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‘These beautiful things are yours’: country houses and the Youth Hostel Association

Matthew Beckett - The Country Seat2 Comments

The melancholy history of the English country house in the twentieth century has often been written as one of loss and rescue: the long decline of landed society, the tragic demolitions of the inter- and post-war years, the rise of preservation campaigns, and the eventual intervention of organisations such as the National Trust. Scholars have understandably concentrated on ownership, architecture, collections, and the struggle to secure survival. Yet one important chapter has remained curiously overlooked. From the 1930s onwards, the Youth Hostels Association occupied dozens of country houses, often at the precise moment when their future stood in doubt. Rather than being museums or carefully interpreted heritage attractions, these were working buildings filled with cyclists, walkers, school groups, and young travellers who cooked in former servants’ quarters, slept beneath plaster ceilings and oak beams, and passed casually through spaces once reserved for a narrow social world. In scale alone, the movement represented one of the largest and least remarked encounters between ordinary people and the architecture of the country house before the great expansion of post-war heritage tourism.

Riftswood Hall, Yorkshire (aka YHA Saltburn) – bought in 1937 for £1,500 by the YHA’s Wear, Tees and Eskdale group and opened the same year. Closed and sold off in 1992. (Image from a private collection). More info

The crisis of the country house in the early 20th-century stripped bare the function of the country house. When worsening circumstances emptied the house of it’s people, social life, and contents, what remained but an empty building? Yet, in those dark periods when the fate of so many country houses was abandonment and dereliction, a new social movement, the Youth Hostel Association, helped take these houses from private use into the hands of young people who had no particular interest in preserving them but who valued them for their primary function; that of a place of shelter and companionship. In doing so, these encounters, however incidental – and often overlooked in the broader history of the country house – may have helped foster a broader sense of familiarity with the historic environment, one that quietly underpinned later sympathy towards the country house, even where the buildings themselves did not survive.

Even by the 1930s, public access to the country house remained comparatively limited. The National Trust, though already established as a guardian of coastline, commons, and historic buildings, possessed only a small number of substantial houses and had only cautiously begun to engage with the mounting crisis affecting the great estates. The establishment of their Country Houses Committee in 1936 marked an important shift, but the large-scale transfer of country houses into public ownership belonged chiefly to the post-war decades. By contrast, the Youth Hostels Association had already begun placing thousands of young people inside such buildings, not as visitors escorted through selected rooms, but as temporary inhabitants. They cooked in former service quarters, slept beneath carved ceilings and oak beams, and moved freely through houses which still retained much of the atmosphere of private occupation.

Escape to the country

The attraction of the countryside as a place of moral and physical renewal long pre-dated the youth hostel movement. By the early twentieth century, industrialisation and rapid urban growth had sharpened the sense that the English countryside represented something increasingly fragile and distinct from modern urban life. Organisations such as the Council for the Preservation of Rural England, founded in 1926, emerged from growing concern over uncontrolled development and the erosion of traditional landscapes. Writers, architects, and reformers alike increasingly treated the countryside not simply as scenery, but as an essential part of national character.

This belief carried particular force in discussions surrounding youth and recreation. Access to fresh air, exercise, and open country was widely regarded as socially beneficial, especially for those growing up in industrial towns and cities. Walking and cycling acquired a moral dimension beyond leisure alone, encouraging independence, health, and fellowship. Such ideas were not confined to Britain. Across Germany and central Europe, youth movements had already embraced long-distance walking and communal outdoor activity as an antidote to urban modernity and rigid social convention.

Rock Hall, Northumberland – a youth hostel (leased from the Bosanquet family) from 1948-1991 (Image from a private collection)

The country house occupied an ambiguous position within this landscape. Built to command extensive estates and often deliberately isolated from towns and villages, these houses embodied both privilege and retreat. Yet by the interwar years many had become increasingly difficult to sustain. Their scale, designed for large households and armies of servants, proved highly adaptable to institutional occupation. At the time when youth hostelling sought inexpensive accommodation in the countryside, the country house crisis was producing a supply of large, now vacant buildings whose original purpose had been undermined and were searching for a future.

Where Youth Hostels began

Founded in 1930, the Youth Hostel Association drew its inspiration from the continental model but quickly assumed a character shaped by English conditions.

Youth hostels were an idea conceived by the German school teacher but were a solution to a problem which had been the result of the new youth movement which had grown in popularity at the turn of the nineteenth-century. In central Europe, there had long been a tradition of purposeful roaming, seeking work and new opportunities. Around 1900 a new group – ‘Wandervögel‘ or Wanderbirds – rapidly flourished. In an era of strict social and societal hierarchies and expectations, and industrialisation, the idea took hold of mixed groups of young people freely wandering about the countryside, mountains, and forests. Carrying their supplies and accommodation, they mainly slept outdoors and lived a fairly itinerant lifestyle, mixing their wandering with working to sustain themselves.

Youth hostels as a concept were not a direct result of the Wandervögel but they tapped into a romantic, anti-urban mindset which combined a desire to experience nature with a wish to enable children from cities and towns to do so. Given the lack of places to play and explore, German schoolteachers often took their students on walks which might last an afternoon – or up to two weeks. Given the overnight requirements of the extended ‘tramps’, as they called their longer walks, one German teacher, Richard Schirrmann, naturally was concerned about finding suitable overnight accommodation as open air camping wasn’t suitable for younger children, and larger groups struggled to find somewhere big enough or cheap enough.

Schirrmann took matters into his own hands. From as early as 1907, he adapted the school in which he taught at Altena, in north-eastern Germany, rearranging classrooms to provide dormitory accommodation during the holidays, and establishing a system that was at once economical, orderly, and replicable. His initiative demonstrated that the problem was not one of demand but of organisation: buildings already existed which, with minimal alteration, could be pressed into temporary service. The subsequent development of the youth hostel movement in Germany, and later in Britain, followed this principle closely. In the early stages, purpose-built structures were neither necessary nor financially viable; instead, the reuse of existing buildings offered flexibility, speed of expansion, and the ability to respond to local conditions. In this way, adaptation rather than construction became the defining characteristic of the movement’s formative years.

The dawn of the YHA

Founded in 1930, the Youth Hostels Association sought to provide simple, inexpensive accommodation that would open up the countryside to a wider public, particularly the young, responding to the changes in working conditions as the six-day working week gave way to greater leisure time. In Germany, their principles of accommodation were determinedly modern, echoing the mood of the Bauhaus sweeping through the country. Richard Schirrmann held strong views, stating that ‘Buildings must be constructed to accommodate youth, the rising generation, simple and functional, easily ventilated, yet retaining the warmth, pleasant to live in, beautiful…’.

By contrast, in Britain, expansion was rapid but achieved despite little capital investment. Instead, the Association relied on local initiative, voluntary effort, and a readiness to adapt existing buildings. Hostellers arrived on foot or by bicycle, cooked their own meals, and slept in rooms never designed for such use, treating their surroundings not as heritage but as accommodation.

This practical approach soon led to the adoption of larger buildings. The interwar country house crisis produced a supply of vacant or underused houses that offered an immediate solution to the Association’s needs. Reuse was less a matter of choice than necessity: new building was prohibitively expensive, while the movement’s ethos favoured frugality over permanence. As a result, young people found themselves inhabiting houses that had previously been distant and exclusive, making them ordinary through use.

Maeshafn, Wales – opened as a purpose-built hostel in 1931, closed permanently in 2005 and now a private home (Image from a private collection)

Despite the German example, few purpose-built hostels were built, primarily due to the cost, but also due to a particular British mindset which embraced and mythlogised the ‘spartan’ approach. Yet, some were built – but they strengthened the hand of those who favoured adaptation and reuse. One of the earliest examples, opening in 1931, was the hostel at Maeshafn in Wales. Designed by the fashionable architect, Clough Williams-Ellis (of Portmerion fame), the wooden structure mixed Italianate and Mediterranean styles, with bold, colourful decoration; the blue doors to the dormitories contrasting with the bright yellow of the common room walls. Inevitably, it exceeded the budget, costing £900 in total to accommodate a maximum of 52 members a night, whilst Hartington Hall cost £100 to make ready, and even the much larger Ilam Hall cost only £500. The YHA had secured funding from the Carnagie Trust to expand the network by creating four, purpose-built ‘demonstration’ hostels, but the bill for Holmbury St Mary came to £2,500 and the verdict from one of the legendary early wardens, Berta Gough, was that it was ‘a very beautiful hostel, but rather overdone. So much money had been spent on it!’. The YHA were equally aghast and reported back to the Carnagie Trust that funding should be spent buying or renting existing buildings and adapting them to their needs.

A very big house in the country

Large houses, with their ample rooms and service infrastructure, could be adapted with minimal intervention to accommodate significant numbers of hostellers. In this way, the reuse of existing buildings became not only the preferred option but the defining characteristic of early YHA expansion, embedding the movement within a wider pattern of architectural adaptation during a period of profound social change. The period of the 1930s-50s is particularly instructive because the YHA policy and acquisition criteria explains the presence of so many large country houses in early hostel use as a deliberate consequence of policy, finance, and ideology in the 1930s.

