Penkill Castle

How to Tour Penkill Castle in No Easy Steps, Part 2

(See previous image for Part 1)

 

In the last exciting episode of How to Tour Penkill Castle in No Easy Steps, I had just completed what few photographic compositions from up the lane that Penkill Castle would avail. Walking back in total revery of the liquid sunshine of Ayrshire that imbued me, the first thing I noticed was that my bride was missing! See what I did there? The joy of revery receding to panic in the span of one sentence… except there was neither “revery” nor “panic” in that moment. I was drenched to my drawers and Joyce has a way of turning up missing a lot. Walking together once at a nearby Tanger Outlet Mall, deep in conversation, she did not respond to a query. I turned to her and repeated the question… but it wasn’t her. Another woman looked at me with the aforementioned panic. I apparently gave an expression of wonder about how my wife morphed suddenly into altogether different human being. Something in the window two stores back had caught her eye, and she stopped there without uttering a word. I’ve learned to keep a closer eye on her these days or hold hands. She still breaks loose occasionally like Mustang Sally, though when I do lose her now, I text her, “Where am I?” It’s our longest running joke.

 

Looking around, I wondered that very thing there at Penkill. Having no signal, texting was out of the question. Was she swallowed up by the Scottish wilderness, or – “Hey! Come in out of the rain!” – perhaps the castle? I’m going with castle. Joyce was waiting just inside the formidable wooden door with a nice fluffy towel. “Bless you!” From there, she led me to the upper room of the turret, where hot tea and biscuits (aka cookies) awaited us.

 

That was likely the best cup of tea I’ve ever had. Between that and that cozy den, my chill was knocked out in a hurry. Sitting in an overstuffed couch next to Joyce, she told me that the housekeeper insisted that she come in from the rain. That dousing, and a similar incident the next day in Northern Ireland, taught me a lesson for subsequent trips to the U.K. I got us each a phenomenal compact travel umbrella by Repel (yes, Amazon has it) that goes with us everywhere… ever the boy scout, and it paid off. Keep it in mind if you’re headed that way anytime soon and leave a little something in the tip jar.

 

I wondered a bit about our host as I finished my tea. Joyce and I both had top of the line Galaxy S5 smartphones then but getting 4G information in Scotland using American related tech at the time was frustrating at best. I have since learned that Patrick Dromgoole could best be understood somewhat as Wales’s answer to Ted Turner. He was chairman of HTV Wales, a maverick bucking the BBC hold on communications in the U.K., with much of the programming presented in Welsh (I doubt Wheel of Fortune was among the programs there… you have no idea how hilarious “Can I buy a vowel?” would be concerning the Welsh language). He was also an executive producer, producer, and director of movies and television programming. All I knew as he entered the room was that he had been involved in the entertainment industry, often behind the camera. It also occurred to me that merely the cost for keeping such a structure as Penkill as comfortable as it was required a standard of life a bit higher than I am used to. Robin Leech came to mind in that moment, hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Yet, something about his gracious hospitality to a couple of foreign strangers who just suddenly came a-knockin’ perhaps told me more about him… he’s an artist, always looking for what life has to offer his imagination. I can relate to that. I have met famous people before, but I am never starstruck, as I’ve never met stranger. I tend to go with my strengths… makes me think I should have been a salesman. “Buy this or I’ll kick your dog and pull up your shrubbery!” Well, maybe not. He took note of how wet I was as he came into the room. I told him that I fell in the moat. His laughter set the tone for our time there.

 

Introductions all around, then Joyce quickly laid out her connection to the Boyd family, and her interest in its history and ancestry. Patrick took an immediate interest, asking Joyce what she knew of the castle. Patrick had purchased Penkill Castle in 1993 for the sum of £650,000. His interest in it was not that of Boyd ancestry, but rather the Pre-Raphaelite artwork associated with it. Of course, to understand that required knowledge of the castle’s overall history. I instantly discerned that he was not simply owner/resident here; he had been a consummate student of the past. ‘If these walls could speak!’ Penkill’s did… he listened.

 

In writing this, I had to test the rationality of what Patrick stated, if only to make sense to my American mind, though rationality and the World Wide Web are often anything but synonymous… I have hens’ teeth now for show-and-tell, however! Penkill had passed from Boyd Laird to Boyd Laird, all relatives of the Earls of Kilmarnock, from Adam Boyd, the 1st Laird, to Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd, the 16th and final Laird, as she would pass it to private ownership. Some of those Lairds were builders with vision; others were anything but, handled resources poorly and some let things go to ruin. All of that is true, though gleaning much truth beyond that over the internet is seemingly little more than an exercise in futility. Regardless such futility, it does point out a couple more certainties: even (or should I say especially?) aristocrats are given to the human condition, as is the internet. I’ve read historical accounts of Penkill that are contradictory, hearsay, or just downright false. As is always the case, some well-intentioned online know-it-alls are more interested in reducing the world to a reflection of their opinions without once considering those opinions may be mistaken at best. A particular site wrongly attributes Alice Boyd as the 15th Laird of Penkill. The same site also attributes her as the 14th Laird, a glaring contradiction. Who knows what else the author got wrong? From there, it’s evident authors of other sites took liberties with the same false claim, which amounted to poor research. I would have to pour through actual documents to determine such historical aspects conclusively… but my intent here is not to unfold a grand historical account of the castle (allegedly, an unpublished history by a relative of Laird Alice Boyd depicting that period at Penkill is held by Princeton University if anyone is so inclined). It is merely my observation of things heard and seen from one who knew this place intimately, as so few are.

 

Patrick was as charming as he was gracious. He genuinely seemed to appreciate our company… we were a willing audience and Joyce had questions. At age 83 at the time, his movement was slowed, yet his mind was quick to offer a lifetime of accumulated knowledge with both wit and certainty. In mere moments from his appearance, I found his sense of humor to be quite like mine. Joyce had told him that we were on our honeymoon. He took note that we were nearer the ‘sell by’ date than a typical bride and groom. I told him about Joyce showing her ring at work where she had been a nurse for 25 plus years… the first question from coworkers was “Where are you registered?” We were still sorting that out at the time because, being older, she had stuff, I had stuff, all God’s children had stuff, and we truly didn’t need more. Somewhat flustered, Joyce recounted that at dinner that night with friends. I didn’t miss a beat: “Next time, just tell them that at our age, we’re registered with CVS Pharmacy.” Patrick roared, and we seemed to bond in that moment. At his age, he well understood the progression. In answer to your question, yes, we settled to register with both Samaritan’s Purse and Wounded Warrior Project… with CVS as an alternate. Ha!

 

Patrick regaled us with a concise understanding of the region and its people. Something in that stood out to me. A few days before, Joyce and I attended the 700th Celebration of the Battle of Bannockburn. Mind you, that’s not so much a celebration of war, but rather Scotland’s stand against England. Think about that… 700 years. Joyce had tickets to a special presentation of how the battle ensued. Walking among the displays, it occurred to me that Scots hold a grudge for a very long time. That is a funny generalization, but it’s close to the truth. The oppressed commoners of Ayrshire were no great respecters of either aristocracy, or of the imposing edifices they lived in. Patrick had to bring in skilled workers out of London for upgrades and repairs to the castle. The locals wanted no part of that, some feeling that it should be left to decay.

 

Patrick’s interest there started with Alice Boyd, the 14th Laird of Penkill. Her father and her brother, both named Spenser, died rather young. Before her brother, the 13th Laird, died, they both had formed a lasting alliance with the British Pre-Raphaelite movement while the castle was under construction. Allow a bit of supposition here on my part, as I’m unable to find exactness here apart from Patrick’s thoughts: the root of that alliance likely came as they, too, had to turn to the place of the best available craftsmen on the British Isles at the time, London. At her brother’s death, Alice assumed lairdship, as Spenser was childless. Under her direction, construction continued, yet more as a transformation influenced by the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Penkill would become a center to the movement, with many of the brotherhood finding their way through its doors.

 

Alice would become not just a fine painter herself, but she would find herself accepted into the brotherhood. One of the finest artists of that movement, William Bell Scott, formed an enduring relationship with her and trained her in his style of painting… she began as his student and became his muse. Though she never married, her connection with Scott would become quite the soap opera tryst… he was married, though unhappily, and his muse would become a sought-after prize. I have a working title for the dramatic interpretation of that…Penkill Abbey. Has a ring to it.

 

In March of 2021, a painting, The Thames from Cheyne Walk, probably a view from Belle Vue House sold at Bonhams, unframed, for £ 237,750 (US$ 322,811). Belle Vue (meaning beautiful view) House in London was occupied by Scott at the time. Alice created that painting while wintering there. Now, art can be defined in a myriad of ways. However, art cannot be defined in every way. Truth can be found in art, ‘truth’ being defined as that which conforms to reality… in this instance, we see evidence of both the existence and depth of their relationship. There is yet another truth about that painting… there is significant worth in Pre-Raphaelite art. After Scott’s wife died, he moved into Penkill Castle. Included in Alice’s additions to the castle was an art studio, where they both set to work converting the castle into an imaginative gallery.

 

Scott adorned the castle tower staircase with murals based on The Kingis Quair (yes, that’s spelled correctly, meaning The King’s Book), a semi-autobiographical poem written by James I of Scotland, describing the King's capture by the English in 1406 while on his way to France and his subsequent imprisonment by Henry IV. Members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood modeled as characters in that undertaking. Meanwhile, Alice concentrated on the turret room and the Laird’s bedroom. Other works were done, though we were privileged to see only the staircase, the turret room, and a grand dining hall. From descriptions of Alice’s work on the bedroom, I suspect she was the one who decorated the surround in my image A View from the Turret. Another member of the brotherhood, poet Cristina Rossetti, summed up her thoughts of Penkill in this way, ‘Even Naples in imagination cannot efface the quiet fertile comeliness of Penkill in reality.’ I will never know Naples of her day, yet there is a depth to that statement that Joyce and I could well appreciate.

 

Even such grandeur needs upkeep. 100 years later, the castle fell into disrepair yet again. Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd, the 16th and last Boyd Laird of Penkill was age 84 at the time she offered the castle for private ownership. Friends remembered her as generous to a fault, though with no head for finances… bills were going unpaid. That, and apparently, she was taken advantage of by many around her, essentially rifling through and absconding with treasured art of the castle. One of those people became quite legendary, though not in a way he would have preferred. Are there any stories about milkmen that end up as anything other than jokes about paternity issues? Patrick had one such story concerning the double portrait of the siblings Alice and Spencer Boyd, painted by William Bell Scott that hangs there in the turret room. That painting is supposedly cursed. Etched above it is a warning, “Move not this picture, let it be, for love of those in effigy.”

 

According to the tale, of which there appears to be some authenticity, Willie Hume was the milkman who delivered to Evelyn her dairy necessities. While doing so, he also took note of her loneliness. He, along with his wife, finagled their way not just into the Laird’s heart, but eventually into the castle as a resident. Soon thereafter, art from Penkill’s collections found their way to Scottish auction houses. Hmmm… seems like 5-fingered supplemental income transpired right under Evelyn’s nose to my untrained wits. Willie thought the cursed painting should be a prize for some hapless auctioneer, though many knew of its peculiar affliction and wanted nothing to do with it. Unfazed and without taking heed to the warning, Willie attempted to pry the cursed painting from its place… and immediately fell to the floor in bodily distress. Some accounts of this tale have Willie dying on the spot. Others state he died later that night of angina, though more likely of a heart attack, as angina is merely a condition causing chest pain. Of course, what matters here is not the exactness of how or when he died, but rather that the curse has teeth. The double portrait remains where it has been since the etching, and I have a picture to prove it. I’m not one for curses, but I made no effort to touch it or any of the pieces that Patrick allowed me to photograph… no sense tempting fate.

 

The key word there is “allowed.” Patrick asked that I limit my photography only to the pieces he would point out to me as safe to post. It became clear that his interest was not merely the art of the Pre-Raphaelite movement… I sensed his vision in our conversation to resurrect the castle much to the condition that Alice Boyd and William Bell Scott had left it. Take from that what you will, but he had both means and resources to secure that. Understand that “safe” items were a known quantity that even the auctioneers were aware of… and that assumes acquisitions that he would rather keep close to the vest to protect his assets. I think that’s marvelous. Let me explain why.

 

Several Scottish historical societies clamored for a shot at Penkill as soon as Laird Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd indicated she was letting it go. Their offerings, however, were a mere pittance of Penkill’s value, even considering its poor condition. Much to their horror (gasp!), she sold it to an American interloper, a lawyer, of all things! Most all that I could find out about him was lawyer, lawyer, lawyer. And he was… but there was something about him that stood out to me. As Paul Harvey was prone to say, there’s more to story. Elton ‘Al’ Eckstrand was indeed a lawyer for the Chrysler Corporation, which fed his habit as a National Hot Rod Association (NHRA) super stock drag racer known as ‘The Lawman’… and he truly was a legend, inducted into the Drag Racing Hall of Fame in 2000. That’s where he made his fortune. For those of you who believe straight-track racing is no big deal, super stock dragsters are grizzlies compared to your teddy bear everyday cars. For a super stock racer to make it to the end of that track intact requires precise timing and reflexes to make that work, and control of not just tremendous horsepower, but also the incredible torque that horsepower produces that will kill you anywhere along that track if you don’t keep it reigned in tight. Al, as he was known among pro circuits, held many records doing just that. Yeah, I knew who he was and had seen him race. I just didn’t know of his connection to Penkill until now.

