Category: Secrets of Painshill

RUMOURS OF A ROCKERY

Posted on | by Georgia Wilkinson

By Georgia Wilkinson

Narrated By Nicola Barranger

History can be a little rocky…Find out how Painshill was affected by the Edwardian rockery craze.

The rockery is one of Painshill’s best-kept secrets. If you search for it today, you’ll find essentially no trace of it within the park’s vast landscape. In the archive rooms, you could scan documents for hours and find no more than a passing mention of it. The search becomes even more complicated when you factor in the various names that it has gone by.  Rumours of ‘a rockery’, ‘a rock garden, ‘rustic steps’, and ‘rockery steps’ have all been used to describe this mysterious feature at Painshill.

Painshill’s rockery in 1982.

What exactly is a rockery?

The history of rockeries can be traced back to ancient East Asia. Chinese and Japanese gardens implemented rocks for decorative, philosophical, and spiritual purposes. English rockeries were typically created to showcase alpine plants and create the illusion of mountainous environments. The first is often cited to be The Pond Rockery at Chelsea Physic Garden. It was built in 1773 but was considerably ahead of its time as rockeries didn’t gain popularity until the 1830s. In the Victorian and Edwardian periods, rockeries sprang up everywhere. There was such a significant boom in demand that companies such as Pulham & Son became famed for installing entire rock gardens. The craze was so prominent that innovation was needed. Pulham & Son developed a type of artificial rock that became known as pulhamite. This offered durability at a lower cost. Some clients, however, didn’t want to pay a penny and found alternative means of acquiring rocks – Painshill’s Edwardian owners were no exception.

The rockery in June 1983.

The Vineyard Era

Painshill’s rockery had a unique journey. When Charles Hamilton was creating his landscape here in the 18th century, rockeries were not yet in fashion. On the north side of the lake, he had a large slope with south-facing views. In a rather ambitious undertaking – and certainly one of the first to be attempted on English soil – Hamilton established a vineyard. He planted the vines between 1740 and 1743 with just two burgundy grapes – an Auvernat (Pinot Noir) and a Miller Grape (Pinot Meunier).

After enduring a few challenging years, Hamilton realised he needed an experienced vigneron for the vineyard to be successful, and so he hired Frenchman David Geneste. Geneste had all the right credentials – he grew up on an ancestral vineyard – and yet it appears he didn’t know quite as much about the business as Hamilton thought. Geneste would frequently write to his sister, Marie Broderie, for help. She had inherited the family vineyard and was considerably more knowledgeable than her brother. With the information and equipment that she provided, the vineyard produced several successful wine varieties.

In 1773, Hamilton sold Painshill to Benjamin Bond Hopkins, who ensured that the vineyard was maintained in good condition. No wine was produced during Hopkins’s ownership, but he preserved the vineyard for its aesthetic value. When he died in 1794, the vineyard was swiftly neglected. Utilitarian attitudes of the early 19th century had replaced the whimsical frivolity of Hamilton’s era and by 1834, the slope was covered in Scotch pines.

The vineyard was nothing but a memory.

The rockery in the 1930s.

The Edwardian Rockery

The rockery was the creation of the beautiful Ethel Combe. Ethel took over Painshill after the death of her husband, Alexander Cushney. Cushney had been four decades older than his wife, and so when he passed away in 1903, Ethel remarried. Her second husband was Charles Combe. His family owned the Cobham Park Estate, but Ethel’s heart remained at Painshill. She insisted that her new husband join her, and together they adapted Painshill to suit Edwardian tastes. Rockeries were incredibly en vogue, and Ethel decided that she must have one. Presumably to avoid extortionate costs, the couple decided to take the rocks from Hamilton’s original Cascade and move them to the neglected vineyard. By 1907, they had their very own rockery.

The old vineyard was the perfect spot. Its high slope and south-facing orientation offered the ideal elevation and sunlight for alpine plants to thrive. From the top of the slope, the Cascade rocks were used to create steps that led the visitor downwards, forking at intervals and allowing the plants to be admired against the backdrop of the sparkling lake. Photographs from the 1930s depict the rockery in good condition. It likely remained so until 1939, when Painshill was requisitioned to support the war effort and the landscape was neglected.

A plan of the rockery drawn in 1990.

Archaeologists in the 1980s wanted to restore Painshill to Hamilton’s original vision. And so, even though the rockery had largely survived, plans were made to clear the trees and plants, remove the rock steps, and replant the vineyard. Clearance began in December 1990, and by the end of January, the rocks had been removed for £220 and were inspected by an archivist for a further £150.

