of letters, and even a pair of architect’s callipers. ‘Some of them date back to the 1800s and we love finding these fragments that hint to the lives in the house before us,’ says Alyce. ‘They’re treasured possessions now and we’re going to frame them all in a big box frame.’

Old photographs and adverts for the school, Alyce explains, ‘add another layer of understanding’, one describing the house’s ‘healthy situation’ and another showing it, at one point, with external shutters.

Taking the project slowly has allowed the couple to let the house evolve with their lives. ‘What we want from it has developed over the past two years and we’ve had time to really think about how we want to use the space,’ Alyce says. ‘I don’t think it will ever really be done, because it will continue to evolve as we do.’

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A stitch in time

Methodical and painstaking, conservation, as renowned textile conservator Emma Telford understands, is all about a slow approach. She talks to writer Katie Wake about her passion for the patient process.

What drew you to textile conservation?

As a child, I was always making things, so a career in textiles felt like a natural progression.

I did a degree in textile design before changing tack with a postgraduate diploma in textile conservation at the Courtauld Institute of Art. What project are you currently working on?

A tapestry commissioned for Blenheim Palace by the first Duke of Marlborough. We’re working on ‘Justice’, one of a set of four virtues that hangs in the private apartments. Woven in Brussels around 1710, at four metres high, it’s a large piece that will probably take around a year to restore.

How do you approach restoring a tapestry like this?

Careful planning is key. It’s a methodical process with lots of different stages. We start by cleaning the surface using a specialist vacuum cleaner and a carefully-tested pH solution gently sponged onto the tapestry. Older tapestries have often seen different phases of repair, so you need to test the dyes to ensure the colours don’t leak.

Next comes the actual support work and restoration. We attach the tapestry to a linen scrim which can be rolled on a frame. This supports the piece and allows us to work on it in small individual sections around 20cm squared. We sew any damaged slits and reintroduce lost weft, especially where the silk, a more delicate fabric, has dropped out. It takes a significant amount of stitching, colour matching and even dying where appropriate.

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Have the techniques changed much over the years?

No, it’s more the skills you bring to these ancient techniques – how good, patient and practiced you are with a paintbrush, needle or pair of tweezers.

Is it hard to stay focused when the process is so slow?

It’s in my nature to be able to zone in. Most people who work in textile conservation are the same. We get pleasure from intricate jobs, from working on a small scale and looking at the detail. There’s a real satisfaction in untangling a problem through time and perseverance. We have a lot of patience for the objects we’re working with and the transformation is so rewarding.

Does it offer any lessons for life?

It’s a job that can’t be rushed. My kids would probably say I’m an impatient person so I’m fortunate to work in a world where focus and patience are everything!

Right: the First State Room at Blenheim Palace

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Our new season colour, Clove, has a rich and spicy history, as author Kassia St Clair reveals.

ON CLOV E

In Medieval Europe, the scents wafting from the kitchens of the wellheeled were veritable paeans to foreign spices. Mixtures of cloves, ginger, cinnamon, pepper, nutmeg and grains of paradise – collectively known as poudre fort, or ‘strong powder’ – were used to spice wine and gingerbreads, to season meat, stuffing, and even fish. The smells, delicious in themselves, also indicated status, wealth and – literally – good taste. ‘Tak cheryes’, one bougie, fifteenth-century cherry potage recipe begins, before launching into lists of other expensive ingredients, including sugar and white breadcrumbs.

The finished dish, so luxurious it must surely have been created to whet the appetites of royalty, was to be garnished with gilded cloves.

The English word comes from the Latin clavus, meaning ‘nail’, because of the spice’s resemblance to this humble piece of hardware. In reality, cloves are really the dried flowers of a tropical evergreen tree from the Myrtaceae family.

Originally native to the ‘Spice’ or Moluku islands, today part of Indonesia, these trees are now cultivated as far afield as Brazil. As with many precious things, the harvesting is painstaking. Buds are hand-picked from mature trees in late summer and again in winter. Once dried, they are either sold whole to be used in cooking, or their essential oils are extracted to be used in everything from medicine to the synthesis of vanillin.

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Flavour-wise, they pack a punch: warming, pungent and evocatively fragrant. Unsurprisingly, given their unique savour, they have long been a treasured trade commodity. In 200BCE envoys from Java to Han-dynasty China used cloves to sweeten their breath during audiences with the emperor.

It seems he was impressed: there is evidence that cloves then became a part of the two country’s regular trade. They were also sold into India and Sri Lanka, and flowed west towards north Africa and the Mediterranean. Before long, cloves became a beloved culinary staple in the west, leading to attempts to corner the trade. In the 1500s the Portuguese gained control of the Molukus; a century later, they fell to the Dutch. Today, although they are grown elsewhere, the scent of clove is immediately reminiscent of Indonesia, because of the popularity there of kretek, or clove cigarettes.

While the new Clove paint shade – an enveloping mix of velvet browns and regal purple hues – might not be a precise representation of the dried article – which is a dark nut brown – nor of the fresh flowers – bright pink – it instantly evokes the sensory landscape of the spice. This is a colour that recalls raisins plumped in sherry, logs hissing in the grates of autumnal fires and the scented fug of mulled wine. Warming and aromatic; at once exciting, energising, soothing and comforting. Perhaps not surprising, if it was good enough for Medieval European royalty.

To test Clove out in your own home – something we always recommend to make sure it suits your space’s light – you can order a sample pot in either the eggshell or matt emulsion finishes online or pick one up in store.

Or head to Instagram to see Clove in action @neptunehomeofficial

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Our Chawton sideboard in Clove (above left, £1,913), and Mustard £3,056 (above right), Opposite, the Theo armchair in Isla Old Rose £800 with walls painted in Clove.

Slow and steady wins the race Newby Hall in North Yorkshire is the only place to have held the coveted title of Historic Houses’ ‘Garden of the Year’, as voted on by the public, twice – first in 1986 and then again in 2019. James Probert, editor of Historic House magazine, went along to find out how they did it.

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country house is rarely the creation of just one generation, and the Compton family’s home, near Ripon, is no exception.

Newby Hall has enviable design credentials, from the elegant William and Mary exterior by Sir Christopher Wren to its classical Robert Adam state rooms created around seventy years later. But, for the last century, Newby has been known as much for its gardens as for its architecture.

Today, the guiding mind is Lucinda Compton, whose husband, Richard, took on the house from his father in 1997. Lucinda is deeply aware of her place in a chain of curators and custodians. ‘My father-in-law, Robin, and his father, Major Edward Compton, were both knowledgeable horticulturists. They left us with rich collections – magnolias, cherries, acers, cornuses, roses, and so on.’

Major Compton inherited Newby from his mother’s family, the Vyners. He was given the house in 1921 and immediately set about giving the gardens much of the shape they’ve retained today. Edward wasn’t working with a blank canvas, of course. ‘Before him, each generation of Richard’s ancestors commissioned renowned landscapers and architects to improve the garden,’ Lucinda explains. Today, only a solitary avenue remains of the highly formal seventeenth-century design by Peter Aram. The rigidly geometric Frenchstyle gardens of the time went out of fashion in the eighteenth century when figures like ‘Capability’

Brown brought a new naturalism to parks and grounds.

Not at Newby, though, where the next significant development came at the end of the nineteenth century. ‘I love the balustrading, urns, statues and gates designed by William Burges in the 1870s,’ says Lucinda. The ghost of a Victorian parterre opening off the house’s southern front can still be traced in dry weather, under what is now a lawn within the ‘bone structure’ of Burges’ stonework.

At that time, just a few feet from the house, the garden gave way to parkland. Today, the vista is quite different.

The crowning glory of Newby, for which it’s justifiably most famous, is the grand double herbaceous border, marching in stately but colourful fashion from the house to the River Ure almost two hundred metres away. This axis, around which the whole garden is oriented, is Major Compton’s greatest legacy – one that is still being periodically reinvented today.

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The crowning glory of Newby

Above: Head gardener Peter Aram’s orginal garden design

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‘The herbaceous borders were redesigned and replanted around five years ago,’ says Phil Cormie, Newby’s head gardener. ‘The plants are mature now, and the true beauty of the colour palette can be appreciated. There will always be tweaks and changes to make, though. You never reach a finishing line.’

Either side of the borders, the gardens spill out into distinct ‘rooms’ which consciously extend the inside into the outdoors. Major Compton described the garden he inherited in the 1920s as ‘nothing to speak of’, and called his house ‘a lovely picture without a frame’. Over the next half-century, he extended that frame until it became a world in its own right, spanning to more than forty acres.

The first of the ‘rooms’ we enter is called Sylvia’s Garden, named for Major Compton’s wife, for whom he created this rectangle of brick and York stone paths between soft planting of whites, pinks, purples and blues in 1930. It’s now a fitting memorial to her, with its mature yew hedge walls creating a private space perfect for quiet contemplation.

During Edward’s restless expansion, his kingdom of flowers displaced more utilitarian elements in an imperial manner. The rose garden, for example, supplanted a grass tennis court, just before the Second World War, while a croquet lawn gave way to the ‘autumn garden’, planted every year with late-flowering specimens (including Salvia microphylla ‘Newby Hall’, developed here) that are designed to attract and sustain insects until the first frosts of October.

When Edward died in 1977, his son, Robin – Richard’s father – inherited not just the estate and a love of horticulture, but also a set of unenviable challenges.

Maintenance is a perennial problem for all large country houses and can affect gardens as badly as buildings.

Major Compton’s sprawling gardens were labour-hungry in a period when resources were squeezed and, already by the time Robin succeeded his father, the gardens were becoming overgrown.

Rescue came in the form of innovation and entrepreneurship. It was during ‘Mr Robin’s’ tenure that Newby established itself as one of the country’s major heritage attractions – recognised in a spate of awards – welcoming tens of thousands of visitors a year to enjoy the splendours of the grounds, on foot or even from a miniature railway that circumnavigates the site (originally built by Edward, in fact, but greatly enlarged in the 1980s).

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The Janus-faced task of restoration and creation continues today. ‘On one level, a historic site is like any other garden – we add beauty through colour, design and form,’ says head gardener Phil. ‘But on another level, one always has to be mindful that there was a masterplan; our planting is usually designed to fill between existing structures like paths or mature hedges. We “take note” of the past, but we certainly try out the new too.’

Newby’s most notably ‘lost’ element was the rock garden, which pre-dated even Edward’s time.