The circumstances under which the Youth Hostel Association came to occupy so many substantial country houses were, in the main, practical rather than strategic. Before the 1960s, outright purchase of any hostel building was rare. Instead, the Association relied on a fluid and economical pattern of tenure: short leases secured at modest rents, buildings loaned for temporary use, or informal agreements reached with owners and trustees keen to see otherwise empty houses kept in occupation. This arrangement suited both parties. For the country house owner, it offered a measure of security at a moment of uncertainty, reducing the risk of vandalism, providing a degree of caretaking, and in some instances easing the financial burden of an unoccupied property. For the YHA, it avoided the need for capital investment and allowed for rapid expansion. Many of these houses were, by this stage, already in a state of transition, recently vacated, awaiting sale, or simply too large to sustain. Their use as hostels was often understood, tacitly, to be temporary, which goes some way to explaining the provisional character that attaches to so many of them in retrospect.

Hemingford House, Warwickshire (aka YHA Stratford-upon-Avon) – a youth hostel since 1947 (Image from a private collection)

That these buildings could be so readily adapted owed much to their inherent planning. The country house, particularly in its 18th- and 19th-century forms, lent itself remarkably well to institutional reuse. A multiplicity of bedrooms could be converted into dormitories with little difficulty; service wings provided a natural means of separation for staff and, where required, for men and women; kitchens designed for large households proved more than adequate for communal catering; and the principal rooms, stripped of their original function, served easily as shared spaces. Alterations were generally modest, limited to the introduction of bunk beds, basic washing facilities, and such safety measures as were deemed necessary at the time. It is no coincidence that houses of this period predominate within the early YHA network. Earlier buildings, with their more irregular plans and constrained accommodation, were less easily pressed into service, whereas the later country house, built for scale and efficiency, proved unexpectedly well suited to a new, collective way of inhabiting space.

‘Mansion hotels’

Each YHA region developed a distinct geographical sphere of activity. Members from Birmingham, for example, were drawn westwards into the landscapes of Wales, while the North Midlands Group found itself exceptionally well-placed, with the Peak District quite literally on its doorstep. This proximity proved significant. The group emerged as one of the most enterprising within the movement, playing a leading role in broadening the range and character of accommodation, and in extending youth hostelling beyond its earliest, more rudimentary forms. The North Midlands group were also fortunate to have as their Regional Secretary a man highly adept at navigating the local networks: Mr Laurence Ramsbottom.

As a man who felt that the beauty of the countryside was a cause worth fighting for, Laurence Ramsbottom wasted no opportunity or angle from which he could put the case for the amenities and benefits of the open air. His passion and pragmatism led him to champion a form of accommodation of which there were many – and many were in dire need of a new purpose: the country house. Their size was their inherent advantage in that they could comfortably include over a hundred beds, far more than many other hostels, which then encouraged visits from groups such as schools (which neatly aligned with Richard Schirrmann’s original vision).

Hartington Hall, Derbyshire – a youth hostel since 1934 (Image from a private collection)

In the Midlands in the 1930s, sadly many country houses were desperately seeking new owners or tenants – or awaiting demolition. One of the first to find a new life – and one it still enjoys today – is Hartington Hall. Built in 1611 by Hugh Bateman, the H-plan house was substantially altered and enlarged in 1862 for Thomas Osborne Bateman. It remained in the family until it was taken over by the YHA, opening in Easter 1932, having been modernised with electricity and central heating.

Not far from Hartington Hall stood another house that, though always intended as a temporary arrangement, was arguably the most magnificent building ever to serve as a youth hostel. Derwent Hall, built in 1672 and once a residence of the Dukes of Norfolk, had been purchased in 1920 from Viscount Fitzalan of Derwent by the Derwent Valley Water Board in preparation for a major flooding scheme for what would become Ladybower Reservoir. Since such large public works would take around a decade to complete, Laurence Ramsbottom recognised a rare opportunity to ensure that such a fine property did not stand empty in the meantime.

Ramsbottom met with the Derwent Water Board, offered rental of £50 a year – and was accepted. The Manchester and North Midlands Groups joined forces to meet the challenge, with North Midlands members raising the £50 annual rent – beyond the group’s immediate resources – by paying life memberships in advance. Still needing funds to adapt and equip the hall, they approached the Manchester group. Jointly, the members of both groups formed the necessary working parties to clean the house, which at that point had uninhabited for seven years, and decorate and furnish it, providing a total of 130 beds.

Derwent Hall, Derbyshire – a youth hostel from 1932 until it 1939 when it requisitioned and then later demolished in 1944 for the construction of the Ladybower reservoir (Image from a private collection)

Although it officially opened in 1932, a diary entry from October 1931 by Bertha Gough, a legend in the early history of the YHA, recalled that “Although the hostel is a very beautiful one, the self-cookers’ room and equipment was terrible.“. Much work clearly needed to be done to make it ready for the wider membership.

With strenuous effort, in June 1932, its doors were formally opened to hostellers by the Prince of Wales, who declared that “It is of immense benefit, particularly to those who are forced to lead dreary lives, that they should be able to get out here to this beautiful spot.“.

Less snobbily, a year later, Laurence Ramsbottom reflected in an article in The Rucksack (the YHA official magazine) that,

‘It challenged Youth to a great trust in taking possession of the first of our fine old mansions, with many of its treasures, in the shape of magnificent oak panelling and beautiful gardens, still intact. In effect, it said to Youth, ‘these beautiful things are yours; learn about them, care for them, and treasure them. Take the lesson with you in to the countryside and cherish that too with the same affectionate regard.’

Their faith in the conduct of the hostellers seemed to be well-placed. Although there was a fear that giving access to historic houses might put them at risk of vandalism, when Oliver Coburn was reflecting on the first 21 years of the YHA, he disagreed. In his opinion, ‘…the standard of behaviour in the Peak District countryside is better now than the present generation has known. Derwent Hall has become a great influence.‘.

After Derwent and Hartington Halls, other country houses followed with Overton Hall opening in 1933, and Ilam Hall, Ravenstor, Bennetston Hall, Tor Dale and Leam Hall, also becoming part of the regional network.

Leam Hall, Derbyshire – opened in 1939, closed in 1970 (Image from a private collection)

Ilam Hall might have been the crown jewel if only the YHA had been able to take it on earlier. A particularly fine house, it was originally the seat of the medieval Booth family, and then passed by marriage in the 18th century to the Port family. The main house was a Gothic Revival rebuilding of the 1820s-30s by the architect John Shaw, commissioned by Jesse Watts Russell, who remodelled the estate village and park in a picturesque style. In 1927 the estate was sold to Edward Backhouse, who attempted to run it as a hotel and pleasure grounds, but the venture failed. The property was then sold to a demolition company, and significant parts of the house – including many principal rooms and decorative features – were lost.

The surviving structure, largely the former service wing, was rescued and restored through the intervention of Sir Robert McDougall (of McDougall’s flour) and John Cadbury (of Cadbury’s chocolate). In 1932 the remaining c.84 acres and the house were given to the National Trust, with the stipulation that it be used by the Youth Hostels Association. The building, now only about a third of its original size, has continuously operated as a youth hostel since the mid-1930s. In 1937, Cadbury was also responsible for finding the Elizabethan Wilderhope Manor in Shropshire, which he again donated to the National Trust on the understanding that it be only used as a youth hostel.

Ilam Hall, Derbyshire – the truncated remains which now form the YHA accommodation (Image from a private collection)

An indication of the enthusiasm for the new opportunities can be gauged by how quickly the number of hostels grew. The concept of ‘adopted hostels’ was crucial to the expansion with privately-owned locations being included in the YHA network as long as they met certain standards. The YHA was formed in April 1930 and in Easter 1931 there were 11 hostels but by March 1932 this has grown to 100 – though a quarter of these were in farms or repurposed farm buidlings. By 1936, over 160 more had become available taking the total to 262 hostels, and by 1939 the network extended to 297 hostels with a capacity of 10,689 beds – but crucially, of those, only 24 were owned by the YHA with another 30 formally leased.

Many others were smaller properties, sometimes affiliated on a short-term basis, but the larger properties provided substantial accommodation to bolster the capacity in key areas. However, the houses were still large historic buildings and inevitably the same issues which had often led to their disuse were also a challenge to the YHA. As Oliver Coburn noted, the YHA faced challenges in maintaining the extensive grounds which often came as part of the gift. Whilst it was central to the hostellers’ ethos to spend time maintaining the buildings, it was beyond the volunteers resources to mow acres of lawn and care for dozens of plants.

The tide turns

Although the willingness to accept substantial historic property addressed the rapidly increasing demand, it was also laying the seeds of larger problems later on. As any owner of a historic house will attest, the costs of running one are substantial and only increase. As the attitudes of their members moved away from embracing, or even just accepting, simplicity and spartan conditions, their expectations as to the quality of their accommodation and the amenities provided moved in step with the new comforts they enjoyed at home. By the 1960s, the YHA was competing with foreign travel and higher domestic living standards and faced a serious challenge to provide the funding necessary to not only maintain the properties but also upgrade for the next generation.

