Sudley House

Sudley House

Sudley House in Aigburth, Liverpool

Sudley House, like Kettle's Yard in Cambridge, is a rich man's home gallery: a large private art collection bequeathed along with the home it was located in. Sudley is on a much grander scale than the wonderful, higgledy-piggledy cottage in Cambridge which houses an eclectic, magpie collection of minor Modernist masterpieces. George Holt, a Liverpool ship owner who bought Sudley House in 1883, filled his modest stately home with British painters of the eighteen and nineteenth centuries. The gallery contains no less than three Turners – two of them important works - plus paintings by Gainsborough, Thomas Lawrence, Edwin Landseer and Joshua Reynolds. But it is the cache of well- and lesser-known Pre-Raphaelite pieces that makes Sudley the important niche it is. Works by Holman Hunt, Frederic Lord Leighton and Edward Burne-Jones were especially sought out by Holt, who also bought dozens of paintings by lesser-known artists.

The Finding of the Saviour in the Temple by William Holman Hunt

The experience of visiting this gallery is somewhat different, firstly because of its location. A sandstone manor house, set in suburban parkland, it's several miles from Liverpool city centre. There is very limited parking on site, and if you go there by bus or train, you will have to walk up a slight incline for 10 or 15 minutes. From its terraces and windows, you get wonderful views across tree-lined fields and desirable residential properties, down to the Mersey estuary and Wirral peninsula.

The view over the lawn towards the Mersey Estuary

Secondly, Sudley House is no white-walled gallery space. The paintings are displayed just as they would have been in Holt's day. There is still some of the original furniture in the Hall & Library and the Dining & Morning rooms. This means the appearance of the paintings varies according to changes of light during the day. This can make it a little difficult to see details or even whole canvases as there are tables or other objects in some rooms, plus reflections from lamps and windows in the glass-fronted picture frames. However, many of the original features are works of art in their own right; for example tiled fireplaces or hand crafted sideboards and bookshelves. The upshot is that in Sudley, paintings exist in the context their creators painted them for.

Fireplace in the Library

A further difference is that Holt's collection is almost 100% British. I saw only one painting by a non-British artist: a small landscape by Corot. This means the collection is almost a permanently curated exhibition of how, at the height of the British empire, artists in Britain carved their own unique pathways. How Turner, for example, influenced the French Impressionists. How British portrait and landscape painting raised standards to the levels seen on the Grand Tour. And how such a flagrant bias towards home grown talent was without jingo or racism. On the contrary, Holt's preference for native art, and his generous wallet, encouraged British artists and championed the Pre-Raphaelites, who were unpopular with many critics. And Holt was no eccentric. The penchant of many Liverpool and Manchester art collectors in the nineteenth century has left other nuggets of a unique national movement: eg, The Lady Lever Gallery over the water in Port Sunlight, which has an even larger collection of well-known Pre-Raphaelite works.

Pathway to the South

Sudley House was built by a coal merchant in 1821, so the building long predates the Arts and Crafts Movement of the Victorian era. Holt made some alterations to the original plain, rectangular structure, but it is the garden that most effectively frames the collection. The house is surrounded on three sides by massive beech, rowan, chestnut (horse & sweet), cherry, sycamore and a few pine trees. Under these are curiously twisted oleander, magnolia, laurel and hawthorn bushes. Bordering the East wing, two enormous ginkgo trees stand, while to the West there is a small walled garden and then a long footpath bordered with rose, bramble and fuchsia. The house's former kitchen is now a cafe serving good scones and tea; and if the weather is suitable, you can sit outside in the yard.

A Pot of Leaf Tea with a Scone, Butter & Jam: 4 pounds 20 pence

The staff are friendly and knowledgeable. Photography, even with flash, is allowed. There are videos and fact sheets for most of the rooms. However, the gallery brochure is out of print and there are no post cards on sale, so any mementos you take away with you will have to be your own. I think you'll need a good two hours to see round properly. Parts of the upstairs are used for temporary exhibitions and workshops. Entry is free. There is a lift to the second floor, but wheelchair access to the cafe yard is round the outside of the house.

