To the immediate SW of the Hexham roundabout of the A69, on
the north bank of the River Tyne, stands a small mansion by the name of The
Hermitage. Its size and the extent of its grounds belie its humble-sounding
name, yet its recent placement on the market for sale revealed it as perhaps
the biggest time capsule in the North-East.
Whilst thousands of us speed by in our cars on the busy A69,
or ignore its presence whilst turning into Hexham town centre for a day’s
shopping, The Hermitage has for decades slept on undisturbed in a sleepy time
warp. When its last surviving tenant passed away in 2013 and the property
reverted into the possession of its owners, investigations revealed an
untouched world of inter-war Britain, unspoilt by the modern world.
The estate itself once belonged to the Priory of Hexham –
the land being the reputed site of the 7th century hermitage of St.
John of Beverley (a building called the ‘Armytage’ is recorded in 1496). The
mansion itself – an 18th century creation with later alterations –
belonged to John Hunter Esq., High Sheriff of Northumberland. He died in 1821
leaving two daughters, one of which, Elizabeth, married Robert Lancelot Allgood
– the couple taking over the property. It has been in the Allgood family ever
since, but in 1922 it was rented out to the Morant family, who remained in residence until
2013. Set in 18 acres with a River Tyne frontage, stable block and
outbuildings, it has remained in splendid isolation for the past century.
When its original tenant, Brigadier General Hubert Horatio
Morant, died, the property was left to his three children, the last of which,
Doreen, died in 2013 – and with there being no succeeding generation the
property passed back to the Allgoods. Only then, when the auctioneers moved in
to sell the house’s contents, was the amazing ‘frozen world’ uncovered.
The little stately home hadn’t been modernised in decades.
There were unopened bottles of wine and champagne from the First World War era,
cosmetics and medication from the 1920s and magazines from the 1930s. Little
had been thrown out in 90+ years of occupation – some seemingly mundane items
being carefully wrapped in newspaper and stashed away in the house’s acres of
cupboard and loft space. There were photographs, furniture, paintings, WWI
diaries, toys, as well as the estate’s records and accounts. It was an
inter-war ephemeral extravaganza – and the whole collection (around 1,500 lots)
raised an astonishing £300,000 at auction.
As far as I am aware, though, the house itself remains
unsold at a little shy of £2million.
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