Category Archives: Country House

Wasting our Resources


According to the 1899 edition of Burke’s Landed Gentry of Ireland, in the 1620s a Dutch general called Wibrantz Olphertzen came to Ireland and settled in County Donegal, buying property from Captain Henry Harte who had been granted lands in this part of the country as a reward for his loyalty to the English government during the Ulster Plantation. Successive generations of the family lived in the same spot, an estate called Ballyconnell which lay just a short distance north of the village of Falcarragh. Invariably the heirs were called either John or, in memory of their Dutch forebear, Wybrants, marrying locally and usually passing their lives unnoticed beyond the immediate area. In the late 1880s, however, Wybrants Olphert, a Justice of the Peace and Deputy Lieutenant of the county, came to international prominence when he began to evict tenants from his estate due to non-payment of rent. Although Olphert’s property ran to 18,133 acres, the poor quality of land here meant it was valued at only 1,802 and in 1885 rent arrears ran to £1,200; his creditors therefore urged him to evict tenants who had failed to pay. However, in 1886, Home Rule supporters initiated the Plan of Campaign, which  called on tenants to withhold payment on estates where owners refused to reduce rents. This is what now took place on the Olphert estate, with the tenants’ cause championed by the local parish priest, James McFadden and his curate Daniel Stephens (both men were jailed for a period). Meanwhile, the Chief Secretary for Ireland, Arthur Balfour, provided support for Olphert; at one stage, police maintained a 24-hour watch over the estate. Eventually, as the Plan of Campaign petered out in the aftermath of Parnell’s political collapse, resistance from tenants on the Olphert estate, as elsewhere, came to a close as did the evictions, although as so often the conflict left a long and bitter memory.





Looking at the Olpherts’ former residence in Ballyconnell, it is difficult to work out when work on the site began, a situation not helped by the many substantial extensions built around the old house in the second half of the last century. As already mentioned, the family are said to have purchased the land on which it stands in the 1620s, so perhaps something of a 17th century structure remains here. The main block is customarily believed to date from around the middle of the 18th century: the date 1763 is often proposed. This would appear to have been a long, two-storey house of five bays, possibly more (ie. taking in those parts of the building that now feature projecting gable ends). In the 19th century – c.1840 has been suggested – modifications were made to the house, when its east-facing facade was dickied up with the addition of a sandstone porch flanked by canted bay windows, all on the ground floor. The Olphert crest and motto “Dum Spiro Spero” (“While I Breathe, I Hope”) can be seen on the porch’s central armorial plaque. Hood mouldings were placed above windows on the gable-ended wings, the upper windows were also given cast-iron balconies. The architect responsible for these loosely-Tudorbethan alterations is unknown; given how superficial they are, perhaps no trained architect was employed. There are further extensions to the rear, but this area is now such a hopeless muddle that it is difficult to ascribe any date to them. 





The Olphert family remained in possession of, if not necessarily in residence at, Ballyconnell until 1917 when Sir John Olphert, son of the aforementioned Wybrants Olphert, died. Along with some 15,611 it was then bought by the Congested Districts Board for £20,620. The building was occupied first by the Irish Republican Brotherhood in 1921 and then by the Free State Army in 1922 during the Civil War, after which it was sold to the Office of Public Works for £7,000. In 1927 Ballyconnell was offered to the Loreto Order of nuns, which in 1927 who altered and extended the house, and opened a preparatory College, Coláiste Bhríde, for the education of female primary school teachers. Alterations and additions to the house took place during this period, with more following after the property was bought by the Catholic Diocese of Raphoe in 1961. Four years later, it opened as a secondary boarding school for boys and continued to serve this purpose until 1986. A year later, the place was sold again, this time being purchased by Udarás na Gaeltachta (a public sector authority responsible for the economic, social and cultural development of the Gaeltacht, that is parts of the country where Irish is the dominant language). This organisation used Ballyconnell as a Gaeltacht school\Irish college for some time, but then left the buildings empty, in which state they have remained ever since. Since 1996 part of the demesne has been laid out as a nine-hole golf course and earlier this year, the club running this facility lodged an application with the local authority for the removal of existing temporary buildings on the site and the erection of a new clubhouse (rather than renovating some of the very extensive existing structures here). Meanwhile, thanks to an initiative by local residents, the surrounding woodland which was laid out with many specimen trees in the 19th century has been developed for walkers/runners in the area. In the midst of all this sits the pathetic sight of Ballyconnell falling every further into decay. Ten years ago, in 2014, there was talk of the property being used as an addiction centre run by a Roman Catholic organisation, but that plan came to nothing. And nothing seems to be what has happened since. As so often with historic buildings in the care of official bodies – like the Health Service Executive and Coillte –  Udarás na Gaeltachta appears untroubled that a property for which it is responsible should stand neglected and ruinous. A shocking, but not unusual, waste of our resources. 

