DERBYSHIRE contains an array of some of the largest and most important country houses in Britain. In addition to such masterpieces as Haddon, Hardwick, Chatsworth and Kedleston, however, are middling houses of great interest that are still lived in and well-maintained, but comparatively unknown. Ogston Hall falls into this latter category. It is an intriguing building that has developed over many centuries, although its dominating character today is Victorian.
The hall enjoys a romantic site adjoining a beautifully landscaped reservoir formed in 1958, in the manner of the grandest of Capability Brown lakes. Its hilly shores are dotted with woods and old stone farmhouses, which still belong to the estate. The drive runs along the water side and brings the visitor to the northern gatehouse range. This dates to the 16th century, but was remodelled in 1899 to make it look more like Haddon, by a son of the house, Gladwyn Turbutt. He trained as an architect, but was killed in the First World War.
Turbutt’s death was the opening tragedy of a period of decline characteristic of many country houses in the early 20th century. From the Second World War onwards, the place was let to schools and religious institutions, until being sold in 1973 to Frank Wakefield, a Nottinghamshire businessman, who repaired it. The work of revival has been continued by his son, David, an expert on Proust and Stendhal, and his wife, Caroline, the eldest daughter of Sir Josslyn Ingilby of Ripley in Yorkshire. She has brought some of her family things to Ogston and replanted the terraced 19th-century gardens.
Denne historien er fra January 22, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra January 22, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.