About a mile away on the western side of the main road from
Chippenham to Yatton Keynell is Sheldon Manor, a charming old
residence with a great Gothic porch like a church, and a Gothic
window over it belonging to what is called the "Priest's chamber."
Upon the gable end, over it, is one of those queer little box sundials
one occasionally sees in Wiltshire. As you enter the porch the
massive staircase faces you, with its picturesque newels and
pendants, and the little carved oak gate, which was there to keep the
dogs downstairs. In the wall to the right, just beyond the entrance
door, is a curious stone trough of fair capacity. It is screened by a door, and exteriorly looks like a cupboard; but what was the use of
this trough we are at a loss to conjecture, unless in old days the
horses were a
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dmitted.
SOUTH WRAXALL MANOR-HOUSE.
But two of the finest old houses in the county are certainly South
Wraxall and Great Chaldfield, situated within a couple of miles from
one another to the west of Melksham. The former has recently been
converted from a farmhouse again into a mansion, and the latter is
now undergoing careful restoration. Though the exterior of Great
Chaldfield is unimpaired, and as perfect a specimen of an early
fifteenth-century house as one could wish to see, sad havoc has
been played inside. The great hall many years ago was so divided up
that it was difficult to guess at its original proportions. The finest Gothic windows with groined roofs, ornamental bosses, and
fireplaces, and carved oak beams, have long since been blocked up
and their places filled with mean ones of the Georgian period or later.
To fully comprehend the wholesale
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obliteration of the original work, one has only to see the thousand bits
of sculptured masonry laid out upon the lawn of the back garden. To
place the pieces of the puzzle correctly together must be a task to try
the knowledge and patience of the most expert in such matters, but
piece by piece each is going into its proper place. The huge stone
heads with scooped-out eyes, through which the ancient lord of the
manor could watch what was going on below in the hall without being
observed, once again will be reinstated. There are three of them, and
the hollowed eyes have sharp edges, as if they were cut out only
yesterday. Then there is an ungainly grinning figure of the fifteenth
century, locally known as "Blue Beard," who within living memory has
sat on the lawn in front of the mansion; but his proper place is up aloft
on top of one of the gable ends, and there, of course, he will go, and,
like Sister Ann, be able to survey the road to Broughton Gifford to see
whether anybody is coming. Among the rooms now under course of
repair is "Blue Beard's chamber," and naturally enough the
neighbouring children of the past generation (we do not speak of the
present, for doubtless up-to-date education has made them far too
knowing to treat such things seriously—the more's the pity) used to
hold the house in holy dread. But there certainly is a creepy look
about it, especially towards dusk, when the light of the western sky
shines through the shell of a beautiful oriel window, and makes the
monsters on the gable ends stand out while the front courtyard is
wrapt in shade. The reed-grown moat gives the house a neglected
and sombre look. The group of buildings, with curious little church
with its crocketed bell turret on one side and a great barn on the
other, is altogether remarkable. How it got the name of "Blue Beard's
Castle" we could not learn. Recently a "priest's hole" has been discovered up against the ceiling in a corner of his chamber; but
whether he concealed himself here or some of his wives we cannot
say.
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At the back of the manor there used to be a tumble-down old mill,
which unfortunately is now no more. The little church contains a good
stone screen (which has been removed from its original position), and
some stained glass in the windows. The pulpit, a canopied two-
decker, and the capacious high-backed pews (half a dozen at the
most) have the appearance of a pocket place of worship. But Great
Chaldfield is a parish by itself without a village; the congregation also
is a pocket one.