Category Archives: England

No More Lords a’Leaping?

More than 237 years after the American Declaration of Independence, Great Britain is moving closer to a fully representative democracy. But considering that the British resolved to start working on the process over a hundred years ago, it might still take awhile. Since 1911, the British have made repeated stabs at reforming the House of Lords, which historically included only hereditary peers (plus high Church of England officials). In recent years, pressure has been building to just do it. Many would like to replace the ancient House of Lords with a fully-elected body, which would be similar to our Senate. Slowly but surely, change is coming.

In 1066, William of Normandy crossed the English Channel and conquered England. He codified a feudal system in which a council of large landowners and church officials advised him. Titles were formalized, as in my previous post, More Peering at the Peerage. Having a title was a mixed blessing. At any time, the holder of the title could be summoned to the monarch’s court, at his own expense. He could be ordered to pay crippling taxes, or to raise an army. In compensation, he got to sit in council with the king, theoretically having some influence on decisions. (If I’d been sitting across the table from King Henry VIII, I’d have kept my head down). Eventually, the king’s council became the House of Lords, filled by nobles with hereditary titles and the lands that went with them.

In 1215, under King John, the Magna Carta, or Great Charter of the Liberties of England, was written. Among other things, it stated that never again could the king tax without the consent of the governed–i.e., the nobles. (At this point, no one thought to worry much about commoners). Five hundred years later, the American colonists demanded the same rights for themselves. The Boston Tea Party was an audacious challenge to the English king’s practice of taxation without representation.

Sometime in the 14th century, due to popular pressure, a House of Commons evolved in Britain so that commoners could have a say in government. The present 650 members are elected. They are called MPs, or Members of Parliament. They actually do the business of government.

Since Great Britain is a constitutional monarchy, the monarch still has a formal role in government. The theory is that she (or he) provides continuity and stability. The same theory applies to the House of Lords, but its days could be numbered. To this day, though, the Queen presides over the opening of every new session of Parliament.

I’ve often watched Question TIme in the House of Commons. Amid catcalls from one side and cries of “Hear, hear,” from the other, the British Prime Minister leaps up from his seat to answer the most provocative of questions. It’s a pretty good show. As far as I know, there is no such opportunity to watch the House of Lords at work. There are still 93 hereditary peers eligible to sit in the House of Lords. The remaining positions are filled by a complicated and ever-changing system of election and appointment which I can’t for the life of me understand. In fact, I can’t even figure out how many people are entitled to wear the heavy red velvet robes of the House of Lords.

Should the British eliminate the peerage? One reason it has not yet happened is that the British people love their traditions. Cynics argue that the hereditary peerage (and the monarchy) provide nifty spectacles for tourists. I can’t argue with that.

Anyway, as an American, I don’t think I’m entitled to an opinion on either the peerage or the monarchy. After all, in our “classless” society, we pay outrageous salaries to athletes while teachers have trouble feeding their families. And we pay homage to “celebrities”–including reality stars of dubious talents–in all our media. Meanwhile, I’m as fond of British traditions, including titles, as any other Anglophile. England would be a different country with no one to call “Lord” or “Lady.”

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe and the British Isles.

Peering at the Peerage

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The New York Times recently published a story about momentous changes possibly coming to the hallowed British laws governing titles and property. The article is titled “Son and Heir? In Britain, Daughters Cry No Fair.” Royal heredity laws were recently changed to benefit the baby due soon to Prince William and Duchess Catherine. Boy or girl, the child will become third in line to the throne. (I’m thinking that fun-loving Prince Harry will not really mind giving up his place).

This raises questions for other families still under the laws of primogeniture: inheritance by males only. Only in the British Isles does this still happen. Most European countries have long since required parents to provide for all of their children, regardless of sex or birth order. But in the British Isles, titles and lands have been held together and preserved for families precisely because the oldest son almost always inherits, and no one else gets anything.

