Jane Austen's Home in the English village of Chawton

Jane Odiwe at Jane Austen's House Museum

I love visiting the Jane Austen House Museum and a recent summer trip was a wonderful opportunity to take photos of the house and other houses in the village of Chawton which are quintessentially English with roses blooming round the doors and windows and gardens stocked with cottage garden flowers. Chawton is a small village about a mile southwest of the town of Alton on the road to Winchester. I was visiting as part of Jane Austen Regency Week which is a fairly new festival celebrating Jane’s life and work. The festival is growing year on year with workshops and talks, and even a ball!   

Jane Austen came to live at the cottage in Chawton in July1809. It belonged to her brother Edward who lived up at the ‘big house’ further along the road. Chawton House is now a library which focuses on women’s writing, novels written from 1600 - 1830, but in Jane’s day it was home to Edward and his large family. 

View of roses and garden at Chawton

When theAustens moved there, Edward’s wife had recently died giving birth to their eleventh child, and I can’t help thinking that Edward must have thought it would be beneficial to have his family living close by.

Chawton cottage had been a coaching inn, and had formerly been tenanted by Edward’s steward before the Austen women moved in. A large pond was set in the angle between the roads along which rattled carriages off to Gosport, Southampton, Winchester and London. One of Jane’s nieces later remembered how comforting it was ‘to have the awful stillness of night frequently broken by the sound of many passing carriages, which seemed sometimes even to shake the bed’, and even Mrs Austen was said to have enjoyed watching the passing traffic.

The Bookcase

Some alterations were made before they moved in; both sitting-room windows looked out onto the road and the drawing room window was blocked up and the space filled by a bookcase. A new, Gothic window was cut into the wall which looked out over greenery and trees hiding the Winchester road. The garden is not as large as it was in Jane’s day, but is wonderfully stocked with the kinds of plants that Jane Austen would have known. One of the trustees told me that they are soon to be launching a new Jane Austen rose with Harkness roses - he wouldn’t go into any details because it’s a big secret yet to be revealed, but I got the impression it will be a strong colour to match the temperament of our famous writer.

Jane was looking forward to being settled at Chawton and having her brother Henry come to them for some shooting. She wanted to buy a piano ‘ … as good a one as can be got for thirty guineas, and I will practise country dances, that we may have some amusement for our nephews and nieces, when we have the pleasure of their company.’

A glimpse into the living/dining parlour

Jane is thought to have revised her novels in the general living/dining room, writing on small pieces of paper which were folded and attached to make small booklets. She is said to have insisted on keeping the creaky door unoiled so that she would have some warning of people coming in, so she could slip her writing out of sight under her blotting paper, thus keeping her work a secret from strangers.

She was in charge of ordering tea and sugar, and it was her responsibility to make breakfast though Jane is said to have started the day by practising on her piano so as not to disturb the others later on. 

The fireplace where Jane made tea

The kettle was warmed on the grate hob to make tea in the morning. Popular breakfast treats included bread rolls, toast, with preserves and marmalade, or ham and eggs. Tea, coffee or hot chocolate might be drunk, and gentlemen might take some ale. When staying at Stoneleigh Abbey, Mrs Austen wrote of a grand breakfast, though it
seems she declined the luxury treats of cake: At nine in the morning we meet and say our prayers in a handsome chapel, the pulpit &c now hung with black. Then follows breakfast, consisting of chocolate coffee and tea, plumb cake, pound cake, hot rolls cold rolls, bread and butter and dry toast for me.  

In my book, Mr Darcy’s Christmas Calendar, I had a lot of fun trying to imagine the scene where my heroine Lizzy walks into the dining room just after Jane has left it:

Jane's writing desk

Cautiously advancing inside, she found a cheerful parlour and the delicious aroma of hot, buttered toast. A dining table and chairs occupied the centre space upon which a pot of honey, a blue and white plate bearing a few breadcrumbs with a sticky knife, and the scatterings of pretty china, consisting of a flowered teapot, a sugar box and a milk jug, were the remnants of what appeared to be a breakfast meal. A kettle hissed and steamed on a trivet over the roaring fire in the grate and on either side of the fireplace, a cupboard and a cabinet held a variety of precious treasures: miniature portraits of loved ones, beautiful teabowls, and a box of candles. Every picture was decorated with a glossy sprig of holly, and a swag of the same, entwined

A view from the attics

with ivy, was held in place on the mantle with scarlet ribbons. Set before the window a small tripod table and writing desk were placed. Lizzy was drawn to it by the sight of several leaves of paper, a bottle of ink and a quill pen, but as she approached she saw that the even handwriting in brown ink was partially hidden by a plain sheet, which had been placed on top.

Jane’s bedroom was on the left at the top of the stairs and it’s thought that she and her sister Cassandra possibly shared the room.

In another scene from my novella Lizzy has the chance to see Jane’s room. This is a timeslip novel and Lizzy isn’t quite sure exactly what is happening.

