The first house I owned had a moat. It only took a fortnight to realise that a moat is romantic in principle but deeply inconvenient in practice and that upkeep and management of a country pile is a full-time job. One, it turns out, I wasn’t qualified for.
I didn’t grow up in a grand house. There was nothing materially magnificent about my childhood; I was a free school meals kid at my comprehensive school. I ate a lot of chips, but at least they were free chips.
This reality didn’t curb my delusions of grandeur. Inspired by voracious reading, my sights were set on Jane Austen estates and National Trust treasures — and I could sketch a pretty accurate floor plan for I Capture the Castle. It took 15 years and a long journey to end up in that first house.
When I’d had enough of dredging the moat, I retreated back to London. It wasn’t until recently that a yearning for high ceilings and a carriage-worthy drive returned. A compelling conversation with Adrian Tinniswood, author of Noble Ambitions: The Fall and Rise of the Post-war Country House, set me on a new path. I realised I wasn’t ready to give up on my stately home dream, it was just I couldn’t stomach a whole one.
I found myself googling: “small piece of stately home for sale”. And there it was, in an old article from Country Life — Sherborne House, Gloucestershire. Grade II-listed, it was acquired by Thomas Dutton in 1551 and expanded in the 1600s before substantial remodelling by John Dutton, 2nd Baron Sherborne, from 1830. Now, it was statuesque and subdivided — and available to buy in a manageable portion: a first-floor, triple-aspect flat was on the market.
My family and I now spend half the year there. And this semi-communal living affords us a completely different lifestyle. There are 365 windows at Sherborne, 12 acres of grounds tended by people who I know don’t need any amateur interruptions from me, a tennis court, swimming pool, orangery and walled garden (now allotments) — and as a bonus, Morris dancers regularly stump up and do a Sherborne-specific dance. There are downsides, there’s no phone signal and delivery drivers often assume they’ve got the wrong address and drive away, because why would anyone in this house be ordering orange squash and Pringles?
Together, the owners of 30 apartments form an international, multigenerational community brought together by a love of this extraordinary building. The WhatsApp group is lively and includes regular messages from Bruce Fletcher, our chair of the board, with “on this day in history at Sherborne” updates.
“In a residential association transparency and over-communication to all owners is key,” says Fletcher. “Especially as we undertake the most significant improvement programme in 40 years. Collaboration is key . . . and good project management. If Anthony Salvin [the internal designer] and Lewis Wyatt [the overall architect] returned with the 2nd Baron Sherborne, I’d like to think that everyone would look them in the eye and be proud of our stewardship.”
Preserving by converting is not a new strategy. In Country Life in 1941, William Forsyth and Christopher Hussey argued the case for “service” rather than self-contained flats — retaining principle rooms for communal dining and recreation and creating apartments comprising bedroom, sitting room and bathroom. Otherwise, “It seems inconceivable that, except in exceptional circumstances or where advantage is taken of the scheme by which endowed properties with their contents can be made over to the National Trust and their owners remain life tenants, the great country houses can survive as a living entity.”
In England, 420 mansions were destroyed in the years between the wars. By 1955, with death duties at 80 per cent, a country house a week was razed to the ground, says Tinniswood. They represented a bygone and unsustainable way of life. Britain has plenty of important houses that aren’t quite important enough to be saved by the National Trust. For a house to qualify, it must meet the Chorley formula (named after the former chair, Roger Chorley) — a calculation of the endowment required to cover heritage-standard maintenance, repairs, wages etc. Without that, don’t bother picking up the phone.
Today, however, the landscape is a different story. “The limited stock of this property type, and the small number that come on to market at one time, only adds to the allure. Demand can simply never be satisfied,” says Crispin Harris, director of Jackson-Stops, Alderley Edge. And developers are capitalising on the potential, with a number of new conversions either for sale or coming to market this year.
Shared responsibility and shared costs, should mean a secure future. “The fact that houses of architectural merit remain and are looked after is a good thing,” says Norman Hudson, chair of the Historic Houses Foundation. “Sub-division means a lot of people enjoy them. It has to be done responsibly, with an understanding of architectural integrity and the financial structure has to be transparent and sustainable.”
Is this a good strategy for saving a house? “Well, it’s better than demolishing,” notes Tinniswood.
And, by the time they become apartments, many of the UK’s grandest houses will already have been carved up through a cycle of conversions; stints as prep schools, army quarters, hotels and corporate HQs. Unsurprisingly, they’re damaged by a process Tinniswood delicately describes as “insensitive partitioning”, and once a house has been institutionalised, it can be hard to shake off this association. At Sherborne, where our banisters are still painted wipe-clean high gloss from the prep school era, the newly formed Decorating Committee is kicking into action, led by interior designers Russell Sage Studio. “It’s great that the community living there can see the potential in revisiting communal spaces. Bringing the history of this grand old building back to life,” Sage says.
Whenever I mention Sherborne, people are intrigued by the life-hack. “Many owners adore the feeling of the ‘lock up and leave’, which feels contrary to the traditional ‘full time job’ country house,” says Lindsay Cuthill co-founder of Blue Book Agency, specialist estate agents for period homes. Depending on the location, architecture and quality of the renovations, premiums can reach up to 20 per cent more than similar sized properties in the same area, he says.
But it’s important to consider the full picture of taking on a subdivided historic home, cautions Harris, who currently has on his books three properties in subdivided estates. “There are maintenance obligations and service charges. Monthly costs will vary, though broadly fall within the range of £200-£600 a month.” But, he counters: “While this can seem significant, it’s important that buyers weigh this up against the annual renovation and general upkeep costs that are associated with other property types.”
Cuthill also addresses the other elephant in the (ball)room: the complexity of committees, “In theory, the shared vision of being a joint custodian should create a wonderful common interest. However, in some stately homes the whispers are that the neighbours are barely on speaking terms as they find it hard to agree on how it should all be run.”
It’s definitely not for everyone, but for me, these details (and neighbourly politics) don’t dent the appeal, because as Harris emphasises, “The enduring demand for properties within stately homes is in part because of the prestige that comes with owning one. It’s a chance to own a piece of history.”
Sherborne was subdivided in 1981, but more recent conversions have the advantage of a modern approach. Riber Castle in the Peak District has just undergone an extensive transformation, becoming 26 luxury apartments (starting at £450,000 for a two-bedroom, with Savills). This Grade II-listed castle has previously served as a school, a food store during the second world war, and the grounds once operated as a zoo. In 2000, with the ruins comprising just four outer walls and no roof, local resident Alan Wright bought the property (without planning consent), fulfilling a childhood dream of owning the castle. Together with his son Rob, they set about its restoration, with a new purpose. The building’s original features have been preserved while comforts including underfloor heating, gym, thermal spa and co-working space future-proof the site for new residents.
It’s not a proper country house if you can’t claim a bygone Queen slept in your bedroom. Mine is Elizabeth I. A painting of her arriving at Sherborne (with full pageantry) is the only trace she left of her stay in 1574. But at Taymouth Castle in Perthshire, a visit from a young Queen Victoria in 1842 prompted a major spruce up, including a dairy, rendered in rose quartz, in case she felt the urge to milk a cow. Now the castle — empty since 1982 — is opening its doors once again, ready to entertain on a lavish scale.
US developer Discovery Land Company bought Taymouth in 2018, embarking on an ambitious restoration. The gothic revival castle is listed as Category A by Historic Scotland, and Discovery Land founder Michael Meldman had grand plans, and deep pockets. “It’s our first historic property, and our first in the UK. Each Discovery community is designed to accentuate aspects of its surrounding environment and culture, and our stewardship of Taymouth is no exception.”
More than £100mn has been spent restoring the castle itself, so far. The facade alone used 300 tonnes of stone brought in to repair damage. Inside, a gilded ceiling originally painted by John and Frederick Crace (noted for their work at Buckingham Palace), was hidden under layers of grime and took six months of cleaning with cotton buds to reveal its splendour. Elsewhere specialists were drafted in to conserve surviving painted glass; Gainsborough Silk recreated the original 1801 design for fabrics.
Discovery Land’s model is not the norm for apartment conversions. The castle forms the clubhouse for a community of 145 new private residences to be built on the 755-acre site. Prices start at £4mn. Inside the castle, the baron’s hall, Banner Hall, Augustus Pugin-designed library, and dining atrium, as well as a state of the art wellness facility can be used by residents, and the 23 suites rented. The James Braid-designed 1920s 18-hole golf course is undergoing refurbishment.
On arrival, Taymouth tricks you into thinking it’s cosy, with a low-ceilinged entrance. It’s only once you step into the tower, an 81ft cathedral of a stair hall, that you realise it is all-singing, all-dancing. Heraldry, stained glass, carved everything and gold everywhere. Now there are also speakers discreetly integrated and heated loo seats. With the paint just dry, it’s easy to imagine the parties of the past. When Queen Victoria stayed, the menu included 163 sheep, 194 brace of grouse, 1,200 eggs, 1,524 loaves of bread, 160 gallons of whisky and 900 gallons of ale and beer. This precedent shouldn’t phase culinary director Gary Robinson, former head chef to King Charles.
Is this Center Parcs for the Succession crowd? In a way, the new Taymouth flips the traditional emphasis; the castle becomes the folly for entertaining and the new houses, dotted about the estate like follies of the past, become the home.
Reimagining also has the potential to rekindle other aspects of a stately home or castle in its prime. This is a remote spot; in previous times, the castle would have been the main employer locally. Discovery Land entrusted Perthshire-based McKenzie Strickland Associates to manage Taymouth’s transformation. One hundred and sixty people are employed on the estate already, and Discovery Land’s own environmental impact assessment claims that “ongoing operations of the Estate are likely to create an additional 200 jobs and £8mn in annual wages for employees in Perth and Kinross.”
Historically, buildings of this kind have always been slightly detached from reality, set in their own parkland, separate from the hustle and hassle of normal life. They require the expertise of a full staff to operate and that’s a tall order for any single family to sustain across generations. Jamie Adam of Savills says of living in Riber Castle: “It’s not just about acquiring a home; it is about becoming a custodian of history.”
Hudson estimates that in excess of 40 houses have been rescued in this manner and are now in continued domestic occupation: “that’s the important bit,” he says, “because many houses postwar were saved by being converted for offices, schools, nursing homes and other types of use, but unbearably their character is fundamentally changed.” These were originally conceived as family homes (albeit sprawling, flamboyant ones) and shared ownership allows them to continue, as multi-family homes.
My slice of a stately is merely entry level, Taymouth has emphasised that. But that doesn’t detract from the pleasure. When I’m at Sherborne, it’s impossible not to contemplate the lives of those who occupied it centuries before. Back then, I wouldn’t have entered through the front door, let alone chosen the paint colours. I can’t pretend to identify with Lady Sherborne. But she walked these lawns too and through the mists of time, I see her still.
On the market: slices of stately
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