OTTERSHAW PARK
The mansion
Hi guys!!
I'm sharing Ottershaw Park. This is the 18th building for my English Collection.
I decorated most of the house ground floor, for reference.
The interiors:
History of the house: In 1784 Thomas Sewell died and ownership of Ottershaw Park passed to his son, Thomas Bailey Heath Sewell, Lieutenant Colonel in the Surrey Fencible Cavalry. He sold it in 1796 to Edmund Boehm who improved the interior of the house and enlarged the estate by buying tracts of wasteland and allotments.
In about 1805 Boehm built, to the design of the eminent architect James Wyatt, two Grecian-style lodges at the new entrance to the estate from where a coach road ran to the mansion. The same architect may also have designed for Boehm the Gothic Chapel which originally served as a kitchen, bake house, dairy and pantry but was demolished in 1962.
Ottershaw Park was bought in 1819 by Major General Sir George Wood, a Lieutenant General in the Bengal Army. At this time the estate was largely self-supporting with stables, smithy, brew house, bake house, laundry, dairy, slaughter houses, ice house and two farms.
Sir George died in 1824 and the estate passed to his son, also named George, who in 1841 sold the property to Richard Crawshay who built a new bailiff’s house, farm buildings and brew house.
On Crawshay’s death in 1859 the estate was bought by Sir Thomas Edward Colebrooke MP, who made a number of alterations to the mansion. He also gave the money and land for the building of Christchurch and the first village school.
The estate was later sold to Lawrence James Baker, a stockbroker and MP who sold it in 1910 to the millionaire, Friedrich Gustav Jonathan Eckstein. Eckstein demolished the old mansion and replaced it with the present building designed by Niven & Wigglesworth which is more magnificent and much larger.
During World War I Eckstein made the building available to the British Red Cross as an Auxiliary Home Hospital but soon after the war sold it to Miss Susan Dora Cecilia Schintz, the daughter of a Swiss nitrates millionaire. Miss Schintz lost most of her sizeable inheritance through gifts to charity and bad investments and finally had to sell the estate. Much of it was acquired by the Ottershaw Park Investment Company (OPIC) which planned to develop the rim of the estate for housing. In 1932 the mansion and central part of the park became Ottershaw College, a boarding school for boys which for a short time was very successful, but eventually became insolvent and finally closed at the outbreak of World War II.
During the war The Vacuum Oil Company leased the mansion as offices and laboratories. From 1940 much of the surrounding land was either ploughed for crops or grazed as part of the war effort and the woodland areas were used by the 19 Vehicle Reserve Depot (VRD) for storing vehicles.
The Vacuum Oil Company moved back to London at the end of 1947 and Surrey County Council established Ottershaw School which was opened in 1948. The school prospered until 1980 when it closed due to financial constraints.
In 1982 the developers DeltaHome converted the mansion and other buildings into the present residential estate.
Link: https://www.exploringsurreyspast.org.uk/themes/places/surrey/runnymede/ottershaw/ottershaw_park_estate/
The garden:
More info: https://www.exploringsurreyspast.org.uk/themes/places/surrey/runnymede/ottershaw/ottershaw_park_estate/
The floorplan:
This house fits a 64x64 lot, but I think you can make it a 50x40 if you lose part of the garden and the conservatories on each side.
Piano nobile furnished, the rest is up to your liking.
Hope you like it.
You will need the usual CC I use:
all Felixandre cc
all The Jim
SYB
Anachrosims
Regal Sims
King Falcon railing
The Golden Sanctuary
Cliffou
Dndr recolors
Harrie cc
Tuds
Lili's palace cc
Please enjoy, comment if you like the house and share pictures of your game!