A replica of Jane's original bed 

Lizzy looked about her now she was alone. It was a very cosy room, she saw, with a chocolate rug on the floor and striped wallpaper on the walls. A jug of holly and ivy on the windowsill before the casement gave it a festive air, the scarlet berries glistening in the candlelight. The oval looking glass above the fireplace reflected her face, pale and slightly anxious, but she was comforted by the sounds of a clock ticking and wood crackling on the fire as it burned. There were bookshelves, and Lizzy couldn’t help picking up a copy of a volume of Camilla by Fanny Burney. She’d read once that she was one of Jane’s favourite authors - what a lot of trouble the curators of the house had made to get all the details right, she thought. There were all sorts of personal objects left lying around - a pair of spectacles, a thimble and a needlecase were left neatly on the mantelshelf at one side and an ebony hand mirror, a patch box and a bottle of lavender water were arranged on the other. Two pretty reticules dangled from a wooden chair by the fire, and a piece of lace was folded over the top. On a handsome tambour desk, two Tunbridge workboxes sat on top in pride of place. The lid of the desk was rolled back and Lizzy could see the contents inside. There was a pile of music, each carefully transcribed note beautifully sketched upon fine lines, and there were several songs, she noted: The Soldier’s Adieu, Robin Adair, and The Yellow Hair’d Laddie, looked well-thumbed and were covered in personal notes and alterations. A sheaf of paper in the middle of the desk looked like a manuscript file and there was a bottle of ink and a well-used pen, its feathers short and stubby. Drawn to the writing like a magnet, Lizzy tried very hard not to look and for at least a minute, she avoided reading the top page. However,
like a heroine in a novel, the temptation proved too much. What she read really surprised her!

A view over the garden wall

 I imagine Jane spent her mornings writing when she wasn’t required to help. Sewing or ‘work’ took up a lot of time in those days, and although they had some servants to help them, they were a small household. In the afternoons she and Cassandra would go on a walk, into Alton for shopping, to visit their neighbours or just to enjoy the countryside, weather permitting.

Jane first took out her novel, Elinor and Marianne, and began to revise it. Her brother Henry persuaded her to publish it and placed it with Thomas Egerton. She paid for its publication and was so convinced it would make a loss she planned her accounts in anticipation. To her great surprise she made a profit of £140. After that success she took down First Impressions, which was published as perhaps the most favourite of all her books, Pride and Prejudice, which was published in January 1813. The other novels followed soon after, and I can’t help thinking that at Chawton Jane must have been the happiest time of her life. She was inspired to write some of the most beloved works of fiction in this small corner of England.

Jane Odiwe

John Clare's Poem December - Jane Odiwe

This is one of my favourite Christmas poems - I hope you enjoy it!

December - from The Shepherd’s Calendar - John Clare 1793-1864

GLAD Christmas comes, and every hearth

Makes room to give him welcome now,

E’en want will dry its tears in mirth,

And crown him with a holly bough;

Though tramping ’neath a winter sky,

O’er snowy paths and rimy stiles,

The housewife sets her spinning by

 To bid him welcome with her smiles.

Each house is swept the day before,

And windows stuck with ever-greens,                                   

The snow is besom’d from the door,

   And comfort crowns the cottage scenes.

Gilt holly, with its thorny pricks,

And yew and box, with berries small,

These deck the unused candlesticks,

And pictures hanging by the wall.

Neighbours resume their annual cheer,

Wishing, with smiles and spirits high,

Glad Christmas and a happy year,

To every morning passer-by;                                                 

Milkmaids their Christmas journeys go,

Accompanied with favour’d swain;

And children pace the crumping snow,

To taste their granny’s cake again.

The shepherd, now no more afraid,

Since custom doth the chance bestow,

Starts up to kiss the giggling maid

Beneath the branch of misletoe

That ’neath each cottage beam is seen,

With pearl-like berries shining gay;                                       

The shadow still of what hath been,          

Which fashion yearly fades away.

The singing wates, a merry throng,

At early morn, with simple skill,

Yet imitate the angels song,

 And chant their Christmas ditty still;

And, ’mid the storm that dies and swells

By fits—in hummings softly steals

The music of the village bells,

Ringing round their merry peals.                                            

When this is past, a merry crew,

Bedeck’d in masks and ribbons gay,

The “Morris-dance,” their sports renew,

And act their winter evening play.

The clown turn’d king, for penny-praise,

Storms with the actor’s strut and swell;

And Harlequin, a laugh to raise,

Wears his hunch-back and tinkling bell.

And oft for pence and spicy ale,

 With winter nosegays pinn’d before,

The wassail-singer tells her tale,            

And drawls her Christmas carols o’er.

While ’prentice boy, with ruddy face,

 And rime-bepowder’d, dancing locks,

From door to door with happy pace,

 Runs round to claim his “Christmas box.”

The block upon the fire is put,

 To sanction custom’s old desires;

And many a fagot's bands are cut,

 For the old farmers’ Christmas fires;                                      

Where loud-tongued Gladness joins the throng,

 And Winter meets the warmth of May,

Till feeling soon the heat too strong,

 He rubs his shins, and draws away.