But the changes in royal inheritance law have emboldened other families to question the age-old way of doing things.

Liza Campbell, daughter of the 25th Thane of Cawdor; photo from NYT

For example, Liza Campbell, pictured above, grew up on her family’s Scottish estate, complete with castle, knowing all the while that her younger brother would inherit it all. (There is still actually a Thane of Cawdor–he’s not just a character from Shakespeare’s MacBeth). Her father always told her, “Your face is your fortune”–meaning that it was up to her to marry well since there was nothing else coming to her.

Now, laws to allow the oldest child to inherit, whether male or female, are making their way through the British legal system. This means that both titles and lands could still be held together for a family, but having the all-important son would no longer be a requirement. In Downton Abbey terms, Lady Mary would just inherit the whole kit and kaboodle, and she could marry whomever she pleased.

The ultimate source on titles in Britain, Burke’s Peerage, still publishes the guide found on many a British bookshelf. Naturally, it’s now an interactive website, too. Founded in 1826, Burke’s Peerage also lists the genealogical history of all the royal families of Europe and the presidential families of the United States.

Only in Great Britain, though, do titles mean anything in a legal sense. Many Europeans use their hereditary titles, but they have no legal standing. And unless the person in question inherited the lands and estates that used to go along with the title, there is no income either. Of course, the “death tax” wreaks havoc on those lucky enough to actually inherit real estate as well as titles. Some people joke that royal titles in most of Europe are about as valuable as vanity license plates. In Britain, though, inheritance among the aristocracy still means something. So any change will have profound results. Whether there should even be heredity titles–or a monarchy–are subjects of another whole debate. Change comes slowly in a land as bound by tradition as Great Britain.

The article from The New York TImes is at

Join me next time for more explorations into the history of Europe and the British Isles!

Channeling Freddie Mercury in Buxton

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While watching the BBC series Lost Empires, I am sure I recognized one of the locations: the Opera House in Buxton, England. Built in 1903, the 902-seat theater hosted music-hall shows and other live entertainments in the very period depicted in the series, 1913. (I described this excellent series in yesterday’s post). By 1927, movies had overtaken variety shows in popularity. The theater turned into a cinema. In 1979, it was refurbished for live performance, which continue year-round to this day. I’d love to be there for the annual Gilbert and Sullivan Festival, but I don’t like to travel in the height of summer. So I take potluck when I go. There is some kind of live entertainment, or a high-quality film, almost every night of the year.

Buxton Opera House

Buxton Opera House Detail

The theater interior is beautiful, white with gilded cherubs, curlicues galore, and red velvet curtains. There is not a bad seat in the house, not even way up in “the gods”–theater parlance for the very highest and cheapest seats. In Lost Empires, the seasoned trouper played by Laurence Olivier cautions the young performer played by Colin Firth to always play to “the gods”–the customers in the cheap seats. They can make you or break you, soon-to-be washed-up performer warns, and he should know.

Buxton Opera House Stage

I once saw a mountain-climbing documentary at the Opera House. Another time, I saw a very good touring performance of the play “The Madness of King George.” Last time I was in Buxton (to visit nearby Chatsworth and to enjoy the beauty of Derbyshire), I bought tickets for an event I probably would have given a miss, if there had been anything else going on. There was a Queen tribute band, starring Patrick Meyers as the late Freddie Mercury. As it turned out, I had a great time. The band is called Killer Queen. They fill large stadiums, and they put on a smaller-scaled show for venues like the Buxton Opera House. Patrick Meyers does not quite have the 4-octave range of Freddie Mercury, but he makes up for it in showmanship, passion, knowledge of his subject, and sheer kinetic energy.

Patrick/Freddie danced and sang his heart out, flinging a series of flamboyant satin jackets out into the audience at just the right moments. And so it went, through the great classic rock repertory of Queen: “Bohemian Rhapsody,” “Killer Queen,” “Somebody to Love,” “Don’t Stop Me Now,” “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” and of course the anthem “We are the Champions.”