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@sims4palaces
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The Neighbour . Alfie Solomons
Warnings: angst, slight sexual content, talks of abortion, divorce, sexism, swearing
par(2965 words)
Part Two
Alfie Solomons did not have many friends. In fact, he did not have any friends, the closest he had to one would be his assistant, Ollie, who was terrified of him. It didn’t bother Alfie, he liked being alone, with his profession he was always surrounded by people, he was always talking, scheming, plotting. When he had time to spare, he enjoyed spending it alone, his own company was the only company he didn’t find absolutely unbearable.
Alfie Solomons’ life of solitude was something he thoroughly enjoyed. It was what made his relationship with the woman who lived across the road from him extremely confusing. Alfie wouldn’t say he was friends with his neighbour, but he thoroughly enjoyed her company, which was strange to him because he hadn’t even fucked her. He didn’t enjoy the company of women he wasn’t getting sexual gratification from.
Alfie had been enjoying the company of his neighbour for months now, since she moved in. They day she moved in had been one of the days he just so happened to be at home, his back had been hurting him and his doctor advised him to rest, so he left the bakery in the hands of his friend Ollie. He hadn’t noticed that there was anyone moving in across the street, his curtains remained closed for security reasons, it was a knock at the door that had alerted him. He answered it with a gun tucked behind his back, opening the door only slightly when he was greeted by a young woman that he guessed was in her mid-twenties.
“Can I help you, love?” He asked suspiciously, opening the door wider, tucking his gun in the waistband of his trousers.
“Is this yours?” The woman asked him, he frowned at her, and she pointed to the ground, where he saw his dog, sat by her feet, panting.
“Cyril! Inside!” He ordered the dog, that happily ran inside the house “I’m sorry about that, love. He must have gotten out the back.” The woman waved her hand dismissively, a smile on her face.
“It’s quite alright, he’s lovely. My husband isn’t too happy, though, the dog sent him flying,” she let out a laugh. She was posh, Alfie noted, not that it was surprising, most of his neighbours were, meaning most of his neighbours didn’t speak to him.
“Well thanks for bringing him back.” He offered her a quick smile, going to shut the door
“It was no problem. Have you lived here long?” She asked, ignoring the door slowly being shut. Alfie sighed at the woman, holding the door open again.
“A while, yeah. It’s a good place. Quiet. People get on with it,” he told her, and the very clear hint that he wanted to leave, very obviously went right over her head.
“We just moved here. My husband previously worked in Surrey he’s started working in the city and didn’t fancy travelling here everyday.”
“Well. Welcome.” He went to shut the door again, only to be interrupted
“Are there many families around here?”
“Yeah a few. Got kids, do you?” He silently cursed himself for asking her a question. She’s never going to leave.
“No, not yet,” she offered him a sad smile, she went to speak again but was interrupted by a voice calling her from across the road. “That’s me,” she smiled sweetly at him, it almost made Alfie want to be sick “It was nice to meet you…”
“Alfie, love.”
“It was nice to meet you, Alfie,” she gave him a small wave before walking down the steps and practically skipping to her new home.
“Where are you off to this early?” She asked him, that sickeningly sweet smile on her face.
And that’s how Alfie’s friendship with the woman across the road started. The next time they spoke was a Sunday morning, he was leaving his house to go to the bakery when she bumped into him. She was dressed nicely, wearing a pale blue dress and matching hat. She had apologised to him, and he assured her it was fine, going to move past her when she struck up a conversation causing him to roll his eyes subtly.
“Just work, love. Nothing interesting.”
“Work? On a Sunday?” She asked him
“Well, it ain’t a holy day for all of us, innit?” He said, clearing his throat. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly.
“Oh! Of course. Because you’re not…you’re…”
“Jewish,” he said slowly, he found it somewhat amusing that she was so flustered
“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you-“
“Love,” he interrupted her, “it would take a lot more than that to offend me. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” She nodded quickly, pinching her lips together “You going somewhere?” He asked her, and again, cursed himself, her really needed to stop asking her stuff.
“Oh no. I’ve just been to Church, I have nothing else to do today.”
“Your husband not with you?” Stop asking her questions
“He’s not really a Church person.”
