The country seemed a lot emptier then. I remember getting bored with driving long distances, but I don't recall ever becoming frustrated by the traffic. This memory brought a grim smile yesterday as I spent more than an hour crawling around Bristol in bumper to bumper traffic to get to a grand
country house called Tyntesfield. It was even more ironic as I'd chosen to head in this direction, rather than my original plan to go to the Festival of History outside of Northampton, precisely because last weekend's traffic on the M1 was so horrible. My lesson, I suppose, is that these days going almost anywhere in this country ...especially on a sunny day ... may see you forfeit an hour or more in traffic. So your destination better be worth the pain of the getting there.Tyntesfield was worth the effort. The house is one of the National Trust's newest acquisitions, bought amidst massive news coverage in 2002. I was one the millions whose donations helped raise £8.2 million in just 100 days (then matched by a £17 million grant from the government) to save the house from being sold into private hands. The Trust ran a masterful PR campaign playing on everyone's fears: the only people who could afford to buy the house were media or sporting celebrities or Russian oligarchs, all of whom could do unimaginable damage to this Victorian jewel. It was a horribly snobbish campaign, and quite possibly wrong, but it did save something unique for the nation.
Why unique? I'd argue that it's not the Trust's most vocal claim, that it's a rare example of Victorian architecture. In fact, there are two Trust properties in the general area (Lanydrock in Cornwall and Knightshayes Court in Devon) that come from the same mould: 19th century new money builds retro gothic mansion to make self look like old establishment. Nor is the fact that it was purchased lock, stock and barrell with four generations of family detrius jammed in every corner a rare occurance. The Trust inherited Chastleton in Oxfordshire with the same circumstances.
No, what's different here is that the Trust opened the place almost immediately, allowing the public to walk through a restoration work in progress. Seeing the grandeur of Victorian decorative work next to peeling wallpaper and beneath festoons of cobwebs, peering into some rooms closed to traffic because the floor won't hold ... this paints a picture of the magnitude of the concept of "restoration", and honours the work the National Trust does, in a way nothing else could.
The house is a delight, and comes with all the lavish attention to detail you'd expect from frightfully wealthy Victorians. The Gibbs family made their money importing bat guano (yes, that's poo) for fertiliser from South America. Within 50 years of the business' start they'd become one of the richest families in the country. Though they spared no expense on the house, its building took just one year of company profit.It's large and ornate. A series of grand entry and stair halls connect a massive, cathedral-like library, a dining room fitting a big table seating at least 24 and three "small" tables fitting 10 each, an opulent sitting room and several smaller living areas. The majority of the decor is Victorian gothic, with the kind of patterened wallpaper, arched furniture and elaborate carving Pugin made famous at Westminster. While you can see similar furniture, wallpaper and fireplaces around the country, the quality of the carving here might just be unique. The second generation to live in the house was headed by a man who carved as a hobby, and was so good at it that experts now can't distinguish between his work and that of the professionals he brought in. But they are sure that it was his attention to detail that drove much of the craftsmanship lavished on the house in the later 19th century.
Tyntesfield may hold the finest gothic revival carving in the country.
Examples include carvings at the corners of the entry porch, each using different plants to show the four seasons; specially cast hinges for the library door that carry a quote from Horace about the value of the written word; and a magnificent set of panels running round one of the drawing rooms depicting all the flowers, fruit and veg grown on the estate. My favourite story, however, had to be that of the wallpaper in the dining room. A two dimensional, heavily patterned floral meant to copy embossed leather panels of the 17th century, it was outrageously expensive. But once up, the owner decided he didn't like the burgundy background. So craftsmen were given tiny paintbrushes and painstakingly worked around the twining flowers and leaves to paint the background cream.
Whilst most of the interiors stick to the gothic theme, there is one large drawing room that got a fanciful makeover in Venetian style. Dark, ornate, burgundy ... one wonders if the man responsible for THIS renovation wasn't pining for the wallpaper his father had brightened.
Back to gothic, you find one of the grandest chapels I've ever seen attached to a country house. In its exterior and two level design it copies Sainte Chapelle in Paris. Its decor is a little less detailed than that French jewel box, but only just. The stained glass windows, the mosaic floors of semi precious stone and the wall mosaics completed by Venetian craftsmen were the best money could buy. That such beauty could be created for one family is breathtaking, and makes you wonder if today's "new money" is achieving anything close.
The best part of Tyntesfield, however, is the fact that it's not perfect. The peeling paint, cobwebs and doors opened onto unexplored rooms filled with stacks of stuff beneath dust covers give you the delicious feeling you're sneaking around somewhere you shouldn't be. Part of me regrets the thought of a restored Tyntesfield, with every room catalogued, walls returned to pristine condition and nooks and crannies cleaned. Somehow, it just won't be as much fun.
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