A maximalist Christmas at Sean Pritchard's 17th-century Somerset cottage
'I hate the thought of a house that stands still, where something is put down and daren’t ever move again,' says Sean Pritchard of his higgledy-piggledy Somerset cottage. Things have a 'frenzied energy' here: pictures hang wonkily, half read books lie scattered, and cut flowers are merrily dashed along every available surface. 'I’m not bothered about anything being too manicured or designed,' he continues. 'I like the feel of this cottage, where things are jostling for space and it’s all a bit chaotic.'
It was around six years ago, after touring several properties, that Sean and his partner Dan stumbled across the cottage. Dan had grown up visiting family in Somerset and Sean was hankering after a garden he could make his own, so a cottage in the Mendip Hills felt like a natural homecoming for the pair. Although the cottage was the smallest of the houses they saw - and the one that needed the most work done to it - it was the 'old cliché of love at first sight' for Sean. It captured his imagination in a way the other properties had not.
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'What attracted us to the Mendip Hills was that it’s a real, rural, working area. It’s not a chocolate box part of the country,' explains Sean. In part, it was the working history of the house that sealed the deal. As the pair walked around the cottage, the property agent explained that it had originally been intended as a basic labourer's dwelling. 'It was just one room downstairs for the animals to go when it was too cold outside, and a bedroom upstairs for a farmhand to sleep in.' In the eighteenth century, it was extended to include a second room downstairs (now a cosy library-cum-study) and another room upstairs. 'By the turn of the century, the house was in its final form, extended outwards again to accommodate a kitchen and bringing in the well that was originally outside.' Thanks to the well, the cottage became the village dairy for a while, operating in service of the locals.
Despite its charming history, Sean had to work to uncover much of the house's original glory. 'It had recently been bought by a proxy-developer,' he notes, 'who had bought it to do up and sell on. There were all these small (and not so small) details that you could tell had been added in and were completely unnecessary.' New flooring had been put down, old panelling had been covered up, and someone had attempted to fill in the old inglenook fireplace. Yet Sean could see what needed to be done. 'Nothing had been irrevocably taken away. It just needed to be unearthed again.' Fairly quickly, the house 'revealed itself' to them.
Just as the bones of the house informed Sean's decoration, the garden's aspect informed his planting. A challenging site, the triangular plot is sandwiched between two lanes that run either side of it and dominated by two trees that 'throw it into huge shade at different points of the day.' The only plants that thrive and survive are 'boggy, marginal' ones because of the ditch that stretches the length of the garden. 'It took a while to understand what parts get sun or shade because there are so many different things happening at once,' says Sean. Beyond that, his philosophy with the garden is to have it as undone as possible. 'People are often surprised that there’s very little design to the garden given my job, but I just fill it with my favourite plants. It's just two huge beds on either side that come alive with all my favourite bits. It really is a cottage garden in that respect.'
Sean's bohemian approach to the decoration of his house is reminiscent of the Bloomsbury group's homes, as well as gardens like Great Dixter. It's no coincidence he cites both as sources of inspiration. These are places where things were 'allowed to sprawl and creep', moving on their own with a sense of magic. 'Once we finally bought this cottage I felt a real excitement,' says Sean. 'I could try and create some of that magic myself.'
There's a spirituality to this ethos that spills out beyond the cottage and into the village. For Sean, Christmas presents a particularly good chance to engage with local folk traditions. 'A midwinter ritual in this part of Somerset is to wassail,' he notes. 'All these streamers and ribbons that you see strung up in the cottage go on to decorate the apples trees and orchards to encourage a strong harvest.' It's a Twelfth Night tradition that often involves singing, dancing and festive merriment, as well as feeding the trees a slice of toast.
'In anything that I’ve done in the house over the last six years, even if it’s been painting a wall or putting the Christmas decorations up, it’s always in the back of my mind that I’m giving the house a hug,' says Sean. ‘I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s like we’re guardians of it.’