This past weekend, my wife and I went on a bit of an adventure into her family history.
She’s been researching her ancestry recently and uncovered the story of the Wharton family in Cumbria. It turns out she has aristocratic lineage, although that particular chapter of the family history came to a fairly dramatic end.
One of her ancestors found himself on the wrong side of the Jacobite rising and eventually ended up living in Spain, with the family lands seized by the Crown. By all accounts, he was also a gambler with a taste for extravagant living, which probably didn’t help matters.
So, in the space of a generation, an aristocratic family went from landowners to tenants of the Lowthers, with the estate and fortune largely gone.
You really couldn’t make it up.
We decided to visit some of the places connected with the family, starting with Wharton Hall, where later generations lived. The hall is still standing, although it’s on private land, so we could only see it from a distance.
Before Wharton Hall, though, the family had a castle.
Or, at least, what remains of one.
We visited the ruins of Lammerside Castle, where part of the central keep is still standing in the Cumbrian landscape. These days, its primary line of defence appears to be a field full of rather standoffish cows.
We wandered around the ruins, had our lunch there and took in the surrounding valley and the view towards Hunger Fell.
It was beautiful, but there was something quite sad about it too. You’re standing beside the remains of a home that once represented wealth, power and permanence, knowing that within a few generations nearly all of it had disappeared.It was beautiful, but there was something quite sad about it too. You’re standing beside the remains of a home that once represented wealth, power and permanence, knowing that within a few generations nearly all of it had disappeared.
Naturally, as a fantasy writer, my brain immediately started filing things away for future use.
Ruined castles. Disgraced families. Confiscated estates. Exile. Gambling. Rebellion. Generational decline.
There’s probably a novel hiding in there somewhere.
While we were in the area, we also visited nearby Pendragon Castle, another atmospheric ruin with an appropriately legendary name. We crawled through a low tunnel to explore the ruins, only to notice when we were on our way out that the ruins were closed to the public. Oops.
It was a fascinating weekend and a reminder that sometimes the best story fuel is sitting quietly in the landscape, waiting for you to notice it.