In Spring 1992, the vineyard was restored and has remained an essential part of Painshill’s legacy ever since. The vineyard was a key feature of Hamilton’s vision and a unique chapter in English winemaking history, but it is unfortunate that a surviving Edwardian rockery became collateral damage in the restoration endeavour. Due to the lack of interest in the rockery in the late 20th century very little information about it survives. Although the rockery no longer exists, the pieces that made it have been moved back to the Cascade, where they can still be seen today.

The rocks were taken from the rockery to rebuild Hamilton’s Cascade in the 1990s.

THE ROMAN BATH

Posted on | by Georgia Wilkinson

By Georgia Wilkinson

Narrated by Nicola Barranger

Painshill was no stranger to 18th century bathing trends. Dip into the history of our Roman Bath.

A close-up of the Roman Bath (external) in 1937.

It’s no secret that Charles Hamilton, the park’s founder, was inspired by his Grand Tours across Europe. The influence of his travels can be found throughout Painshill – from the Ruined Roman Arch to the Temple of Bacchus, the park exudes a beautiful, eccentric admiration for mythology and ancient architecture. This blend of 18th century history with the classical world is rooted in the park’s identity. And yet, on the northside of the lake, situated just below the Great Cedar Tree, is a well of brickwork buried beneath foliage and water. Nowadays, it is easy to mistake this structure for a pond, the eye drawn to the ducks paddling on the surface rather than the ruins beneath.

This is the Roman Bath. A fascinating piece of Painshill’s forgotten history.

After World War II, the park fell into ruin, materials were scavenged and repurposed for local uses, and nature engulfed Hamilton’s vision. When archaeologists began restoration works in the 1980s, they had to decide where to focus their efforts. Priority was given to the structures built between 1738 and 1773, the years of Hamilton’s ownership. The Roman Bath belongs to Painshill’s second chapter. The years in which it was owned by Benjamin Bond Hopkins, a wealthy gentleman who built himself a large house and continued the park’s development.

The earliest photograph of the Roman Bath in 1899.


In the 18th century, medicinal bathing was popularised and visits to spa towns like Bath or Buxton were fashionable. Between 1780 and 1790 Hopkins decided to build his own bathhouse inspired by Ancient Roman ones. It was made of brick with a thatch roof and a rather ‘unroman’ stained glass lantern allowing light inside. Hopkins would have entered via the north side of the building where he would have passed through a small antechamber that likely served as a changing room. The main room consisted of white tiled walls and flagstone flooring. Four depressions in the walls may have housed Roman-inspired statues and added to the classical ambience of the space. It was a circular room with a 3 ft 7 in internal pathway spanning the circumference while the bathing depression was 14 ft wide and 5 ft deep. Hopkins would have descended into the bath via a set of stairs, submerging himself in cold water supplied from a spring located to the North-West of the structure. Later, in the 1860s, a horse-powered engine was installed to pump water between the bath and the house that had previously belonged to Hopkins.

A floorplan showcasing the internal layout of the Roman Bath.

The exact date that the Roman Bath fell into ruin is unknown. It was last photographed in 1937 showing that the structure was still intact before the outbreak of World War II. An account from an employee, Joy Terry, who used to live on the site, suggests that the Roman Bath may have been in reasonably good condition as late as 1948. At which time, the walls were said to have been painted a decorative blue. After this, the ruin of the Bath slips into mystery. The thatch roof came down and the brickwork fell into disrepair. As this was not a part of Hamilton’s initial historic route it has never been restored to its original state.

The interior of the Roman Bath pictured in 1937.

The brick depression still lies beneath the Great Cedar Tree waiting for its restoration. The Roman Bath represents a forgotten page in Painshill’s history – a charming relic of Grand Tours and 18th century fascination with the ancient world. A little patch of Rome right here in Surrey.

The Roman Bath pictured in 1937 beneath the Great Cedar Tree.

THE MYSTERY OF THE ROMAN ALTAR

Posted on | by Georgia Wilkinson

By Georgia Wilkinson

Narrated by Nicola Barranger

Painshill has a 2,000-year-old secret… Discover the lost altar and the mysterious young woman whose ashes it held.

Translation of inscription by Dr Susan Walker: “Vesonia Procula, Daughter Of Cnaeus, A Citizen Of Iesso in Nearer Spain, Aged 23, Lies Here. Julius Natalis (Set This Up) To His Most Excellent And Deserving Wife.”

