_LEA HURST_
Removal to Lea Hurst--Description of the House--Florence
Nightingale’s Crimean Carriage preserved there.
L o! in the midst of Nature’s choicest scenes,
E mbosomed ’mid tall trees, and towering hills,
A gem, in Nature’s setting, rests Lea Hurst.
H ome of the good, the pure at heart and beautiful,
U ndying is the fame which, like a halo’s light,
R ound thee is cast by the bright presence of the holy Florence
S aint-like and heavenly. Thou hast indeed a glorious fame
T ime cannot change, but which will be eternal.
LLEWELLYN JEWETT.
When Florence Nightingale was between five and six years old,
the family removed from Lea Hall to Lea Hurst, a house which Mr.
Nightingale had been rebuilding on a site about a mile distant, and
immediately above the hamlet of Lea Mills. This delightful new home is
the one most widely associated with the life of our heroine. To quote
the words of the old lady at the lodge, “It was from Lea Hurst as
Miss Florence set out for the Crimea, and it was to Lea Hurst as Miss
Florence returned from the Crimea.” For many years after the war it
was a place of pilgrimage, and is mentioned in almost every guidebook
as one of the attractions of the Matlock district. It has never been in
any sense a show house, and the park is private, but in days gone by
thousands of people came to the vicinity, happy if they could see its
picturesque gables from the hillside, and always with the hope that a
glimpse might be caught of the famous lady who lived within its walls.
Miss Nightingale remains tenderly attached to Lea Hurst, although it
is eighteen years since she last stayed there. After the death of her
parents it passed to the next male heir, Mr. Shore Smith, who later
assumed the name of Nightingale.
[Illustration: LEA HURST, DERBYSHIRE.
(_Photo by Keene, Derby._)
[_To face p. 16._
]
Lea Hurst is only fourteen miles from Derby, but the following incident
would lead one to suppose that the house is not as familiar in the
county town as might be expected. Not long ago a lady asked at a fancy
stationer’s shop for a photograph of Lea Hurst.
“Lea Hurst?” pondered the young saleswoman, and turning to her
companion behind the counter, she inquired, “Have we a photograph of
Lea Hurst?”
“Yes, I think so,” was the reply.
“Who is Lea Hurst?” asked the first girl.
“Why, an actor of course,” replied the second.
There was an amusing tableau when the truth was made known.
Miss Nightingale’s father displayed a fine discrimination when he
selected the position for his new house. One might search even the
romantic Peak country in vain for a more ideal site than Lea Hurst. It
stands on a broad plateau looking across to the sharp, bold promontory
of limestone rock known as Crich Stand. Soft green hills and wooded
heights stud the landscape, while deep down in the green valley the
silvery Derwent--or “Darent,” as the natives call it--makes music as
it dashes over its rocky bed. The outlook is one of perfect repose and
beauty away to Dove’s romantic dale, and the aspect is balmy and sunny,
forming in this respect a contrast to the exposed and bleak situation
of Lea Hall.
The house is in the style of an old Elizabethan mansion, and now that
time has mellowed the stone and clothed the walls with greenery,
one might imagine that it really dated from the Tudor period. Mr.
Nightingale was a man of artistic tastes, and every detail of the house
was carefully planned for picturesque effect. The mansion is built
in the form of a cross with jutting wings, and presents a picture
of clustering chimneys, pointed gables, stone mullioned windows and
latticed panes. The fine oriel window of the drawing-room forms a
projecting wing at one end of the house. The rounded balcony above the
window has become historic. It is pointed out to visitors as the place
where “Miss Florence used to come out and speak to the people.” Miss
Nightingale’s room opened on to this balcony, and after her return from
the Crimea, when she was confined to the house with delicate health,
she would occasionally step from her room on to the balcony to speak to
the people, who had come as deputations, while they stood in the park
below. Facing the oriel balcony is a gateway, shadowed by yew-trees,
which forms one of the entrances from the park to the garden.
In front of the house is a circular lawn with gravel path and
flower-beds, and above the hall door is inscribed N. and the date 1825,
the year in which Lea Hurst was completed. The principal rooms open on
to the garden or south front, and have a delightfully sunny aspect and
a commanding view over the vale. From the library a flight of stone
steps leads down to the lawn. The old schoolroom and nursery where our
heroine passed her early years are in the upper part of the house and
have lovely views over the hills.
In the centre of the garden front of the mansion is a curious little
projecting building which goes by the name of “the chapel.” It is
evidently an ancient building effectively incorporated into Lea Hurst.
There are several such little oratories of Norman date about the
district, and the old lady at Lea Hurst lodge shows a stone window in
the side of her cottage which is said to be seven hundred years old.
A stone cross surmounts the roof of the chapel, and outside on the
end wall is an inscription in curious characters. This ancient little
building has, however, a special interest for our narrative, as Miss
Nightingale used it for many years as the meeting place for the Sunday
afternoon Bible-class which she held for the girls of the district. In
those days there was a large bed of one of Miss Nightingale’s favourite
flowers, the fuchsia, outside the chapel, but that has been replaced by
a fountain and basin, and the historic building itself, with its thick
stone walls, now makes an excellent larder.
The gardens at Lea Hurst slope down from the back of the house in a
series of grassy terraces connected by stone steps, and are still
preserved in all their old-fashioned charm and beauty. There in
spring and early summer one sees wallflowers, peonies, pansies,
forget-me-nots, and many-coloured primulas in delightful profusion,
while the apple trellises which skirt the terraces make a pretty show
with their pink blossoms, and the long border of lavender-bushes is
bursting into bloom. In a secluded corner of the garden is an old
summer-house with pointed roof of thatch which must have been a
delightful playhouse for little Florence and her sister.
The park slopes down on either side the plateau on which the house
stands. The entrance to the drive is in the pleasant country road which
leads to the village of Whatstandwell and on to Derby. This very modest
park entrance, consisting of an ordinary wooden gate supported by stone
pillars with globes on the top, has been described by an enthusiastic
chronicler as a “stately gateway” with “an air of mediæval grandeur.”
There is certainly no grandeur about Lea Hurst, either mediæval or
modern. It is just one of those pleasant and picturesque country
mansions which are characteristic of rural England, and no grandeur
is needed to give distinction to a house which the name of Florence
Nightingale has hallowed.
Beyond the park the Lea woods cover the hillside for some distance, and
in spring are thickly carpeted with bluebells. A long winding avenue,
from which magnificent views are obtained over the hills and woodland
glades for many miles, skirts the top of the woods, and is still
remembered as “Miss Florence’s favourite walk.”
The chief relic preserved at Lea Hurst is the curious old carriage used
by Miss Nightingale in the Crimea. What memories does it not suggest
of her journeys from one hospital to another over the heights of
Balaclava, when its utmost carrying capacity was filled with comforts
for the sick and wounded! The body of the carriage is of basket-work,
and it has special springs made to suit the rough Crimean roads. There
is a hood which can be half or fully drawn over the entire vehicle. The
carriage was driven by a mounted man acting as postilion.
It seems as though such a unique object ought to have a permanent place
in one of our public museums, for its interest is national. A native
of the district, who a short time ago chanced to see the carriage,
caught the national idea and returned home lamenting that he could
not put the old carriage on wheels and take it from town to town.
“There’s a fortune in the old thing,” said he, “for most folks would
pay a shilling or a sixpence to see the very identical carriage in
which Miss Florence took the wounded about in those Crimean times. It’s
astonishing what little things please people in the way of a show. Why,
that carriage would earn money enough to build a hospital!”