One of the pair of Giant Ginkgos

Full English Brexit

1916 inglorious mud

hurly burly

mud and trouble

doubtful stands

the state of battle

earth hath bubbles quoth the soldier

where the Somme its marrow narrows

Germans elbow out of Belgium

bony Fritz doth bloody Tommy

eye of Jacques and tongue of Taffy

Cornwall's ears Flanders' bowels

König headed Highland hearted

Anzac kidneys Saxon coccyx

Hanoverians' appendix

British legs in khaki clobbered

French in blue and grey of Prussia

all our chaps have gone down under

stuck together cold and clodded

sown by human reaped by warlock

black the milk and white the thunder

clouds of smoke from smokeless powders

mooned in sunlit robes are plundered

bootless foot from footless booty

stirred then shaken hooked & taken

cauldron filled & helmet emptied

boiled and potted tooth & dagger

spiced with cannon ball & iron

shards like peppers picked & buried

battleships in mud now sunken

tankful hopes of brain & sinew

dashed upon the rocks of wonder

mothers' pride incomprehension

nothing breaks the titans' struggle

years behind and years in waiting

sons for sons exchanged like chessboard

pieces trench for trench in deadly

turns of war the aimless gaming

layer over layer stretching

wire barbs hung up as bunting

death's dominion celebrating

woman's grief at man's invention

doubtless stands

the sprite of warfare

Shirley Burly

maid of trouble

banner headlines

cross the cosmos

intersect at

points of chaos

Shirley Burly

soldier goddess

doubtful slink

your muddy tribunes

Autumn draws to end the fighting

hand to hand the living linger

digging rabbit holes they hoppit

down on sleepless nights or nightmare

days of false alarms & leisure

lice & fungus thrive tobacco

notwithstanding fumigation

schemes & dreams of summer meadows

men revert to faith or boyhood

savagery to clock the boredom

check unchecked desires curling

woodbines round the cook house fire

eating out for preference squire

casualties continue falling

men succumb to fevers poorly

treated water leaking toilets

foot disorders captains' orders

snipers shrapnel blasts and madness

caught between betraying comrades

self esteem and cowards' rumours

chaps survive on hidden forces

duck and dive by instinct carry

talismans believe in magic

never heed the words of strangers

friend and foe alike in danger

fallacy their only logic

Johnny Tolkien Bard of Baggins

steals from dugout down the hillside

beggs and borrows books tobacco

tins of pork and beans he carries

feet enlarged by clay he hobbles

down the alleys to the meadow

through the zigzags sallow fellows

often grunting seldom grumbling

cheerful almost in the hollows

wallows Tommy son of Atkins

smells of shrapnel bursts and sewers

overcast the front line trenches

Jerry mindful of good weather

black the rain and wide the helmet

Tommy's shoulders broad and narrow

signals officer reporting

ensign Tolkien Lancashires

carry on says Captain Oakley

shield of valour proud & broken

keep yourself in deepest cover

till you hear my whistle blowing

never fear this ring I carry

utters signals ensign Tolkien

forged of gold inside volcano

Doom protects the stealthy wearer

none shall see me through its halo

very good the captain brasses

polished irony in tatters

got your orders for the morrow

seven sharp make sure they're ready

on my whistle quit their prayers

up and over bold and burly

Shirley Burly

burnished idol

Brasso'd goddess

stands in clover

doubtful squats

your congregation

hollow hearted

hope departed

grim their task

and dim their chances

slimmer yet

than corpse that dances

Corporal Adolf son of Hitler

rarely cheerful seldom cheerless

leading runner fills his satchel

full of signals checks his Mauser

follows orders zig-zags forward

from the dugouts at the rear

to the nearest frontline trenches

dodging runs Gefreiter Hitler

message runner of Bavaria

precious orders fill his satchel

warn the Hun of Tommy's purpose

near the front his courage wavers

thick and deadly fall the salvoes

churn the mud to milky blackness

oil of manhood marks the surface

hearts of soldiers buried witness

empty now their spent bravado

still he creeps or goosesteps forward

ducks below the shrapnel bursting

diving under hurtling mortars

shoots around the zigzags tiptoes

over bodies dead & wounded

Corporal Hitler runs his errand

no one hears the shell that follows

bursting over head & shoulders

soundless rips the air asunder

numb of limb he dumbly swallows

cakes of mud shut up his cackles

deep below the sky he plunges

wonders not nor where he burrows

till some Tommy tugs his elbow

pulls the German from his hollow

officer by voice demeanour

draws him by the satchel leathers

drags him out of smoking furrow

speaks the language of the fathers

pokes his ribs with cocked revolver

give up Fritz give up your orders

be a good and decent Fellow

pack this nonsense in surrender

grub awaits you in the rear

white the bread & good the beer

warm & safe & dry no fear

drop your orders hand them over

post your last to Gross Britannia

Burly Shirley

brassy hussy

never shall thy

burnish turn me

Johnny Tolkien bard of Baggins

poet sporting khaki outfit

follows orders up and over

reconnoitre trench and capture

any German bearing signals

don't be squeamish that's an order

offer grub & threaten murder

Johnny Tolkien fusilier

signals' ensign Lancashires

sweats in helmet boots & puttees

holding cocked revolver shaking

grips the wrist of fallen soldier

German speaking Johnny Tolkien

varsity recruited ensign

pleads that Fritz accept his offer

conjures lingo rhymes & reason

even lies he tells the runner