“Nor I, love,” she let out a small laugh at his little joke, dipping her head slightly.
“Well I hate to keep you, Alfie. Have a good day at work,” she offered him a little wave as she walked home.
Alfie wasn’t sure at what point she stopped being his irritating neighbour and at what point she became his friend, but he was glad she did. He had never met her husband, he had seen him leaving for work a few times, but he was starting to think her husband didn’t know about his wife’s friendship with the Jewish gangster across the road.
He had gotten Ollie to do some research on the couple, and it was all so boring. Her husband was a Judge, which made Alfie slightly cagey but not cagey enough to stop talking to his annoying little friend. She had married him three years ago and they moved to London from Surrey six months ago, there didn’t seem to be any skeletons in the closet and that did make Alfie cagey. Nobody was that ordinary.
He left work early one Friday and came home to find his annoying neighbour in his living room, stroking a sleeping Cyril. He had given her a key to his house weeks before, asking her if she wouldn’t mind checking in on his dog when he was at work and she was more than happy to. She smiled as he entered, removing his hat and groaning as he sat on the chair next to the sofa she was sat on. Cyril’s eyes opened slightly when Alfie sat down, but he moved to place his head on the woman’s lap and went back to sleep. Traitor, Alfie thought.
Oh, love, if you only knew.
“How was your day?” She asked him “You’re never usually home this early.” Alfie just shook his head at her, rubbing his temple with his fingers. His day had been terrible, most of them were but he didn’t tell her that. She thought he owned a literal bakery; how bad could a day be if you’re baking bread all day?
“Did you run out of flour or something?” She grinned
“Shut up,” he muttered, closing his eyes.
Alfie wasn’t sure when their friendship shifted and they became more than friendly neighbours, but it did. There were small moments, a build up to the final straw, but there were so many he couldn’t pinpoint it. The climax same late one Thursday night. He was walking Cyril, when he passed his friend’s house. He could hear shouts coming from inside the house, the curtains were open, but the blinds were shut meaning Alfie could only see silhouettes furiously moving in a warm light. He paused for a second before shaking his head and crossing the road to his own home. It’s none of your business, Alfie he told himself as he unlocked his front door. Just as he was about to walk inside his house, he heard the gate from across the road slam shut, he turned his head to see the husband storming down the street, shrugging his coat on as he went. His eyes flickered to the house and he sighed, he pushed Cyril into the house and shut the door, walking down the steps of his house and across the road.
“Would you like tea?” She asked, moving Cyril so she could stand up, Alfie nodded at her but didn’t open his eyes.
“FUCK!” He shouted and looked towards his friend, who was sat on the floor, her eyes wide and hands covering her mouth.
“Oh my, Alfie. I’m so sorry,” she whispered, standing up from the floor and walking towards him “I am so sorry, I thought…”
The door was unlocked when he got there, he pushed it open gently, greeted by the sound of a woman quietly crying. He followed the whimpers, walking into the living room only to be met by a vase flying towards him. He quickly moved out the way and it smashed on the wall behind him, water dripping down the patterned wallpaper.
“You thought what?” He asked her, a small smile playing on his lips
“I thought you were my husband.” They were both silent for a second, studying each other, Alfie broke first, letting out a loud, laugh and she soon followed, covering her face with her hands. “What are you doing here?” She asked him when their laughter had subsided, though there was still a small smile on her face.
“The whole street could hear you two screaming,” he told her, watching as she knelt on the floor to pick up the broken glass from her husband’s smashed champagne glass.
“Ugh I’m sorry,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Alfie sighed and moved towards her, gently grabbing her arm and leading her over to the sofa.
“Forget about that, leave that for the morning,” he said quietly, gesturing to the broken glass. He took a seat next to her on the sofa, resting his arms on his thighs as he looked at her. “You alright, love?”
She nodded quickly “Yeah, yeah. It was just a silly argument." Alfie gave her a disbelieving look and pointed to the trashed living room.