The very buildings that had made expansion possible now became a financial burden. Vast houses designed for wealthy families and numerous servants were expensive to heat, maintain, and modernise. For the YHA, the challenge was no longer simply to provide beds in the countryside, but to reconcile its founding ideals of economy and accessibility with the mounting costs of preserving and upgrading an ageing estate. What had once seemed an almost inexhaustible supply of magnificent accommodation increasingly revealed itself as an increasing liability. Many of the houses that had given the movement its distinctive character now stood at the centre of a difficult question: whether an organisation created to provide affordable access to the countryside could also afford to remain the custodian of some of its grandest buildings.

Longlands Hall, Yorkshire (aka YHA Haworth) – opening in 1976 but sold and now an independent hostel (Image from a private collection)

The YHA reached a peak in 1950 of 303 hostels. In 2023, it was reported that the YHA was looking to rationalise their network further, with the disposal of 20 YHA sites plus 13 affiliated ‘network’ properties. This included the 89-bed ‘Longlands Hall’, aka YHA Haworth, a large Victorian Gothic house built in 1884 for mill owner Edwin Robinson Merrall, which the YHA had acquired In the 1970s, opening in 1976. Another example was Castleton Hall, Derbyshire, located in Castleton. A surprisingly assertive Georgian house, its severe limestone walls transformed by a swaggering Baroque frontage of giant pilasters, heavy pediments and boldly cut stonework. The substantial doorway, monumental window surrounds and emphatic classical detailing lend an almost palatial character to what is essentially a Yorkshire country house. It’s use as a hostel was strongly in the tradition of how the YHA once operated – but following a review, it was sold in 2015. However, as an example that the country house tradition was not totally lost, the gap in the network was replaced by Losehill Hall, situated just outside Castleton.

Although the YHA network is much reduced, down to 73 directly-owned locations, over 810,000 guests stayed in YHA accommodation in 2024-25. Despite smaller group and solo traveller preferences increasingly rejecting the dormitory accommodation, larger properties help meet social impact objectives such as enabling groups of young people to experience the countryside. This means properties such as Ilam Hall, have remained but the latest network strategy has continued to shrink coverage, with other older locations such as Trafford Hall, Chester, being more at risk due to their higher running and maintenance costs.

Conclusion

In these years, the country house became, for a time, neither a symbol of aristocratic continuity nor an object of heritage reverence, but something far more prosaic. It was a place to sleep after a long day’s walking, to brew tea in cavernous kitchens designed for battalions of servants, to dry sodden boots beneath ceilings once intended to impress. Drawing rooms became dormitories; servants’ corridors echoed with laughter rather than whispers. The architectural language of hierarchy was not erased, but it was translated into something more democratic – and in many cases, more affectionate. This mass occupation gave generations of young explorers a means to explore the world and broaden their horizons.

On such powerful memories, the role of the houses was both central but also ancillary – admiring these houses was not the purpose of their visit, but the parts they played created a powerful backdrop to these formative phases of their lives. With such strong associations, it is perhaps little surprise that the walkers of the early- to mid-twentieth century may have been a fertile ground on which to plant the seeds of heritage preservation. The fruits of this germination may well have contributed to the wider preservation of the country house as a national institution, not only those available to the public, but as a cultural touchstone which can still be felt today.

Castleton Hall, Derbyshire – this hostel replaced Derwent Hall and was open from 1937 until 2012 and is now a private residence. This house is the genesis for this article having walked past it in 2021 and wondered about the history and discovering it had once been a youth hostel. (Image taken by Matthew Beckett)

Acknowledgements

I am deeply indebted to Duncan Simpson, former YHA Head of Corporate Affairs and house warden, for his excellent book – ‘Open to All‘ and his wonderfully helpful website, ‘Simply Hostels‘. Both are a wealth of resources on his experiences working for the YHA and the history of the organisation. His website also hosts an invaluable archive of hostel profiles written by John Martin, YHA’s volunteer archivist.

Select bibliography

Other resouces

A gilded cage: country houses as prisons

Matthew Beckett - The Country Seat2 Comments

Country houses have been slightly glibly described as ‘prisons’, usually due to the restrictive social conventions, which stifled the freedom of the occupants. However, country houses have occasionally been repurposed as true custodial institutions, serving as prisons, youth detention centres, approved schools, prisoner-of-war (POW) camps from the 18th century to the present. This role is one which has been often overlooked in the history of the country house.

Hewell Grange, Staffordshire aka HM Prison Hewell Grange 1946-2019 (Image © Cushman & Wakefield)

A fictional prison

If one wished, it was always possible to cast the country house as a prison, of sorts. The restrictions placed on everyone who lived in one, whether as the lord or the lowliest servant, was a web of both explicit and implicit rules. Although they could, in theory, walk out of any unlocked door, the reality was that they were trapped, bound to the building.

Fiction has long played on this idea, weaving physical incarceration, with its psychological equivalent. There are the self-imposed emotional bonds which confine the jilted Miss Havisham to her decaying Satis House in Charles Dickens’ ‘Great Expectations‘ (1861), or the fear which entraps the governess at Bly House in ‘The Turn of the Screw‘ (1898) by Henry James. In ‘Rebecca‘ by Daphne du Maurier (1938), Manderley, the grand estate in Cornwall, becomes a place of psychological imprisonment for the unnamed narrator. Haunted by the lingering presence of her husband’s first wife, Rebecca, the narrator feels trapped by the oppressive atmosphere of the house and the expectations imposed upon her. More recently, in Sarah Waters’ ‘The Little Stranger‘, the decaying Georgian mansion of Hundreds Hall (played by Newby Hall, Yorkshire in the film), becomes a symbol of entrapment for its inhabitants as their financial decline echoes that of their place in society, leaving them isolated.

Newby Hall, North Yorkshire, represented the fictional Hundreds Hall in the 2018 adaptation of Sarah Waters’ ‘The Little Stranger’

Beyond these intangible confines, the house as a cell was perhaps most famously portrayed with Bertha Mason, Mr Rochester’s wife, confined as the ‘mad woman in the attic’ of Thornfield Hall in Charlotte Brontë’s ‘Jane Eyre‘ (1847).

Royal confinement

Beyond fiction, the country house has, at times of need, served in reality as a place of confinement – pressed into service as a working prison when circumstance demanded.

On 16 May 1568, Mary Queen of Scots fled to England seeking refuge from political turmoil in Scotland after the battle of Langside and spent her first night at Workington Hall, Cumbria. Mary had come to England in the hope of gaining support from the Catholic nobility and of appealing to her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I, for political assistance in regaining her Scottish throne. However, because both women were descended from Henry VII, Mary possessed a strong claim to the English crown. This made her presence in England a direct threat to Elizabeth, particularly as Mary was a Catholic alternative to Elizabeth’s Protestant rule.

Although Mary was technically a guest, she was heavily guarded and this effectively marked the beginning of her nearly 19-year imprisonment before her execution. Mary was moved around regularly to thwart plots to free her, from castles to eventually the country houses of George Talbot, the 6th Earl of Shrewsbury (b.1522 – d.1590). The Earl of Shrewsbury, famously married to Bess of Hardwick, played a pivotal role in the confinement of Mary, having been appointed her custodian by the Queen. Throughout various periods, he held Mary at his family’s houses including Wingfield Manor, Hardwick Hall, Chatsworth House, and Sheffield Manor – all situated within a 15-mile radius in Derbyshire. Mary was finally moved to Fotheringhay Castle, Northamptonshire, arriving on 25 September 1586. She was put on trial in October, and then executed in the Great Hall on 8 February 1587. Her long confinement within such grand yet guarded houses stands as a stark reminder of how the architecture of luxury could so easily become the architecture of captivity.

A prisoner of war

In wartime, country houses have been pressed into service in a wide variety of roles, with prisoner-of-war camps among the least glamorous. Stepping beyond the more obviously martial associations of castles, one of the earliest – and most notorious – examples was at Sissinghurst in Kent during the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763). The house, by this time had been allowed to fall in to a significant state of disrepair by the then owners, the Baker family. The government rented the property and adapted it to hold around 3,000 French naval prisoners, during which time it was further mistreated with the inmates destroying panelling, fireplaces, the chapel furniture, and leaving the garden a wasteland.

In 2008, a newly identified watercolour emerged that provides the most complete known view of the Elizabethan house during this period when it was a prison – and includes the chilling depiction of a double murder.

Watercolour (c.1761) showing the Killing of a Group of French Prisoners at Sissinghurst Castle Garden, Kent. Sissinghurst Castle © National Trust Images / John Hammond 2016
Sissinghurst Castle with the Killing of a Group of French Prisoners English School, circa 1761. Ink and dye on laid paper. (© National Trust Images / John Hammond 2016)

On 9 July 1761, whilst guarded by local, poorly-trained, armed militia, three prisoners who had escaped were being brought back to the camp. Their arrival caused a group of prisoners to rush to the fence out of curiosity.  One of the militia, a hot-head called John Bramston, shouted that they were to come no closer or he would fire. He loaded his musket with three balls and fired at the group. One ball struck the wall, the other two each hitting a prisoner. One by the name of Baslier Baillie was wounded (shown top-left being helped by two friends), but another, Sebastien Billet, was killed instantly. Bramston was unrepentant. The picture is thought to have been painted by a Frenchman to record the crime – but in doing so also left a powerful visual record of a now much-altered house and its time as a prison.