All the Poorer

 

Elm Hill, County Limerick is a house dating from c.1790 when constructed for the Studdert family. Of six bays and two storeys over raised basement, when offered for sale in the aftermath of the Great Famine, the building was described as containing ‘a spacious and lofty parlour, drawing room and hall; nine capital bedrooms, large kitchen and servants’ hall, besides larder, dairy, closet and cellars of a superior description and in thorough repair.’ It seems to have remained in good condition until the beginning of the present century, after which Elm Hill was left standing empty. The National Inventory of Architectural Heritage, in a survey undertaken in September 2008 reported that while it had fallen into some disrepair, ‘this imposing house retains much of its former grandeur. A high level of technical and artistic skill is evidenced in its design, particularly in the tooled limestone doorcase, the carved timber door and the slate-hung elevations. Internally there are a number of interesting features, notably the slate fireplaces and plastered ceilings.’ Such was its significance that under the terms of the 2000 Planning Act, Elm Hill was designated as a protected structure, with the relevant safeguards such a designation is supposed to provide. However, in June 2021, following proposals from some of its elected representatives, Limerick City and Council removed the house from the list of protected structures, on the grounds that Elm Hill had become unstable and dangerous. It now appears the house is to be demolished and its stone sold off. Such a scenario was commonplace in Ireland during the 1950s and ’60s, but that it should still be occurring today is astonishing and provides evidence that the country’s architectural heritage is no more appreciated, or its future more secure, than was the case 70-plus years ago. Buildings neither rise nor fall without the engagement, or disengagement, of those responsible. If Elm Hill had become ‘unstable and dangerous’, this was because it was allowed to do so, even while designated as a supposedly protected structure. Where, in this instance, was the relevant protection? Under the terms of the 2000 Planning Act, the local authority could – and should – have intervened to ensure the house’s conservation. Instead, it permitted the building to fall into ruin, and then shamelessly removed it from the list of protected structures. As so often in Ireland, legislation exists but implementation does not. Another part of our history disappears – and we are all the poorer for it.

Accentuate the Positive




For a great many people, 2023 has not been an easy year, so let’s end it by accentuating the positive, at least as far as Ireland’s architectural heritage is concerned. Here are six good news stories featured here over the past twelve months, the first three private initiatives, the second involving properties in public ownership. In County Offaly, a young couple are pluckily taking on the restoration of Cangort Park, a handsome early 19th century villa designed by Richard Morrison (see: A Work in Progress « The Irish Aesthete). Likewise, the owner of Barntick, thought to be the oldest continuously inhabited house in County Clare, has embarked on ensuring the building has a viable future (see: Of Very Considerable Importance « The Irish Aesthete). And in County Roscommon, another young couple are gradually working hard to turn Edmondstown into both a family home and a viable business (see: Another Cheering Story « The Irish Aesthete).
On the public front, the Office of Public Works continues to make improvements at the Ormond Castle in County Tipperary, a building distinguished by its elaborately plastered 16th century Long Gallery (see: All that is Fantastically Eccentric in Architecture « The Irish Aesthete). In County Wicklow, Coillte (an organisation with which the Irish Aesthete often finds fault) reopened Avondale after an extensive restoration of the house (see: In the Highest Perfection « The Irish Aesthete). And in September it was announced that the Irish state had bought Dowth Hall and its surrounding 550 acres in order to establish a new national park: fingers crossed that essential work is speedily undertaken on the house (with its ravishing rococo stuccowork) at the centre of this estate (see: Second Time Around « The Irish Aesthete).
Occasionally, there is good news to report:: let us all pray much more of it will be forthcoming in 2024.