The audience was almost as entertaining as the show itself. The first two rows were filled with teenagers and young adults from a nearby school for people with various disabilities. To prepare for the outing, they must have been listening to Queen albums nonstop. Many of them knew every song by heart and sang along, with gusto. They jumped up and danced, too–which Mr. Meyer tried in vain to get the rest of the audience to do.

One young man in particular was in ecstasy through the entire performance. He kept moving right up to the stage apron, pounding out the rhythms with his hands. Every now and then, a teacher would gently lead him back to his seat, but he popped up again every time. He just couldn’t help it. He sang every word of every song, and he shouted and spun in circles between songs.

When the show ended, and the curtain calls were done, the band’s drummer dashed to the front of the stage and handed his drumsticks–probably still smoking from the heat of the performance–to this young man.

Until I attended this show, I had never quite understood the fuss about Queen, or the influence on the development of rock. Now I get it. Reportedly Sacha Baron Cohen is developing a film about the remarkable journey that the multi-talented Farrokh Bulsara took to become Freddie Mercury.

Freddie Mercury died of AIDS in 1987. I like to think that his talent and creativity live on in memory, and in performances like the one I almost didn’t go to see. I imagine the young man who received the special drumsticks still treasures them as a memory of a wonderful night.

The music hall tradition lives on in Great Britain, taking new forms and honoring old ones. Tastes have changed over time, but the need for audiences and performers to connect remains the same.

Hitching a Ride on a Steam Train

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My friend, Judy Gunthorpe, sent me an entertaining message about a trip on a piece of history: a steam train in England. She lives in Bristol–very close to Tyntesfield. Steam trains were an important part of the industrial development that allowed people like the Gibbs family of Tyntesfield to build their fortunes. Judy and I must have been on the same wavelength! With her permission, I’m sharing her article below. (I say she needs her own blog–I hope this is a start). All aboard!

Engine Arriving

It’s 8.30am on a Sunday morning and I’m sitting on a steam train at Bristol Temple Meads station. Without any fanfare, a platform overhead light turns to OFF, two guards wave their paddles and, imperceptibly, as if magically, we glide forward.

This is the Royal Duchy trip organised by the The Railway Touring Company and we are heading for Par in south Cornwall. There are 8 carriages and a kitchen carriage. Immediately behind the engine are four Premier coaches where passengers have paid £179 for a full English breakfast and a three course ‘silver-served’ dinner. The next three coaches are First Class, offering morning coffee and Danish pastries and afternoon tea with scones and finger sandwiches. We are in the single Standard carriage of 64 seats with tables of four, where everyone has brought their own picnic and ‘sharing’ happens!! (At half the cost of the Premier service we think we’ve got the best deal).

Flock of Passengers

The other couple at our table have driven over from Lincoln and are steam aficionados! They stopped yesterday at Cheltenham Racecourse for a mini local steam ride. Armed with DIY safety specs from Wicks, they spend most of the journey south with their heads out of the door window. Hmmm!!

Coupling Up to Carriages

We stop at various stations to collect more passengers and there is almost an hour’s Water scheduled delay at Exeter. The old ‘automatic’ boiler water pipes alongside the tracks have been removed, so refilling now requires a very different process. During this stop we actually climb onto the footplate, warm ourselves by the open, roaring furnace and chat to the drivers. They are dressed in denim with the compulsory neckerchief. They tell me its ‘jolly chilly’ in their open cab compared to the protected equivalent of a modern engine.

Looking Good

Warned by the early morning weather forecast of ‘bad weather ‘over the south-west we are prepared with kagools and umbrellas. It was cold but dry as we left Bristol but by Taunton the drizzle had begun. Along the causeway towards Teignmouth the rain cascaded down the windows.

All along the route we see steam fanatics waiting on balconies, in fields, in back-gardens, on bridges. They wave, click cameras and jot down details. The stations appear to have suspended the ‘ticket only’ entry to platforms, allowing anyone / everyone access to this special engine.