World War II

During the twentieth century, several distinguished country houses were temporarily repurposed to serve the needs of war, their refined architecture providing an incongruous backdrop to confinement. At Huntercombe Hall in Oxfordshire, the late-Victorian mansion, with its commanding stone façade and landscaped setting, was requisitioned during the Second World War as a secure detention site, most notably for high-ranking German prisoners including Rudolf Hess, whose isolation lent the house an unlikely role in wartime diplomacy and intelligence. In north London, Trent Park, a neo-Palladian villa by Sir William Chambers, was adapted as a special interrogation centre, where senior German officers were held in conditions of deceptive comfort while their conversations were secretly recorded – its grand rooms thus becoming instruments of psychological warfare.

Entrance front of Trent Park, Enfield, north London (Image © National Army Museum ref: NAM. 1993-10-163-1)

Similarly, Mytchett Place, Surrey, during 1941–42, this Victorian mansion was fortified and codenamed “Camp Z,” serving as a one-man prison wired for surveillance for the detention of Deputy Führer Rudolf Hess.

Further north, the Huntroyde Hall estate in Lancashire, long the seat of the Starkie family, was similarly turned over to military purposes, its once-private parkland accommodating prisoners and personnel within hastily erected compounds. As with Sissinghurst, the mistreatment during the harsh use as a prison was a significant factor in its later demolition. Earlier, in the First World War, the partly medieval Badsey Manor House in Worcestershire was similarly employed to house prisoners of war, marking a utilitarian phase in its long domestic history.

The changing attitude to the role of prisons

The use of country estates and their houses was partly one of necessity in wartime, but in the post-war period also reflected a change in attitudes towards a more therapeutic approach towards incarceration from the 19th-century focus on harsh conditions and hard labour as a deterrent.

Why country houses? They offered several advantages: privacy (away from cities, escapes less dangerous to public), space for agriculture and workshops (important for training prisoners in trades), and an existing infrastructure of accommodations and kitchens. Also, symbolically, placing prisoners in a “less oppressive” environment was meant to encourage self-respect and responsibility – a deliberate contrast to the austere walled prison. Askham Grange’s homely appearance was cited as beneficial for women.

The open-prison concept drew heavily on Alexander Paterson, who joined the Prison Commission in 1922. He argued that imprisonment should actively shape behaviour for the better, with inmates encouraged to develop through structured physical and mental activity.

In the 1940s, there had been a steady increase in the total number of people convicted of indictable offences. During a House of Lords debate on Penal Reform in November 1946, the Lord Chancellor, Lord Jowitt, lamented the tendency towards increasing crime before WWII, stating that,

I take the five years 1934–1938. The number of young persons found guilty of indictable offences moved up from 10,000 odd in 1934 to 14,000 odd in 1938 – that is males; females from 1,300 odd in 1934 to 1,600 odd in 1938. …When we have the figures of 14,000 young men and 1,600 young women going up to the sort of figures we have to-day [1947], for the total number of persons – 78,000 in 1938, moving up in 1945 to 116,000…it is quite obvious that we have here a very real problem. (Source: Hansard – column 442)

The noble Lord’s figures indicated a serious issue so whilst not everyone convicted was incarcerated, there was a steady rise in the prison population:

Number of prisoners in custody in the United Kingdom from 1900 to 2024 (Image source: Statista. Data source: UK prison population statistics – published July 2024. House of Commons Library)

The sustained increase in the total population by over 50% from 1940-1950, would place significant stress on any system of incarceration. However, attitudes had changed and the harsh conditions of punishment of the nineteenth century were now considered to do more harm than good, especially for young offenders. The Criminal Justice Act of 1948 introduced major reforms for young and habitual offenders. It barred sending under-21s to prison except as a last resort, directing them instead to borstal training or, for shorter terms, to detention centres.

This more enlightened perspective, which the Lord Chancellor was fully supportive in that same debate, created a requirement for a system which emphasised a more probationary approach via the borstal system. By relying on less stringent security, and often promoting training and useful labour – particularly agricultural – this created a means to reform and improve the lives of those who had been convicted. The Lord Chancellor welcomed that:

Thank goodness, we are now approaching the time when it will no longer be necessary to detain in prison for long periods persons who are ultimately going to serve their sentences in Borstal. The institutions we now have are of very varied types. Sometimes they are in a camp and sometimes they are in a country house, where the inmates can be engaged on agricultural work. We have also opened a new Borstal institution for girls at East Sutton Park in Surrey. That is a small institution and will take some fifty girls. (Source: Hansard – column 447)

East Sutton Place [Park], Kent, which became the first open female Borstal in 1946 (Image © Kent Archives)

Interest also developed in adapting elements of the short-lived but influential “Wakefield experiment,” introduced during the First World War to manage the most uncompromising conscientious objectors – the Absolutists – who refused all military orders. Previously held in ordinary prisons, they became the focus of MPs arguing for more humane treatment. The government resisted releasing them but agreed to trial a compromise by placing all COs under a new regime at Wakefield.

This system relied on a high degree of trust. Cell doors were left unlocked, prisoners could move freely within the prison, and a small allowance allowed them to buy writing materials and tobacco. Conditions were not freedom, but a clear improvement. Leisure and work were timetabled, with expectations of diligence and no “singing, shouting, whistling, or reading” during working hours. The experiment collapsed when the men rejected the rules they had helped draft, leading to their return to standard prisons. Even so, its central idea – combining restrictions with opportunities for responsibility and reform – would influence later thinking about penal regimes.

Entrance to Tortworth Court, Gloucestershire (Image from private collection)

Speaking during the same debate in 1946, the Lord Chancellor again highlighted that such facilities were being developed:

We have recently taken over a former hospital at Tortworth [Court] in Gloucestershire as what is called a minimum security prison for selected convicts. In that way we can do much towards their rehabilitation and their ultimate reassimilation into ordinary civilian life. (Source: Hansard – column 447)

This approach influenced the selection of suitable locations for the new prisons. At HMP Leyhill, the government repurposed an ex-American Army hospital camp on the Tortworth estate to create the first open prison in 1946. The adjacency of Tortworth Court (then still with the Earl of Ducie) gave the model of a country setting if not using the main house. Interestingly – the house was not taken as it was returned to the Earl; but by the 1950s, Leyhill expanded and did start using some estate buildings, thought the wider estate is still owned and managed by the Earl of Ducie’s family as Tortworth Estates.

Hewell Grange

Hewell Grange epitomizes the pattern for long-term penal conversion. An existing country house could be successfully integrated into the penal system for decades, effectively becoming a self-contained village (with a chapel, workshops, and housing all on site).

The grand main house, last great prodigy houses of its era, provided an environment, even when not used directly as cells for prisoners, was arguably more humane than a typical prison – former inmates often remarked on the beauty of the lake and gardens, which were part of a 250-acre landscape park laid out by Capability Brown, with formal terraces, a lake, and extensive service buildings. By the lake are also the ruins of Old Hewell Grange, the classical predecessor to the current house. After being superseded by the new Hewell Grange in the 1890s, it was accidentally gutted by fire and abandoned, and now survives as a roofless ruin, its classical form still partly visible among collapsed walls and encroaching vegetation.

View of Hewell Grange and the formal garden to the south-east of the house c.1892 (Image © Historic England, ref: BL11660/016)

The new house was built between 1884 and 1891 for Robert Windsor-Clive, later 1st Earl of Plymouth, Hewell Grange cost approximately £250,000 (equivalent to spending c.£39m today). Designed by George Frederick Bodley and Thomas Garner in the Jacobethan style, the red brick house with stone dressings features an E-plan, steeply pitched gables, clustered chimneys, and mullioned-transomed windows. Interiors include carved oak panelling, a double-height Great Hall with a minstrel gallery, and elaborately modelled plaster ceilings.

Interior of the Italianate style Great Hall of Hewell Grange, 1891 (Image © Historic England, ref: BL11026)

However, Hewell Grange also reveals both the potential and limitations of prison use: spacious and already built, the house saved the state construction costs in 1946; but by 2019, it was anachronistic and expensive to run. By the 2010s, the UK prison estate was being rationalized. In 2019 the Ministry of Justice announced the closure of the open prison at Hewell Grange, following a critical inspection report and also reflected the cost of maintaining an ageing mansion for modern custody standards. The prison formally closed in 2020, and the entire site was consolidated into one (closed) prison to the north east of the house, around 600 meters away.

Hewell Grange house is now vacant and lacking a clear future, beyond occasional use for filming and events. As is so often the case for heritage without a viable and sustainable purpose, its condition has deteriorated to ‘poor’ after closure, with concerns about lack of maintenance, resulting in it being placed on the Heritage at Risk Register. As of early 2022, the government put the property up for sale, seeking a new custodian to repurpose the historic estate once again.

It was apparently sold in 2023 to a hotel group but it’s unclear whether this fell through or they immediately put it back on the market, as it has been offered through Cushman & Wakefield, with 247 acres, for an undisclosed price. This inevitably raises questions about the future: will it return to a private residence, become a hotel or institution, or will it just be allowed to deteriorate until it becomes another country house to succumb to neglect, urban exploration or a mysterious fire?

Conclusion

The pattern of country house reuse reflects adaptability to historical moment. In wartime, necessity drove usage; in peacetime, policy experimentation and economic forces did. This practice peaked in the mid-20th century and today it would exceptionally unlikely for a house to be taken over for this purpose, with a clear preference for building dedicated facilities.

