Skip to main content

Hardwick Hall

Imagine finding out you owe the government £7 million.  Seven million pounds!  It seems an impossible amount.

Even when it was reduced to £2.5 million, it was still far too much for the Cavendish family to pay.  They were forced to give their house to the government in lieu of the taxes.  This house wasn't just an average suburban semi, however.  The head of the Cavendish family was the Duke of Devonshire, and the house was Hardwick Hall.


The story of the break-up of many great estates in the 20th century is a fascinating one, of which I only know snippets.  Two world wars had an irreparable effect on the wealth of many landed families, of course, but the change in taxation seems to been at least as big a burden.  The amounts charged are so enormous (the Cavendish estate was taxed at 80%!) that I assumed the tax had been brought in on purpose to destroy the gentry's power.  Interestingly, that doesn't appear to have been the case.  The death duty, or inheritance tax, in question dates back to the Finance Act of 1894, which was enacted - why else? - because the government was running a huge deficit and needed more money.

Presumably the government did not particularly want historically valuable houses which would cost a fortune to keep up.  Fortunately, the National Trust was formed in the early years of the 20th century, and many of these relics of the past were slid into the charity's lap.  It has done quite an amazing job of caring for them.

And so, one sunny Sunday, we found ourselves at the house built by the formidable Bess of Hardwick.  Her proper name was Elizabeth Talbot, Countess of Shrewsbury, and she became one of the richest women in Britain.  Hardwick Hall was clearly intended to make a statement.  On top of a hill, it proclaims "ES" (for Elizabeth Shrewsbury) proudly in all directions.  Elizabeth I's advisor Robert Cecil described the building as "More window than wall", another extravagance in the days before double glazing and central heating.



This was actually our second visit, so we vaguely remembered the sumptuous wall hangings and enormous rooms.  The boys still don't have much patience with touring stately homes, so we didn't get much time to admire the furnishings, but this inlaid table definitely stood out.






Toby and Theo enjoyed making paper daffodils in the Hall kitchen, and then we went back out into the sunlight to look for a picnic spot.  We found deckchairs!



The air wasn't too warm, so we had a game of hide and seek around the gardens to warm ourselves up, and peeked into the fairy houses.

1..2..3..4..
 

Graham and I would have preferred a brisk walk, but we found it hard to drag the boys away from the woodland play area.  They were perfectly happy searching for bugs underneath fallen logs and throwing wood chips in the air.  We compromised by doing one short walk each.  One day we'll have to explore a bit further.

It's difficult to evaluate the rights and wrongs of the estate duty that crippled the Cavendish family.  On the one hand, it seems unfair to tax anyone so harshly, no matter how wealthy they may be.  On the other, the social order was changing dramatically, and the power of the old noble families may well have been coming to an end anyway.  And when it means that we get to spend a day looking at an amazing house, I find myself thankful for the consquences, however unintended they may have been.

I'm sure the makers of the 1894 law didn't expect this!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...

Birmingham: Temples to many things

Birmingham's cathedral is overshadowed by more modern temples: the mirrored swirls of New Street train station; the dotted bulge of the Selfridges store; the lacy blocks of the library; the pillars and pediments of the museum and art gallery. Museum and town hall Next to all these, Birmingham Cathedral, in its square of dusty grass, isolated from the main flow of shopping and travel, seems less like a dominant building and more like a minor chapel. It turns out the unpretentiousness is deliberate. St Philip's Church was built in 1715 when the worshipping population of Birmingham had outgrown the medieval constraints of St Martin in the Bullring . Birmingham remained part of the Diocese of Worcester until 1905, when Charles Gore pushed for the creation of a new diocese and became its first bishop. Seeing the depth of need in the city, he decided to convert St Philip's to a cathedral rather than spend money on a grand new building. Birmingham Cathedral had to be restored afte...

Southwell Minster, Newark-on-Trent, and a pilgrim cellist

You may remember that I recently mentioned people doing weird and wonderful things. Well, I found another one. Last year, Kenneth Wilson visited all 42 English cathedrals. On a bike. With a cello. It was a cargo bike; the whole setup, cello and all, weighed about 50 kg; and he mostly managed a rate of one cathedral per day, with occasional rest days and train journeys where absolutely necessary. That's a lot of cycling. Of course, he wrote a book about it, and when I found out he was on the schedule at Newark Book Festival, I had to go. It also provided the perfect excuse to visit Southwell Minster. Newark-on-Trent feels like it is in the depths of the Nottinghamshire countryside, but it isn't actually hard to get to, I thought as I buzzed along the dual carriageways of the A50, A453, A52 and A46 on a sunny Sunday morning. All along the route, the grass stood bleached and crispy, scorched by the summer heat.  Newark Castle with crispy grass The author event was at the National...