Like many young men of the 18th century, Charles Hamilton embarked on Grand Tours across Europe. On his travels, he became captivated by Rome and purchased a collection of artefacts from ancient sites. Today, this practice would be considered heinous by archaeologists and historians, but at the time it was commonplace for wealthy gentlemen to acquire relics and ship them back to England. This would have been at considerable cost, as many such items were heavy and unwieldy. Indeed, some of the ‘artefacts’ would even have been fakes, created and sold by locals to capitalise on foreign fascination with classical antiquity.

When he was in his twenties, Hamilton acquired a beautiful altar during one of his Grand Tours. He would have taken it from Rome in either 1725 or 1732 and when he purchased Painshill, he brought it with him to sit beneath the Ruined Roman Arch. It appears there, on the western side of the lake, in contemporary 18th century paintings. The Arch was likely constructed by Hamilton in the 1750s and was inspired by the architecture he admired during his travels. Perhaps in placing the altar beneath it he hoped to add a degree of authenticity to his modern ruin.

The Roman Altar depicted on the Great Lawn next to a statue of the Abduction of a Sabine Woman. ‘Altar and Cork Tree‘ sketched in 1950 by Sir William Russell Flint.

THE MYSTERY OF THE LOST ALTAR

Sir William Russell Flint sketched Painshill in 1950, not long after World War II. From his drawings, we can see that by the mid-20th century, the altar had been moved to the Great Lawn and positioned not far from a statue portraying the Abduction of a Sabine Woman. This is the last depiction available of the Roman Altar within the bounds of Painshill. For decades, this ancient relic became lost and the park fell to utter ruin.

In the 1980s, as archaeologists began putting Painshill back together, one piece of the puzzle was notably missing: The Roman Altar. It wasn’t beneath the Ruined Roman Arch nor on the Great Lawn. And despite considerable efforts to manicure the grounds, it remained lost. Had the altar been stolen? Destroyed? Or totally lost as nature engulfed Hamilton’s landscape?

Around the same time, Painshill House, built by Benjamin Bond Hopkins (the park’s second owner), was being converted into six luxurious flats. This building was no longer within the borders of the park and its secrets remained beyond the reach of the archaeologists.

Decades later, in 2018, when the Roman Altar was all but forgotten, a gentleman approached staff at Painshill with some exciting news. He was a resident of Painshill House and he had a rather interesting garden decoration that had been situated on the property for many years. Inspection of the piece revealed it to be the lost altar, and, in an exciting twist of fate, it was found to be a genuine Ancient Roman artefact. Based on similar artefacts, the British Museum have dated it to the reign of Emperor Trajan who ruled between 98 CE – 117 CE. This suggests that the altar is almost 2,000 years old, making it Painshill’s oldest artefact. After inspection, the altar was returned to Painshill where it could undergo research and conservation and eventually be put on display for the public to enjoy.

The Roman Altar photographed in the garden of Painshill House.

THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF VESONIA PROCULA

Recovery of the altar allowed City & Guilds of London Art School student Gabrielle Nohr to carry out conservation efforts, which were completed in 2025. Her research helped contextualise and uncover the secrets of the lost altar. The altar is made of white marble and at one time it would have held the cinerary urn of the deceased. The central Latin inscription reveals that this altar belonged to a young woman. It would have been a place to keep her ashes secure after cremation and allowed her loved ones to honour her with offerings. Sculpted into the exterior are stunning motifs invoking imagery of the natural world. An imperial eagle, ram heads, swans, garlands and more.

This particular altar was for a young woman named Vesonia Procula. She died at 23 years old and the altar was commissioned by her husband, Julius Natalis. We know very little about her short life. Her father is cited to be a man called Cnaeus who heralded from Iesso, Spain, which is located near modern-day Barcelona. Vesonia is described by her husband as his “most excellent and deserving wife.” This kind of language was commonly used to describe the deceased in Ancient Rome but the endearment does imply affection between Julius and Vesonia. The tragedy of her untimely death remains a mystery. It is possible that Vesonia died during labour (her age would place her within prime childbearing years), perhaps she fell ill, or maybe she endured a tragic accident.

The circumstances of her death will likely remain one of Painshill’s unsolved mysteries but hopefully, when her funerary altar is rehoused, sheltered from the elements in Painshill’s Visitor Hub, Vesonia’s story will be appreciated for years to come. The funerary altar of this young woman has absolutely served its purpose over its 2,000-year lifespan. It has accounted Vesonia’s journey from Iesso, to Rome, and eventually to Painshill and cemented her legacy for many years to come.

Visitors admiring the Roman Altar beneath the Ruined Roman Arch in Painshill Park. Painting attributed to William Hannan, 1770.