anything to make him prisoner

short of shooting which is murder

grim the pair stare out each other

stern of visage firm of valour

neither one can flinch and hoppit

rather die would Adolf Hitler

never kill could John the poet

hand on hand in mud they wrestle

not so much in test of muscle

more on reason runs their contest

wounded Adolf weak and hungry

harkens not to promised pleasures

Johnny speaks in doubtful splutters

high his offers low his German

overhead the battle rages

bullets whiz explosions rattle

down in hollows falls the shrapnel

rains on brute and intellectual

demagogue of hate ideal

architect of fancy's fiction

then a moment when a bugle

harks in rising notes glissandos

up the scale across the wasteland

cutting air and smoke to silence

bombs are stifled rifles lowered

moments tick while hearts are rattled

what the hell or what in heaven

hunter's horn or maiden's siren

no man knows its source for certain

maybe death to claim his victims

maybe angels calm their victims

maybe life though who would credit

death would summon all who falter

life can only grimly suffer

till the safety curtain lowers

or the guillotine is loosened

suddenly a captain's whistle

breaks the magic spell of bugle

calls the British to their musters

back they plod their task accomplished

stumbling over land of no-man

home for tea and toast he grumbles

only grumbles clear of trouble

Tommy soldiers at the double

shuttles captives to the rear

shoulders wounded comrades clear

leaves his dead their troubles over

ensign Tolkien corporal Hitler

now or never comes their moment

Johnny holsters his revolver

brings an extra hand to lever

tears the satchel from its owner

gropes to leave the German runner

lying bleeding in his burrow

but before he breaks to hobble

home across the barbs & rubble

chortles shake the wounded runner

snorts of laughter hollow cackles

startled by these snarls of triumph

round the poet turns to marvel

why the devil has the fellow

got to be so blasted cheerful

though the German's eyes are hollow

fast they hold the poet's wonder

but his gaze will not be fathomed

black as death & steeped in horror

stricken cold the ensign stumbles

out across the muddy wasteland

clad in boots of clay he bumbles

knowing something there was stolen

not the satchel nor its contents

duty honour something boundless

not to kill a man so clearly

die-hard hateful cold & fearless

murder death itself that certain

on he plods his feet are swollen

lumps of clay in loamy omen

hobbles back towards his captain

Oaken shield the brave the brazen

irony with iron broken

what you got there Ensign Tolkien

clutched so tightly to your bosom

enemy dispatches maybe

letters home from German soldiers

doubtful stands

the state of battle

lives exchanged

for tittle tattle

Shirley Burly

hurly burly

ring of roses

queen of poses

bring intelligence

to bear

fathom hope

from deep despair

safe at last in filthy dugout

mug of tea and Fiveboys' chocolate

Ensign Tolkien bard of Baggins

opens up the runner's satchel

empties out its secret contents

orders meant for German soldiers

read by varsity decoders

Captain Sir please look these over

signals sent from Hunnish generals

detail all our plans of battle

Fritzie knows he's got our units

every number down to sections

Captain Oaken sometimes comic

often dour never humours

those who shy of ruthless matters

iron shield in broken tatters

soldiers on despite the rumours

Ensign Tolkien shrinks from murder

good on you the Captain flatters

Valiant leader Captain Oaken

shield of broken iron spoken

twists his 'tache with blackened fingers

stabs his finger at the ensign

now we know they know our orders

wiser shall we be whoever

doesn't know you know's the loser

killed the runner I'm assuming

Johnny Tolkien Bard of Baggins

soldier poet Lancashires

feeble footed stands uprooted

loathe to play the coward liar

answers true as truth requires

he was wounded weak from bleeding
sir all caked in mud and wire

looked lie death itself the runner

left him when I heard your whistle

Captain Oaken hums and murmurs

looks the academic over

takes the satchel smiles and chuckles

lost your ring I see that's bloody

rotten luck though got you safely

home 'twas made inside Volcano

Doom I'll wager that's Down Under

solid gold you said don't worry

lost today means found tomorrow

soon enough you'll earn new baubles

mention you in my dispatches

since you've proved yourself in battle

then he's off to meet the colonel

barely Shirley

late & early

surly turns

the hurdy gurdy

swinging left & right

she wallows

drunk or sober

whoso follows

hurly burly

cauldron swallows

man hath troubles

earth hath bubbles

Johnny Tolkien bard of Baggins'

feet of clay were nicely warming

till that moment now they're freezing

spreads his hand that bore the bangle

white the ring now bare the finger

not of gold from mountain magma

precious ring of yellow amber

bought one day on Brighton Pier

silver crossed the palm of Gypsy

talisman inscribed with message

dearest Johnny love from Edith

oh but how & when & wherefore

has the ring escaped its owner

lucky charm now gone forever

curses he in desperation

then with dreadful understanding

knows the moment it went missing

pulled from him by German runner

part exchanged for information

gone the talisman forever

Johnny sickens from that moment

booted footless doomed to failure

no more dreams of field promotion

endless nights of squalid triumph

nightmare days of stinking glories

just the memories left to ponder

turning horror into stories

hurly burly

mud and trouble

doubtful stands

your state in battle

© Philip Lee, 2016