The Mighty Engine

At Dawlish Warren we pull onto a side track to allow a faster Intercity to race past, and at Newton Abbott there is an unscheduled hold-up because a Great Western train needs to disembark some unruly passengers! This presents a disadvantage when we do set off; ahead is the worst climb of the journey – the third steepest main line bank on the British mainland – and we’ve no momentum to assist us. As we head for the Dainton Tunnel we are almost at walking pace. It’s when the engine struggles up these inclines I can hear the chatter of the wheels – ‘I think I can, I think I can’!!

Some years ago my husband Robin saw a Bristol-Penzance rail offer for £10 return. Collecting the tickets, he was delighted to find that, for another £5, we could travel First Class and enjoy unlimited tea, coffee and biscuits. We planned to take the bus on to Land’s End. However, due to ‘wet rails’, we arrived five minutes after the bus left!! Walking to St Michael’s Mount the weather was so cold and miserable I needed a brandy to recover!

Robin produces a bag of strange tasting gummy sweets. On inspection, I see they are from Target, so originated in Colorado. That makes me look closer – to find the sell-by date was December 2012. He argues they are pretty inert so exceeding the date by six months will have no effect. Later, during our 3 hour turn round time at delighful and scenic Charlestown, near Par, we enjoy afternoon tea. Robin has a scrumptious genuine scone and cream and I manage to demolish a generous slice of pecan pie. Sadly, within 5 minutes of leaving the coffee shop, my cake has left me!! Now, was that caused by those odd sweets????

The Man in Charge

The journey home always seems shorter that the outward leg, and dusk falls as we cross the Somerset levels. We notice bats flitting round and the cattle, who all day have fled from our unusual sounds, simply lift their heads to look. As our carriage attendant collects the rubbish and tidies things away, I eavesdrop surrounding conversations; pet cats, hospital visits, long train journeys, future train trips, gradients and speed. My own thoughts revert to my father putting me on a train at Liverpool Lime Street and my mother meeting me at Euston Station for a half-term break. Yes, we could travel alone as children safely in those days. It’s time to snooze – until the motion slows and we gently settle back on Platform 10 in Temple Meads. For now, we are all ‘steamed out.’

Thank you, Judy! It’s almost as good as being on that train myself!

Join me next time for more adventures in exploring Europe and the British Isles.

A Perfect Peach at Stratford-upon-Avon

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Some years ago, I found myself with a lot of Frequent Flyer miles that were about to expire. No one was free to travel with me. So I treated myself to a solo trip to England. I decided to see as much live theater as I possibly could. In the course of two weeks, I saw 18 plays. Some days I doubled up and took in a matinee plus an evening performance. I saw plays at grand theaters, in the London equivalent of “Off-Broadway,” and in tiny rooms above pubs.

At that time, to get to Stratford-upon-Avon, I had to take a train from London, then transfer to a bus. (Now, there is a convenient train that goes all the way to Stratford). I had dreamed for years of seeing the Royal Shakespeare Company in their home theater, the Swan. One evening, I saw a very fine production of a Shakespeare play with the actors in modern dress. Which play, you might ask? I think it was Romeo and Juliet, but I can’t be sure. (On the train, I met a woman who had saved the program from every theater performance she had ever attended. Although she was a theater professor, I thought that was a little obsessive. Now I wouldn’t mind having all my programs).

The next morning, I went to the bus stop for the trip back to London. Just outside The Dirty Duck, the pub still frequented by theater folk and tourists alike, I spotted an actor I had seen the evening before. I stopped and complimented him on his performance. He seemed delighted to be recognized; he had only a medium-sized part. I’m thinking maybe he played Juliet’s father. I know how much talent and hard work it takes for any actor to get even a spear-carrying part in the Royal Shakespeare Company. I did remember his performance, I thought he stood out in the character, and told him so. He thanked me graciously. Just then, the bus pulled up and I got on.

The bus was about to pull away from the curb when the actor jumped up the steps with a great theatrical flourish. He stood beside the driver, peering down the aisle at all the passengers. “I am looking for a LADY,” he intoned, in his best Shakespearean elocution. He spotted me and moved up the aisle toward me. He took my hand, got me to stand, kissed my hand, and made a great show of presenting me with a perfectly ripened peach. Everyone on the bus applauded, he took a very grand bow, and he was off with a jaunty wave.

Like all artists, actors pursue their passion even though they know they are very unlikely to gain riches or fame. Very few of them reach the heights of, say, the late James Gandolfini. I wish I could remember the name of this actor, who shared a magical personal moment with me and went out of his way to entertain a busload of non-paying strangers. Did all this happen 26 years ago? Yes, it did. Travel memories are lifelong!

Join me next time for more explorations into the art, history and literature of Europe and the British Isles.

A Vigorous Voice from the Past

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I hurried to visit Tyntesfield within a year or two of its opening to the public. The house was only partially open, and work was going on all over the estate. During my visit, I stood with a tour group in the Billiard Room, admiring the vaulted ceiling and the light from the high windows. The billiard table, custom-made for the family, connected to an electronic scoreboard. Pressing a button on the side of the table recorded the score–quite an innovation, for Victorian times.

William Gibbs was 75 when his dream home was completed, and he had four sons. Three of them were still teenagers, so presumably the room was built and furnished for them. It was not, however, a smoking room–Mr. Gibbs allowed only smoking in the very highest room of the house, a tower on the third floor. (I’m sure the teenagers found ways around the various house rules–they always do).

We had all just looked at a rather ornate urinal in an adjoining room–another modern innovation. The guide was talking about how the room was built for and used by men. Suddenly an elderly lady in the back of the group thumped her cane on the floor and interrupted the guide. She was a family member and had spent a good deal of time in the house. One of the 19 heirs! (I hoped she had collected a cool million and not blown it all at the casino). She proceeded to set us all straight. Did women use the billiard room? Yes, they did! Trust me, you would not have argued with her.

The lady went on with a story about the bats that had infested the former men’s servants quarters nearby. Later, I read that the colony of protected lesser horseshoe bats had to given another suitable home on the estate before restoration could begin in those rooms.

The tour guide wisely let the lady keep talking. I’d have listened to her all day. At the time, I didn’t know about the Great Kidnapping Incident, or I’d have asked her about it for sure. In 1988, the late Lord Wraxall had been kidnapped at his home. The ruffians knocked him to the ground and demanded his house keys and the combination to his safe. But the burglar alarm went off–I don’t know whether he was inside or outside the house at the time. So they threw him into the boot (the trunk, to Americans) of his own car, which they drove about 2 miles away and abandoned. He was left there for 7 hours until someone found him. According to some reports, all he had to say was, “Good grief, there’s more room in there than I ever thought.”

The National Trust is going to great lengths to collect stories about life in the house. There is an interactive website where people can contribute their own memories. It is at http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/history/stories/. Personal stories are placed in a timeline. Family, servants and friends have contributed their memories.

Recently, the house has been featured on the wildly popular BBC TV series Dr. Who–very appropriately, since Dr. Who is a Time Lord. Not only can he travel through time, but he is able to regenerate his body in a different form when near death–very handy for showrunners who have to cope with new actors taking over the part.

At Tyntesfield, and at many other National Trust Properties, enchanting doorways continue to lead us into the past, carefully preserved for future generations.

Join me next time for more explorations into the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

Tyntesfield: Victorian Splendor Rescued

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Just outside Bristol, and not far from Bath, stands one of the most beautiful country homes in England. It has only been open to the public since 2002, when the National Trust acquired it. I visited a couple of years after the opening and can’t wait to return.