Completed in 1914, just before the outbreak of war, records show that many of the men who worked on it were, within months, fighting on the fields of France.

When peace returned, staffing levels did not and, over the next century, the rock garden became overgrown and dark. ‘Restoring it is our big ongoing project,’ Lucinda tells me. ‘There are about twenty “beds” of huge rocks, with rills, ponds, an aqueduct, a cascade, a grotto, stone wellheads, and mature trees that we’re keeping. Phil and his team are excavating and re-planting. It will take about five years, but the first seven beds are done, and the transformation is thrilling to see. Our new alpine and woodland plants are already establishing themselves.’

It will be a legacy to stand with the work of her forbears, I suggest. ‘I have no wish to “leave my mark” for the sake of it,’ Lucinda says, ‘but it’s impossible not to make changes. For example, when my father-in-law

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died in 2007, I decided to wait a year before making any changes in the garden. But, within a month, a huge storm had blown down several big trees and the areas opened up as a result needed rethinking and replanting right away.’

Is it all work for the future, I ask my hosts – is there time to enjoy the present for oneself? ‘There are moments of immediate reward, of course,’ says Phil.

‘The seasons are especially generous here – from the first magnolia bloom through to the acer’s autumn colour.

You can plan for those and see the results within a few years of planting. But the bigger woodland schemes need to be thought of as something that our children or grandchildren will enjoy. Previous generations at Newby had the foresight to plant some impressive shelterbelts to the west of the gardens. Without them, the wind from the Pennines and the Dales would make the gardening here very difficult.’

‘There’s always a job for us to do, but I find it rewarding knowing that visitors have that chance to just soak up the sights, textures, and scents of what we’ve created. Taking things slow is so important for people’s wellbeing – especially now.’

‘Gardens are very demanding of activity,’ agrees Lucinda. ‘But when the visitors have all left, I love to just quietly enjoy the beauty of the place with Richard.

It’s home, after all.’

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The transformation is thrilling to see

Newby Hall and Gardens are open to visitors and free for members of Historic Houses newbyhall.com historichouse.org Take a tour of five other Historic Houses as part of our ‘At home with history’ series on Instagram @neptunehomeofficial

Image by Charlotte Graham © Newby Hall and Historic Houses

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NIGEL A ND D AV I D ’ S CHICHESTER KITCHEN

The family: Nigel, David and Nellie, the cat.

The house: an 1880s, semi-detached house in Ealing, west London. ‘It’s described as Edwardian baroque because it has lots of architectural decorative plaster, more commonly seen in public buildings than domestic homes,’ says Nigel.

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childhood spent growing up in Australia had imbued Nigel Hunt with a love of open-plan, lateral living spaces, something that he and partner David were keen to replicate when they moved into their Edwardian home in Ealing three years ago.

The property’s proportions were a great starting point for the aesthetic the couple were after – three-metrehigh ceilings and huge French doors leading into a lush garden. Thanks to Nigel’s job as marketing director of Sanderson Design Group, creative ideas weren’t short on the ground. Nor was this the first Neptune kitchen they’d developed together, having discovered Neptune some 14 years previously when admiring a friend’s barn conversion kitchen in Oxfordshire.

Nigel and David had been collating moodboard images and materials for some time before they visited Neptune Chiswick to start the design process. ‘I had some strong ideas already but it was great to work with the designers to see how we could translate them into a reality,’ recalls Nigel. They opted for the Chichester kitchen because, as Nigel explains, ‘We loved the quality and the simplicity of the design but it has enough elements to add interest and integrity too.’

The couple were keen that the space worked as a kitchen but also as a place to entertain and to relax together at the end of the day. While they wanted a large island, they realised that putting the dining table in the usual spot between the island and facing wall would feel constricted. Instead, they located the table towards the doors and designed a glass-fronted unit using narrower wall cabinets as the base and softly backlit shelving above. The bespoke pillars on either side concealed a building support, and the shelves were home to Nigel’s ever-growing collection of vintage glassware.

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Nigel wasn’t afraid to be brave with some of his decorating decisions, especially with the expert advice of the Neptune design team to support him. The flooring is actually York stone slabs made for patios which have a textured sawn finish to them, and Nigel sourced bespoke, blackened ‘burnt’ oak shelves to sit either side of the range.

And there were yet more stand-out design decisions that led to the final look. The choice of heavily silvered, foxed glass along one wall – and even over the cooker hood – adds a hint of glamour, and carefully planned lighting means the kitchen can move easily from practical cook zone to atmospheric chill space. Even the bar stools around the island were selected to feel like comfy armchairs at a smart bistro bar.

Colour was a key factor in the look. Having already had a Neptune kitchen painted in off-black, this time they were keen to move to the lighter – though still moody – end of the palette for a more contemporary look.

They selected Shell for the lower cabinets and, after a few trials, a darker blue-grey for the upper woodwork, island and display cabinet. ‘That’s the great thing about these kitchens,’ says Nigel, ‘you can easily tweak the colours to adapt to the look you’re going for.’

Given Nigel’s job, decorative elements were always going to be part of the design. The Morris & Co. Willow Bough wallpaper, from the Ben Pentreath collection, worked as a link to bring a sense of the garden inside, while a comfy armchair is covered in Zoffany’s Pomegranate fabric. ‘I love customising pieces,’ adds Nigel, ‘and with this kitchen, we’ve been able to create a well-functioning but very personal space.’

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Explore Nigel’s kitchen on film @neptunehomeofficial

Favourite part of the kitchen?

It’s between the shelving cabinet for my glass collection and my comfy armchair with its view into the garden.

Go to recipe?

We love entertaining and our speciality is canapés and cocktails.

Best unseen aspect of the kitchen?

Underfloor heating!

Nellie, the Russian Blue cat, is named after the Little Nellie helicopter from the James Bond film ‘You only live twice’ (David is a big Bond fan).

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FAT H E R TIME Journalist Amy Moorea Wong ponders how and why we try to track and catch the passage of time.

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ne of the first skills we teach our children, the act of telling the time, is simple and habitual, causing us to regularly pause, take stock and evaluate. There’s something innately grounding about defining the minute and hour – it creates perspective and places each moment in relation to another, telling us how to behave, what to plan for, and if we can fit in another cup of tea.

More than just practical objects, it’s as if timepieces – from architectural behemoths to compact pocket watches – are imbued with whimsy and enchantment.

They may be complex feats of engineering, but notions such as travelling in time, tales of ‘once upon a time’, the ethereal figure of Old Father Time, and the rather mystic-sounding horology (the name for the study of time) lend timekeeping a dreamlike haziness. Clocks physically represent the unfathomable number of hours that came before us and those that stretch out ahead, impossibly containing the promise of the future and the secrets of the past, and with that power comes a sense of wonder and reverence.

One of the first human inventions, clocks have long had a place in the home. It all started with the sundial, which dates back to around 3,500 BC, where the shadow cast by a stick or pillar indicated the time. From around 1,500 BC, bowl-based water clocks, or clepsydras, harnessed the flow of water to determine the passage of time, superseded after a thousand years (or so) by evenly burning materials such as oil, incense and candles to denote time gone by. The earliest reliable – and reusable – time keepers were hourglasses. Glass bulbs filled typically with sand (alternatives include marble dust and crushed eggshells), they date back to the 8th century and were commonplace in houses by the 1400s.

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Wells Cathedral’s astronomical clock

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Mechanical clocks originally told the time not visibly but with the striking of bells, named for the Latin word for bell, clocca. Audibly dictating the strict Roman Catholic prayer schedule, by the 1300s, they were built into religious buildings across Europe. Salisbury Cathedral’s clock is said to be the world’s oldest surviving working device; dating from 1386, the face-less, hand-less set of freestanding gears still generates an onthe-hour chime. A more recognisable, decorative design, the 1390-built astronomical clock at Wells Cathedral depicts a universe revolving around the Earth, with a star, sun and moon indicating the minute, hour and day.

Ticking so far for 631 years, it was wound by hand until 2010 (when a motor took over).

Throughout the following centuries, timekeeping technology became increasingly sophisticated. Portable clocks were developed in the early 1500s, and the watch came about in the 1600s (a pocket watch tied around the wrist with string). Swinging weight-powered pendulums dominated by the mid-1600s, giving rise to the grandfather and cuckoo clocks in the 1700s. Electricity entered the equation in 1841, and highly precise crystal quartz was introduced in 1927 – a material used in most modern timepieces and computers.

An ambitiously futuristic clock is currently under construction deep within a remote mountain in Texas.

The 10,000 Year Clock – also known as The Clock of the Long Now – will run on solar energy for ten millennia, ticking once a year and gonging at every 1,000 years.

Created to promote long-term thinking, it embodies life outside of our civilisation and poses questions such as ‘what kind of ancestors are we?’

The passage of time defines and structures our lives, giving us momentum to act – or not to. While human perception of time may alter – we’ve all had days (or years) that feel unnaturally slow or fast – the clock, be it on a wall, wrist or screen, is there to guide and move us forward at a sure and steady speed.

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THE

H E I R LO O M T R AY

A considered design story for the simplest of objects.

‘Thirty years ago, we were lucky enough to have a wedding list at The Conran Shop,’ begins our creative founder, Emma Sims-Hilditch, wife of co-founder, John. ‘The Conran Shop was, for us, the place you went to get your cool, designed furniture or your cutlery or your glassware. Terence Conran was the master of that. And, from that list, we were given this tray.’

Spring forward three decades, and after a woodland stroll in the Wiltshire countryside, Emma and John picked out their Conran tray to gather together a foraged collection of hedgerow leaves and berries and bring them into the Neptune design studio. These would go on to inspire our autumn colour palette, but the tray caught the eye of the design team too. Could they create a sturdy tray that stood the test of time using beautiful, honed oak and classic carpentry techniques, and that might last 30 or even a hundred years? So, strong, sturdy finger joints that promise longevity were incorporated into the corners, while the shape of the handles was smoothed to be as organic and comfortable in the hand as possible.

Far more than a purely utilitarian piece though, as with everything we create, it was important for John that the tray would have aesthetic value too. ‘Beauty is the fundamental thing. We’re building things to last a hundred years and, over time, utility changes, but it’s the beauty of something that will always have value, that will ensure it lasts.’

Emma also knew that she wanted the Terence tray – named in tribute to its source of inspiration – to be more than just a tray, and that it would be able to sit atop the butler’s table legs we’d created as part of our spring collection. A fitting pairing, the oak and leather strap legs had already been through their own journey of refinement and, together, the two would form a slowly sculpted, carefully considered whole.