“That, love. Is more than a silly argument.”
“I swear, nothing bad happened. We just fight sometimes,” she shrugged, moving to stand but he blocked her with his arm.
“Fight about what?” She sighed and leaned back on the sofa, slinging an arm over her eyes.
“He thinks I should have gotten pregnant by now and I haven’t”. Alfie nodded at her answer and glanced around the room. He didn’t know what to say, what could he say? He felt uncomfortable, he thought she’d say he hit her or something and he would know what to do in that situation, he would just kill the twat. But this was emotional, and he wasn’t good with emotional.
“Yeah, that’s what I told him, and he smashed a glass,” she laughed humourlessly, removing her arm from her eyes, and dropping it on the sofa, close to Alfie’s leg. He glanced at it awkwardly and cleared his throat.
“Well, I’m sure it’ll happen when it’s meant to,”
That’s all you can come up with?
“Hello, Mrs Marshall. What can I do for you?”
“Are you okay, darling? I heard glasses smashing and everything earlier. I didn’t know whether I should intrude or not, but I got scared the quieter it got…” The elderly woman trailed off as her eyes drifted from the woman stood in front of her to a figure appearing from the living room of the house “Oh, Mr Solomons. How do you do?”
“Well, I say…” He started, closing his eyes briefly before leaning closer to her so they were face to face “Whether you give him ten little ones or none, he’s very fucking lucky to be married to you and if I were-“ he was cut off by her grabbing his face and pressing her lips against his. His eyes widened for a moment, but he quickly gained his composure and reached his hand up to rest on her cheek, the other sliding across her waist. He groaned when she opened her mouth, allowing him to slide his tongue inside. He slid his hand from her cheek to the back of her head as she moved hers from his face to his neck, just as he went to push her to lie down on the sofa, a loud knock was heard from the front door. They sprung apart as a woman called her name. She got up from the sofa and straightened her dress, walking to the front door to be greeted by her elderly neighbour Mrs Marshall. She smiled at the old lady, pressing her lips together.
“Uhh, what?” Alfie grumbled at the old woman, frowning “Oh yeah, you alright, Miss? You’re up late ain’t ya?” He laughed dramatically and was offered a confused smile by both the woman at the door. “Anyways. I checked on you. You’re fine. I’m going,” he pushed past the women and practically ran across the road to his own house.
And that’s when Alfie’s friend became his lover. It was not what he expected when he first met the woman, in fact, he thought he would spend the rest of his life avoiding her. He never expected to be where he was now, with her naked on top of him, moaning as she chased her climax. It was quite pleasant.
“Bye, Mrs Marshall” The younger woman said quickly, slamming the door in the old woman’s face.
He offered to kill her husband many times, but she always refused. It started to frustrate him, she didn’t love her husband, she loved him, at least that’s what she told him, he could make it all go away, they could be happy.
“What happened? Did he hurt you?” He snarled but she shook her head, a sob escaping her throat.
“I’m pregnant, Alfie,” she told him and he swore the world stopped spinning for a moment, his ears started ringing as his hands let go of hers. He stood up, pacing the floor several times
He was at home one night when she knocked on his door. She had a key to his house but she told him she didn’t want to use to too often in case anybody was watching, it would look to suspicious. He led her into the living room and offered her tea but she just shook her head, Alfie looked at her properly and immediately alarm bells went off in his head, she was shaking, pale and her eye makeup was running down her face. He sat next to her, grabbing both her hands in his.
“So I’m guessing you’re staying with him, then,” he spoke, calmly, but when she looked in his eyes, she saw a fire burning in them.
“What?” She frowned, standing up “What are you talking about?”
“He finally gave you the kid you both want. Mazel Tov,” he swore he could have killed her when she started laughing.
“Alfie. It’s yours,” she smiled, placing a soft hand on his arm. He stared at her for a moment before he grabbed hand and shoved it from his arm.
