What were his homes like?

According to Norman Jewson, Gimson, ‘preferred a rush-seated chair to an upholstered one, plain lime-washed walls to wallpapered, plain home-made food to imported luxuries. He was not a teetotaler, but was almost a total abstainer’. According to Harry Davoll he dismissed two men once for being drunk but would take an occasional half pint himself mainly to be sociable.

At Pinbury Gimson converted a farm building into a cottage where he lived until 1903. His close friend, Alfred Powell described the single large living room with its flagstone floor and white walls, ceilings, beams and joists. ‘A large black dresser, hung with gay and well-used crockery, a large settle at the fireside, and an oak armchair and other rush-bottom chairs made on the pole lathe were its furniture.’ Photographs also show two old candle sconces on the wall above the simple fireplace, a rag rug at the hearth, books stored in the ceiling beams and a dresser stocked with traditional country pottery – jugs, pitchers and washing bowls.

In July 1903 Gimson and his wife moved to their new home at Sapperton. Gimson designed the house, known as The Leasowes himself and it was built by local craftsmen apart from the thatched roof. Gimson loved the soft curves and texture of thatch so much that he was prepared to use it even though it was not common in Gloucestershire. He employed a thatcher from Oxfordshire. Fred Griggs wrote:

’I heard a visitor once ask him the age of his house, expecting to hear a history. ‘Let me see,’ he replied, ‘it must be nearly seventeen years old.’ There was an excuse for the question, – modern houses do not look like that. Yet there was nothing old in the room except a clock and a few books and such like, nor anything that pretended to be old. Newly cut stone and oak, bright steel and glass, and white walls reflecting the sunshine – nothing was there but for use and comfort, and all without any sort of make-believe.’

Margaret James who taught at the school at Sapperton in the early years of the twentieth century recalled:

‘The welcome Mr and Mrs Gimson gave on those winter evenings had the magical quality of their home. Ernest Gimson combined sympathy and humour with knowledge about everything. He was a kindly wizard, who could tell us all about plants and animals, stars and cathedrals, politics and history, art and books. Little snorts of appreciation and of fun were characteristic of him, as he told. We sat, listening and talking, by candles and log-fire light.’