Gwrych Castle

 

It has just been announced that Gwrych Castle in North Wales is to receive £2.2 million from the National Heritage Memorial Fund. The money will be spent to stabilise the ruins, reinserting new floors and rooms in order to bring a suite of rooms back into use. The money is the latest development in the somewhat chequered history of the house, which has most recently been in the news as the host of the series I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here during the lockdowns of 2020 and 2021.

 

It is often observed that Gwrych Castle is a relatively modern creation: a neo gothic fantasy of the early decades of the nineteenth century. In fact, as I discovered on a recent visit, it has a much longer history. At the heart of the ruins as they are today is a medieval house, called Bronhaul or Y Fron, part of the Lloyd family estate. By the early nineteenth century this house had been damaged by fire, and it became instead the heart of Lloyd Hesketh Bamford-Hesketh’s fantasy creation of Gwrych Castle. Some of the fire-damaged timbers of this earlier house can still be seen in the ruins of the castle today.

 

Lloyd Hesketh Bamford-Hesketh, born 1788, was a ‘man of taste’ who set about to honour his family’s ancestry by concocting a picturesque vision of a rambling, medieval castle. He commissioned Charles Augustus Busby (1788-1834) to produce plans in 1813, and was pleased with the results. But within a few years, having inherited the property outright in 1815, Lloyd adapted Busby’s plans. He adapted Busby’s essential idea – of two wings around a central tower – but instead chose to take advantage of the local topography by setting the castle into the hillside. For materials, he quarried limestone and mined lead, and he engaged Thomas Rickman of Liverpool to create a new set of elevations. Work began in 1819 and was mostly finished by 1822. Cast iron was used to create gothic window tracery, encasing stained glass windows. The effect must have been overwhelming.

 

Gwrych remained a lived-in family home for another century or so. Lloyd’s granddaughter, Winifred, became Countess of Dundonald on marriage. She continued to make changes to the house, engaging Detmar Blow to make several significant interventions including a grand marble staircase. Winifred died in 1924, leaving the house to the Prince of Wales, who declined it such that the Church of Wales became the owner. The Earl of Dundonald bought it back, claiming his wife had gone mad. But no member of the family lived there ever again.

 

Gwrych Castle then suffered the fate that so many houses suffered in the second half of the twentieth century: ever-changing and revolving ownership, leading to eventual demise. During the war the house was used by Jewish refugees who came across in 1939 on the Kindertransport. After the war the place was opened as a visitor attraction, offering medieval jousting spectacles – it was ‘Britain’s first theme park’ according to Mark Baker. In the late 1980s the house was sold again to an absentee American businessman. During this time the structure was subject to vandalism and the wilful salvage of timbers, lead and other materials. By the mid 1990s the castle was in a ruinous state, having become a squat for New Age Travellers. Mark Baker, just 11 years old in 1997, set up a Preservation Trust with the help of his family, to raise awareness of the castle’s history. In 2018 the trust was able to purchase a lease of the castle, and begin its work to reverse the years of neglect and bring this magical place back to life.

 

I visited on a busy day in early August 2023: the car park was rammed and visitors were enjoying the experience. A magic potion event was taking place in the castle itself: a theatrical experience, taking full advantage of the Hogwarts-like setting. The holiday accommodation in the castle lodge was fully booked for the season. There were adverts for hiring the castle as an events space: for weddings or private parties. These, along with I’m A Celebrity, of course, are the means by which houses sustain themselves in the early twenty-first century.

 

 

St Mary's Newport, explained

Sir Paul Britton visited Newport, Essex, on Thursday 20 July as part of a fundraiser for the Friends of St Mary’s. Sir Paul, a former senior civil servant who is now a trustee of the National Churches Trust and chair of the Canterbury Diocesan Advisory Committee, entertained and informed us all with a fantastic talk in the church itself as part of an open afternoon.

 

Newport’s church is remarkable, he explained, not necessarily for its fittings and ornamentation – although some of them are indeed special –  but simply for its size. It is rather large for a parish church. From its beginnings it was laid out in its distinctive cruciform shape,  Sir Paul observed. We know this because the archway in the north transept dates from around the 1220s, making it the oldest extant part of the church. Adjacent to it, other large arches were probably from the 1240s – as can be dated from the distinctive nail-head patterning. Given that these large arches are at the centre of the church as we still see it today, Newport’s church looks much the same now as it did in the first half of the thirteenth century.