A worthy family heirloom for the future.

Opposite: Terence butler’s tray table £325 / Greenwich wine glasses, from £50 (set of six)

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PR E SE RV I NG THE A RT OF DINING As our social lives and gatherings are gradually re-established, food writer and author Debora Robertson muses on how relaxed hosting is the most convivial.

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hen I think of the happiest moments in my life, it’s not the Big Ticket events, the grand parties or holidays. I’m happiest tying on an apron on Sunday morning, anticipating a roast leg of lamb and a table full of loud conversation by lunchtime, or opening the front door on Friday night and letting a gang of friends tumble into the hall, a mess of laughter and tissue-wrapped bottles of second-best wines from the corner off-licence.

With planning parties, the thinking, imagining and unfurling are the purest of pleasures, but host, know thy self. It might sound relaxing to delegate – and in these free-wheeling, sneakers-or-stilettos, anything-goes times, it most certainly is if you’re a laid-back type. But I’m a control freak, so the thought of relying on anyone else to make a pudding brings me out in hives. It’s easier for me to hold everything by a short rein and make a million lists. This way, I can enjoy my own party because I’ve done all of the worrying beforehand.

I do set the table in plenty of time, because if it looks beautiful, people are far more forgiving about what goes on it. It doesn’t take much to elevate it from the ordinary: a scattering of candles and some flowers or greenery cut from the garden in small glasses spread along the table are as pleasing as more elaborate arrangements and set a relaxed tone, which is truly what we all want.

Above: Lulworth Fig dinner plate £12 and side plate £9 / Ashcroft placemat £130 / Antonia napkin in Olive £46 / Hoxton wine glass £56 Ella tumbler in Rose £8 (all for a set of six) / Neve tealight holder in Amber £14 (set of three) / Heddon tall candlestick £48

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I’m very guilty of repeatedly inviting my best beloveds, but I do try to include a few new people each time – it makes everyone perk up. However relaxed your gathering, it’s still important to introduce people properly and make it clear what you expect from your guests. If you’re serving and want people to start as they get their food, do tell them; if you want them to help themselves to side dishes, make that clear too. And if you’re the guest, start, help yourself, for goodness’ sake. With new people or shy people, I like to give them a job such as serving drinks or handing round snacks. It breaks the ice in the gentlest possible way.

My idea of hell is a dinner where every component is a recipe, comprising elaborate method and ingredients, which means the host is weeping into the split sauce while everyone pretends everything is fine as they cling onto their gin and tonics rather too hard. Dinner as gladiatorial combat, inspired by competitive cooking shows, has ruined us for a simple roast chicken and salad followed by bought ice cream. But all sane people – that is, the kind of people you want around your table – prefer the latter to the former. Keep it simple. Some charcuterie and olives, a main course you can prepare in advance, something bought for pudding, everyone’s happy, nobody’s crying.

When it comes to etiquette, the new rules are the same as the old rules, they’re just a little less starchy. If you’re the host, keep the conversation moving along; if you’re the guest, don’t leave it all to the host. Talk, sparkle, never discuss parking or bins (the new politics and religion), and don’t forget to say thank you. And yes, an email is fine. Flowers are better.

Previous spread: Moreton extending dining table £2,310 / Wycombe dining chair £310 and stool £255 Browning three-bulb lantern pendant £640 / Longford 200x300cm rug in Oatmeal £550

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Theo armchair in Harry Rust £875 / Milo large footstool in Harris Tweed Marmalade £615 / Longford rug, Oatmeal £375 / Wentworth throw, Rosehip £190 Herstal medium lamp with 17” Lucile shade in Warm White £206 / Sketch Dancer I wall art £185 / Redford round basket, large £66 / Brompton floor lamp, Nickel £370

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The

SE ASONA L MOOD ‘Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.’

Edith Sitwell, poet

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The reflective ritual of ‘grounding’ is fast becoming popular, as journalist Lucy Dunn discovered when she stepped into the unknown.

One step forward I’m standing in the middle of my local wood, feeling a bit silly. I’m halfway into my Saturday morning run, but I’m not running. Instead, I’ve kicked off my trainers and am looking down at my bare feet, praying I don’t bump into anyone.

I’m trying out a wellness ritual. Called ‘earthing’ or ‘grounding’, the idea is that standing in nature with bare feet will connect you to the ‘planet’s healing energy’ and therefore increase your sense of wellbeing. Devotees such as natural lifestyle coach Tony Riddle, aka the @naturallifestylist, believe it can help with everything from increasing serotonin levels and boosting your mood to easing anxiety (‘I like to think the earth is like a battery,’ Riddle claims). The therapeutic practice is built on the belief that electrical charges from the earth can have a positive effect on the body, especially on the immune system which relies on a matrix of electrical conductivity. By physically connecting to the ground, we’re soaking up the earth’s negative charge and helping our bodies rebalance. It all sounds a bit woo-woo. When a dog walker suddenly emerges from nowhere and passes me, eyeing my feet with pursed lips, it certainly feels a bit woo-woo.

Rain or shine, my run has been part of my weekend routine for more than fifteen years.

It’s my religion; a way to preserve my equilibrium after the week at my stressful newspaper job. But this year, the runs have dwindled as life has gotten in the way. I’ve moved house, spent weekends deep in DIY. We’re one man down at work with a ramped-up workload.

Mind racing, nights have become a sleepless battleground of clock-watching, to-do lists and work angst. Whenever I try to don my trainers, my runs are interrupted by noisy thoughts. The aborted workouts rack up and this is another thing to fret about.

I eye all new wellness trends with a degree of scepticism, but I’ll try anything once.

I pick my way along the path, hopping around the roots and stones, my embarrassment subsiding as I begin to enjoy the sensation of cool earth underfoot.

Peace descends. Is this ‘zen’ I wonder? I’m not sure, but what I do know is that I’ve suddenly become hyper-aware of everything around me: a group of golfers chatting on the course nearby, a plane humming and the squeals of children playing in the distance.

And, just like that, my head clears.

So I put on my shoes and start to run.

And, for the first time this year, I don’t stop.

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Previously

Loved Architectural salvage is a worthy business – saving jewels from the past and helping sustain the planet in the long run – as interiors writer Claudia Baillie reports.

The rich patina of a mahogany chest of drawers, the depth of colour in sturdy, reclaimed floorboards and the pleasing lustre on an original marble fireplace – all glorious characteristics that can only be created by the gentle passing of time. In a fast-paced, flat-pack world, where disposable and trend-led have become the norm, for those wishing to invest in well-preserved pieces with integrity, these attributes are more sought after than ever.

‘What makes salvaged pieces so special in the first place is both the quality of materials and the considerable amount of time and expertise it would have taken to fashion them,’ says Ant Reeve, director at world renowned architectural salvage company LASSCO, who is based at the Three Pigeons site in Oxfordshire.

‘Whether that’s carving, casting, enamelling or any other production method, it’s always a key factor.’

Images: LASSCO Brunswick House

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High on the list of sought after finds across the company’s three locations (in London and Oxfordshire), are chimneypieces, which the experts in the workshop at LASSCO gently restore. From marble and sandstone to ornately carved wood and cast-iron, stock ranges from spectacular and historically important fireplaces through to humble firedogs. ‘We never over restore things,’ explains Ant. ‘If something is showing its age in the right way, it actually becomes more desirable, and people understand the notion that you may as well buy something new if you want it absolutely pristine.

There’s something wonderful about reinstating an authentic fireplace in a property. You step back and it looks and feels like it’s always been there. That’s when you know you’ve got it right.’

Also in demand is flooring, including Baltic pine and oak, as well as other timber products including doors, shutters and panelling. ‘Parquet is popular too – we often salvage large amounts from assembly or banking halls. It gives such great texture and character, plus it’s hardwearing so ticks all the boxes,’ says Ant. ‘Similarly, a Victorian door is made from slow-growing wood with sturdy joints, and will far outlast anything you can buy in a DIY shop now. But check to see if the door has been shortened as, if the tenon joint has been cut, it may compromise its strength. Shutters are great for security and insulation, as is wood panelling. The last run of Jacobean panelling we had sold to a film star for her Manhattan apartment.’

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Rewired lighting – including crystal, brass and wrought-iron chandeliers as well as industrial and street lamps – is popular too, while conversely, the demand for cast-iron baths and radiators has fallen.

‘For those items, buying new is usually better,’ he explains. ‘A Victorian roll-top is vitreously enamelled, which is beautiful. However, one dropped spanner while you’re fixing the shower will result in a chip that’s hard to mend. With radiators, they require disassembling and flushing, which is a laborious process. This means that a new product is usually more efficient and cost effective.’

‘By default, everything at a salvage yard has stood the test of time.’

The best approach, Ant says, is to always use a reputable dealer and to visit the yard. ‘Find a good dealer on salvoweb.com and be sure to talk to them,’ he recommends. ‘Using salvage is so important in terms of sustainability and limiting what goes to landfill, and it’s also about celebrating quality materials that are readily available. By default, everything at a salvage yard has stood the test of time. There are things we get offered that we can’t save, but the stock we do have is ripe for a life in a new home.’

To find out more about LASSCO, visit one of their three locations in London and Oxfordshire, or visit lassco.co.uk

Images: LASSCO Brunswick House (top) and Three Pigeons (bottom).

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SALVAGE SHOPPING WITH CONFIDENCE Salvo is an invaluable resource that provides a worldwide directory of salvage-related businesses, fairs and for-sale listings, as well as the Salvo online shop. Log on to find a local salvage yard or antiques specialist, and to source reclamationfriendly designers and architects. There’s also a handy Salvo auction and event calendar. All Salvo dealers follow the ‘Salvo Code’, a voluntary goodpractice code that aims to give customers greater confidence by ensuring that items have come from safe and responsible sources. Dealers are granted a Salvo Code certificate – look out for the crane logo in their showroom, yard or on their website. salvoweb.com

Above: Above: LASSCO vintage floorboards Brunswick House, and shelves Wandsworth at LASSCO Road, Ropewalk London

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BUILDING BRICK BY BRICK Some architectural feats have benefited from generations of visionaries and labourers, all contributing to projects they know they will never see finished.

Taking an incredible 500 years from start to finish, the construction of Westminster Abbey began in 1245 under the reign of King Henry III. The last phase, the completion of the West Towers, was designed by architect Nicholas Hawksmoor, the Abbey’s surveyor. His successor, John James, finally finished the work in 1745.

