I visited Nymans, a Grade II Listed property and garden in West Sussex recently, and found the experience quite moving.
The house was owned by three generations of the Messel family. In 1947 a fire nearly destroyed the whole thing. Much was lost, and, because of rationing, the family were unable to rebuild. It became a ruin.
Six years later the National Trust took it on. You can visit the house, where some ground floor rooms have been reinstated, but the house is still without a roof and obviously partly a ruin to this day.
New life came when a garden was created within the ruins of the great hall in 2019. Beauty and life have come out of tragedy, brokenness and loss.
It was a warm day and my friends and I had walked round the grounds, slowly limped round the house (amidst throngs of keen visitors) and to be honest, my stomach was telling me it was lunchtime.
So, my friends went on to a nearby viewpoint and I found a bench under shade-giving tree and looked back at the house.
The sky is where the roof should be. No-one stirs in the upstairs rooms. It is still the scene of devastation. Yet all around there is new, vigorous growth and people are visiting in their droves to see it.
A bit of a wreck
Nymans gave me hope. Illness, loss, bereavement, redundancy and upheaval broke me. I know that – despite a good recovery – I’m a bit of a physical wreck. But perhaps beauty has come out of it too. A new life is emerging that simply wouldn’t have been there before, and that includes living in and walking round the village.
We try very hard not to be broken, don’t we? We want to be strong and indestructible. Yet sometimes life gives us a real right hook. Nymans showed me that it is possible to be both broken and beautiful at the same time. You don’t have to lose your scars and be completely rebuilt to be lovely and that’s a hopeful thought.