 

Of course, Sir Paul went on, there would also have been distinct differences between the thirteenth-century church, and the building as it has now evolved. For one thing, the roof would have been completely different. The roofline as we see it today was raised, possibly some time in the fifteenth century. The original roof would have been steeply pitched – possibly thatched. Today's much flatter flat roof over the chancel cuts through the top of the East window – showing how this roof must have been a later innovation.

 

Similarly, the West tower as it is today is a recreation of the 1850s, when the church was restored after many decades of neglect. It remains conjectural whether the eight angels that decorate the roof date from this time, or from the fifteenth century. Sir Paul felt they were probably medieval.

 

The north and south aisles were added at some point between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries, and the roofs of the north and south transepts were replaced. The room over the porch is likely to date from the fifteenth century, as does the vestry.  There remains speculation as to the purpose of the room above the porch, but it is likely to have a relationship to the college for which the church was founded, and to the educational role played by the church alongside the grammar school (which occupied the building on the site of what is now Church House).

 

Sir Paul pointed out the other reasons why Newport church is so special. The chest in the south transept dates from the late thirteenth century, and is the earliest known example in the country of oil painted onto wood. The painting on the lid shows the crucifixion, flanked by the figures of John, Mary, Peter and Paul. The chest is a very special piece, and was loaned to an exhibition in London in the 1980s.

 

Equally, Newport’s font dates from the thirteenth century, while its lid is fifteenth century. The lectern at the front of the church is also a medieval survival, likely to date from the fifteenth century. The rood screen contains some medieval tracery too, though has been heavily restored.

 

Sir Paul observed that the memorials in the chancel were also particularly fine, the earliest dating from the first half of the eighteenth century. Another memorializes Joseph Smith of Shortgrove, who served as private secretary to William Pitt the Younger.

 

Sir Paul’s special subject is stained glass windows. He observed that the windows to the north transept contain medieval glass. Elsewhere, in the chancel, in the north and south transept and in the nave, nineteenth century glasses have been introduced.

 

On the same evening as the talk, Sir Paul gave an illustrated lecture in Church House, about the history and importance of the stained glass tradition. A packed audience came, and were enthralled by over 120 photographs, all of them taken by Sir Paul himself on his travels to churches. The event raised nearly £500 for the church tower restoration. The money will be very well spent indeed.  

 

Sir Paul’s talk inspired me to look into other facts about the church. An interesting article by Daniel Secker draws attention to the fragment of an Anglo-Saxon cross that has been inserted in the outer north wall. This may hint as to the possibility that there was a saxon church on the same site as the present-day church, which itself is built at the highest point in the village.

 

It was also a real privilege to have access to the church tower, and to take the panorama of the village from the top.

How the Country House became English: a review

 

Stephanie Barczewski, How the Country House became English (Reaktion, 2023)

 

This book is a companion to the author’s previous work, a study of the connections between country houses and the British Empire. That book posited that ‘over 1,500 houses were funded by imperial profits’, although it also proposed that, at most, 16 per cent of country houses were built by owners with direct links to imperial sources of wealth. Many more houses, however, contained collections that were imported from British colonies, or reflected imperial influence in other ways. Why then, asks Barczewski, did so few houses feature ‘even a hint of an architectural style imported from one of Britain’s colonies’? The question leads Barczewski to re-examine the history of country houses from the perspective of the complexities of the British nation state, formed over the four hundred years that form the principal period under consideration in the book.

 

The country house as a cultural form, Barczewski concludes, is less a British invention than a particularly English construct, which happens also to be manifested, in different ways, in Wales and Scotland.  The book seeks to reassert the Englishness of the country house, while always emphasizing the complexities and contradictions implicit within such a proposition. The argument unfolds over a series of themed chapters. Early chapters look at the way so many houses in England had violent origins, as domestic architecture formed from the shells left at the Dissolution of the Monasteries. A further spate of violence was seen in the Civil Wars of the mid-17^th century, during which numerous houses were besieged, ransacked, and sometimes razed to the ground. One of the underlying themes of English house building, however, was a desire, over time, to erase signs of the turbulence and disorder from which these houses. Similarly, landed families could sometimes successfully disguise allegiances previously held during the religious divides of the 17^th century, or find that ‘gothic’ architecture previously associated with catholic cultural expression was back in fashion as a manifestation of ‘English’ cultural affiliation and hegemony.