From a wider heritage perspective, Hewell Grange’s story is instructive as, unlike so many country houses that were demolished in the mid-20th century, the use as a prison provided a value and so it was preserved precisely because it found an institutional function. Now its preservation will depend on finding a sympathetic new use after its institutional life has ended.

A list of country houses used (either currently or previously) for incarceration by the state since 1900

Prison nameCountry houseCounty
Askham GrangeAskham GrangeYorkshire
BlundestonBlundeston LodgeSuffolk
Buckley HallBuckley HallLancashire
Bullwood HallBullwood HouseEssex
East Sutton ParkEast Sutton ParkKent
ErlestokeErlestoke ParkWiltshire
Foston HallFoston HallDerbyshire
HewellHewell GrangeWorcestershire
Hill HallHill HallEssex
HumberEventhorpe HallYorkshire
Kirklevington GrangeKirklevington GrangeYorkshire
Latchmere HouseLatchmere HouseSurrey
LittleheyGaynes HallCambridgeshire
Lowdham GrangeLowdham GrangeNottinghamshire
Morton HallMorton HallLincolnshire
Penninghame HousePenninghame HouseDumfriesshire
Spring HillGrendon HallBuckinghamshire
StockenStocken HallRutland

If I have missed any others, please share the details in the comments or contact me directly and I’ll update the list.

Sites associated with nearby country houses

Prison nameCountry houseCounty
Eastwood ParkEastwood ParkGloucestershire
LeyhillTortworth CourtGloucestershire
Swinfen HallSwinfen HallStaffordshire

Selected references

Further research

Interestingly, the subject of the use of the country house for incarceration doesn’t appear to have been covered in depth academically, as far as I could discover. Given the numerous angles, this would appear to be an area which someone may wish to investigate further as the official records and related information would probably reveal a richer story than I have been able to share here. Happy to have a chat if anyone wishes to take it on.

The growing silence: how many UK country houses were lost?

Matthew Beckett - The Country Seat5 Comments

Slowly, then suddenly, many estates grew silent. Carriages no longer clattered down the drives. Entrance halls no longer echoed to voices. Kitchens went cold. Staff quarters were emptied. Then, the contents were sent to the auctioneers. Finally, the house was broken apart; hammers and pickaxes the new sounds as hundreds of years of history were reduced to rubble.

One key questions which architectural historians have been trying to answer for a number of years is just how many UK country houses have been lost? The answer, for now, is over three thousand. Each was a world on its own, but also part of the complex jigsaw of our national heritage.

Heath Old Hall, Yorkshire
Wilton Park, Buckinghamshire
Eaton Hall, Cheshire
Lindridge Park, Devon
Stoke Edith, Herefordshire
Belvedere, Kent
Flixton Hall, Suffolk

The genesis for this area of research was ‘The Destruction of the Country House‘ exhibition, which ran from 9 October – 1 December 1974 at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London. I have written about it on a number of occasions so if you would like more insights into it, you can read my article on the 40th anniversary or my reflections on the 50th anniversary.

The position of the landed elites was considered the bedrock of society. The families provided political leadership, social aspiration, and were the centre of the local economy through their employment and expenditure. Land ownership was the passport to this elite status; the open market a safety valve which enabled ‘new money’ to mix with the old, to want to emulate them rather than remove them. This allowed new families to fluidly move up from merely wealthy to established gentry or nobility. After a few generations, the land functioned as an older form of ‘green-washing’, the verdant parkland obscuring where the family had started. Within a few short centuries (though sometimes it was just decades), they had become the elite.

Rounton Grange, Yorkshire – seat of the Bell baronets, of Rounton Grange and Washington Hall (1885). House demolished 1954.

However, the first half of the twentieth century was, for the owner of these large houses, often financially, socially, and politically challenging. The repeal of the Corn Laws in 1846, which opened our markets to cheaper overseas produce, combined with the agricultural depressions of the latter-half of the nineteenth century, had undermined many of the assumptions about the financing of the country house. As debts grew, so the stark financial reality of the situation they were in began to dawn. For many, the path to recovery seemed to be to sell non-core assets such as artworks or outlying estates and hope that this would tide them over until their incomes, usually agricultural, recovered. For those who sold their land early and invested in the stock market, the crash of 1929, was another blow to their planning. As is so often the case, the markets remained against them longer than they could remain solvent.

When Aldous Huxley published his first novel, ‘Crome Yellow‘, in 1921, the challenge to the country house was already significant enough to feature as the fate of the imaginary Gobley Great Park;

‘A stately Georgian pile, with a façade sixteen windows wide; parterres in the foreground; huge, smooth lawns receding out of the picture to right and left. Ten more years of the hard times and Gobley, and all its peers, will be deserted and decaying. Fifty years, and the countryside will know the old landmarks no more. They will have vanished as the monasteries vanished before them.’.

Thankfully, Huxley’s apocalyptic vision wasn’t fully to come to pass. However, from the relatively low levels of losses in the nineteenth-century, the twentieth-century would bring decade after decade of destruction. It’s worth remembering that this was largely a crisis of the country house, not the wider estate. The land was considered more valuable as an income-generating asset and for the social prestige it conferred. Without the expense of the house – the maintenance, the staff, the general running costs – so the income was better able to meet their expenditures. Mr Micawber would be beaming with pride.

So, when seeking to bring their expenditure within the available income, the house was considered a necessary sacrifice. And with so many other families also facing a similar situation, the loss of any one house would be obscured by the loss of so many others. The problem with simple data is that it belies the dramatic local impact the loss of a house would have been. The country house and its estate embodied the idea of stability. The idea of a family owning the house and land and passing it down through the generations was – and arguably still is – embedded firmly in our national psyche, even if the family did change every few hundred years. The key difference in the twentieth-century was that there was often no other family to take their place.

In this dark era, houses languished on the market. This was often evidenced by adverts for the same properties appearing with sad regularity in magazines such as Country Life. It brought reminders of the increasing threats to the established order of the countryside into the drawing rooms and libraries of those most at risk.

Typical advert in Country Life magazine. Key aspects to note: the house is unnamed (though I think it is the infamous Burwell Hall, demolished in 1958), the language emphasises cheapness: ‘moderate price’, ‘modern conveniences’, ‘inexpensive gardens’. (Advert from Country Life, 10 November 1923, pg. XIII)

Each week, beyond the adverts in Country Life, ‘The Estate Market’ page offered a running commentary on the changes. For example, the headline for that page on May 5th 1922, was stark: ‘Demand for small properties’, with the opening paragraph stating, ‘The brightest section of the market is that in which the smaller properties are dealt with…’. Coverage includes the sale of Sudbourne Hall, Suffolk, saying it had sold with 500 acres, having first been offered as a whole but failing to find a buyer, it had been split up. The house was later demolished in 1953.

Another paragraph is headed ‘Mansions as sanatoria’ and writes approvingly of how Lords Londonderry and Boyne have both ‘generously offered’ Seaham Hall and Brancepeth Castle respectively for ‘hospital purposes’. Specifically, it states that Seaham Hall ‘…has had to be closed in consequence of taxation and the heavy cost of upkeep.’ (it survived and is now a hotel). It also mentions that Rendlesham Hall, Suffolk, has been sold for use as a ‘…retreat for drug-addicts and inebriates…’. It was also later demolished in 1949.

Sudbourne Hall, Suffolk, demolished in 1953 (Source: www.lostheritage.org.uk | More images)

During the nineteenth-century, the available data shows that there were fewer losses; approximately one a year. However, when considering the data, there are a few caveats to remember. Critically, the data for the nineteenth-century is thinner than the twentieth-century. Fewer books had been produced, research was sparse, and even confirming if a property was of sufficient stature to be classed as a country house is sometimes challenging. Fire and replacement by a new house were two of the most common reasons.

So how many have been lost?

Quoted in The Daily Telegraph magazine in 2007, the leading country house historian of the lost houses, the late John Harris, said that:

‘At the time [before the V&A exhibition], we reckoned that about 750 houses [in the UK] had been pulled down between 1880 and 1970. Now we know it’s about 1,800.’1

Sadly, John’s estimate was still too low – 1,800 doesn’t even cover England alone.

The gazetteer at the back of ‘The Destruction of the Country House‘ exhibition catalogue listed a total of 1,099 houses (740 for England, 313 Scotland, 46 Wales, with NI not included). This list had been compiled by John, Marcus Binney, and another researcher, Peter Reid, and explicitly stated it was not exhaustive. The total for England was updated with the publication in 2002 of ‘England’s Lost Houses‘ by Giles Worsley which added 445, to total 1,185 for England. However, Ian Gow’s ‘Scotland’s Lost Houses‘ in 2006 listed only 308 (5 fewer than before) but also included examples of houses in cities (which I have excluded from that total).

The task of taking the ground-breaking earlier research forward and to resurrect the memory of these otherwise obscured houses, has now been taken up by amateur enthusiasts, supported by the invaluable work of historians who have focused on specific areas. I started researching the English lost houses in 2006, compiling what I hoped would become the most comprehensive record. All the details, including detailed histories and thousands of images, are shared on the Lost Heritage website.

