Dunster Castle

Stand still for a moment and listen. Rooks call from the trees on the slope above you. Somewhere below, water runs fast over stones. The path under your feet climbs steadily, and the air carries the smell of damp earth and moss. Above the treetops, red sandstone towers rise against the sky. This is Dunster Castle, set on a steep wooded hill above a small Somerset village, at the edge of Exmoor.

The hill itself is the reason the castle exists. Locals call it the Tor, a word for a rocky high point. From the top, a defender could watch the land in every direction. To the north lies the Bristol Channel. On a clear day you can see across the water to the hills of South Wales. Long ago the sea came closer to this hill than it does today. Ships could anchor near Dunster, and that made the high ground worth holding.

The first castle here was built soon after the Norman Conquest of 1066. A Norman lord named William de Mohun received these lands and built a fortress on the Tor. That early castle was probably made of timber and earth, the quick way the Normans built when they needed control fast. Over the following centuries, stone walls replaced the wood. The Mohun family held Dunster for roughly three hundred years.

Then comes one of the quiet surprises of this place. In 1376, the castle was sold. The buyer was a woman, Lady Elizabeth Luttrell. It was unusual in that period for a widow to buy a great estate in her own name. Her family, the Luttrells, would keep Dunster for about six hundred years. Very few English houses stayed with one family for so long. When you walk through the rooms today, almost everything you see connects to that one long line.

As you approach, look for the gatehouse. The lower gate is one of the oldest standing parts of the castle and dates from the medieval period. Its stone is darker and rougher than the neat Victorian work higher up. Pause in the passage and look at the thickness of the walls. Here you can feel the original purpose of the building... not comfort, not display, but defence.

That defence was tested in the seventeenth century, during the English Civil War. This was the conflict between King Charles the First and Parliament, which divided families and towns across the country. Dunster was held for the King. Parliamentary forces besieged it, and the garrison held out for months. In 1646 the defenders finally surrendered on terms. The castle had survived the fighting — but its fighting days were over.

After the war, Parliament ordered the defences to be slighted. Slighting means deliberately damaging a castle so it can never again be used as a stronghold. Much of the medieval curtain wall on the Tor was pulled down. The house itself survived and stayed with the Luttrells. So the building you see is partly a castle that was made harmless on purpose, and then turned into a family home.

Inside, one of the great treasures is the main staircase. It was built in the late seventeenth century from oak. Look closely at the balustrade. Instead of simple posts, it is a deep carved panel of leaves, flowers and fruit, with small figures and animals worked into the pattern. Run your eye along it slowly. Many visitors walk straight up without noticing how much detail is cut into the wood. The carving is so deep that light passes through it.

The dining room has an elaborate plaster ceiling from the same period, heavy with moulded wreaths and leaves. Elsewhere in the house you can find painted leather wall hangings. They show scenes from the story of Antony and Cleopatra, the Roman general and the Egyptian queen. Leather hangings like these were once more common in grand houses, but very few survive, because leather cracks and rots with time. Seeing a set still on the walls is rare.

Now for the second surprise. Much of what makes Dunster look like a storybook castle is Victorian. In the second half of the nineteenth century, the Luttrells hired the architect Anthony Salvin to remodel the house. Salvin was known for restoring and rebuilding castles in a romantic medieval style. He added towers, battlements and a strong outline against the sky. So the towers you see from the village are partly a nineteenth-century idea of what a castle should look like, built onto older walls.

Step out onto the terraces and the mood changes. The southern slopes catch the sun and are sheltered from cold winds. Because of this, the gardens can grow plants that struggle in much of England. Look for subtropical shrubs, palms and, in the right season, flowers you might expect much further south. Lower down, the River Avill runs through the grounds. Beside it stands a working watermill, where grain has been ground for centuries. The sound of the water wheel is part of the place.

The Luttrell family's long story at Dunster ended in the twentieth century. In 1976 the castle and much of its contents passed to the National Trust, the charity that cares for historic houses across England, Wales and Northern Ireland. Like many old castles, Dunster has its share of ghost stories. Staff and visitors tell tales of footsteps and figures in certain rooms. These are folklore, not history, but they are part of how people have lived with this building.

Before you leave, walk back down into the village. Look for the Yarn Market, an eight-sided timber market house in the main street. It recalls the centuries when Dunster traded in woollen cloth. Then turn around and look up. The castle sits above the rooftops and trees, red stone in a green hill. Behind those walls are Norman foundations, Civil War damage, carved oak and Victorian towers — all stacked on one rock. Take a last look, and listen once more for the water running below.