While snows the window-panes bedim,

 The fire curls up a sunny charm,

Where, creaming o’er the pitcher’s rim,

 The flowering ale is set to warm;

Mirth, full of joy as summer bees,

 Sits there, its pleasures to impart,                                          

And children, ’tween their parent’s knees,           

Sing scraps of carols o’er by heart.

And some, to view the winter weathers,

Climb up the window-seat with glee,

Likening the snow to falling feathers,

 In Fancy’s infant ecstasy;

Laughing, with superstitious love,

O’er visions wild that youth supplies,

Of people pulling geese above,

 And keeping Christmas in the skies.                                       

As tho’ the homestead trees were drest,

 In lieu of snow, with dancing leaves;

As tho’ the sun-dried martin’s nest,

 Instead of i’cles hung the eaves;

The children hail the happy day—

 As if the snow were April’s grass,

And pleas’d, as ’neath the warmth of May,

 Sport o’er the water froze to glass.

Thou day of happy sound and mirth,

 That long with childish memory stays,                                    

How blest around the cottage hearth            

I met thee in my younger days!

Harping, with rapture’s dreaming joys,

On presents which thy coming found,

The welcome sight of little toys,

 The Christmas gift of cousins round.

The wooden horse with arching head,

 Drawn upon wheels around the room;

The gilded coach of gingerbread,

 And many-colour’d sugar plum;                                            

Gilt cover’d books for pictures sought,

 Or stories childhood loves to tell,

With many an urgent promise bought,

 To get to-morrow’s lesson well.

And many a thing, a minute’s sport,

 Left broken on the sanded floor,

When we would leave our play, and court

 Our parents’ promises for more.

Tho’ manhood bids such raptures die,

 And throws such toys aside as vain,                                      

Yet memory loves to turn her eye,            

And count past pleasures o’er again.

Around the glowing hearth at night,

 The harmless laugh and winter tale

Go round, while parting friends delight

 To toast each other o’er their ale;

The cotter oft with quiet zeal

 Will musing o’er his Bible lean;

While in the dark the lovers steal

   To kiss and toy behind the screen.                                         

Old customs! Oh! I love the sound,

 However simple they may be:

Whate’er with time hath sanction found,

 Is welcome, and is dear to me.

Pride grows above simplicity,

 And spurns them from her haughty mind,

And soon the poet’s song will be            

The only refuge they can find.

I hope that's got you all in the Christmas spirit! Here's a link to the John Clare Society who are celebrating the 150th anniversary of his death this year.
Illustrations by Jane Odiwe, Hugh Thomson, and Arthur A. Dixon

Jane Odiwe - Mr Darcy's Christmas Calendar - November 2014

Mr Darcy's Christmas Calendar

I've had such a lot of fun writing my Christmas novella, Mr Darcy's Christmas Calendar. I love Advent calendars, and have collected them since I was a little girl, and still get excited choosing one for Christmas. I especially love the traditional ones with pictures behind the doors and windows, though I quite like a chocolate one too!
It was the German calendars I really loved when I was young, which depicted snowy villages, glittering with other tantalising  worlds behind the doors, giving glimpses into the houses of girls and boys who lived a different life to me that made them so special.
Thinking about the magic those pictures in the traditional calendars used to create as a child, gave me the idea to combine some of my favourite loves - Jane Austen, Christmas, Advent calendars, magic, time travel, and Pride and Prejudice. It's as close as I'll ever get to writing a romantic Christmas fantasy! If you'd like to read Chapter One please click here.

Lizzy Benson visits Jane Austen’s house in Chawton, and buys a special advent calendar in the gift shop, but strange things start to happen when she opens up the first door and finds herself back in time with all the beloved characters from her favourite book, Pride and Prejudice. As she finds herself increasingly drawn into an alternate reality, Lizzy discovers not only is Mr Darcy missing from the plot, but also that Jane Austen has never heard of him. All Lizzy can hope is that she can help to get the story and her own complicated love life back on track before Christmas is over, and bring everything to a happy resolution in Jane Austen's imaginary world!

It's a variation on Jane Austen's book, Pride and Prejudice, in which she stars herself, and there is a chapter for every day of the Advent season. It's been lovely to indulge in the impossible, mixing up all my favourite things about Jane Austen, Christmas and time travel.
I've had a lovely time creating a pinterest page for this book - it's a great way of 'getting in the mood' or for inspiration if you're writing, though it's highly addictive once you start!

I've made a book trailer using the templates on Animoto - there always seems to be one which just fits the theme of my book, and as there is a beautiful magical snow globe in my book, I thought this was very appropriate. You can see it here - I hope you enjoy it!

Finally, I had great fun creating a chocolate Advent Calendar on Snapajack  - the picture shows the design for front and back - you can use your own pictures to create an individual, personalised calendar - I've made a couple for prizes to be given away on release day - November 4th, on Austen Variations. I hope you'll join me!