Using the same model, this was followed over the years by Dr Alastair Disley for Scotland, Dr Mark Baker for Wales, and Andrew Triggs for Northern Ireland (he also took on the much larger task of the Republic of Ireland).

Distribution of English lost country houses since 1800. Source: Matthew Beckett / www.lostheritage.org.uk

The scorecard of architectural losses

Each of these personal efforts has significantly increased the totals of lost houses with Scotland now standing at 545 (Disley), 390 for Wales (Baker), and 100 for Northern Ireland (Triggs – a particular achievement as they hadn’t been tallied previously).

The total number of lost houses for England alone has now exceeded John Harris’ original estimate for the whole of UK, having reached 2,019 (as at November 2024).

Overall, we can be confident that the number of UK country houses lost since 1800 now totals a remarkable 3,054.

Why does this matter? These houses and their particularly grand and hierarchical era and way of living has gone. It died, not in our leafy lanes, but in the battles and social change of the World Wars. The changes forced an evolution – and in that process, there are winners and losers. The tragedy was that the losers were often not inherently weaker houses, and in so many cases, they were some of the most interesting and significant. Beyond the random losses from fire and environmental causes, often what determined whether a house survived was their owners and their circumstances. For some, they were determined to ensure that the houses were reborn, albeit in a new way of living. For others, they were equally determined that that they would not pass what they saw as a burden to another generation.

In the specific losses to a family, and a locality, and to our architectural heritage, they were to be lamented. But in all of them, they possessed something of our shared heritage, and their loss, and the losses of the future, are pieces of the national jigsaw of our identity. As Simon Jenkins said, ‘Through them we hear the echo of our collective selves – and remember who we are.’2. We remember these parts of our history through the memory of these houses, and the roles they played in the life of our nation, both locally and nationally.

Request for help

If anyone has any further information on the lost country houses of England – either history, dates for losses, or family photos or recollections – please do contact me.

References:

1 – Campbell, Sophie, ‘Brideshead Detonated’ Telegraph Magazine, 20/01/2007
2 – Jenkins, Simon, ‘England’s Thousand Best Houses‘ (Penguin, 2004), vii

50 years on from ‘The Destruction of the Country House’ exhibition at the V&A

Matthew Beckett - The Country Seat5 Comments

Below is the first of two exclusive articles marking the 50th anniversary. This piece delves into the inception of the exhibition and offers some additional reflections. The next article, to be published shortly, will provide an eagerly anticipated update on current research efforts to identify all the lost houses, featuring some significant news on the total count.

On 9 October 1974, on the day before the second general election of that year, the first visitors started making their way to the Victoria & Albert Museum to view the newly-opened exhibition: ‘The Destruction of the Country House: 1875 – 1975.’. Passing through the grand entrance to the monumental museum and then along the stately corridors would have heightened the shock as they entered a room to be faced with the toppling columns and seemingly endless photos of similar architecture which had been so ruthlessly demolished. However, as bad as the situation seemed – might the losses, though deeply regrettable, have been a catalyst for a better future for the country house?

Hall of Lost Houses, from the 1974 Destruction of the Country House exhibition at the V&A
Hall of Lost Houses, from the 1974 Destruction of the Country House exhibition at the V&A (Image © Robin Wade / Victoria & Albert Museum) reproduced by kind permission

Immersed in designer Robin Wade’s collapsing neo-classical portico, and as the late John Harris’ voice grimly intoned a roll call of the fallen, they may have wondered how such destruction could have been allowed.

Robin Wade, ‘V&A Museum: Gone, Going, Going’ (10th March 1974) (Image © Robin Wade / Victoria & Albert Museum) reproduced by kind permission

To survey the country houses losses in the UK over the last century is to be staggered as to the diversity of beauty and history which has been destroyed. That’s not to say that everything that’s been built should or can be preserved, but the sustained pattern of losses of country houses was cumulatively one of the largest of a particular building type since the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Although each loss was individual, collectively, it was certain to be noticed and mourned. As the then head of the V&A, Roy Strong, considered the situation, it was clear that the time had come to raise awareness of the losses – but could it also help prevent further destruction?

For Strong, working with Marcus Binney and John Harris, the aim of the emotionally-charged exhibition was to:

…draw the public’s attention to the country house as a major part of our national heritage, showing the tragic losses over the last century, stressing the need to preserve important houses with their contents and setting intact, emphasising the positive achievements over the past twenty-five years, and forcibly pointing to the problems that lie in the future.

Strong also wrote that:

…the threatened Wealth and Inheritance Taxes if applied to historic house owners will see … the end of a thousand years of English history and culture, as pell-mell the contents are unloaded into the saleroom, the houses handed over to the Government or demolished. I can’t tell you the horrors looming unless one fights and intrigues at every level behind the scenes.

The V&A exhibition was a landmark in a number of ways. Rarely has an exhibition in a major national museum been so overtly polemical – and political. The Observer newspaper stated that it was ‘the most emotive, propagandist exhibition ever to grace a public museum’s walls’. The Daily Mirror took a rather more dismissive tone, rather snarkily observing that:

Gad…our stately homes are grim! Life in Britain’s stately homes is becoming simply too awful for the coronet set. Dukes, baronets and earls have to use buckets to catch rain dripping through the roofs. They shiver in front of electric fires because the central heating is faulty. (Roger Todd, Daily Mirror, 9 October 1974)

The stark reality of life in the country house had been at the forefront of Roy Strong’s mind when considering their presentation. In a letter from Strong, dated 24 June 1974, to Sir Osbert Lancaster, the social cartoonist and proposed contributor to the exhibition, he highlighted some of the threats to the country house in the twentieth century, including; taxes, loss of heirs in WWI, partial demolition or dereliction, sales of art, land…everything, motorways, urban expansion, conversion to some other purpose, even the National Trust, before culminating in…opening to the public.

Roy Strong to Osbert Lancaster (21 June 1974) V&A Archive, MA/28/243/1

Although the tone is ambiguous, flippant or haughty depending on your perspective, it is interesting that many of the eventual solutions to the problem of the demolition of country house are included. Conversion to alternative uses, be it offices, schools, or hotels, has saved hundreds of houses. The National Trust have been saviours of some of the crown jewels and helped to change the narrative around the purpose of the country house. This has included developing new ways to engage the public and future generations (and continuing to do so), solidifying the cultural foundation of the country house as part of our national recreational and cultural identity.

The November 1974 general election ushered in a new Labour government, during the midst of turbulent economic times. A government which would be considering how to implement their manifesto commitment of “…a fundamental and irreversible shift in the balance of power and wealth in favour of working people and their families.”. It was a bold move by the V&A to try to defend the mansions of the wealthy – but this was also a collective national heritage, even if privately owned. Counter-intuitively, by highlighting that another strand of the national fabric was not only fraying but had serious holes, it may have skilfully blended into general concerns about the overall fate of the nation.

The V&A was not acting alone. As Adrian Tinniswood highlights in ‘Noble Ambitions‘, 1974 was the year in which the country house owners got organised. John Cornforth’s report ‘Country Houses in Britain – can they survive?‘, published that year (by the then almost activist Country Life magazine), painted a dramatic picture of the almost perfect storm which he felt might have led to a crisis within 8-15 years, but was now looming large in the immediate future. Despite his pessimism, Cornforth later wrote ‘The Country Houses Of England 1948-1998‘ in which he strikes a much happier tone, saying:

‘The history of the English houses in the past twenty-five years has proved to be infinitely more positive, and the view of the future more optimistic, than seemed conceivable at the time of The Destruction of the Country House exhibition…when their very existence was threatened by new taxes.’

Back in 1974, Cornforth’s rather gloomy views were echoed elsewhere. In June, Lord Grafton (qualifications: Duke of Grafton, chairman of SPAB, member of Historic Buildings Council, the National Trust’s Historic Buildings Representative in the East of England, and owner of Euston Hall) spoke in the House of Lords to raise with his noble friends/fellow house owners, and the government, that the proposed wealth tax, and a transfer tax to replace death duties, spelled disaster for the country house. The influential Times newspaper editorial also weighed in, and the newly formed lobby group, the Historic Houses Association, emphasised the economic benefits, whilst also organising a petition which garnered a remarkable 1.25m signatures. This level of public support was in some ways unsurprising given that by 1972, 43 million visits were made to the 800 houses and ancient monuments open to the public.

Looking back now, the assumption seemed to be that owners of country houses had almost a right to perpetually live in them, and that the state should subsidise this. There is an argument that the state should look after the interests of all subjects, to a greater or lesser extent, but the preservation of the institution of the country house was certainly presented as one where protecting the elite benefited the nation, tapping into a deep cultural reserve of respect or deference – rightly or wrongly.

