Anne Boleyn's Ghost (2 page)

After waiting ten minutes or so in the long queue, which appeared to have been caused by a woman who was arguing with the cashier, because her card wasn’t being read by the machine, I bought two rolls of film, loaded one of them into my camera and met up with the others, who had made good use of the time and were now carrying several bags full of souvenirs.

Next, we all headed to the café, situated near the lake, for lunch. The sunshine was short lived: rain began to fall lightly and thick grey clouds once again blanketed the sky. As we made our way towards the café I began to take photos of the gardens and sculptures
–
taking care not to get my camera wet, and routinely wiping the lens with the sleeve of my shirt at each tiny spec of rain that fell upon it.

We stopped by the Loggia Fountain, where a reenactment of a Tudor scene was taking place. The men and women dressed in colourful clothing and sitting around a table playing a game of cards in the portico. A handful of rowboats were out on the lake, and almost everybody had their umbrellas open, though the rain was
especially light. I took some photos of the fountain
–
its cherubs pouring and whistling water forth
–
and the lake, before carrying on with the others to the café.

Once there, we sat outside in the drizzle while we had some tea and cake. Fifteen minutes or so later, we left our table and began walking back towards the castle, all of us now much looking forward to seeing its quirky old rooms, and for one hour
almost
traveling back in time to the sixteenth century.

I took a few more photographs of a pair of empty rowboats that drifted idly under a willow tree in shallow water, and some of the castle as we arrived outside its enchanted walls. The clouds had almost entirely vanished since our short walk back from the cafe, revealing a baby-blue sky; and occasional, blustery gusts of wind gave this seemingly picturesque view a touch of electricity. Families were making their way over the old wooden drawbridge and enjoying the sun outside the castle’s walls, when my first roll of film began to wind itself up inside my camera of its own accord, and I sat on a nearby bench as I removed it and loaded a second roll of film in its place.

And with my camera ready to go, I was eager to capture the castle itself.

We passed over the drawbridge, through the grand gatehouse arch and into the small, enclosed courtyard. Wind was rendered non-existent by the castle’s high encompassing walls, and the blue sky floated airily above the courtyard as the sun’s inviting light lit up the Tudor manor.

The Drawbridge, Hever Castle

I approached the front-door, reached for the handle and pulled, but the door would not open. We glanced at the timetable, and, checking the time, realized we had arrived one minute late
–
we had arrived at 4:01 and the doors were closed at 4:00.

A glum felling overcame us all. Not knowing what to do, we looked at each other a shade disheartened, almost sure we would have to head back home without going inside the castle.

But having
just
missed the closing time, we endeavored to enter. The door behind us seemed to be a part of the gatehouse and was wide open with an
exit
sign beside it. So without further delay, we all went inside and climbed the stone spiral staircase, hoping to find someone who could help us once we had reached the first floor.

Mildly surprising members of staff as we entered the dimly lit room, we asked if we could be let in, having been a minute late, and were told to knock on the front-door and ask for a certain member of staff, who would let us in.

Having gone back down the same spiral staircase, with its sharp twist and exceptionally narrow walls, we approached the front-door once again, hoping, this time, we would contrive to enter. The courtyard was now completely empty and had become a pale-grey hue from the prevailing cloud cover (which had reappeared as quickly as it went, as if time itself was jumping in leaps and bounds). And there we stood, in the grand and quiet courtyard, wondering who
would go up and knock on the castle’s ancient front-door.

The Tudor Manor, Hever Castle

Complete silence fell upon us, caused by an underlying and inexplicable apprehensiveness of this one simple task. It was almost as if a veil had been lifted from the castle; the walls appeared oddly larger than they were only minutes before, and it felt like we had suddenly found ourselves anxious guests, patiently waiting to be let into a home of
royalty
…
  

My mother went up and knocked on the door with four, consecutive, timely knocks that echoed eerily in the empty courtyard.

After a minute or so the dark oak door slowly opened, revealing a petite young woman behind it.

‘We were told to ask for
Anne
?’ And just like saying the magic words, we were soon crossing the threshold into the castle.

As I approached the doorway, I couldn’t help but notice how dark it seemed inside. Tilting my head as I entered to avoid hitting the door’s frame (people in the sixteenth century were on average a foot shorter than the people of today), we were all now happily inside, and it appeared that we were the only visitors left inside the castle. I turned towards the part of the room that was better lit by the windows as my eyes adjusted to the room’s thin light. Looking around to see if anyone apart from ourselves was inside the castle, the only thing that indicated we weren’t alone was the faint creaking of floorboards as people shuffled along on the floor directly above.

The door closed behind us; the latch fell quietly into place. I looked back, unaware that the lady who had let us in was still standing nearby; and by the time I had turned round again, the others had moved through the ground floor so quickly, they were almost completely out of sight. Their footsteps hadn’t made a sound.
Why are they in such a rush?
I thought.

As I watched them from where I stood, rooted, I thought about catching up with them, so I wouldn’t fall behind; but then I was determined to take my time, and felt a little perplexed as to their quickness. So I decided to have a little look around, and catch up with the others once I had.

It was a fairly large room and the windows were all to one side. Nothing in particular caught my eye, so I didn’t dawdle. I was now completely alone and felt quite at home strolling along as I got a feel for what it might have been like to have actually lived here. Never had I walked through these rooms, so steeped in history, by myself. And for the very first time I began to see Hever Castle, not as a museum holding relics of an age that had long since gone by, but as a home.

I turned a corner that led into the living-room, at the centre of which stood a grand fireplace; and, a little further on, as I approached the staircase, the room was almost
asking
me to capture it, being free from the daily brushes of tourists and workers. I looked back towards the staircase, to see if the others were still nearby, and caught a brief glimpse of someone as they turned a corner up the short flight of stairs. Realizing I wasn’t too far behind, I began to get my camera ready.

I placed my camera bag on the floor, and was just about to open it, when the metal-base of the lamp directly to my right began
shifting
subtly, from side to side, and appeared to vibrate
like strings on a musical instrument …

I wanted to photograph the focal points of the room, being the fireplace, furniture, and paintings on the walls. I switched my camera on, set it to
auto
, peered through the viewfinder and got the room into frame. I pressed the shutter release halfway down, when the flash flipped up as I took the first shot: the flash pulsing continuously like a strobe as the room seemed to starve itself of light. And, outside the corner of my eye, shadowy, uneven light was falling throughout the room, as if invisible clouds lurked within …

Immediately after the first shot I turned the camera ninety degrees clockwise and took a second; this time, however, the flash did not go off: the room hadn’t darkened.

With two photographs taken, I felt content with what I had captured, as there wasn’t much else to see of this room.

I placed the camera back in its black-leather bag.

I stood up and turned, once again, to face the staircase, and was ready to leave, when a very faint, elongated ray of white light drifted past in a slow, subtle,
snake-like
fashion through mid-air towards the stairs
,
where it faded into thin air …

Anne Boleyn’s Bedchamber, Hever Castle

Having ascended the staircase, I arrived on the first floor and walked directly into the bedchamber that had once belonged to the famous
Anne Boleyn
, where I was pleased to find the others contently looking round and hadn’t gone on too far ahead without me. The original furniture and artwork, as well as the smallness of such a private space, gave the room an intimate and rather heavy feel.

After ten minutes, we were all just about to move on to the next room, when I asked my everyone to bear in mind I was taking photographs inside the castle and wanted to capture the rooms unobstructed and as they were. With this request being taken onboard by them, I was capturing the upstairs rooms in the same manner as I had done in the living-room on the ground floor: empty apart from the furnishings.

I got my camera out and looked around for the focal points of the room. I peered through the viewfinder and got the room into frame, and took the first of three shots. Each time I released the shutter my body became statue-like, as if I was not only freezing time through my photographs, but as if I, myself, had been frozen in time in the process.

Having taken the three shots, the only difference this time was how well lit the room was by the bay window, so my camera’s flash hadn’t gone off.

As we walked out I placed my hand on the intricate wooden bed-head as I went, for good luck.