Genealogy of the Olmsted family in America : embracing the ...

EXTRACT FROM A DESCRIPTION OF A
VISIT TO OLMSTED HALL
Addressed to Mrs. Jacob Whittlesey Olmsted, of Le Roy, N. Y., by
Marguerite Feddon, Dated London, Oct. 11, 1904
Dearest Mrs. Olmsted,
—
When you left England last April, I registered a silent vow that I would,
if I lived, go and see Olmsted Hall for you and send you a description of it,
and, if possible, get it sketched or photographed. Of course, it would have
been much nicer for you and Mr. Olmsted to do it all yourselves, but my going
was the next best thing; besides, later on you may visit this country, and be
able then to carry through the expedition.
I had some correspondence with the Rev. E. L. Pearson, rector of Castle
Camps, Cambridgeshire, in which parish Olmsted Hall partly is, and he wrote
helpfully, telling me how to come and to whom to write for permission to view
and sketch the place, etc., etc.
Well, the excursion could not be carried through until the Autumn, so on
Saturday, Oct. 9th, 1904, a friend and I met at Liverpool St. station, and started
by the 10 A.M. train for Haverhill (pronounced Haav'rill), Suffolk, armed with
sketching materials, camera, a basket of provisions, and our things for the
night. We left the C. E. R. at Chapel, and traveled by the Colne Valley Line.
The outlook from the carriage windows was glorious, lovely undulating
country, hills, huge sloping fields, green and brown, lovely hedgerows just
turning to yellow and red, and the sky, wind-swept and blue with great masses
of white cloud floating along. We passed by Castle Hedingham, a fine old
grim tower, and were told the Majendies lived there.
When we arrived at Haverhill we decided to first look for our lodging for
the night. The wrinkled old station-master not proving very helpful, we went
to look for Mr. Moss, who had been recommended to us as an old established
photographer. We thought that at least he would be able to tell us of clean
and respectable rooms. When we asked a butcher of his whereabouts, he
facetiously answered, " Maldon in Essex, Miss," enjoying our discomfiture
tremendously, with his eyes twinkling. Nothing daunted, we asked for his
successor, and were directed to a neat studio, where the dapper little man behind
the counter expatiated on his comfort at Mrs. Page's in Mount Road, on his
first arrival in the place. We accordingly set forth for Mount Road, not having
the remotest idea of the number. After asking the way of divers persons,
we found ourselves in a long street of tiny red brick houses of the villa type,
but opening immediately on the pavement. We were watched with great
interest, and heard tfie remark whispered, " They be no 'Averillites." Half
way down the street we inquired for Mrs. Page, and were told that it was the
house with a door knocker ! This angered respectability, and so did the clean
windows and the pots of plants in the bow. On opening the door Mrs. Page
looked rather forbidding. Oh no ! She didn't take in people for one night;
she was afraid of theatrical persons (I think a brilliant scarlet ruching on my
hat intimidated her), but Mr. Pearson's name acted like magic. When
I most irrelevantly remarked we were lunching there the next day, we were
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