“You’re lying,” he glared at her, she stood there, a look of sadness and shock on her face.
“I’m not lying. It’s your baby, Alfie. He was in Manchester when it was conceived.” He was silent for a moment until he sighed and moved to sit on the sofa.
“Well, this is good,” he mumbled, rubbing his beard and she offered him a soft smile. “It’s good. He won’t know it’s not his. We can forget this ever happened and he can raise it without ever knowing what a whore his wife is,” she faltered for a moment, she was confused, so confused.
“What are you saying, Alfie? You want me to lie to him and say it’s his?” Alfie let out a loud, obnoxious laugh, throwing his head back.
“Fuck you, Alfie,” she whispered, the tears spilling out of her eyes. “Fuck you,” she sobbed, running out of the room.
“Now you’ve got a problem with lying to him?” She didn’t respond, just shook her head as tears built up in her lovely eyes. “Look,” He sighed, iIf you don’t want to lie to him, go into my desk over there,” he pointed to the messy oak desk in the corner of the room. “And take as much as you need to make that thing,” he pointed to her stomach. “Go away”.
Alfie Solomons did not have many friends, but he did have one that he considered the best friend he’d ever had.
He flinched when he heard the front door slam.
“Thomas! How are you?” He called back to the boy. He really wished she hadn’t picked that name. He smiled as the boy ran out of the garden towards him, bending down to pat Cyril on the head.
“Hello, Mr Solomons!” He heard the six-year-old boy call out from across the road.
“Thomas!” The man and boy’s head snapped up when they heard her stern voice from the front door.
"Well, I best be going, Mr Solomons. My mum really doesn’t like you,” the young boy said, standing up.
“I’m well, hello, Mr Cyril,” Thomas said to the dog, laughing gleefully as it licked his face.
“I don’t blame her, mate,” Alfie chuckled, patting the boys shoulder. He looked up towards the front door, where his old friend was stood, a frown on her face as she waited for her son come inside.
“I really don’t blame her.”
this is my first alfie fic. thanks for reading! if you wanna request any stories just hit me up!
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Towards the end of his life, the actor Adrian Schiller, who has died unexpectedly aged 60, found success and sudden fame in two blockbuster TV shows: The Last Kingdom (2018-22), on Netflix, in which he played the richest man in medieval Wessex, Aethelhelm; and ITV’s drama Victoria (2016-19), as Cornelius Penge, a footman in the royal household.
In both, a fleeting glance would suggest that here was a naturally authoritative actor, blessed with gravitas and style. This camouflaged the demonic comic spirit within, which had informed so many of his memorable stage performances since he first appeared in the German Expressionist Carl Sternheim’s 1911 play The Knickers at the Lyric, Hammersmith, in 1991. In a delicious comic performance, he played a weak-chested Wagner-loving barber thunderstruck by a flash of discarded lingerie as the Kaiser drove by, suggesting, said the Times critic, “a tousle-headed combination of Charlie Chaplin, Egon Schiele and Gollum, whose idea of romance is reading extracts from the Flying Dutchman”.
Schiller proceeded to leading roles with the Royal Shakespeare Company in the 1990s – his Porter in a disappointing 1996 Macbeth was the funniest I had ever seen, while his entertaining Touchstone in an awful 2000 designer knitwear production of As You Like It rescued another dud evening.
He was less prominent in some strange productions at the National – Peter Handke’s wordless The Hour We Knew Nothing of Each Other in 2008, as one of 27 actors playing 450 characters in a town square, coming and going with no interaction, and as a revolutionary tailor in a poor 2013 retread of Carl Zuckmayer’s 1931 Captain of Kopenick, in which Antony Sher did not eclipse memories of Paul Scofield in the NT’s 1971 production.
