IN PRAISE OF CHILTON FOLIAT
We’ve wandered on your shady roads
And breathed your fresh sweet air,
And oft-times lingered on the bridge
That spans the “Kennet” fair.
We’ve watched the trout besport themselves
In water crystal clear.
The swans with family all afloat,
Have nothing there to fear.
The homely villagers we’ve met,
They made us welcome there.
Their cottages so neatly thatched,
So picturesque and rare.
Your neat, old fashioned country inns
The Wheatsheaf and the Stag
Where folks can meet and have their chat
And drink and smoke and brag.
We love to hear the cuckoo’s call
Oft from the nearby wood,
The pigeon and the blackbird,
To us they all seem good.
The church so old and beautiful
Where we can go and rest.
To us it may look empty
But it’s filled with unseen guests.
And Littlecote we’ll not forget,
Its walls and garden fair.
Its old trees, its fruit and flowers
There’s nothing wanting there.
And now to all we say adieu,
In memory they will remain.
If we are spared one other year
We will return again.
A visit to Chilton Foliat sets me thinking about names. Originally it was probably Cilla’s farm, receiving its surname from the Foliat family who owned the manor before 1300. In the chancel wall of the church there is a tomb with the effigy of a knight, cross legged and with his shield and sword. This is believed to be Sir Sampson Foliat but the name has endured here far better than the family that bore it. Then there are the house names. Many of these indicate the former use of the building, such as The Old School, The Old Forge with its undulating tiled roof, Tanyard House and the Old Post Office. The comparatively recent Methodist church of 1932 did not survive too many decades before it also became a house of man and was renamed The Old Chapel. The forest has left its mark with Stag Hill, the late 18th or early 19th century Stag House and the more modern Stag Service Station.
But a sunny day with cotton wool clouds hanging motionless in the sky as blue as the Virgin’s snood is no time to consider nomenclature. It is a time to lean upon the parapet of the bridge and watch broad Kennet flow below you. There are waterfowl here. Swans, ducks and coots provide entertainment for the idler and if you are lucky you will catch a glimpse of a large trout, facing upstream out of the main current, as he waits for the waters to bring down food. Downstream the river has been further widened into a small lake and as you gaze over this, with your knees on the sign informing the world that the bridge was widened in 1936, you become aware that your elbows are resting on much-carved stone. Here many a lad has whiled away the time awaiting his lover’s tryst by carving their initials in the stone or, at other times, groups of youths left a permanent mark between throwing stones in the river and gawking at passers-by when there was little else to do.
By the bridge a leat takes some of the water under the late 18th century mill which is now all one with its 19th century Mill House. Also here is the mysterious Bridge House. Was it an inn? Was the part fronting the river, with its rain water heads dated 1766, built as an assembly room? Was it a house extended into a grander villa in the mid-18th century?
One Sunday morning in September I watched as villagers hurried along the road to Harvest Festival in the church of St Mary. They, most especially the children, carried produce of all kinds through the thatched lych gate, along the path between the twelve pollarded lime trees and through the church doorway. Much of the church, particularly the west tower, is of c1300 with additions and alterations in the 14th and 19th centuries. It is of flint with dressings of Bath stone and has a splendid semi-circular wagon roof of the early 17th century. Inside are many monuments to long gone Leybournes and Pophams of Littlecote and the latter had their own pew adorned with their hatchments.
Much of the village is around the main street and the older houses are a mixture of flint and brick with roofs of old tiles or thatch. Even the bus shelter is thatched, as is the Village Store which offers part exchanges and house clearances. Next door is The Wheatsheaf, early 19th century with a straw pig upon its ridge and brick and flint walls below the thatch. The attractive Village Hall of 1895 has hanging tiles above lower courses of flint while a little further on is The Square, seven good thatched cottages in an L-shape.
Apart from the church the earliest remaining must be Chilton Cottage. Once three cottages and now a single house, it is from the early to mid-15th century and was restored between 1975 and 1977. Timber-framed upon a flint sill and with brick and plaster infill, it was originally an open hall house. Its dates have been established by Carbon 14 dating corrected by dendrochronology, and some thatch has been dated by C 14 to between 1580 and 1670.
In the mid 1980s the village became famous through the BBC television series, The Victorian Kitchen Garden. Although Chilton Lodge is in West Berkshire much of its gardens are in Wiltshire and it was here that Head Gardener Harry Dodson and Peter Thoday, the expert from the University of Bath Horticultural Department, presided over a very popular series.
Michael Marshman
Countryside Books
3 Catherine Road
Newbury
