A Bygone Tale of Castle

A Bygone Tale of Castle
by Lostalley

On a cloudy and breezy afternoon in January, 2014, I drove by a sign "Castle for Sale", after missing a turn and taking a detour on an unfamiliar country road in suburband Washington, D.C. A castle in suburband D.C.? I pulled over and jumped out of my car. A few hundred yards away, a beige, stucco and strange structure emerged by a frozen pond. Immense curiosty brought me to the gate, and I was awe-struck. It was love at first sight. Coincidentally, I just sold my apartment in Shanghai. I made up my mind in a heartbeat.

In the following weeks, the owners had shown me the house three times, with each visit lasting more than two hours. This unique house, or castle, is remanent of a gigantic compound modeled on a legendary Scottish castle by a local wealthy socialite in 1920s. The collapse of stock market in 1929 depleted their fortune and forced them to sell the bulk of it while remodling the rest into a nightclub. After an eventful journey of fire, demolition, and seizure by the government, the original castle was reduced to what I saw now. I made rounds of bids, but eventually lost to another buyer. In retrospect I can see with clarity what made this short-lived love affair. It has something to do with my tirp to Ireland in the fall of 2008. I cruised along Ireland's coastline from Belfast (Northern Ireland) to Dublin with a right-stear rental Ford. I came across more than a dozen castles and became mesmorized since. Europe is scattered with old castles and I had seen quiet a few. However, Irish castles are a league of their own, ruined or remaining. I almost feel a spiritual kinship. Its laden stone structure with dim interior and haunting ambiance emits an romantic aura of history when life inside is a lore of love and lust, loyalty and betryal, courage and cowardice. A fortress of inspiration and imagination. 

I have never returned to that castle since, for reasons known and unknown. But I still keep a copy of the presentation letter written at the request of the broker for an empathetic bid. Occasionally, I would read it,  as a return visit to a special place of sentimental value.


"Dear Messieurs Broulik and Phillips III,

 

I had the opportunity to have seen your house last Saturday. Mr. Panici has provided detailed information and in-depth knowledge. For that, I deeply appreciate it. 

 

Rossdhu Gate is a hidden jewel camouflaged as an aged stone. Its exterior imposes a near-century-old folklore while the interior permeates an artful affection and spiritual devotion. Your interior design with such a wonderful collection serves pertinently to enhance an eclectic style centered on Scottish heritage. And your tireless efforts to improve the house, upon hearing the anecdotes from Mr. Panici, well illustrate an artistic pursuit of perfection. Succinctly, yours indeed is a one-of-a-kind estate in the truest sense of the word.

 

And the pond, with its waterfowl and ripples reflecting the past grandeur of Wee Lock Lomond Lake, surrounded by a neighborhood of maturity, ease and serenity. The adjacent Rock Creek seems to hint an unlimited expansion into wild nature through unseen water-links, real or imagined. 

 

Yes, I fell in love with your home, for what it is.

 

I, as a fervent art lover and collector, came across Rossdhu Gate by accident. Now I desire to be the next bearer to keep the legacy well and alive, if you allow me. I come from an old country and know intimately the value of old houses. I intend to maintain the architectural integrity and preserve the soul of this unique property. Much of the original Rossdhu Castle is gone, but keeping your home intact reclaims history.

 

Upon leaving your home last Saturday, I saw a ray of sunshine silhouetted against the staircase, which reminds me of Thoor Bailylee, an Irish castle through Galway near Gort in which Yeats once dwelled with his English wife, Georgie Hyde-Lees. 

 

“Some stairs to my surprise are the most silent of all stairs and sitting as I am now upstairs in the Tower I have a sense of solitude and silence,”, Yeats wrote to Olivia Shakespeare in June, 1922.

 

Respectfully yours,"

Bethesda, Maryland