The Destruction of the Country House exhibition poster (V&A Archive MA/24/132) produced by Peter Branfield for Her Majesty’s Stationary Office (reproduced with kind permission of Dr Oliver Cox/V&A)
The Destruction of the Country House exhibition poster (V&A Archive MA/24/132) produced by Peter Branfield for Her Majesty’s Stationary Office (reproduced with kind permission of Dr Oliver Cox/V&A)

So, although the exhibition was one of the most high profile actions in defence of the country house, it was not without wider support and deep foundations. A preservationist ‘ley line’ can be drawn through the exhibition, connecting it to Historic Buildings and Ancient Monuments Act of 1953, which extended heritage protection to inhabited buildings, leading to a dramatic decline in the number of houses being lost. Although there were other earlier voices raised in defence of our built heritage, including Sir John Vanbrugh’s argument, in 1709, to preserve Woodstock Manor. Of particular note was Philip Kerr, the 11th Marquess of Lothian (1882–1940), who was the catalyst for the National Trust Act of 1937, which created the Country Houses Scheme which saved so many more houses from destruction. Also intersecting our ‘ley line’ is the establishment of the various amenity societies; the Victorian Society in 1958, the Georgian Group in 1937, the Ancient Monuments Society in 1924, and the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings in 1877.

It’s also worth noting that the dates referenced in the title of the exhibition extended into the future, if by only a year. The implication was that the destruction was still an on-going process to be feared, though this underestimated the almost immediate positive impact that it would have. The genesis of the exhibition was usefully covered in a blog article I wrote for the 40th anniversary which I would recommend if you’d like some further thoughts.

The exhibition exemplified the challenge of the definition of the reason for the country house; was it a home, a rural business, or museum? Or did, by the nature of the sometimes competing, sometimes intersecting interests of the owners, society, and the state, demand it be all these at once. Legislation crafted to protect or promote one aspect, may impinge on the ability for it to fulfil its other roles, creating a tension which actively threatened the long-term sustainability of the house.

Yet, one reason the exhibition was so successful, and had such a positive impact, was that it also gave hope. Despite the tone of Strong’s letter to Osbert Lancaster, displays showed how country houses could be adapted to survive with many a house escaping demolition through conversion to a school, offices, or hospitality. Sensitive sub-division into apartments by thoughtful developers such as Kit Martin, also offered long-term solutions. Indeed, a number of Kit Martin’s conversions, such as Gunton Park, Burley on the Hill, and Stoneleigh Abbey, are still prized today.

View of the south front of Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire. An Anglo-Baroque facade by Smith of Warwick surrounded by lush gardens and colorful flowers, set against a vibrant blue sky.
View of the south front of Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire, which was converted into apartments in the late 1990s by Kit Martin. (Image © Stoneleigh Abbey Events)

John Harris not only credits the demonstration of alternative uses, but also that there was grant support (though this has now been largely removed). As Giles Worsley noted in his magisterial book ‘England’s Lost Houses‘ (2002) that by the time the exhibition opened, the tide had already turned and the numbers of houses being lost had abated. The demolition of large houses such as Warter Priory (Yorkshire) in 1972, or the threatened total loss of The Grange, Hampshire, (even if it was gutted) was now more of an outlier than a regular occurrence.

South front of Warter Priory, Yorkshire, which was significantly enlarged by the architects Smith and Broderick of Hull for Lord Nunburnholme. Demolished 1972. (Image: Lost Heritage)

Perhaps most importantly for country house conservation, the preservation of our wider architectural heritage, was the founding of SAVE Britain’s Heritage in 1975, by Marcus Binney, one of the co-curators of the exhibition. Binney has been an immense presence in campaigning across the country not only to fight for specific buildings but to change attitudes and the whole perception of the value of our nation’s architecture. Although he has been rightly recognised with an OBE and CBE, how he has not been given a knighthood for his work is one of those inscrutable mysteries. Sadly, the other curator, John Harris died in 2022 and will rightly be remembered as a brilliant architectural historian, with a sparkling wit and enormous fount of stories, particularly relating to his post-war exploration of these derelict mansions.

That the country house remains an easily accessible, and deeply symbolic, cultural touchpoint is a testament to strength of the concept, even though it is now rightly subject to a more honest examination of the history. A greater transparency only adds to the weight of interest in the houses and their extraordinary past, creating a flywheel effect to support further research. This doesn’t diminish the shorthand that the country house represents: beauty, tradition, continuity. To ensure that the concept of the country house remains viable, it has to be refreshed and reinterpreted. This synthesis of the realities of the present and the inheritance of the past, is what creates new opportunities for the country house, not only as an area of academic study, or as place of public culture and entertainment, but also, most critically, as a home.

Perhaps one of the most significant pieces of legislation in creating a sustainable future for the country house was not any of the heritage Acts. Until the Marriage Act 1994 the only ‘approved premises’ for a wedding ceremony was a church or registry office. After 1994, country houses were also considered appropriate venues, ushering in a new avenue for owners to secure an income from their asset. This brought about a fundamental change in the attitude towards the house, both from the owners, and now the wider public, who were now welcomed into these exclusive spaces. The emotional value invested in each occasion, has ensured that there is a ready army of those who will think fondly of a specific house, and often, the idea of the country house more generally.

Wedding ceremony taking place in Holkham’s famous Marble Hall (Image © Holkham Hall)

So what is the future of the country house? To imagine that their current situation and the opportunities they have are guaranteed is fanciful. A recent Law Commission report suggested that weddings could be held in “any safe and dignified location” including family homes, forests, and village halls. Given the rising cost of hiring premium venues such as country houses, this risks driving them back into the more gilded edges of society. The sharply rising cost of maintenance and operating such a house, either as a venue or as a home, increases the risk of benign or malign neglect – the former from the family who don’t wish to leave, but struggle to afford to stay, or the latter; those who only see the opportunities to replace an existing house with something more modern, whilst enjoying the benefits of a location which has been carefully crafted by previous generations.

However, the concept of the country house remains surprisingly endurable. As an aspirational token of success, it has rarely been bettered. Ultimately, the ‘Destruction of the Country House’ exhibition continued the evolution of the country house, further democratising the concept and ultimately helping to build the political and social framework which underpins their survival and success. The fortunes which provides the funding are continually made and lost, with the country house and estate hopefully continuing to stand proud of such vicissitudes for future generations to enjoy.

Acknowledgements

I am indebted and very grateful to Dr Oliver Cox, Head of Academic Partnerships at the V&A South Kensington, who very kindly shared the materials from his lecture in May 2024 on the genesis and impact of the exhibition and gave his permission to use them. His research was facilitated by the excellent V&A Archives team and I echo his gratitude to them.

Further reading

If you are interested in finding out more, then my Amazon bookshop as well as a range of non-fiction and fiction books on country houses has a specifically-selected list of books on lost country houses.

Inflamed passions: organised violence against UK country houses (part 3/3) – the Suffragettes

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Following the account of the Birmingham riots in 1791, and those accompanied the Second Reform Bill in 1831, which destroyed a number a country houses, this final part of the series looks at the violent destruction in the 20th-century.

Suffragettes

With the slogan ‘Deeds not Words’, the call to action in the campaign for the right of women to vote was as clear as the potential for escalation.

Begbrook House, Frenchay, Gloucestershire – burnt down on 13 November 1913. A protest note and a copy of The Suffragette newspaper left at the scene connected the arson attack with the campaign for votes for women (Image from Frenchay Village Museum)

Although the Suffrage movement included a number of organisations, some favouring constitutional reform, others a more militant approach. The most prominent of the latter was the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU), which had started as a small Manchester-based organisation in 1905-06. Just a few years later, as its profile rapidly grew, it had become a well-organised, London-based group.

The WSPU’s early strategy focused on embarrassing the Liberal government by mass heckling any appearance by a minister. These tactics were effective; they either shut down the meeting, or the protesters were forcefully ejected – both results making their cause more prominent. However, as the meetings became increasingly all-ticketed and well-policed, how could they ensure that their voices were still heard?

Violence begets violence. The force with which the women protesters were met – including beatings, sexual assault, imprisonment, and force-feeding – created an atmosphere of retaliation. As they became increasingly disillusioned by the lack of progress using Parliamentary reform, by 1909, the situation had escalated, with over thirty incidents of the suffragettes attacking meetings, including stone-throwing. This sporadic use of violence continued until 1911, mainly aimed at those representing the government, either as ministers or civil servants.

After 1911, the range of acceptable targets expanded to include commercial interests and the property of those in government. Annie Kenney, who worked closely with the Pankhursts, stated that ‘that: ‘It was at this time [1912-13] that the burning of houses was resorted to. Both Christabel and her mother were against taking of human life, but Christabel felt the times demanded measures, and burning she knew would frighten both the public and Parliament.’ (Annie Kenney, Memoirs of a Militant (London, 1924), 187). Christabel Pankhurst wrote in 1913; ‘If men use explosives and bombs for their own purpose they call it war, and the throwing of a bomb that destroys other people is then described as a glorious and heroic deed. Why should a woman not make use of the same weapons as men. It is not only war we have declared. We are fighting for a revolution!’

The WSPU’s strategy rested on the belief that ‘There is something that governments care far more for than human life, and this is the security of property, and so it is through property that we shall strike the enemy.’. In a speech in Cardiff in March 1913, Emmeline Pankhurst vowed to strike at what she thought was most valued by society: ‘money, property and pleasure’. However, she was very clear that their target was property, and not people:

‘The Suffragettes have not done that, and they never will. In fact the moving spirit of militancy is deep and abiding reverence for human life.’.

And so the destruction of property became a proxy. The pillar boxes represented the state, the shops those commercial interests which supported the government, the homes of ministers and art works in public collections we all assaults which deliberately avoided targeting people.

