William Morris's "Peacock and Dragon" design, 1878
The designs of William Morris have always fascinated me since I discovered them at age 18. Newly graduated from high school, I took a month-long vacation with my mother to two of my favorite countries: England and France. In England, we stayed with a research colleague of my father for two and a half weeks, then spent three days in Kelmscott, where our hosts, where one member of the couple was another paternal research colleague, introduced me to the world of William Morris. Kelmscott Manor was closed during our visit, but my hosts had many examples of William Morris’s art around their house, and described every room in the Manor to me so well that, with their William Morris book in hand, I felt I had a fairly good understanding of the place. I’ve always liked the dense imagery of his designs, but, without much money after college, I didn’t think much about obtaining any of them for my own dwellings. A Victorian scholar who is a good friend of mine these days piqued my William Morris feelings when I first visited her home and saw her green Willow curtains. As I have been researching details for my current novel, I have delved once more into the world of William Morris and am, to put it mildly, in desperate need of a small fortune to satisfy my present desires.
But what William Morris does for me is more than simply delighting my eye: his designs take me back to those autumn days in Kelmscott. During my visit, I stepped inside a 12th century barn and, with pigeons softly cooing above my head, thought what the warm, wide space would have felt like to a native of the time. We visited Salisbury Cathedral at my request, where I confessed to my hosts a certain sympathy for St. George’s dragon (they approved) and, over a cup of Darjeeling in the café, I pondered what the stained glass artist had been thinking in depicting such a beautiful creature about to be slaughtered. We saw parts of the Uffington White Horse from a distance (impossible to see the whole but from the air), and my dream of people leaning over those broad lines, carving anew for centuries, made me a silent observer of the landscape for many miles. I felt a powerful draw to history, too, in a field of huge standing stones, surrounded by sheep (“Don’t touch them,” the lady of the couple warned me, “because of the ticks,” so I didn’t, though I touched the stones) where a lit pub nearby was a beacon in the darkening dusk.
When I am at last able to afford my household of William Morris fabrics, I know these memories will be joined by the contemporary actions of my family that will become memories in themselves. The barn and the ancient stones will join my son reading aloud to himself on our Tulip & Rose sofa, nestled into the pattern as if he were a part of it.
What beautiful poetic memories of your time in England. I definitely plan to look up more of Morris’ designs.
What did you think of Salisbury Cathedral?
I know what you mean about the dragon. There’s a window in St Thomas’ Church in Salisbury with a purple dragon that just looks like he’s not dead at all, but just biding his time/
I loved the beauty of Salisbury Cathedral and will most certainly visit it again when I’m next in the UK. And yes, I’ve heard about the dragon in St. Thomas’ Church; it’s one I missed the last time I was in Salisbury, but won’t miss again. The dragon I’m thinking of at the Cathedral looked so sad, and rather innocent. It wasn’t a dragon that I could imagine had terrorized a population, but one that I thought might have been misunderstood. As my young son and I regularly discuss, the Tyrannosaurus Rex wasn’t a vicious killer, just a hungry dinosaur that happened to be carnivorous. Perhaps St. George’s dragon was only hungry and just needed persuasion to go after non-human prey or, as my son would recommend, adopt a diet of carrots, corn, vinegar, and oil.
The fabrics are wonderful. While my wife does nothing with furniture beyond making the occasional accessory like pillows, she’s very into fabrics. (She loves recreating 18th and 19th century clothing.) We would love nothing more than to one day at least have one well-appointed room, and I can see William Morris fabrics being used.
Very nice!
I envy your wife’s talents! The clothing of the 18th and 19th century is wonderful, and its recreation must be fascinating, difficult, and immensely rewarding.
I think every writer with any kind of complication in his or her life seeks a peaceful space where complications seem removed, and that’s precisely where I think William Morris fabrics could come in. Not only would such a room awaken in me the memories that I wrote about in this post, but it would provide a respite and a link, somehow, with the beauties of the 19th century. My Victorian scholar friend, whom I mentioned in this post, has such a room, replete with Victorian prints, as well William Morris curtains and wallpaper. I love to visit her and sit in that room, where I feel not only a connection to her as my friend but also the past that we both so dearly love.