End of the line?

Review: The Legacy of Hartlepool Hall
Ed has never worked a day in his life. And now, after five years of hiding in the south of France from Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, he has been forced to return to his family’s stately home, Hartlepool Hall, in Yorkshire. He discovers a mysterious houseguest, Alice, an octogenarian butler still in service, and a cook who rustles up dinners large enough to feed a Somalian refugee camp.
Hartlepool Hall is on the edge of insolvency. The vast fortune that paid for the expenses of the estate and those who lived there for successive generations has been squandered. And the bank has become cagey about allowing an overdraft to continue when there’s little sign of it being repaid.
What will Ed do to save his home? Not much, to be honest, aside from sitting around and fretting. Geoff, the flashy property developer boyfriend of his childhood friend Annabel, proposes to turn it into a “leisure complex and golf course”, much to the delight of Ed’s bank. As time goes on, it increasingly appears this will be the only way of saving the hall. But is gutting the interior of this ancient pile and cramming in a bunch of apartments replete with WiFi and a big screen TV, really saving it?
Torday, who with his subsequent novels hasn’t quite managed to create the splash achieved by his debut, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, fashions an oddly compelling tale out of the lives of some rather unsympathetic characters. Ed is listless, pathetic and inscrutable: the bum unlucky enough to be the one around when the Hartlepool cash tap stopped flowing. Annabel, in her early thirties, still lives at home in angry servitude, looking after her elderly father, but equally dependent on him for funding. Alice, undernourished and insipid, is “rescued” from the Hall in a classic set piece that satirises the UK social services’ officious nannying. The relationships between these and other characters feel only vaguely sketched out, lacking flesh –- it feels a little like Torday hasn’t quite managed to get under their skin. Perhaps that’s the point –- because if he were to, there would possibly be very little there.
And yet I continued to turn the pages, anxious as to what would happen to the Hall, and to those having to deal with its impending extinction. Reading The Legacy of Hartlepool Hall, I realised, is like slipping on a pair of old, yet comfy slippers (with one or two gaping holes). Torday’s gentle, unfussy prose, lures you in almost cruelly as it delivers its unsentimental and almost brutal depiction of the challenges facing rural England and its remaining grand houses. His affection for the countryside is leavened by an ambivalence towards its estates (or perhaps just towards those who are their modern day guardians). This avoids a sugarcoated conclusion to the novel – one that is, if anything, grounded in hopeful reality.
I take umbrage to Torday’s assertion, however, that houses like Hartlepool Hall “either become museums, sterile capsules where tourists gaze at a curator’s vision of a bygone age, or they become ruins.” These are not the only two fates that can befall stately homes in the 21st century. Fortunately, not all families have been as spendthrift as the Hartlepools; and some, when faced by whopping tax bills, and shrinking cash reserves have managed to be rather entrepreneurial. Their commitment to the future of their estates has ensured living, sustainable, beautiful homes – not dusty relics, but history-laden treasure houses still relevant in the modern age.
I’m thinking of Wiltshire’s Wilton House, of course, Chatsworth in Derbyshire, and Warwickshire’s Ragley Hall. There are many others too. And, of course, there are some in the care of the National Trust and other heritage bodies that are still home to the families that have lived there for generations (such as Shugborough in Staffordshire). Others haven’t had anyone living in for decades, but the passion of volunteers for these buildings and estates ensure they remain anything but “sterile capsules”.
The future of Britain’s stately homes is sometimes bleak, and almost always challenging. But it is not altogether without hope.
BY ALEXANDER MATTHEWS
Weidenfeld & Nicholson, R205.