Well, here we were at Tattershall, a small attractive village in Lincolnshire, albeit the main road was closed due to some longstanding roadworks.

The standout landmark is, without any doubt, the brick-built castle. From the moment we crossed the bridge I was in awe, it has gone straight to the top of my NT pile, knocking Oxburgh Hall off its perch into second spot, I still like you, though.

Before the present Tattershall Castle there was an old stone manor house on the site, constructed in 1231. The current house, I am reluctant to call it a castle despite its designation, followed between 1434 and 1447.

It was built by Ralph Cromwell. When I say built, I don’t actually think he did a Winston Churchill, getting down and dirty with the bricklayers, physically laying the bricks himself.

I would like to think, though, that he might have had a dabble. It was, after all, a new form of construction and I know, I for one, would have been dying to have a go. Mind you, that, dying to have a go, was not the best way of encouraging longevity in a troublesome realm, as one would quite often get one’s wish. There is no doubt about it, Ralph was an early adopter of this new technology.

Hold on a minute, new technology? Of course it wasn’t new, the Romans had built using brick over a thousand years before Cromwell threw up Tattershall.

Then, the hordes of Angles and Saxons overran the place, and we reverted back to, in the main, timber, so brick construction was put on the backburner. It amazes me that so many nationalist-thinking folk want to return to the glorious Anglo-Saxon heritage we once enjoyed.

It was a backward step back then and I am not convinced things would be any better this time around. The brickmakers and brickies were imported from the low countries under the supervision of a German foreman. It sounds like an early Auf Wiedersehen, Pet in reverse. Stonemasons really did have their noses put out of joint. They went up the wall in anger.

Well, actually, they didn’t, customers were soon changing from the expensive stone to the new-fangled bricks, and the stonemasons were left without any walls to go up. Bricks proved most useful in areas not well endowed with building-quality stone. Clay could be dug from the ground almost anywhere, whereas stone was incredibly heavy and cost a small fortune to transport.

Once the bricks had been delivered to site it was much quicker to install a square metre of wall rather than construct it using stone. Forever cutting the stone to the right shape, hauling it into position, a hoddie would deliver thousands of bricks to the walls in the time it would take to build a short run of wall out of stone. In time it would prove to be a no-brainer.

Tattershall is reputed to have used 700,000 to 1,000,000 bricks in its construction. The clay was quarried locally before being fired in kilns especially made for the purpose on the site. The red bricks are broken by a diaper pattern, usually utilising bricks that were fired for longer to give them a contrasting hue.

As far as I can tell there is no connection between the diaper pattern and the American word for nappy. If there is, and you know what it is, perhaps you would be good enough to let me know. Don’t worry, just in case you are thinking it, I have already made the link between passing bricks when frightened, so I am not going to allow that one.

The name Cromwell was familiar to me. I am sure it is to all of you. The blazingly obvious question is, are Ralph and Oliver related, after all, Tattershall is not a million miles away from Oliver’s family home in the former Huntingdonshire. Alas, they are not, which would probably be more pleasing for Ralph than it would be for Ollie.

Oliver’s true family heritage goes back, through his paternal line, to a Welshman, his great-grandfather, named Richard Williams. It turns out that Williams’ sister married Thomas Cromwell of Henry VIII fame and so, as to get on in the world, Williams changed his name. It seems that Ralph was devoted to his king, Henry VI, whereas Oliver’s loyalty to Charles I was questionable, wasn’t it.

I mentioned earlier that the building does not strike me as a castle, it hardly looks impregnable, and indeed it probably wasn’t. Cromwell was not a military-minded man, he appears to have been a lifelong civil servant. He held the position of Lord Treasurer under King Henry VI, I wonder how he made his money?

I always think that without computers it would be very easy to sit in his counting house and form a couple of piles of cash, one for Henry, two for me, so on and so forth. I assume that someone is keeping an eye on Rachel Reeves now that she is out of sight and out of mind. I wonder if there might be a Reeves Castle in the not-too-distant future.

Sorry, I am casting aspersions in either direction, whoever heard of politicians on the take. In time Tattershall became a glorious country estate and, as we wandered in and out of the halls, along corridors and up and down the 149 steps of the circular staircase, it felt that it, with a little bit of imagination, could be turned into liveable quarters all over again.

If I ever win Euromillions I might make National Trust an offer. It would make a grand gaff in the country. The selling point is the roof. It is fully enclosed by cloister-style arcades, I am not sure of the correct description, to all sides. It is not beyond the realms of humankind to install an indoor swimming pool up there, well out of the gaze of commoners below.

Wonderful viewing points could be created at the next level and indeed they have been. Incredible views across the Lincolnshire countryside fill the sighted with awe, even the visually impaired like me could only stare out in wonder. Whilst detail was sketchy, the openness was breathtaking.

Jane could see such landmarks as Lincoln Cathedral, 18 miles away, I mean how far do people need to see, I can’t even begin to imagine, Boston Stump, more formally identified as St Botolph’s Church, often used as a landmark for bombers returning to RAF Scampton, and other local bases, after daring missions to German-occupied Europe, RAF Coningsby and, just below the battlements, Holy Trinity Collegiate.

The last one, of course, was donated by Ralph in order to purchase his way into Heaven. I do hope he made it if, for no other reason, than he has left us with an amazing Lincolnshire legacy. Once the building had been vacated as a family home it went through a number of uses including as a prison for Royalist soldiers during the Civil War.

It later doubled as a barn to shelter a herd of cattle. Despite its ignominious decline it was given a second lease of life when it was purchased by Lord George Curzon. He bought it in 1911 and saved it from being dismantled and shipped to America. He spent a small fortune on restoration and ended up leaving it to the National Trust. Hurray for Lord Curzon.

By the time we had finished in the castle we were pretty hungry, it is a real shame that NT does not provide an onsite café. A short walk, however, will take you into Tattershall Lakes Country Park where, unfortunately, we discovered access was limited to park guests only. We could not use the eateries as we had not the requisite pass, all we wanted was a cup of coffee and a cake.

We continued around the short circular route, ending up in Tattershall village itself, where we discovered a delightful tearoom, the Wayside Café, which provided an excellent coffee and cake, I think it, by far, the best coffee we tasted during our entire Yorkshire break.

As we were strolling around the circular walk admiring the castle from just about every angle we were hijacked by paparazzi. We weren’t really papped, they were Abi and Jonathan, who were out from NT’s regional office to gather images for the magazine. My white cane was the attraction, not me, so we were asked to pose in various positions with the castle forming the majestic backdrop.

I am not sure whether they ever got published or not.