Work on Florence’s cathedral, Duomo di Firenze, began in 1293, with plans to build a huge dome even though no technology existed to create such a structure.

The cathedral was built anyway, with the roof left exposed for years. The city launched a competition, won by Filippo Brunelleschi, who conceived a revolutionary two-dome design that allowed weight to be evenly distributed. This was finally finished in 1436, although the façade of the cathedral wasn’t completed until the 19th century.

After 144 long years, Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia was finally due for completion in 2026, the 100th anniversary of original architect Antoni Gaudí’s death. In the intervening years, nine architects have taken on the project, the latest being Jordi Faulí.

Unfortunately, thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, the completion date has been pushed back with no new date announced.

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Wycombe high-back bench £795 / Wycombe four–six seater dining table £1,270 / Wycombe dining chair £310 / Milo footstool in Chloe Moss £375 Whittington hemp rug, 200x300cm £400 / Coniston drinks trolley £985 / Chawton dresser painted in Clove

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This is

W YCOMBE Friends gather around the table, conversation flows, food is enjoyed and memories made. And this season, refectory benches give way to the new Wycombe rush-seat bench, with its elegantly spindled back. Inspired by traditional furniture making techniques; designed for long, lazy suppers.

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ONE K ITCHEN, THREE STOR IES Living by your values can be a challenge but it’s one that Neptune’s co-founder John and his wife Emma, Neptune’s creative founder, adapted to easily when it came to their family kitchen.

John and Emma’s Chichester kitchen today, painted in Shell and Olive.

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hirty-odd years ago, John and Emma Sims-Hilditch bought a run down cottage, formerly a school house, in the Wiltshire countryside. With three young children and fledgling businesses to run, they needed to settle in quickly and chose an off-the-peg kitchen to suit their stretched budget. ‘I soon realised the limitations of the kitchen we’d bought,’ recalls John, ‘not least the bits you couldn’t see. They were flimsy and badly made, and so, when we launched Neptune and started making furniture, it was an obvious progression to experiment with freestanding kitchen pieces such as an island and chopping block, and eventually freestanding kitchen cabinets.’

Those prototype cabinets went on to become Neptune’s Chichester kitchen, tried and tested in John and Emma’s first family kitchen, then moved – lock, stock and barrel – during a major renovation, and finally, re-coloured and restored to their present day glory.

Here’s the story of one kitchen that has most definitely stood the test of time.

CR E ATING A K ITCHEN John and Emma’s first kitchen occupied a fair five metre by four metre room and needed to work hard for the busy family of five. ‘Emma and I had always admired the beauty of bespoke kitchens,’ said John, ‘but we didn’t have the budget for one. So that was my challenge – to create a kitchen that felt bespoke but which was also accessible price-wise.’ The solution was to create standalone cabinets – pieces of furniture in their own rights – which, when pushed together, created a fully optimised kitchen. ‘One of the best ideas was to make each cabinet dissimilar in size,’ adds John. ‘Not being regular gave a subtle, bespoke look when the cabinets were fitted.’ An AGA was ‘parked’ in the corner with cabinets either side, while a sink and pot-board sat to one side of the room. On the other, the family liked the idea of a dresser but needed efficient storage, so John designed a run of cabinets with a central breakout profile to look like a dresser. The final addition was a classic farmhouse oak table which still takes pride of place in the kitchen to this day.

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MOV I NG A K ITCH EN

R E-COLOUR ING A K ITCHEN

The family loved living in the school house but, when a plan to renovate the out-buildings was hatched, Emma was quick to request that the kitchen be relocated to the old pony barn. John was happy to acquiesce but felt it was wasteful not to move the existing kitchen into the new space. As the cabinets had all been made as individual pieces, this wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. ‘We disassembled the kitchen, refurbished and repainted it, then reassembled it in the barn,’ recalls John. The layout was reversed so the dresser now ran from left to right and a larder cabinet, which had been added to the collection in the intervening years, was incorporated into the new design. ‘Proof of just how versatile the cabinets are,’ notes John. The larger floorspace also allowed for a new arrangement of the cabinets. ‘The Aga sits centrally and cabinets are balanced on either side, but we have the larder and fridge on one side and on the other is the doorway,’ he explains, ‘it has satisfying balance but not symmetry.’

In 2021, John and Emma were keen to update their kitchen once again, this time with colour.

‘The Chichester kitchen has a timeless, historical feel to it, fitting into any space,’ says John. ‘Its style is established by the colours, layout and details like handle choices.’ The Sims-Hilditch kitchen had started life in a pale, neutral Limestone shade; when it was relocated, it was repainted in a classic combination of greys from Neptune’s Pebble collection.

In its latest guise, the island has been painted in the striking Olive shade. ‘The joy of our paint collection is that we’ve worked so hard to make the shades harmonious that, no matter what combination of colours you chose, they will pretty much work well together,’ adds John. The simple paintwork project has breathed new life into this Chichester kitchen, as the family have noticed. ‘Repainting cabinets brings a freshness to something that is familiar,’ says John. ‘It doesn’t feel out of place but it does feel special.’

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John and Emma’s relocated kitchen, including the original family dining table, when it was painted in shades from our Pebble palette.

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Meadows Matter Conserving our natural habitats protects the ecosystem and promises beguiling blooms.

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odding blue harebells, white pillows of ransom, a sea of pink thrift and flashes of bird’s-foot-trefoil. British wildflowers are an exotic bunch. Richly hued foliage, bold splashes of colour, delicate pin cushion flowers and a generous aptitude to grow on the most challenging of sites. Yet look around our landscapes and you’d be hard pressed to find them. With 70% of our land now farmed with genetically uniform crops, and our desire for manicured gardens and tightly cropped lawns, we’ve effectively lost 97% of our natural wildflower meadows and grassland, and with that, the habitats to protect and preserve our wildlife.

Putting a ring fence around these last nature reserves goes back to the early conservation movement in the 1970s. But as wild seed pioneer Donald Macintyre points out, ‘It’s not enough. We need to repair, restore and put back.’ Luckily, that’s what he set out to do, establishing Emorsgate Seeds in 1980 after studying botany, genetics and plant breeding. The aim was to promote the use of wild plant seeds, and Emorsgate is now one of the leading suppliers of British wildflowers; growing, harvesting by hand, and distributing over 300 species to help propagate a more biodiverse landscape.

What can we do to avoid a silent spring? There are 42,865 local wildlife sites in England, ranging from large commons to tiny treasures, such as an old tennis court at Gresham’s school in Norfolk which boasts more than 200 orchid spikes. Established in the

70s, these flowery havens were as marginalised as the early conservationists. Now, rewilding, biodiversity and preservation are hot topics. As Donald puts it, ‘A little bit of raggedness is acceptable now.’ These days, the Chelsea Flower Show showcases perennial spring meadows and wildlife haven retreats. Councils are planting up motorway verges with poppies, cornflowers and yellow clusters of kidney vetch – the only wildflower where the small blue, Britain’s smallest butterfly, will lay its eggs. Urban landscapes are turning green as guerrilla gardening projects flaunt a new, wilder shagginess.

Much restoration will depend on the availability of wildflower seed and the detailed knowledge required for successful aftercare. Each seed carries the locked-in potential to transform a landscape, to create complex plant communities rich in diversity and full of beauty and colour. A sea of ragwort, in the past considered a pest, is our top pollinator provider. The hollow stems of hogweed provide the perfect hibernation site. Oxeye daisies, ragged robin, coltsfoot and evening primrose will induce the mellow hum of bees, the flutter of butterflies and bundles of colour. Whether you have a window box, garden or an acre, take Donald’s advice and don’t have bonfires, spray or cut. Introduce native species, plant wild roses, teasel, musk mallow and everlasting pea, mix bold splashes of canary yellow with wild grasses and blue valerian. Create a habitat that hums with life. This is the roar of small things. This is the sound of what we could have lost.

Find out more about Emorsgate Seeds at wildseed.co.uk 65

The making of

HARRIS TWEED Behind the complex textures and earthy colours of Neptune’s Harris Tweed fabrics lies a time-honoured cottage industry that keeps the Hebrides thriving. As journalist Amy Bradford discovers, this is its story, from field to loom.

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ould there be a better example of a preservation craft than Harris Tweed? First popularised in the 1840s, its roots in fact go much deeper, back to the Clò-Mòr – ‘big cloth’ in Gaelic – that has been made by Scottish weavers in their crofts for centuries.

Today, it’s still handwoven in the same way, solely in the Outer Hebrides, using local materials. Such is the precious nature of this fabric that it’s protected by law, and is subject to strict rules that safeguard its authenticity: genuine Harris Tweeds are marked with an orb stamp. All of this takes time and impressive skill.

Harris Tweed is a mainstay of Neptune’s fabric collection. ‘The colours the mill works with are pulled from the landscape, the character of the cloth is produced by purely traditional methods, and each of the designs are unique,’ says Rebecca, Neptune’s creative director of product and services. ‘Adding to the beauty of this cloth, it has the longevity and durability to last a lifetime.’

This season’s two new weaves are steeped in the character of their homeland, as Rebecca explains.

‘We asked Harris Tweed to create a check and a plain that would encompass all of the colour and texture of the woodland finds that made up our seasonal palette.

To be honest, the result was achieved in the first weave; the heathers, moss and peat in Fig Check reflecting Clove, and the natural landscape in Lichen.’ Charming as they are to live with, they’re yet more so when you discover how they’re made.

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Even the Cheviot sheep that provide the wool are special: they’re known for their dense fleeces, which make Harris Tweed warm, waterproof and breathable. In its virgin state, the wool goes to one of the Hebridean mills to begin its lengthy transformation into fabric. First, it’s washed and separated into batches before being dyed. Crucially, dyeing is done before spinning the yarn, which allows many different shades to be blended into one thread; that’s what gives Harris Tweed its unique depth of colour. Hints of earth, stone, water and sky flicker across every piece, as if the landscape has been woven through it.

Over 500 or so islanders are involved in tweed craft.

Many are employed in the mills, which embrace dozens of specialised skills, from dyers and spinners to cloth finishers and stampers (who give the final seal of quality approval).

Mill workers co-exist in a mutual rhythm with weavers who, by law, must work their looms at home. The mill supplies the warp, or vertical threads; the weavers then add the weft that goes across and gives the finished material its rich texture.

Weaving expertise takes years to master, with many artisans using the same treadle-powered looms as their ancestors. Each treasured loom has its own quirks, like a musical instrument, and forges a sense of lasting connection to island life.