With the righteous belief that ‘if it was necessary to win the vote they were going to do as much damage to property as they could’, the Suffragettes set about doing so, with country houses an especially tempting target, both for their impact and what they represented.

Whilst Emmeline Pankhurst was held in Holloway prison in April 1913, she recalls that ‘…my imprisonment [in 1912] was followed by the greatest revolutionary outbreak that had been witnessed in England since 1832’ and that ‘Many country houses—all unoccupied—were fired.’. This is repeated by Sylvia Pankhurst in her own account where she states that ‘Many large empty houses in all parts of the country were set on fire, including Redlynch House, Somerset, where damage was estimated at £40,000.’.

Nuneham Courtenay, Oxfordshire (Image © Global Retreat Centre)

On 13 July 1912, two Suffragettes made the first attempt to burn down a country house.

Helen Craggs was arrested at 1am in the garden of Nuneham Courtenay, Oxfordshire – though it’s unclear whether the target was the main house or possibly just the uninhabited east wing, as her co-conspirator Norah Smyth later suggested. The house had been home to the Harcourt family since it had been bought in 1712 by Sir Simon (later Viscount) Harcourt, the successful Solicitor General and Lord Chancellor under Queen Anne, for £17,000. The then owner, Lewis Harcourt, was a member of Prime Minister Herbert Asquith’s Liberal government, which had so strenuously resisted the demands for votes for women.

Nuneham Courtenay had also been an early target as Harcourt had discovered a bomb hidden in a tree in February 1907. He regarded this as ‘a delicate attention to me from the Female Suffragists‘, but it is a uncharacteristically early escalation, in a period when the campaign was still focused on parliamentary reform.

Five years later, Craggs’ bag was found to be carrying bottles of flammable oil, four tapers, two boxes of matches, twelve fire-lighters, picklocks, an electric torch, a glass-cutter – and a note.  The note – which rather politely started, ‘Sir’ – went on to state that as she had tried every method of peaceful protest and propaganda, ‘…that it has all been of no  avail, so now I have accepted the challenge…and I have done something drastic.’. Although Craggs was a member of the WSPU, and the proposed arson was to have been in their name, neither Emmeline or Christabel Pankhurst were apparently aware of the ultimately unsuccessful plan.

Levetleigh House, St Leonard’s, East Sussex, former home of Conservative MP for Hastings and Rye Arthur Du Cros, destroyed by Suffragettes, 15 April 1913 (Image from private collection). Watch a video of the aftermath of the attack

The key question of just how many houses were actually damaged or destroyed by the Suffragettes, seems to be unresolved.

In the late C.J. Bearman’s assessment of Suffragette militancy (An Examination of Suffragette Violence, (The English Historical Review , Apr., 2005, Vol. 120, No. 486 (Apr., 2005), pp.365-397)), he identified a total of 337 incidents which were claimed via the weekly reports in The Suffragette newspaper. Frustratingly, his article doesn’t include the list and his papers are currently inaccessibly (for me) in Hull University library.

However, another significant source is A.E. Metcalfe’s almost contemporary ‘Women’s Effort: A Chronicle of British Women’s Fifty Years’ Struggle for Citizenship 1865-1914‘, published in 1917. Her book includes tables of claimed attacks, with dates, estimated valuations of the amount of damage caused, and where they were reported – but only for January-July 1914. However, other sources give further incidents during this period, so below is an attempt at collating them into a single list of targeted country houses (‘AEM’ indicates Metcalfe’s records are the source).

1913

Date or MonthPropertyDamage assessmentComment
19 MarchTrevethan, Englefield Green, SurreyDestroyedOwned by Lord and Lady White
15 AprilLevetleigh House, St Leonards, SussexDestroyedOwned by Mr Arthur du Cros
AprilRoughwood, Chorleywood, HertfordshireDestroyed
9 MayFarington Hall, DundeeDestroyed
JuneBallikinrain Castle, StirlingshireSeverely damagedLater restored
JuneGranby House, WiltshireDestroyed
6 JulyRoyton Cottage, CheshireDestroyedOwned by Lord Leverhulme
13 JulyNuneham Courtenay, OxfordshireUndamaged
13 NovemberBegbrook House, GloucestershireDestroyedOwned by Hugh Thomas Coles
20 DecemberWestwood, Bath, SomersetDestroyed
21 DecemberAlstone Lawn Manor, GloucestershireSeverely damaged

1914

Date or MonthPropertyDamage assessmentComment
24 January‘Stratford Mansion’‘Gutted’AEM – unclear exactly which house this is in the entry in Metcalfe’s table
3 FebruaryHouse of Ross, PerthshireDestroyedAEM
3 FebruarySt. Fillans Castle, PerthshireDestroyedAEM
3 FebruaryAberuchill Castle, PerthshirePartially destroyedAEM
18 FebruaryWalton Heath, SurreySeverely damagedTwo bombs planted, one detonated. House being built for Lloyd George
24 FebruaryRedlynch House, SomersetDestroyedAEM
10 March‘Mansion’, Bruton, SomersetAEM
12 MarchRobertsland House, AyrshireDestroyedAEM
27 MarchAbbeylands House, BelfastDestroyedAEM
9 AprilSeaview House, BelfastDamagedAEM
10 AprilOrlands House, BelfastDestroyedAEM
22 AprilAnnadale House, BelfastDestroyedAEM
23 MayStoughton Grange, LeicestershireSlightly damaged
1 JuneThe Willows, BerkshireSlightly damagedAEM
1 JuneNevill Holt House, LeicestershireSlightly damagedAEM
6 June‘Mansion’, High Wycombe, BuckinghamshireDestroyedAEM
12 June‘Mansion’, NottinghamSlightly damagedAEM
29 JunePapplewick Hall, NottinghamSlightly damagedAEM
3 JulyBallymenoch House, UlsterDestroyedAEM
14 JulyCocken Hall, County DurhamSlightly damagedAEM
“The Willows”, Windsor, Berkshire, home of Mr and Mrs Dhunjibhoy Bomanji – slightly damaged in a suffragette arson attack on 1 June 1914 (Image © Private Collection). The house was later demolished sometime between 1938-1957 and replaced with smaller houses.

As quickly as the campaign had started, so it stopped; the WSPU suspended their militant campaign with outbreak of World War One in July 1914. The incredible efforts of women during the war – at home, in service, in factories and hospitals – brought many to their side and support for suffrage grew. On 6 February 1918, the Representation of the People Act of 1918 enfranchised over eight million women and in November of that year, the Parliament (Qualification of Women) Act 1918 was passed, allowing women to be elected as MPs. It would, however, take until 1928 before women finally were able to vote on the same terms as men.

The list above totals 31 attacks on country houses over the two-year period – less than 10% of the total number of significant actions Bearman identified. There are certainly others which I haven’t found yet (and if you know of other possible attacks on country houses, please add a comment below).

Although impressive as a list of targets, particularly given the lack of co-ordination and the inexperience of the protagonists, it demonstrates that country houses were certainly symbolic but were never the main focus for the campaign of destruction. One other aspect worth noting is the number of Suffragettes who were either Irish or active in Ireland – did their campaign inspire the later tactics of the independence movement which were to be so devastating to the country houses of Ireland?

Last flickers of protest

Since the Suffragettes campaign, the country house has largely remained immune from similar targeting though there seems to have been only two similar attacks since, both attached to the long tail of the Irish independence campaign.

On 21 January 1981 at 9:45pm, an explosion blew the front doors open at Tynan Abbey, County Armagh. Armed members of the IRA rushed in and gunned down both 86-year old Sir Norman Stronge and his son, Sir James, who were sitting in the library. They then detonated incendiaries which destroyed much of the house and its valuable contents. The ruins remained until 1998 when they were cleared.

The aftermath of the IRA attack on Tynan Abbey, January 1981 (Image © BBC)

The most recent attack appears to have been the attempted bombing of the late Sir Alistair McAlpine (b.1942 – d.2014) at West Green House, Hampshire in 1990. McAlpine, scion of the famous family of building contractors and Conservative Party treasurer, was actually a tenant of the National Trust, the house having been bought by Sir Victor Sassoon and donated to them in 1957 (though they were not able to take possession until the end of a life tenancy in 1971).

Having found out that his name was on a list of IRA targets, McAlpine and his family left West Green House and moved to Italy. The IRA hadn’t received the change of address notice and on 13 June 1990 detonated a substantial device in the forecourt of the house, creating such extensive damage that the National Trust apparently considered demolition. Thankfully, they instead completed the structural repairs and then leased it to Marylyn Abbot to complete the internal works. It has remained her private home but with the gardens open between May-December and, since 2000, has hosted a yearly opera season.

Aftermath of the IRA bomb attack on West Green House, Hampshire, 13 June 1990 (Image © Alamy/Tim Ockenden)

So, this concludes the three-part series on the violent targeting of country houses in the UK – for religious, democratic, and political reasons.

Despite all that the country house symbolically represents and the myriad connections across society that they possess, the country house in the UK has, thankfully, largely escaped the broad and calculated devastation which has been visited on similar properties elsewhere. This is possibly due to the lack of a similar cause, or better security, or that destruction no longer has the same value, they do remain potent symbols, but ones that hopefully inspire, rather than enrage.

If you’d like to read the rest of the series: