Before unfortunate children were packed off to horrible boarding schools they were educated at home by governess’ and tutors. In our day this room was simply a delightfully sunny nursery, with the wonderful views of the lake.
Breakfast would arrive while dogs barked, nannies bustled and jackdaws cawed in the chimney. Only at lunchtime were we allowed the sacred precincts of the dining room, where we were always being told off for drowning the grownups' conversation.
We had a wonderful old rocking horse on which three children could `see-saw', and a dolls house made by Hurst, the estate carpenter. Priceless Victorian toys in varying states of disrepair abounded. Even a real steam engine. I remember a talking picture book where you pulled a string and an appropriate animal answered. There was a large model golf course, with tees and bunkers, which you could arrange all around the floor. It was played by tiny mechanical men who could even change their clubs for different shots. Some of our more cuddly toys are still here. They'd appreciate a kind word.
From a huge collection of "Meccano" (that most wonderful of toys), we’d construct engineering improbabilities, and when no one was looking, we'd slip out to hold toboggan races down the main stairs, on tea trays, or vanish into the vast dark attics, or climb on the roof, or make the old hand-operated lift race down its shaft by cramming as many people as possible into it, after we'd disconnected the speed control.
Most scary of all were our attempts to walk around the narrow ledge above the main staircase without breaking our necks. Little grubby hand marks can still be seen on the pillars. All strictly forbidden.
On wet days the Schoolroom would be headquarters for games of "Sardines", in which one person was chosen to hide, and the searchers would join him or her in their place of hiding. Dark cellars, haunted basements, and unlikely spaces between floors were most popular.
When Sammy announced her intention to convert the Schoolroom, her father jokingly suggested she turn the dollhouse into a loo. She not only did so; she added a bath and wash basin as well. Here Monica McNally is responsible for the brilliant painting and artwork, and for the illustrated alphabet on the walls.
Just outside the Schoolroom can be seen a single bell. This was a bright idea by the architect who realised the dinner gong would not be heard at this height, and certainly not above the uproar of children. This bell would tinkle a kind welcome for lunch. But furiously when our noise proved disturbing, or otherwise incommoded our elders and betters below. The bell still works. Jack (now Sir John) kept a pet hen called "Hotwaterbottle" and tried to teach it to fly by launching the unfortunate bird from the window. Thoughtfully he provided a pile of straw for crash landings. He also kept pet bats and an owl, which terrified the maids bringing up meals.
The first Leslie children to use the Schoolroom can be seen today as the little carved heads over the pink stone arches of the entrance porch. They are John (the second Sir John), Theodosia, the family beauty, Mary, the family saint, Constance who disapproved of most things, and the little red -haired Olive, who approved of almost everything, and had an endless repertoire of scandals and funny stories.
The next generation to enjoy this sunny room, were Shane, Norman, Seymour and Lionel. Then came Anita, Jack and Desmond. Finally, it belonged to Sean, Mark, Antonia, Sammy and Camilla, and their cousins Tarka and Leonie. The pictures now in the Schoolroom are of Sean Leslie (Sammy's elder brother), Antonia (her elder sister), and her mother Helen.
This bright and cheery room has been the happy headquarters for three generations of Leslie children.
Sleep well!