A renewed appreciation for handmade, sustainable design means that Harris Tweed is in big demand. Thanks to its localised manufacture, it has a low impact on the environment, yet it has enormous value to the islanders, fostering a complex network of skills that sustains them across the generations.

To see – and, importantly, feel – our Harris Tweed textiles for yourself, visit us in store or order a sample online. neptune.com/samples George medium sofa in Harris Tweed Lichen £2,985 / Grace cushion Harris Tweed check Fig £112 / Grace cushion Isla Finch £82 Kersey cushion Damson £102 / Kersey throw Damson £235 / Chetham swingarm floor lamp, Bronze £165 / Affinity III wall print £300

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Explore Harris Tweed on film @neptunehomeofficial

W H AT ’S LEFT BEHIND

Magazine editor Hatta Byng is peeling back generations of taste as she embarks on a project to preserve and restore the family home.

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here’s something thrilling about taking off a radiator, chipping away paint or peeling back wallpaper and revealing evidence of a previous decorative scheme, a glimpse into a different time and the lives of past inhabitants. These very tangible links to the past are at once reassuring, in the sense of home-making and the domesticity that they convey, and unnerving in the obvious indication that our lives are a mere moment in time for the buildings we inhabit.

As I embark on a large redecoration project of my own, I’m acutely aware that our time will just be a fleeting moment in the history of our house that was built in 1804, and that has been owned by several families over its lifetime and re-decorated many times. Much of what we’re replacing is the result of my husband’s grandparents’ redecoration – brave and exotic wallpapers and grand, now threadbare, curtains. Some of it is his parents’ – a welcoming family kitchen replaced the formal dining room – and some of it, like an old flock paper in the drawing room and the faux graining on the linen cupboard doors, precedes all of them. We think the flocked paper would have gone up in the 1930s or 40s.

While it was probably a fairly standard off-the-peg design, it is rather wonderful in its disheveled state. It’s too far gone to preserve though, and not special enough either. But at nearly 100 years old, it feels momentous to take it down; it has been part of so many people’s lives. Is there a way of hiding a piece somewhere, I keep wondering?

Certainly, upstairs in a bedroom in what would have been my husband’s grandparents’ ‘best spare’, I’ve asked the builders to save a slice of wallpaper behind the cupboards we’re installing to enable a future generation to see what was once there. Even now, I’m rather fascinated by the daring of this wallpaper, put up in the 1960s I imagine. I wonder what somebody will make of it in a 100 years’ time. Or maybe – and hopefully – our cupboards, our own imprint on this house, will still be standing. That is our hope and intention – for the cupboards, at least, although I’m sure wallpapers and paint colours will be buried under further layers. Old houses are like time capsules waiting to be discovered by curious future custodians – so many clues as to the lives, stories and tastes of the people that lived there before them.

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THE GENTLE BA LA NCE OF FOOD P R E S E R VA T I O N

Preserving nutritious foods has never been more important.

Food historian Dr Annie Gray explains how science and sociology have combined to keep our palettes piqued over the centuries.

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easons change, and foods change with them.

But today, we are used to buying apples in June and strawberries in December; our egg supply shouldn’t dwindle, and when we travel to far off places (or think about it), we rarely consider how not to starve on the way.

For much of the past, none of this was so. Preserving foods from the good times to tide over the bad was built into the daily routine of hunting, growing and cooking.

Our modern understanding of preservation is built on the work of Victorian scientists who discovered microorganisms: exclude or kill those organisms and food will last. But it wasn’t necessary to know why or how something worked to know that it did. The simplest and earliest method was drying; pulses were one of the first things to be dried and archaeologists have found dried lentils stored from the Neolithic era. Fish, meat, fruit and vegetables were also preserved by air drying, often with the addition of salt, the exact techniques varying by culture and geographic location.

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Meat was a focus: prestigious as well as nutritious and different cultures developed highly specific preservation methods. In North America, there was pemmican: dried meat mixed with fat and berries. South Africa had biltong; South America had jerky. In Britain, hams were made by brining and hot-smoking meat, using highly regionalised recipes. Most were pork, but there are also recipes for mutton, beef, badger and even small bear.

The process of making them was often a community affair, with the curing and smoking taking several weeks before each ham was wrapped in cloth and hung up to mature.

But food preservation has always been about more than just survival. Smoking and salting add flavour, and by the seventeenth century, as farming improvements alleviated seasonal supply issues, preserved foods were valued for this as much as for their longevity. Pickling became popular. One recipe for pickling larks took six months, dissolving the bones in the process. Pickles were made with beer, wine or vinegar plus herbs and spices, and were used for everything from brawn to beans, which would then keep for months, if not years.

And it was only a short step to using the liquid itself – as ‘catsups’ (otherwise known as ketchup) or essences such as Worcester Sauce.

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Ball Jars are the classic screw-top containers for preserving foods, launched back in 1884 in Buffalo, New York. Their website has lots of useful recipes and tips for trying out your own preserving and pickling. freshpreservinguk.co.uk

For fruit and vegetables, preservation could transform the quotidian into something magical. Strings of dried produce were practical and beautiful – citrus was highly prized, as lemons and oranges were expensive, while Louis XIII of France threaded mushrooms onto strings.

When sugar became fashionable, candied fruit became a sign of sophistication and wealth. Flowers brushed with whipped egg white and sprinkled with fine sugar were dried in a low oven overnight: a heady mix of colour, texture and flavour. Then came marmalades. The word comes from the Portuguese marmelo – quince – from whose honeyed flesh the earliest examples were made.

By the nineteenth century, jams were a mainstay of any kitchen. Chutneys, meanwhile, were adapted from Indian recipes, sometimes with an optimistic view of the English climate – one recipe read ‘put in the sun every-day for a month’. Jars were sealed with pigs’ bladders, stretched and dried. Even this took time – a couple of weeks to dry out fully.

By the twentieth century, there was no real need to preserve foods in these ways. The fridge, the freezer and the supermarket gave us food at our fingertips. But industrial versions of slow-preserved foods don’t always have the flavour, and we can lose touch with the way our food is produced. So while we shouldn’t rose-tint the past, but we can still appreciate that time itself adds value, and that sometimes the best things really are worth waiting for.

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In the kitchen Autumn is the season in which to really revel in good food. These are the months most bounteous with their offerings from the allotment, the farmer’s market and the hedgerow. Abundance is the order of the day. And so an equal generosity of spirit is called for from you, the cook. Lavish attention on the harvest with a certain slowness, be that in the cooking, the preparation or the pickling time. Here are three recipes to encourage just that, each created by the team at our café, The Provenist. Each one a proper, slow and steady celebration of autumn’s fruitfulness.

WA R M R O A S T E D KO H L R A B I S A L A D W I T H S P E LT & P I C K L E D B L AC K B E R R I E S Makes enough for: four–six as a side

W H AT YO U ’ L L N E E D For the salad 2 kohlrabi Good quality extra virgin olive oil 1 tsp dried mixed herbs Salt and pepper 1 clove of garlic 50g cobnuts (or hazelnuts), roughly chopped 150g spelt grains Vegetable stock 100g lamb’s lettuce 1 lemon A handful of flat leaf parsley

For the pickled blackberries 150g blackberries, rinsed and dried 100ml apple cider vinegar 100g soft light brown sugar 1 tbsp coriander seeds 1 tbsp sea salt

W H AT TO D O 1 Bring all the pickling ingredients – except the blackberries – to the boil in a saucepan, and stir until the sugar and salt are dissolved. Take off the heat and cool slightly.

2 Place the blackberries in the bottom of a sterilised jar. Pour the pickling liquid over, making sure the blackberries are completely covered. Allow to come to room temperature then store in the fridge for up to a week.

3 Preheat the oven to 185°C. Peel, trim and cut the kohlrabi bulbs into small wedges. Drizzle with olive oil then scatter over the dried mixed herbs and a pinch of salt and pepper. Roast on a baking tray for about an hour and 15 minutes or until tender. Add the sliced garlic clove and cobnuts for the last ten minutes.

4 In the meantime, rinse the spelt and place in a saucepan.

Cover with vegetable stock and bring to the boil. Cook according to the instructions on the packet (usually around 35 minutes) until the spelt is tender but still has a bit of bite, topping up with water if needed.

5 Sieve and rinse the spelt then stir through the lemon zest, a generous pinch of salt and pepper, the chopped parsley and a tablespoon of olive oil.

6 To serve, scatter the lamb’s lettuce on a large platter.

Tip the spelt over then place the roasted kohlrabi and cobnuts on top. Take the blackberries out of the pickling liquid, cut in half lengthways and scatter over. Finish by spooning a couple of tablespoons of the pickling liquid over the top.

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OV E N BA K E D R ISOT TO

WITH KALE PESTO AND CRISPY CELERIAC Makes enough for: six

W H AT YO U ’ L L N E E D For the pesto 3 cloves of garlic 100ml olive oil (plus extra to store) 100g pine nuts, toasted 25g basil 80g kale A pinch of salt and pepper

For the risotto 700g celeriac (two small or one large), peeled 1 white onion, finely chopped 3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped 350g risotto rice 125ml dry white wine 900ml hot vegetable stock 80g parmesan (or a vegetarian/vegan alternative) 1 lemon Olive oil Salt and pepper

W H AT TO D O 1 For the pesto, gently fry the whole garlic cloves in a tablespoon of the oil until they begin to brown. Blend the cloves and garlicky oil, along with all the other pesto ingredients, until smooth, drizzling in a little water if needed. Check the seasoning and transfer to a bowl or jar, then top with enough oil to cover before storing in the fridge for up to five days.

2 Preheat your oven to 180°C. Chop three quarters of the celeriac into one-inch cubes. Tip onto a baking tray, drizzle with a little olive oil and a pinch of salt and pepper, and place into the preheated oven.

3 Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in an oven-proof pan then add the onion and garlic along with a pinch of salt.

Cook for a couple of minutes until the onion softens.

Add the risotto rice followed by the white wine and, once that’s absorbed, all the stock. Stir, cover and bake in the oven for 25 minutes.

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4 Take the remaining celeriac and, using a vegetable peeler, cut it into thick ribbons. Heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a pan and fry the ribbons until they turn golden brown. Place on a kitchen towel and sprinkle with a little sea salt.

5 Once cooked, stir together the risotto, roasted celeriac, parmesan, black pepper, salt and the zest and juice of the lemon. Loosen with about 100ml of hot water and check the seasoning. Spoon teaspoons of the kale pesto over the top then add the crispy celeriac ribbons and a drizzle of olive oil.

F I G & F R A N G I PA N E TA R T Makes enough for: six

W H AT YO U ’ L L N E E D For the pastry 200g spelt flour 100g butter, cold and cubed A pinch of salt 1 tsp sugar

For the filling 100g butter, softened 100g sugar 2 eggs 100g ground almonds A handful of lemon thyme 4 fresh figs 35g flaked almonds 1 tsp vanilla paste ½ lemon, juiced 250g mascarpone

W H AT TO D O 1 Preheat your oven to 180°C and grease a 22–25cm loose-bottomed tart tin. Blitz or rub together the flour and butter until they resemble breadcrumbs. Add a pinch of salt, the sugar and a tablespoon of cold water and knead together to form a smooth dough.

2 Tip out onto a clean, floured surface and roll to the thickness of a pound coin. Transfer to the greased tin, gently pressing the dough into the sides. Trim off the excess and use this to patch up any cracks. Prick the base all over with a fork, then bake in the preheated oven for about 15 minutes or until the pastry turns golden brown.

4 Chop the figs into wedges and place on top of the frangipane, pressing them down slightly. Sprinkle over the flaked almonds and return to the oven for 45 minutes.

5 While you’re waiting, stir together the vanilla paste, lemon juice and mascarpone and set aside.

6 Take the tart out of the oven and let it cool slightly before cutting into slices. Just before serving, sprinkle some of the thyme over the top and dollop a generous spoonful of the mascarpone on the side.

3 Now for the frangipane filling. Beat together the softened butter and sugar until well combined, then add in the eggs one at a time. Finally mix in the ground almonds and the lemon thyme (reserving a little thyme for later). Pour the frangipane into the cooked tart case and smooth it over.

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SPICED A PPLE CHU TNEY Makes enough for: four half-pint jars

W H AT YO U ’ L L N E E D

W H AT TO D O

5 Granny Smith apples, peeled and diced 350ml apple cider vinegar 110g dates, pitted and chopped 110g shallots, minced 75g sultanas 40g crystalised ginger, chopped 2 star anise 1 cinnamon stick 1 tsp red chilli flakes 1 tsp sea salt flakes 1/2 tsp cardamom

1 Find a medium-sized pan and fill with all of the ingredients to the left. Give them a good stir and place the pan on a high heat.

It’s important to put the chutney into thoroughly clean jars. Wash them in hot soapy water, but don’t dry them. Leave them to stand upside down on a roasting tray, and then pop them into a pre-heated oven at 160ºC for about 15 minutes. Take them out just before ladling in the chutney – that way, everything is squeaky clean and ready to be sealed.

5 Spoon out the cinnamon stick and star anise pieces.

Have a little taste of the mixture to check you’re happy.

If you’d like it spicier, add a little more chilli. If you’d like it sweeter, pop in another diced date.

2 Bring the pan to the boil. Once bubbling, reduce to a medium-high heat.

3 Let it cook for 40–50 minutes, stirring every now and then so it doesn’t stick. You’ll know when to stop when the chutney doesn’t look so watery and the apples are soft enough that you can mush them. Then lower the heat and let the mixture thicken. This can take up to ten minutes.

6 Portion the mixture into your jars and dunk them into a tub filled with hot water for 15 minutes. The water should only come up to the jar lid, and not above it just in case any water gets into the jar.

7 Once the 15 minutes are up, carefully take the jars out and pop them onto a tea towel to dry. When they’re cool enough to handle, you can store any sealed jars at room temperature, but any unsealed ones will need to go into the fridge and used within a few days. So try to use sealed if you can to make life easier.

Find more recipes and inspiration online at neptune.com/inspiration 86

Journalist, author and broadcaster Sam Baker selects gently paced books with messages that will last a lifetime.

BOOK CLUB TREASURED READS

Cast your mind back, even just a couple of years ago, and the cult of busy was firmly in control. Speaking personally, if I wasn’t working harder, faster and longer, my 1980s work ethic said, what was I even for? I, like many others, had fully bought into a culture that judged us on quantity not quality. It took a global pandemic and, in my case, a move from the whirl of a nine-to-nine job in London to a freelance life in Edinburgh, for it to sink in: our obsession with status and speed had been at the expense of…well, everything else.

Slow down. Think more deeply. Look around you.

Only then can you rev up again – to the pace that works for you.

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How to do Nothing: resisting the attention economy Jenny Odell (Melville House, 2019)

In Praise of Slow Carl Honoré (Orion, 2004)

The book that started it all is now in its late teens – and still regularly reprinted – giving truth to the adage that ‘slow and steady wins the race’. Despite its title, this is not a treatise on throwing it all in. More slow realist than slow utopian, Honoré travels the world exploring slow movements – from food to exercise to work – and asks what would the world look like if we took our foot off the pedal? In a world awash with burnout and stress, this entertaining and eye-opening manifesto forces a rethink.

Swamped by internet saturation, exhausted by news overload and pressured by Instagram? Artist and writer Jenny Odell has a cure. How To Do Nothing is a quirky and thought-provoking look at reclaiming our time and attention from online demands. (Crucially, not repurposing it in order to do something more useful instead, but reclaiming it to do as you wish. And if that’s nothing? So be it.) A committed chronicler, collector and bird-watcher, Odell has a friendly pair of crows who nest on her window ledge. Sometimes she spends whole hours just watching them. If the mere thought makes you tense Breath: the new science of a lost art at the sheer waste of time, this book might not be for you. James Nestor But if you’re intrigued, next time you leave the house, don’t (Penguin, 2020) put in your headphones, just walk. You might be surprised. Breathing. We do it roughly 25,000 times a day, but when did you last give it a second’s thought, let alone wonder if you’re doing it right? After his lungs began Notes from an Island to fail, journalist James Nestor’s doctor sent him to a Tove Jansson and Tuulikki Pietilä one-hour Sudarshan Kriya breathing class that quite (Sort Of Books, October 2021) literally changed his life. Within weeks, he was healthier, For me, Tove Jansson is the high priestess of considered: calmer and sleeping. But can breathing through your her art, her children’s books, her novels all embody a nose really make that much difference? Yes, it turns out. thoughtfulness and attention to detail that make you This book is Nestor’s investigation into the lost art of linger long after you’ve turned the final page. Notes from breathing. Part research, part experience, part practical an Island is a chronicle of two love affairs: Jansson and advice, it’s a revelation.

Pietilä’s, and their 30-year bond with the rugged island of Klovharun in the Gulf of Finland, where they spent their summers. Comprised of notes and watercolours, with a cover illustration by Jansson’s mother, it’s a treasure.

SOU N DTR ACK TO T H E SE A SON

A regular since our very-first volume, you’ll find our soundtrack for this season on Spotify.

Simply search for @neptune_home or tap the camera icon in the search box of your Spotify app and scan the code to the left.

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Made to treasure

A gift you’ve made yourself is the most precious

kind of all. Here, three makers of handcrafted, botanical-themed gifts give us their step-by-step guides to creating something unique.

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Pressed floral artworks Florist Izzi Hudson, of London-based studio Flower and Press, creates seasonal floral arrangements with a modern-romantic feel. Her work has a sustainable approach: avoiding waste, she preserves leaves and blooms, turning them into beautiful pressed-flower artworks and stationery. ‘One of the joys of pressing flowers is that you can use what’s on your doorstep, drawing inspiration from what’s in season,’ Izzi says. ‘Floral gifts are especially meaningful if you can use flowers that have sentimental value to the recipient.’ This is her guide to creating framed floral art.

1 If you’re planning a gift for Christmas, start pressing your flowers at the end of October – there’s more choice before winter sets in, and they need time to dry. Look for small, intricate blooms and foliage; wildflowers and weeds shouldn’t be overlooked either (only pick the stems as it’s illegal to uproot wild plants). Pick on a dry day and cut away any fleshy parts, as moisture spoils the pressing.

2 You can either press your blooms in a flower press or in books. Either way, use blotting paper and newspaper to absorb unwanted moisture – two sheets of each, underneath and on top, per layer of flowers. A press will take more layers, and usually comes with cardboard to stabilise the flowers. Avoid overcrowding each layer and make sure the bolts are sealed tight. If pressing in books, choose heavy ones that can be stacked and follow the same process.

Leave to dry for three to four weeks.

Our cover image for this volume of Stories was created by Izzi.

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3 When you’re ready to make your artwork, you’ll need the following: thick, high-quality paper (Khadi Papers, khadi.com, has a great range); PVA glue; flat-headed paintbrushes; a picture frame and framing tape; and glassine paper. The latter’s useful if you have a flower that won’t stick easily – put it on top and apply pressure with a small weight.

4 Cut paper to size to match your frame, and secure to the picture mount using framing tape so it doesn’t slip as you work. If you want a border of white space around the flowers, place a ruler at the edges as you lay them. Position everything without glue and play around until you have a design you’re happy with.

5 Next, turn each flower over individually, apply a thin layer of glue with the paintbrush and put it back in place. Clean your hands and brush every so often so nothing gets damaged with sticky fingers.

Repeat until the piece is complete. Once semi-dry, put a layer of glassine paper on top and place a heavy book or weight over it. This levels the paper, preventing the glue from wrinkling it. Once dry, place the artwork in the picture frame and wrap.

See more of Izzi’s work at @flowerandpress flowerandpress.com 93

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One of a kind notebooks Bookbinder Emma Williams of Forget Me Not Originals transforms second-hand books into family heirlooms by covering them in vintage fabric. She’ll often match patterns to a book’s theme or era (for example, pairing a copy of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca with a floral print that conjures up the gardens at Manderley). Here, Emma explains how to cover a notebook or journal as a gift. ‘Make a set of three in coordinating fabrics and tie with twine,’ she suggests. ‘Use recycled-paper notebooks so your gift is completely sustainable, and personalise the front page with a handwritten message and a single bloom tucked into the twine around the cover.’

1 Choose a notebook with a firm softback cover and stitched or stapled binding; and a medium-weight fabric. The stiffer the cover, the heavier material you can use. I reclaim all my fabrics – I love vintage tablecloths or curtains – as you get a lot for not much money. Remnants are good, too. Don’t forget to allow for excess fabric around the edges of the book.