On the other hand, he was outstanding in Chekhov’s Three Sisters, superbly directed, and modernised, by Benedict Andrews at the Young Vic in 2012, playing Kulygin, a leather-jacketed schoolteacher tragically infatuated with his own disloyal wife; and he was a compelling, original, quietly spoken and sympathetic Shylock in The Merchant of Venice at the Wanamaker, the candle-lit indoor venue at Shakespeare’s Globe, in 2022. The Merchant rekindled the current noise around the play – is it antisemitic or about antisemitism?
In an interview with the Jewish Chronicle, Schiller tilted towards the second view. He averred that he was “a Jew, but not Jewish”.
Schiller was born in Oxford, the second of four children of Judith (nee Bennett), a teacher, and Klaus Schiller, a gastroenterologist whose family had emigrated from Austria to Britain in 1938. When Klaus was appointed a consultant at St Peter’s hospital, Chertsey, the Schillers moved to Surrey.
Adrian was educated at Kingston grammar school and Charterhouse, in Godalming, Surrey, where he pursued a busy life in stage productions. Instead of drama school, he took a good degree in philosophy (after switching from architecture) at University College London, although he always self-deprecatingly said that he majored in “plays and partying”.
His early television career encompassed series such as Prime Suspect, A Touch of Frost, Judge John Deed and much else, through to the first series of Endeavour in 2013. He also popped up in the Channel 4 series The Devil’s Whore (2008) set in the English civil war, and the Doctor Who story strand The Doctor’s Wife in 2011.
One of his most effective cameos on screen was as the barman in a striking government-sponsored advert in the anti-drink-driving campaign in 2007. He leaned deep into the camera with a series of non-equivocal questions to a bemused, unimpressed young glass-holding customer who may or may not have grasped the seriousness of the interrogation.
But he always returned to the theatre, seeking out the most demanding roles with companies who would accommodate him. He gave an almost ideal Cassius, wirily intellectual while bubbling passionately underneath, said Michael Billington, for David Farr’s 2005 RSC touring version of Julius Caesar. In the title role of Tartuffe at the Watermill, Newbury, in 2006, he was cool and venomous, as well as understated, and clearly the star of the show.
And for Stephen Unwin’s English Touring Theatre in 2007, he rebooted the remorseless villain, De Flores, in Middleton and Rowley’s Jacobean shocker, The Changeling. He was more than notable, too, opposite Sher’s Sigmund Freud, as a vividly hilarious Salvador Dalí, in their great encounter scene in Terry Johnson’s Hysteria at the Hampstead theatre, revived there in 2013, 20 years after its Royal Court premiere.
His feature film credits were not extensive, but in 2014 he was well cast as the sardonic high priest Caiaphas in Son of God, Christopher Spencer’s biblical epic. In Sarah Gavron’s Suffragette (2015), scripted by Abi Morgan, he was an imposing Lloyd George, coming round to the persuasion of the militant vote-seeking women led by Meryl Streep as Emmeline Pankhurst and Carey Mulligan as a fictional worker fuelled by the excitement of change and protest.
His last movie, yet to be released, is Red Sonja, in which he plays the king of Turan in a remake of the 1985 sword-and-sorcery Marvel Comics fantasy.
Back on stage in 2023, he returned to questions of Jewish identity and survival in three short new plays at the Soho theatre and a more substantial Holocaust drama, The White Factory by Dmitry Glukhovsky, at the sparky new Marylebone theatre (formerly the Steiner Hall), in which he was a powerful, wise presence in the story of a survivor of the Łódź ghetto in Poland, played by Mark Quartley, adapting to American life in the Brooklyn of the 60s.
At the time of his death, Schiller – who was also a skilled sculptor and guitarist – had just returned from Sydney and the triumphant international tour of The Lehman Trilogy, directed by Sam Mendes, and had been looking forward to the next leg of the tour in San Francisco.
He is survived by his partner, Milena Wlodkowska, a laboratory support technician, and their son, Gabriel, and by his sister, Ginny, and brothers, Nick and Ben.
🔔 Adrian Townsend Schiller, actor, born 21 February 1964; died 3 April 2024
Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?
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