When William Gibbs bought Tyntes Place near Wraxall in 1843, he acquired a Tudor-style Regency villa set in a 300-acre estate overlooking the Land Yeo Valley, writes Andrew Swift, who urges us to visit the property and walk around its gorgeous grounds. Gibbs renamed it Tyntesfield, set about enlarging it and, by the time he had finished, had transformed it into a baronial Gothic pile replete with turrets, towers and pierced parapets…Image above: National Trust Images, Bob Fowler
What distinguished Tyntesfield from the scores of other gargantuan edifices built around the country in the mid-19th century was the religious fervour that informed its design. The novelist Charlotte Yonge, a frequent visitor, summed its impact up succinctly, describing this ‘holy and beautiful house’ as ‘like a church in spirit’. Tyntesfield not only bristled with devotional imagery; in a nod to the layout of medieval monasteries, a bridge linked the bedrooms on the first floor to a chapel fit to grace an Oxford college.
Throughout the house, wood and stone predominated – timber-beamed ceilings, oak-panelled walls and gothic arches making the rooms dark on the brightest of days. Ornamentation and embellishment were everywhere. The pious medievalism that imbued Tyntesfield was rooted in a conviction that the Middle Ages embodied a paradigm of society and morality which needed to be revived in the modern age, and, at a time when mass production was all pervasive, Tyntesfield was a showcase of craftsmanship.
The irony was that the money to create this evocation of a glorious past did not come from wealth inherited through a lineage stretching back to feudal times; it literally fell from the skies. The Gibbs were merchants, based in Exeter but trading with Spain and the former Spanish colonies in South America. On uninhabited islands off the coast of Peru lay mountains of guano, made up of layers of bird droppings, built up over thousands of years, which the Peruvians quarried to use as fertiliser. Spotting a business opportunity, William persuaded the Peruvian government to grant him a monopoly on exporting it to Europe. The gamble paid off, making him, for a time, one of the wealthiest men in England – but there was a dark side to this success story. As the scramble to meet the demand for this wonderful new product intensified, indentured Chinese labourers were brought in. Despite reports of atrocious working conditions, shipments continued to flow across the Atlantic until there was no more guano left.
Above L-R: Tyntesfield c.1900, courtesy of Andrew Swift; Tyntesfield exterior, Andrew Swift
Although there is no hint of the source of William’s wealth in the paintings hanging on Tyntesfield’s walls or in the carvings and furnishings adorning it, this autumn, in its drawing room, a film installation explores the impact of the guano trade in a ‘haunting reflection on empire, exploitation and the environment’.
This tangled legacy is yet another strand to the story of Tyntesfield – and one that is hardly unique. What makes Tyntesfield so special today – and so important – is not so much the religious fervour that underpinned it, but its survival. Many grand Victorian houses were demolished in the 20th Century, after death duties took their toll and they fell into disrepair. Most of those that survived were sold off, stripped of their contents and converted to other uses. Tyntesfield, however, remained a family home, essentially unchanged – apart from the loss of some of its more audacious architectural features – until William’s great-grandson, Richard Gibbs, died in 2001 – at which point it was put on the market. Which is why the National Trust stepped in, acquiring it and embarking on the herculean task of reversing the ravages of time. Today it stands as a monument not only to the hundreds of craftsmen who created it, but also to the master craftsmen of today who have restored it to its former glory.
But if the house is an echo from a bygone age, the grounds surrounding it are anything but. The Tyntesfield estate is one of the glories of Somerset. Conservation here has not been about opening a window into the past but of helping nature to thrive and to provide a green space to explore and enjoy.
Above L-R: squash in the glasshouse, National Trust Images, Anna Kilcooley; bells inside the property, courtesy of Andrew Swift
For many, it is the kitchen garden, along with the glasshouses and buildings surrounding it, that is the real joy of Tyntesfield. Produce grown here is served in the nearby Cow Barn restaurant, and the ranks of heated greenhouses, filled with colour as summer plants bloom on into autumn, are a succession of delights. Beds outside the walled garden lie packed with gourds, pumpkins and squashes, ripening for the harvest display in the Orangery.
The planting of the terraces below the house, by contrast, in its formality, exuberance and dazzling colours, reflects the taste of the late Victorian age – at least until the first frosts arrive. From here, the land drops away, with views south-westward across rolling parkland to where the ridge of the Mendips drops seawards.
There is so much to discover – a newly restored rose garden, an arboretum which the Gibbs family called Paradise, and, for the more adventurous, the deep woods above the house, up whose steep paths few visitors venture, with views at the top as far as Steep Holm, almost 20 miles away. And then there are Tyntesfield’s hidden corners – Gothic lodges repurposed as holiday cottages, a stable block with a half-timbered nod to Merrie England, a courtyard behind the house looking for all the world like the back quadrangle of an Oxford college.
Dogs are allowed on most of the estate, and, to help you find your way around, there is a choice of guided walks, including – for the autumn half term – a Halloween Trail. Details of these, along with information about the history, restoration and natural wonders of Tyntesfield, can be found at nationaltrust.org.uk/tyntesfield
Discover more of Andrew Swift’s work at akemanpress.com