2 Open the book to the centre and place it as flat as possible on the fabric (lay some newspaper underneath to protect your table). Using a ruler and tailor’s chalk or a pencil, mark a 1.5cm border all the way around the book’s edge. Cut out the fabric rectangle using pinking shears – these create a pretty finish and prevent fraying.

3 Holding the notebook by the pages, apply a thin layer of PVA glue to the outer cover with a paintbrush (I find a 4cm size works best). Place the fabric wrong side up on the table and position the book on top. Then, press the fabric over the cover, working quickly to smooth any wrinkles with your hands.

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4 Open the book to the centre. Using small, sharp scissors, make two vertical cuts to the fabric above and below the spine. Stop cutting 2–3mm from the book’s edge, to allow for any adjustments when gluing the inside cover. Next, make four horizontal cuts inwards at each corner, stopping 2–3mm above or below the cover edge. Finally, use the pinking shears to make two diagonal cuts on the top left fabric flap. Repeat for all four top and bottom flaps – each one should be a trapezium shape.

5 Open the front inside cover and, with the paintbrush, apply a thin layer of glue around the edges. Fold the vertical flap of fabric in first, followed by the pinked top and bottom sections.

Put some greaseproof paper between the cover and the pages to prevent glue transfer. Do the same with the back cover. Place the finished book under a couple of heavy hardbacks and leave to dry for at least 24 hours.

See more of Emma’s work at @forget_me_not_originals forgetmenotbookshop.etsy.com

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s A foraged wreath

A homemade wreath makes an elegant gift to brighten a front door in autumn or winter. A love of nature and organic finishes informs everything we do at Neptune, and here we’ve taken inspiration from some of our favourite materials to create this seasonal wreath. ‘It’s a delicate, loose arrangement of dried and wild plants,’ says our stylist Meaghan. ‘Made using a “slow” process that’s a real labour of love, it will last throughout the colder months.’ Here’s Meaghan’s step-by-step making guide.

1 This wreath is made using dried flowers, which you’ll need to dry in advance for at least two weeks – here, I’ve used thistles, red roses, alliums and poppies. Pick them midway through their blooming cycle, in the morning after the dew has gone. Simply remove any foliage, tie the stems into bunches with twine and hang upside down in a cool, dry place.

I also love using seedheads and grasses for their tones and textures. When foraging, only collect what you need from plentiful areas, make sure you get permission from the landowner and beware of species that could irritate your skin.

2 Make your wreath on a large, flat surface with plenty of space to work, covering it to guard against scratches if need be. First, make the frame. You can use any long, pliable branches, such as jasmine, wisteria or silver birch. Cut these using sturdy secateurs and bend them into a ring the size of your choice – keep wrapping them round and weaving them together until you have a sturdy structure.

Secure the ends by wrapping with floristry wire.

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3 Next, you’ll need some long sections of vine or climber – I’ve used a mix of ivy and Clematis vitalba (old man’s beard) as both last well out of water. Wind these tightly all around the ring, cutting away any dead leaves or excess using scissors.

At the end, leave a longer section to trail down prettily and secure in place with floristry wire.

4 Lay out all your dried, foraged flowers and seedheads on the table. Weave the longer stems around the outside of the wreath and use the shorter, smaller ones to create fullness in the centre. Finish by tying a brown paper gift tag to the bottom with twine or ribbon – use natural materials and colours to complement your design.

Kneading Time Home baking may have seen a rise in popularity, but there’s a new wave of artisanal bakeries at the forefront of the movement. Journalist Busola Evans explores one which prides itself on its time-honoured techniques.

grainandhearth.co.uk @grainandhearth

Few aromas are more enticing than the delicious smell of a freshly-baked loaf, so there’s a strong likelihood that, should you step into the artisanal bakery Grain & Hearth in the pretty seaside town of Whitstable, you will quickly abandon any rush to leave. And that’s exactly how owners Adam Pagor and his wife, Carmen, would want it. The very foundation of their business, which started in their converted garage four years ago, is built on taking a slow and considered approach. And that certainly extends to how they bake their products, particularly their slow sourdough bread, a speciality for which Grain & Hearth is fast becoming best known.

Now two years old, the bakery has moved on from its humble beginnings and is based in a single-storey former workshop in the heart of Whitstable, Kent. Its pared-back scheme perfectly marries modernity with a sense of history. Split in two, the front features shelving for bread and a counter for mouth-watering pastries, alongside customer seating from where bakers at the rear can be watched at work.

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The bakery may be young but beneath it lies an old soul. It stays true to the traditional way of making sourdough which eschews the use of yeast, often added to quicken the fermentation process. Instead, head baker Adam leaves his dough to ferment naturally for 24 to 48 hours. ‘A normal yeasting bread would take two to three hours from the first mix to the baking, so making sourdough the way I do is a lengthy process,’ he says. ‘But it allows the flavour to fully develop and makes the bread more digestible, so ultimately it tastes better and is healthier for you. It’s worth the wait.’ His baking patience seemingly knows no bounds – croissants, for instance, are painstakingly made over three days. ‘I’m obsessive about the symmetry of the layering,’ he admits. What’s more, all the ingredients are sourced as local and organic as possible, while grains are UK-grown.

Adam’s baking passion stems from childhood. ‘My parents are Polish and there’s still a strong tradition of sourdough bread in Poland. It’s the bread I grew up with.’ Before moving to Whitstable, Adam and Carmen lived in London where he was a music librarian and she worked for the NHS. The obsession began after a one-day baking course and a business was born. Today, the couple employ 14 staff including five bakers, and each loaf is still moulded by hand. ‘You can’t replicate how we make things with a machine and we wouldn’t want to,’ explains Adam.

Future plans? ‘I want to do more slow-fermented food. These techniques yield the best results in terms of quality and flavour. I’ll always be hands-on because I love the process and the pleasure people get from eating what we make.’

Images: David Bullivant

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Five other great bakeries to visit Bertinet Bakery, Bath Using traditional methods, this bakery is renowned for its crusty, artisanal sourdough. The French-born owner, Richard Bertinet, has been teaching baking for over 20 years. bertinetbakery.com @bertinetbakery Baker & Graze, Cheltenham This award-winning bakery embraces a combination of classic French techniques and modern Middle Eastern flavours. As well as sourdough bread and baked treats, it also offers brunch and lunch. bakerandgraze.com @bakerandgraze The Old Post Office Bakery, Clapham The oldest organic bakery in London, it produces speciality breads, a pastry range including cheese and spelt croissants, and freshly-baked cakes. oldpostofficebakery.co.uk @theoldpostofficebakery Nova Bakehouse, Leeds The store’s founder, Sarah Lemanski, won best baker in the 2014 Young British Foodie Awards, and is known to push the envelope. Expect traditional offerings alongside innovative delights. novabakehouse.com @novabakehouse Hoxton Bakehouse, Winchester Set up in 2013 by husband-and-wife duo Florence Hellier and Darren Bland, Hoxton Bakehouse is particularly known for its addictive signature cinnamon buns – it sells 3,000 every week. hoxtonbakehouse.com @hoxton_bakehouse

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Dalston lamp Shale with Lucile 19” shade in Warm White £188 / Terence butler’s tray table £325 / Castleford Bud Bottle, Grey £26

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This is

DA L S TON An elegant lamp sits on a table, a source of gentle light. But delve deeper and you uncover a design rich in meaning. For the Dalston’s curvaceous base nods to the silhouettes of Chinese Ming dynasty vases and their ‘double gourd’ shapes, inspired by the bulbous curves of squash, themselves symbols of fertility thanks to their profusion of seeds.

A simple lamp; a long history.

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T HE SE A RCH FOR CONTENTMENT

Author and presenter Ben Fogle looks at how people have discovered and protected their inner peace by appreciating the world around them.

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The last year and a half has forced many of us to slow down. It has given us a chance to think about our lives. What we’ve been doing, where we’re heading and what we can do to improve the way we live. In short, we’ve been made to take the time to reassess our values, our hopes and our dreams.

For the last decade, I’ve travelled the world meeting people who have changed their lives by embracing nature and slowing down. As an observer, I’ve always admired their spirit of determination and resilience, often in the face of adversity.

Along the way, I’ve stayed with so many inspiring people. None more so than flintknapper Will Lord, a historian who ‘lives’ in the Stone Age, preserving many practices of the period. I spent a week in his earth house, deep in the Suffolk countryside. His lifestyle was as fascinating as it was thrilling. Like stepping back in time.

And then there was the Owen family at Ravenseat Farm in Yorkshire. ‘The Yorkshire Shepherdess’, Amanda, and her large family live a simpler, slower life that harks back to a bygone era of good, solid family values. I’m always moved by those I get to meet. None of them have made their lives easier, but they have all made them happier.

And isn’t that the key, happiness? I’d argue that the essence of life is happiness.

A contentment at the quality of our lives. We’ve been reminded to value our health, family, friendships, community and nature. Sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, and lockdown reminded us of so many things we took for granted.

Many of the challenges I’ve undertaken over the years have been about taking myself out of my comfort zone and giving myself some perspective. I feel incredibly privileged to have seen the way. Not in a religious or even a spiritual sense, but in a practical, organic one. We have all been going too fast.

We were losing control but we have the opportunity to learn and adapt.

Nature has always been my escape. Restorative and rehabilitative, it has the power to transform and heal. The Japanese and the Scandinavians have long been practitioners of the art of forest bathing, in which you lie beneath trees, basking in the theatrics of the canopy high above. It’s a pastime that requires patience and time. The longer you immerse yourself in nature’s theatre, the more of the cast you will see. First the birdsong, and slowly your senses will be heightened to the flora and fauna that are normally invisible in our haste and speed.

Slow food. Slow travel. And now, finally, slow living.

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A N ORGA NIC L A NDSCA PE

An off-grid farm nestled in the Brecon Beacon hills was the perfect setting for a photoshoot which combined streamlined design ideas with the ruggedly beautiful terrain.

Pictures can speak a thousand words, so when we were searching for a location in which to shoot our autumn collection, it was important to find a place that told a story. A building with a simple, honest heritage and grounds that reflected the raw beauty of nature.

Faraway Farm, a carefully preserved, off-grid farmhouse in deepest Wales, was the perfect spot, despite posing a few logistical challenges.

‘Luckily, we knew what hurdles we had to climb over – literally,’ says art director Meaghan, who led the team. ‘You can only reach the farm on foot or via a four-mile dirt track, so we hired an open, 4x4 pickup truck and ferried the team and all the products to and fro through streams and fords.