By the time the 2nd Lord Wraxall, known as Richard, died in 2001, he was the only person living in the house. The house had been hit by bombs several times during the Bristol Blitz of World War II, and had never been properly repaired. Birds and bats took up residence in whole wings of the house. Lord Wraxall had maintained the house as best he could, but over the years the four generations of the family had simply closed off areas not in use. So the house contained a treasure trove of historical belongings. For example, there were packages of shirts dating from the last century, still in their original wrappers as they came new from the shop. And Tyntesfield was the last High Victorian house available for purchase in all of England.

Lord Wraxall’s will specified that the house be sold and the proceeds divided among 19 heirs. The market value was about 20 million pounds, or about $31 million. In addition, double or triple the purchase amount was needed for repairs. Sotheby’s took charge and began cataloging the house’s contents for auction.

Various gazillionaires were interested. (The press reported that Madonna, Kylie Minogue, and Andrew Lloyd Webber were looking). But the National Trust of Britain, one of the two main preservation societies, managed to raise the purchase money within a period of 50 days. (Controversy arose when a semi-secret deal with the National Lottery provided some of the money for this project that many considered “elitist”). The Trust took possession in July of 2002. This was the first new acquisition by the National Trust in many years, and the largest in its history. Today, over 800 paid and volunteer staff work on the estate, 3 times the number at any other National Trust property. First order of business was repairing the roof. A free-standing scaffold the size of 10 tennis courts covered the entire structure for 18 months. Then the entire house had to be re-wired and re-plumbed. An elaborate fire protection system was installed. One by one, rooms were cleaned, restored and the furniture carefully arranged, using historic photos and descriptions.

In the meantime, visitors were welcomed. The Trust had determined that the more people were able to see of the property, the more they wanted to donate and volunteer. Instead of the usual years of construction followed by a great unveiling, the renovation has proceeded with the enthusiastic participation of legions of volunteers. The renovation itself is a great educational project, unprecedented in National Trust history. Elitist? Not today. The estate buzzes with the activity of volunteers, workers, school groups and tourists eager to bask in a lost way of life. I’m writing a number of posts about Tyntesfield because it’s such a fine example of the work of the National Trust. We can learn so many lessons from the ups and downs of a house’s history. Good or bad, the events of the past help us figure out how to live in the future. I notice that the National Trust has now published a book all about Gibbs family history, Fertile Fortune: The Story of Tyntesfield, by James Miller, National Trust Books, 2006. If I don’t acquire the book beforehand, I’m sure that on my next visit I’ll walk out of the gift shop with a copy. Join me next time for more explorations into the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

Tyntesfield: Mr. Gibbs Made His Dibs

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William Gibbs’s son Antony did not take over the family business as expected. The story went that William would not allow it, after he observed that the boy could not add four columns of figures simultaneously (I wonder how many of us would pass that test?) I doubt Antony was disappointed. He managed the Tyntesfield estates and charities, became an accomplished carver of ivory, and puttered with inventions such as a bicycle which supposedly stored energy going downhill and used it when going uphill. It didn’t work, though.

Instead, William’s nephew Henry Hucks Gibbs took over the company. Henry was elevated to the peerage, becoming Baron Aldenham in 1896. (What exactly is the peerage, anyway? A subject for another post). Henry also became Governor of the Bank of England, earning him the popular jingle which forever followed the Gibbs family: “Mr. Gibbs made his dibs, Selling the turds of foreign birds.” Not very elegant, but it certainly told the story. And he must have laughed all the way to the bank.

The little ditty no doubt followed George Abraham Gibbs, a war hero who moved in higher social circles than his humbler ancestors.

George became 1st Lord Wraxall and Treasurer of the Royal Household–an example of the new commercial and industrial wealth overtaking older titled families.

The 2nd Lord Wraxall, known as Richard, inherited the title at the age of 3. His mother, Ursula, Lady Wraxall, presided at Tyntesfield until she died in 1979. She received an OBE for her services to the war effort. During World War II, the house became a medical distribution center, with the books in the library replaced by bandages. It was also a convalescent home for American soldiers, who stage reunions there to this day.

