Wallington Hall memories: marbles, storytelling, and family days out in Northumberland

Childhoods were very different

Both H and I grew up playing marbles, though our childhoods couldn’t have been more different. Our traditions, family histories, and small everyday traditions shape who we are. And yet, no matter how varied our backgrounds, there are always stories that link the past, present, and future.

Stories that bring us closer

There are moments when H’s experiences make me feel worlds apart. Yet the stories that bridge us culturally far outweigh those that separate us. These days, we can travel anywhere and find connections that remind us of shared experiences.

Take Easter Sunday. Rain lashed down, but we weren’t about to let a bit of drizzle stop us. Waterproofs on, we made the short drive from Newcastle upon Tyne to Wallington Hall in Northumberland.

A National Trust treasure

Wallington Hall is just 30 minutes from home and has always held a place in my childhood memory. It’s been roughly 35 years since my last visit, yet certain details linger, the family picnics, the unusual dolls’ houses. What I hadn’t mentioned to anyone, until H and I returned together, were the marbles on a toy coal wagon.

Every toy has a story

The nursery room at Wallington is a wonder of preserved childhood: rocking horses, tricycles, dolls, teddy bears. Every item whispers stories of generations. But for H, it was the small coal truck filled with marbles that stole the spotlight, sparking tales of his own adventures as a child. “Marbles,” he said, eyes lighting up.

Memories of marbles

I nodded politely. Marbles had been fine in my childhood, but my stronger memories were of the rocking horse or nervously waiting for vaccinations. For H, marbles were a game of skill and daring. He played Tileh Baazi in the streets, shooting marbles into freshly dug holes and playing for keeps. He even ended up with a bag full of trophy glass balls, despite never owning any originally.

It’s remarkable how a simple toy can open doors to the past. As Sir Tom Stoppard once said, if you carry your childhood with you, you never truly grow old. As a new mum in my 40s, I understand that sentiment perfectly.

Through the keyhole

One of my favourite childhood memories at Wallington is the mouse house in the Dolls’ House Room. I remember climbing the tiny ladder for a peek inside. This time, I tried to share the magic with Cyrus. Being five, he was more intrigued by the mini farm than the mouse house, and I quickly realised why other parents hadn’t been eager to climb it, the space was cramped and damp.

Samovars and storytelling

H, meanwhile, lingered over the silver samovar in the dining room. It reminded him of his gran’s home in Persia, where tea for 20 was a daily ritual. For me, storytelling is often triggered by smell: cucumber in vinegar, meat boiling in a stock pot, or cheese scones fresh from the oven. The last batch at Wallington disappeared in seconds, leaving Cyrus with crumbs while we headed to the Clock Tower Cafe for a cuppa and cake.

Coffee, cake, and priceless moments

Victoria sponge for Cyrus, coffee for us, and a few quiet moments to talk and remember. Entrance for two adults and a baby came to £27.40, a small splurge on maternity leave. But as blogger Melanie M. Koulouris puts it: “Life is a beautiful collage of priceless moments and memories, which when pieced together creates a unique treasured masterpiece.”

We will return to Wallington in summer, hopefully for a picnic in the gardens. And next time, Cyrus might even join us in marbles, bridging the gap between our childhood stories and his own adventures yet to come.