It was an adventure, to say the least, not to mention the unexpected torrential downpour that began just as we started out.’

The site the team arrived at was a working farm ‘with ducks and chickens everywhere and a stream running through the yard – and definitely no mobile signal,’ adds Meaghan. The house itself was built from old, mellow, Welsh cobblestone. The owners had preserved much of its authentic charm – irregular stone walls and insulating wood-panelled interiors to protect from the harsh winters – while also creating a cool, contemporary space to live in.

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During the pandemic, the house also proved a restorative workspace for the family of five when they moved in during the first lockdown and lived a simple, remote lifestyle surrounded by forests, rivers and hills. ‘They totally renovated the house using local and natural supplies, including wood, slate and linseed paint,’ Meaghan tells us. Window frames picked out in off-black, tongue-and-groove panelling on walls and ceilings, in various woodland green shades and a dormitory-style attic painted in historic off-white. ‘It felt moody and atmospheric,’ says Meaghan, ‘but the family weren’t afraid to use colour either. The bathroom paneling is painted in a rich cranberry red with a beautiful, old, leaded window framing the landscape outside.’

And it was that landscape that especially captured the imagination of the shoot team. ‘It was the most magical spot,’ recalls Meaghan, ‘and such a unique, unspoilt location, preserved in time. It doesn’t compare to any shoot space we’ve worked in before.’ With a brief to incorporate the natural surroundings, the team got to work capturing images of furniture and accessories in the earthy interiors and wild exteriors. But it was a modernist timber hen coop, tucked in a corner of the yard - and a hen who was happy to pose - that proved the setting for the team’s favourite shot of the day.

See our adventure on film @neptunehomeofficial

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PRESERVING A DOMESTIC HISTORY The renovation of an east London museum offers an intimate insight into how home life has changed through the generations.

Located in the heart of bustling east London is an oasis of domestic intrigue.

The newly renovated Museum of the Home in Hoxton documents family life and the objects that help make a house a home. Meticulously curated, from the authentic BHS shopping bag dropped by the front door of the 1970s sitting room, to the pile of washed linen on a chair in the 1630’s hall, and the Victorian parlour seen just as the family prepare the room for a seance, the ‘Rooms Through Time’ exhibits preserve moments in family life, showcasing both the interior decor of the period in fascinating detail and how people lived.

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oused in a complex of eighteenth-century almshouses and set next to a garden square, the site has been a museum since 1914. Indeed, it was the verdant gardens rather than consideration for the Georgian architecture that saved the 14 almshouses from demolition at the turn of the 20th century, when it was decided they should be preserved as a healthy green space for the local community. Today, the museum gardens echo the time capsule interior sets, with Tudor knot gardens (whose intricate ribbons of shrubbery were designed to be viewed through upper floor windows), Victorian cottage plots and a modernist roof garden.

Back inside, the exhibits have a personal, if occasionally stomach-churning, quality to them – they’re the stories of the people who used them as much as they’re interesting in their own right. A handwritten recipe book details remedies for cleaning carpets – ‘a pint of fresh Beasts Gall to four quarts of hot soap suds’ – while the accompanying text explains that ‘Beasts Gall’ is actually gallbladder bile from oxen.

Advertising and trade catalogues, from Victorian to latter-day examples, paint a picture of everyday life in Britain and the products that were becoming popular, be it brass candlesticks or electric lamps.

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beautifully preserved Victorian ‘teaching box’ is full of carefully compartmentalised rocks, seeds and shells, designed specifically for boys. ‘The idea of controlling, collecting and ordering the world was instilled in children at a young age,’ notes the text, while the lack of a girls’ equivalent speaks volumes for attitudes of the time.

Elsewhere, a bachelor’s breakfast remnants are waiting to be cleared away from the 1930s serviced flat, and a Nigella Lawson recipe is being prepped in a 1990s loft apartment. For the visitor, some artefacts inspire a sense of nostalgia, others help shape our understanding of the past, some raise a smile. Everything has a personal tale to tell.

The final space in the sequence of room-scapes is the ‘Room of Now’, a place for visitors to contemplate what they’ve seen but also a reflection of our complex and ever-changing lives. Filled with comfy armchairs and wooden work tables, all donated by Neptune, the newest space is a room deliberately in progress, paint colours tested on the walls and furniture still being arranged.

‘The space reflects a sense of change, adaptation and what’s next,’ notes the museum. ‘Cosy furniture sits amongst a room in progress, creating a welcome, but never finished, space.’ Just as our home lives and decor are a never-ending story.

To see more, visit Museum of the Home 136 Kingsland Road, London E2 8EA museumofthehome.org.uk

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Holding on to memories Letters contain so much more than the written word, says author and journalist India Knight.

Email is a daily nightmare. The only part of it I like is hitting ‘select all’ and

then ‘mark as read’ just to make them go away. Handwritten letters, on the other hand, are such a rare and wonderful treat that I lovingly keep them in a shoebox, as though they were

rare artefacts. Which they are, in a way. I was thinking only the other day of how much I wish I’d kept the deluge (or so it seemed at the time – there were at least two a week) of letters my grandmother sent me throughout my late childhood and teenage years, when I lived in England and she in Belgium. If I close my eyes, I can picture her handwriting, the way she signed off and the pressed flowers she often included. With the carelessness of youth, I mislaid them all at some point or other. I’d give anything to read them again.

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Where email feels like endless small invasions of privacy, letters are like presents. They are leisurely, to be opened at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. You feel a jolt of pleasure when you sift through the mail and there, among the circulars and un-asked for catalogues, is a hand-addressed envelope whose writing you recognise as belonging to a friend. Handwritten letters are weighty, by which I mean that the words they contain carry more weight, and are more memorable, than anything typed on a keyboard. The effort involved in sitting down to write, finding an envelope, finding a stamp, finding a postbox is already meaningful and generous, and that’s before you even get to the words. It’s not by accident that the tradition of valentine cards persists. Letters, or cards, are a thoughtful and considered act, the careful setting down of words on paper. They have immediate heft and intimacy, and they endure.

Anyone who has been to Letters Live, the life-affirming occasional events where well-known people read out remarkable old letters, will know how powerful they can be. They catch you right in the heart, across the decades or even the centuries.

But a letter doesn’t have to be magnificent to be meaningful. You don’t have to be a lyrical poet to make someone’s day. A lovely piece of stationery, the sight (so curiously intimate in this age of keyboards) of someone’s handwriting – these are treats in themselves. And then there’s the whole other pleasure of sending, or waiting for, a reply. Instant communications are disposable, ephemeral, unmemorable.

Let ters last.

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Make yourself at home We’d love to welcome you back into our stores so we can sit down over a cup of something warm and catch up properly. We’ve plumped the sofas, lit the candles and poured the coffee. You can get to know our autumn collection – cosy velvets and slubby knits, warm russet tones and marshmallow-soft throws.

Beautiful in print, but a thrall to the senses in person.

To find your closest local store, visit neptune.com/our-stores

We have Neptune stores across the whole of the UK, Ireland and Europe.

To see all of our homes, visit neptune.com/our-stores

OUR STORES

Bath BA1 5BD, 01225 465 301

Farnham GU9 0BB, 01252 713 047

Belfast BT7 3GB, 028 9691 9988

Fulham SW6 2TD, 0207 3719 997

Bournemouth BH2 5SL, 01202 555 024

Guildford GU1 3AJ, 01483 345 480

Bristol BS8 2QY, 01172 464 200

Hailsham BN27 1DQ, 01323 849 483

Bury St Edmunds IP33 3PH, 01284 731 025

Hove BN3 4QD, 01273 458 459

Cambridge CB22 7PX, 01223 643 535

Knutsford WA16 8TA, 01565 354 002

Canterbury CT1 3TY, 01227 209 300

Reading RG10 9SA, 01189 326 060

Cheltenham GL50 4DW, 01242 330 420

Southport PR4 6JA, 01772 812 812

Chesham HP5 1NG, 01494 398 472

Tonbridge TN9 1RF, 01732 351 866

Chester CH2 4JR, 01244 478 777

Weybridge KT13 8DX, 01932 901 234

Chichester PO20 2EW, 01243 904 417

Wimbledon SW19 1RX, 020 3362 8240

Chiswick W4 4HH, 020 3814 1220

Winchester SO21 1HL, 01962 850 556

Colchester CO3 8LT, 01206 212 650

York YO32 9TW, 01904 231 870

Edgbaston B15 3AA, 0121 437 4137

Wiltshire Outlet SN5 8YG, 01793 427 439

STORE IN STORE

Neptune by Treehouse Midmar, Aberdeen, AB51 7NB 01330 830 101

Neptune by House of Wood, Hereford, HR1 3NU 01432 820 612

Neptune by Creative Classics, Ayr, KA7 2HD 01292 292 570

Neptune by Aberford Interiors, Leeds, LS25 3DP 01132 813 209

Neptune by Sims Hilditch, Bath, SN14 8JR 01249 783 087, (weekdays only)

Neptune by Ben Heath, Newbury, RG14 5SA 01635 523 123

Neptune by Woods of London, Blackheath, SE3 0TA 020 8852 1713

Neptune by Appleyard, Norfolk, NR25 6AR 01263 712 315

Neptune by Robert James Interiors, Coventry, CV8 3HB 02476 544 818

Neptune by Wilton Kitchens, Salisbury, SP2 0HX 01722 743 332

Neptune by Hunters, Derby, DE1 1SY 01332 349 285

Neptune by Holloways, Worcestershire, WR6 5DE 01886 884 665

Neptune by Richard F Mackay, Edinburgh, EH11 2SG 01313 133 300

Neptune by Bradley Gardens, Wylam, NE41 8JH 01661 852 176

Neptune by Malone & Smyth, Co. Fermanagh, BT92 9BL 02867 741 885

Neptune by Sacarello Interiors, Gibraltar, GX11 1AA +350 (0)20 077 994

Neptune by Bridgewater Interiors, Gateshead, NE8 2AJ 0191 477 6680 Neptune By Closa, Tetbury, Glos. GL8 8AA 01666 505 600

Get in touch stories@neptune.com @neptunehomeofficial We do everything we can to make sure Stories is as environmentally sound as possible. From the biopoly outer made from potato starch – which will biodegrade in your food waste or compost – through to the carbon footprint of the paper itself.

This is all FSC-certified as coming from responsible sources, and is also carbon balanced by the Woodland Trust, which means that this volume of Stories combined will create just over 920 square metres of new native woodland.

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