When he came of age, the 2nd Lord Wraxall (Richard) served with the Coldstream Guards, then took over management of the estate. He maintained the house and grounds as they were, not following the lead of so many great homes in getting rid of Victorian furniture and features as they became unfashionable. He never married, and ended up living alone in the house with most of the rooms closed. When he died unexpectedly in 2001, the place was a treasure trove of Victorian items from the past 150 years.

Join me next time when I consider the very challenging acquisition of the house by the National Trust. It’s one of the chapters in the fascinating story of the history and art of the British Isles.

Tyntesfield: The House that Guano Built

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In 1842, William Gibbs’s brother Henry died during a visit to Venice. In the same year, the South American agent for the family firm, Antony Gibbs and Sons, made a risky decision. He took out government contracts for the collection and shipping of guano from barren islands off the coast of Peru. What is guano? Solidified bird droppings! William Gibbs was alarmed by the large loans necessary, but the gamble paid off. Soon the company had a monopoly on the business, which shipped vast amounts of agricultural fertilizer all over the world.

William became a very rich man. He happily set about transforming a fairly simple Georgian house into a dream home for his growing family. The beautiful result was Tyntesfield, completed in 1865.

William lived contentedly with his family until he died in 1875 at age 85.

Themes from nature appear everywhere in the house.

In his later years, he was affectionately known as “Prior,” because he turned his attention to spiritual matters and to good works in his community. The exquisite chapel was never consecrated, but it’s beautiful all the same. Family and servants gathered for daily prayers, and I doubt that anybody minded taking a break in this beautiful space.

Subsequent Gibbses made substantial additions of their own, and the house rang with the laughter of family and friends for many happy years.

Unlike grand houses built for show, Tyntesfield was built solely for the enjoyment of a family. The wonderful library was filled with carefully catalogued books that were used on a daily basis by anyone interested. Those books are still there. As soon as the room was completed, the family began using it for amateur theatricals.

By all accounts, servants at Tyntesfield were well treated and stayed with the family for many years.

On my very first visit, shortly after the house opened, the servant quarters were just being explored. It was possible to see, behind the scenes, how a grand home actually operated. There were laundry rooms, boot rooms, a still room for making jams, a luggage room, rows of large containers for carrying hot water to the main bedrooms, and a kitchen with a fireproof ceiling.

House staff included a butler, two footmen, a housekeeper, a lady’s maid, a cook, six housemaids, a nurse, two nursery maids, two scullery maids, and a hall boy. Actually, this was a fairly modest staff for such a large house and family. I like to think the Gibbs children, raised with the strong Gibbs work ethic, made their own beds.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

A Victorian Father

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William Gibbs, a successful businessman and model of Victorian rectitude, built what we now know as Tyntesfield for his large family. He was an example of the new wealth that started to overtake the traditional wealth of the British nobility.

He is shown in a photo from around 1862: the cheerful white-haired gentleman, seated with his adoring youngest daughter on his knee. His wife, 28 years younger, is on his right. On his left, seated at the table, is the house chaplain. At Tyntesfield, servants and family alike attended morning prayers. Aside from his grand house, William built and supported several churches in the area.

William inherited the family shipping and trading business from his father, who had made some bad calls and gone bankrupt in 1789. Together with his brother Henry, William worked all his life to re-establish the family business. In 1818 they set up a “sacred debts” account to pay off the creditors of their father’s business, although they had no legal obligation to do so. In 1840, over 50 years after the bankrupty, all the debts were paid in full.

Today, we can visit the home he built, Tyntesfield, one of the most beautiful in England. It evokes happy family life in a lost era. Here’s to all fathers! May they love their families, meet their obligations, and leave lasting legacies.

Tyntesfield, a glorious Victorian mansion

Join me next time for more explorations into the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!