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National Trust Daytrip: Moseley Old Hall
The last of the West Midland Daytrips with Auntie Tricia takes me to Moseley Hall and back to the dirty chapter of history where the Church of England attempted to brutally and ruthlessly shut down Roman Catholicism throughout the United Kingdom.
Unlike the other gilt glittering properties I have visited and of course unlike the Kinver Rock Houses or the encapsulating Black Country Museum. This house and hall holds an air of individuality, both as a property itself and as a memory in my mind. The reason for this is because it really is nothing special, the house is a prime example of standard country living in the 17th Century, there is nothing particularly granduer about the grounds, it is a very well preserved property that much can be said; it is however the tales that swarm through its corridors that propel it into the land of bewilderment and wonder and of course ... it holds the name of my family on its mantle.
This house much like Coughton Court detailed in an earlier excursion, played a most pivotal part in the protection of religious sovereignty but more importantly was the hiding place for the King of England Charles II. In 1651 at the conclusion of the Battle of Worcester, Charles the II was defeated by Oliver Cromwell and the Parliamentarians in a vicious and violent collision, it was seen as the defeat of the Royalists, and landed Cromwell in the history books for centuries therein.
Of course the history is much more intrinsically intricately interesting than that (check out that alliteration) but also long-winded, and I have only a short spell. After his defeat Charles II was forced to flee his lands and recuperate, he did so under the smoky noir of midnight stalks travelling across England and retreating to France. His adventures include hiding in an Oak Tree on the grounds of Boscobel House while a Parliamentarian patrol scoured around below for him. And seeking refuge with the catholic Whitgreave family at Moseley Hall where he was attended to by the catholic priest John Huddleston and indeed, hid himself, in one of the priest holes that was built into the structure of the house.
Now, I'm not throwing these names around to demonstrate how much I listened to my Elizabethan dressed tour guide or to bore you all with benign facts and not elaborate on the characters celebrated in the tales. But to highlight that the Whitgreaves and the priest Huddleston, devout Catholics that for years prior to this event had been opressed and threatened with death if they were to practice their religion, threatened by arbritrary rule in England, were, instead of shunting the King, bathing his feet, tending to his needs, feeding and providing care for him. All in the shadow of his origins condemning their kind ... the Catholic kind, to death.
I like that.
I like the irony in that moment. And I love the fact that it establishes the idea that their will always be people in this world that hold true to humane morality and furthermore celebrate the beauty that exists within it. Its a very nice story and one that sits well as a chapter in the large ever expanding book on England.
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