 

Al died in 2008. It turns out that his obituary was a leading source to that connection: “During the 1980's, Mr. Eckstrand purchased the 15th Century Penkill Castle in Scotland, home to the Pre-Raphaelite artists and officially became the 18th Laird of Penkill. Mr. Eckstrand received numerous awards from the British Government for his efforts in the preservation of the castle and became famous as the American who saved Penkill Castle.” Yet again I’m met with truths and inconsistencies. Indeed, awards came to him from not just the NHRA. Long story short, through his efforts to restore the castle, he affected what the Scottish societies likely never could and saved the castle from ruin. There is one debatable issue here, though. He may have been made an honorary Laird for his efforts, but the 18th? The only way that happens is if the milkman was made the 17th Laird… he was no doubt a resident.

 

In 1992 Penkill was sold by Eckstrand to Scots-born Canadian businessman Don Brown. A year later, it passed into Patrick’s possession. With a year’s gap, Patrick continued along Al’s path to renovation, again much to the bewilderment of Scottish societies. Chilean-born to Irish parents, Patrick was considered an outsider as well. I took note of a spark to Patrick that I don’t believe any of the society could equal… detail. He was no stranger to a camera, though his experience was with cinematic cameras. As I set about the photography of the artwork, I used the tripod to straighten the perspective of each image. Patrick understood that, though he had no experience with a high-end digital camera. The painting of Spenser Boyd is a rather dark piece that is hung in a dark place where it has always been, the turret room. And it’s a small canvas, about 6 inches by 9 inches in my recollection. Yet, my camera was able to pull detail from the painting that Patrick was unaware of. He was fascinated. A magnifying glass would never show such detail. He got excited about the depth of complexity that he might use to further investigate his acquisitions better.

 

As an artist, I recognize the interests of the Scottish societies to preserve Penkill. I also know that they have somewhat limited resources. As a photographer, I’ve invested time, effort, money, a depth of knowledge, and passion into my craft. Yet, there have been many well-intentioned folks who hit me with, “Nice camera! I’ll bet it takes nice photos.” They don’t understand that my camera is nothing more than an expensive paperweight until I set it to do what I want it to. I’ve had societies, publications, and individuals approach me with the same expectations as the Scottish societies have to the owners of Penkill. They ‘love’ my work but would rather I give it to them than they invest in it. I’ve learned to say no. Patrick’s desire and aesthetic as a curator with a background in art to return Penkill to its rightful place as the center of the Pre-Raphael art movement should be taken by the societies as a gift. They need to see the value of it. They need to offer that value one day… I believe it will come back to them manyfold.

 

The last piece Patrick showed me was a bas relief of the Temptation, a depiction of Jesus’ encounter with Satan. It had been part of the turret room fireplace mantle that had rotted and had to be replaced. It was in such poor condition that the only way it could be saved was to have it framed as art in perpetuity… Patrick made certain that details were preserved. Concerning this piece, he told me that there was some confusion as to whether Satan was offering an apple (the round object in his hand) to Eve in this portrayal. I said, “If that’s Eve, women were a lot more rugged back in the day than we knew.” Patrick laughed. It’s Satan tempting Jesus, who created everything from nothing, to follow his command to turn a stone into bread. Artists must be content to create from what has already been created. Patrick was no painter, but with Penkill as his palette, he had created no less than a masterpiece.

 

With that, we had a plane to catch to continue our adventure in Northern Ireland and Patrick had a party to attend shortly. It was the 4th of July, and his neighbor, actor, television host Craig Ferguson, who was quite proud of his American citizenship (2008), was in high celebration spirits. He said that he would give Craig our regards. Nearly a week before, I watched brilliant light from the just risen sun move completely around the cabin of the A380 that we had just crossed the ‘pond’ in… we were moving into position for landing at Heathrow, London. I remember thinking that I was going to meet people that I had only known online. They were all folks that I had come to love and respect…yet this thought just chimed in: “What if they’re jerks?” That thought quickly evolved to “What if I’m a jerk?” My oldest Flickr friend would be picking us up at Heathrow to stay with him for a few days. A retired London surgeon, he would go on to show us his city from his perspective as a photographer. He also gave me good tips for driving in the UK… that’s how to truly immerse yourself in culture. I am so happy that the world is not quite like me… it makes life so much richer. Turns out they were all among the sweetest people I’ve met anywhere, including Patrick.

 

We lingered at the end of the driveway to sort out ‘British Chick’ (the Mercedes’ GPS) to put us back on the path to Glasgow Airport. “That word is disambiguous… just kidding! You will arrive in 118 miles.” Well, things were looking up! I would be leaving British Chick in Scotland. I wonder if she misses me.

 

Done