Folly
Clytha Castle is a crenellated stone folly with gothic windows set on a rounded hill, amid chestnut groves, overlooking Clytha Park and the River Usk. It was built in 1790 by William Jones of Clytha Park in memory of his wife who had recently died. William Jones engaged John Davenport as the architect to realise his ardent wish for a folly built "for the purpose of relieving a mind sincerely afflicted by the loss of a most excellent wife". A tablet set into the walls of the folly records this dedication. A, perhaps more cynical, contemporary observer noted that Jones's wife was "the female heir of the House of Tredegar, who bestowed on the proprietor a splendid fortune."
William Jones in his bereavement wanted a beautiful monument, a sanctuary and a retreat. Built of rendered rubble stone with Bath stone dressing it is one of the finest 18th century Welsh follies. The plan is "L" shaped, with a square, two-storyed central block, with screen walls and drum towers to either side. It is exquisitely proportioned with picturesque asymmetry and located in a landscape that balances the building and complements it. "Everything is big and simple, to (be) read from a distance." The round tower is roofless and was designed as a shell in order to add symmetry to the facade.
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Famous quotes containing the word folly:
“He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“She had no longer any relish for her once favorite amusement of reading. And mostly she disliked those authors who have penetrated deeply into the intricate paths of vanity in the human mind, for in them her own folly was continually brought to her remembrance and presented to her view.”
—Sarah Fielding (1710–1768)
“One would always want to think of oneself as being on the side of love, ready to recognize it and wish it well—but, when confronted with it in others, one so often resented it, questioned its true nature, secretly dismissed the particular instance as folly or promiscuity. Was it merely jealousy, or a reluctance to admit so noble and enviable a sentiment in anyone but oneself?”
—Shirley Hazzard (b. 1931)