 

One of the striking arguments made by the book, the focus of the fourth chapter, is that the ‘British’ country house is a cultural mirage. There was never a British tradition of house building. Rather, country house architecture developed on distinct, though occasionally overlapping, lines in England, Wales, and Scotland. There is little to connect the baronial houses of Scotland, Barczewski contends, with country houses in lowland England. Their development followed distinct trajectories, such that the notion of a ‘British Country House’ is simply a geographical shorthand rather than an aesthetic category. Meanwhile, distinctly ‘English’ architecture went through successive evolutions in the 18^th and 19^th centuries: Palladianism, Baroque, Neoclassical, and Gothic Revival, before settling in the early 20^th century into a comfortable (and comforting) vernacular revival. The more solidly ‘English’ houses became, the more they erased any sense of the imperial roots that some of them, undoubtedly, had.

 

But architectural styles had ceased to evolve by the early 20^th century. “The international modern style made little impression in England, and the few new houses that were built after 1920 were generally small in scale.” Thereafter, the country house ceased to have any credence as a cultural form, becoming instead captured by the proponents of heritage nostalgia, including the National Trust. This nostalgia has proved profitable for some – Highclere Castle has gone from “a cash-hemorrhaging white elephant to a cash-register-ringing profit machine” – but the nostalgic view of the country house has limits, as recent controversies over the National Trust’s attempts to expose the colonial and imperial connections of some of its properties have shown.

 

Barczewski has developed a complex and interesting argument, drawing on a great sweep of mostly secondary literature. She creates maps and graphs that demonstrate the spread of particular country house fashions over time, and uses the temporal and geographical distributions that they create to weave a nuanced and multi-layered narrative. The book is very well written, and will be much pored over for years to come. It is an important addition to country house studies. 

 

I can see two potential flaws in the book, however. First, the idea of a ‘British Country House’, which Barczewski takes so much to task, is arguably something of a straw-man. Britain is a complex place, where no-one takes seriously the idea that a country house nestled deep in the South Downs, say, has anything much to do with a baronial castle in the Scottish Highlands, beyond both being domestic residences of larger-than-average-size. It perhaps takes a North American author to spend an entire book to tell us that England, Scotland, and Wales are distinct territories, even while they come together to form one, if not two, collective (and contested) identities (Britain, and the United Kingdom). However, Barczewski is absolutely right to shine a spotlight on England, as the part of the UK that remains serially under-investigated.

 

Second, the book’s analysis largely comes to an end in the 1920s. There is no room here for a reference to John Martin Robinson’s The Latest Country Houses (1984), written in response to endless publications in the 1970s and 1980s announcing the end of the country house. Robinson argued that, in fact, new country houses have continued to be built in new and innovative styles. Barczewski, however, doesn't really take this into account. She seems to think that every privately owned house represents either “old money” or the object of desire for “rock stars, corporate CEOs and footballers” (p304). As a result the country house is ‘frozen in amber’ as a cultural form: “a part of the nation’s past but no longer of its present.”

 

There is very little attempt by Barczewski to examine any more deeply the reality of country house ownership in Britain in 2023. There is no reference to Historic Houses in the index, an organisation representing over 1,400 country houses across the UK. To my knowledge, none of the 1,400+ owners of these houses is a footballer or a rock star. A proportion of them are indeed ‘old money’, sometimes they are families who have lived in the same house for more than eight hundred years. Others have had less length of tenure, perhaps a hundred or a hundred and fifty years, perhaps not as much as this. A small proportion are indeed ‘new money’, who have used fortunes made in business to buy and restore historic properties, injecting them with much needed new capital. In such ways, the English country house sustains itself, and continues to do so, as it has throughout history. Just 300 of the 1,400 properties are open to day visitors. The majority make their money in other ways: events, hospitality, weddings, concerts, accommodation. There are more than 1,400 different strategies in fact: every house is unique. But Barczewski tars them all with pretty much the same brush: they are today, largely, nostalgic embarrassments, destined never to live up to the glory days of when they were first built, back when Britain (or was it England?) ruled the waves.