7 May 2015
Fading Icons: The stuffing is pulled out of the National Trust
by R J Thomas
Injudicious if revealing words have got Dame Helen Ghosh, Director General of the National Trust, the rural land and buildings conservation group and the largest landowner in England and Wales, into boiling water with the traditionalist wing of the Trust’s membership. Dame Helen, who took over the top job at the Trust in November 2012 and was formerly a high flying but somewhat controversial civil servant, commented in a review of the Trust’s future direction that it would concentrate more on land acquisition and was unlikely to add to its large portfolio of country houses. She added that “People are put off [country house visiting] because there is “so much stuff” in some of the stately homes”, and that “people are being made to work fantastically hard and should be … worked less hard” by thinning the contents of rooms full of centuries worth of collected art and objects.
Not surprisingly, some of the donors of the aforesaid houses and “stuff” took exception to the idea that their ancestors’ valuable collections were so much clutter. But the Trust, suiting its actions to Dame Helen’s words, has removed, amongst other de-clutterings, the furniture from the library of Ickworth House in Suffolk, built and filled with exquisite objects by the Earl-Bishop of Bristol (the foremost of the “Earls of Creation”, the great collector peers of the late C18th) and placed there some thoughtful bean bags. At Dunham Massey in Cheshire the state rooms have been re-presented as the hospital wards they were used as during the First World War. Upton House in Warwickshire, the former property of the Samuel banking family, has been transformed into the banking offices they became in the second conflict, with desks and typewriters in the Long Gallery and the gardens “enhanced” with wartime features.
It is not only the donors who object to the beanbags and typewriters. Furniture and art historians are concerned about the idea of refreshing houses by moving and storing delicate and historic contents and damaging the patina of centuries, not to mention the coherence and history of the houses. The Trust relies on volunteers for many visitor-facing roles and here opinion seems to be more mixed, some upset by changes to much loved interiors but others saying that changes do enable a perspective on objects and pictures not noticed before – “by lying on the bean bags the beauty of the ceiling can be fully appreciated” said one at Ickworth. Visitors are being asked to record their views, and in the end no doubt those reactions will determine future policy. So we will have to wait for the end of the season to find out whether the Trust will move on to barbecues in the forecourts and discos in the drawing rooms.
But this fuss is about something much deeper and less comfortable than bean bags, the latest tension (of many) between the management of the Trust, on one side, and conservationists and historians on the other. It goes to the very heart of what the National Trust is for. The roots of this lie to an extent in the 1960’s. The Trust, whose financial position then was much more fragile than today, after taking on a huge number of threatened houses and estates in the post-war atmosphere of confiscatory levels of high tax and deferred maintenance, decided to go for a mass membership approach. That membership has grown and grown, so that the Trust now has over four million members, the largest voluntary members group in Britain. Paradoxically, though membership fees are useful income, that has not much helped the Trust with its revenue problems – one of the benefits of membership is free access to properties, and free car parking. So the Trust is in a relentless search for additional ways of attracting paying visitors, and, as many of the “connoisseur” type of country house visitors are Trust members gazing for free at the Gainsboroughs, the Trust is out to attract less arty types. So more events and promotions, face painting, cookery festivals, classic car rallies, actors in the state rooms – and reinterpretations. The concern in some circles is that the Trust is by statute (or should be), a preservation charity. It is there to look after and protect the historic, the beautiful, the fragile, the rare. Conservation does not go very well with mass access and extended seasons. The French, taking a contrary view, have closed the famous Lascaux caves and built a reproduction down the road (sans beanbags), to save the original from the moist breath and vibrating footsteps of visitors. Mass numbers of feet and aging architecture do not mix well, and as numbers of private owners have found, they do not help the bottom line much either. Quite a number of private houses which were formerly open to the public now only open for prearranged parties, or for weddings and celebrations. The public seems happy to pay high premiums to get married in somebody else’s parlour, and fewer visitors means that the cost of maintaining the premises is much reduced. It is difficult not to have sympathy for the Trust in achieving the tricky balance between conservation and cash-flow, but its current strategy for the country houses in its care is somewhat obscure.
The Trust was founded, in worthy Victorian paternalism, to give protection to open spaces so that the increasingly mobile working class could enjoy unspoiled rurality. That ethos is still not far beneath the surface. The Trust’s council, though partly (only partly) elected by the membership, is not bound by any resolutions or dictates from that membership. This is to ensure that its conservation objectives cannot be undermined by special interest groups; indeed, it has on several occasions simply ignored members’ majority resolutions. But the Trust increasingly has an eye to its popular standing, and the affection in which it is held – both important if it is to retain the tax and planning privileges which it enjoys, for example protection against compulsory purchase orders except in very unusual circumstances. It courts popular opinion to ensure that these privileges are not threatened.
The Trust knows that it is now in the mass market entertainment business, and it is getting good at it. Its senior managers increasingly are marketing and financial specialists; the fine arts graduates and tweedy land agents are fading away. It has recently selected a new Chairman, Tim Parker, a successful businessman and company doctor, another new move for the Trust away from worthy public figures and aristocrats. In a recent interview with “Country Life” magazine Parker stressed the conservation role of the Trust, his comments not quite in line with the pronouncements of his Director General; so this is very much an issue in the upper echelons of Trust policy.
The conflict between preservation and popular appeal is not one that will go away, but one cannot help wonder if the Trust may be wandering too far from its roots, and is in danger of losing its special standing in its mandated purpose. In that, it mirrors the torments of those other highly regarded but increasingly criticised iconic monoliths of modern Britain, the BBC and the NHS.
