Once home to the celebrated writer Virginia Woolf, this 17th-century weatherboarded cottage brims with colour and character, and proved an inspiring spot to spark her creativity
Writers Virginia and Leonard Woolf – both stalwarts of the influential Bloomsbury set – had long adored East Sussex. Their home-from-home, perfect for weekends and holidays, was Asheham House, an elegant, if mysterious, property under the lea of Asheham Down, its tufty lawn and fields sloping to the river Ouse.
Virginia – already a published author – felt an affinity with these ancient chalk ridges, replete with the beauty and space she needed for her thoughts to soar; a landscape of solitude and sanctuary. Not only that, but her sister, the artist Vanessa Bell, lived close by at Charleston Farmhouse.
Then, in 1919, came unwelcome news: the landlord wanted the property back for his farm-bailiff. The Woolfs would have to start house-hunting.
The search began badly: Virginia rashly purchased a converted windmill in Lewes. Charming, perhaps; but when she took Leonard to see it, he was not impressed. Too pokey, he declared.
Their luck, however, was about to turn. As they took their leave, they chanced on an auction sign announcing a certain Monk’s House for sale, two miles away in the village of Rodmell. Strangely enough, this humble property was already somewhat familiar. Down a lane beside a Norman church, its garden gate led on to flower-filled water meadows where the couple loved to walk. Next afternoon, in a bitterly cold wind, Virginia cycled over to see it.
Joyous wilderness
Had it been a case of the house alone, the story might perhaps have ended there. As Virginia herself described: ‘These rooms are small, I said to myself; you must discount the value of that old chimney piece & the niches for holy water. Monks are nothing out of the way. The kitchen is distinctly bad. There’s an oil stove, & no grate. Nor is there hot water, nor a bath, & as for the E.C. [earth closet; there was no flushing toilet] I was never shown it.’
Yet, this weatherboarded house had an ace up its sleeve. The garden offered a joyous wildness too fecund to dismiss: pretty blooms fighting for space among cabbage