A Feature on the Landscape


Currently on the market with some 70 acres, Landscape House, County Waterford is thought to date from c.1790 when it was owned by the Congreve family: their main residence, Mount Congreve, lies some 20 miles to the south-east.  On a raised site overlooking the south bank of the river Suir, it’s a relatively small building, three bays and two storeys over basement, and was perhaps intended to serve as a dower house or perhaps a residence for a land agent. Samuel Lewis in his Topographical Dictionary of Ireland (1837) refers to it as a seat of the Congreves, but it may have been let. Certainly, in 1853 Captain Charles Boycott rented Landscape House for a year before he moved to Mayo where he became agent for the then-Earl of Erne and, owing to subsequent events, unwittingly bequeathed a new word to the English language. 




Landscape is a curious building, both grand and yet modest. Like other small country houses of the period, it borrows features from larger properties in order to indicate the owner’s aspirations. Here, for example, on either side of the front, symmetrically curved curtain walls conceal modestly-proportioned yards, each of which holds a single-storey pavilion, the interior of which is lit by a generously-proportioned arched Gothick window (one of these pavilions was discreetly extended some decades ago and turned into guest accommodation). The curtain walls and pavilions pay  homage to Palladian grandeur, but on an altogether less ostentatious scale. Current taste is acknowledged, even emulated, without being precisely copied. 




The interior of Landscape House manifests the same stylistic traits found outside, not least an aspiration to magnificence. The building was originally T-shaped, with three rooms to the front on each floor and behind them one very substantial room closed by a great three-bay bow that offers views down to the river. Seemingly in the 1940s, the areas on either side of the bow were filled in with flat-roofed, single-bay extensions in order to create more space inside the house, hence its present appearance. With its half-conical slated roof and lines of windows, those on the ground floor especially substantial, the rear of Landscape must have looked quite remarkable before alterations were made. It would then have had a very distinctive character, one that paid homage to contemporary architectural taste while simultaneously proposing an alternative option. And still today, the house lives up to its name by being a noteworthy feature on the landscape. 

For Gentlemen Farmers



Bloomville, County Offaly is a particularly charming late 18th century gentleman farmer’s residence, of two storeys and five bays with a somewhat anachronistic Gibbsian door at its centre. The original block is just one room deep but a three-bay extension to the rear provides additional accommodation, as do single storey wings on either side: that to the east contains a drawing room with generous bow window and conical roof.


A Repetitive Story


Twenty years ago this week, the contents of Lissadell, County Sligo were offered for sale at auction. The importance of accumulated house contents is insufficiently appreciated in this country. Often spanning hundreds of years of occupation by the same family, they represent changes in taste, and in affluence, not just of a particular property’s owners, but of the entire country. They inform our knowledge of Ireland’s history through both good times and bad, and provide enlightenment about how our forebears, of whatever status, lived. Accordingly, their dispersal represents the dissipation of knowledge, leaving us all less well-informed and thereby poorer. In the case of Lissadell, the house, and its predecessor, had been home to generations of the same family, among whom was the revolutionary politician Constance Markievicz. Her association with the building, along with that of many other distinguished figures in Irish history, led to a widespread public campaign for the property and surrounding estate to be bought by the state. As has been so often the case, before and since, this did not happen, and accordingly Lissadell’s contents were auctioned. One of the key losses from this event was a collection of furniture specifically commissioned by an earlier owner, Sir Robert Gore-Booth, for the house. Dating from the 1830s, these pieces were representative of taste in Ireland at the time and were believed to have been made by the Dublin firm of Williams & Gibton. Until the auction, Lissadell was the only house in Ireland to retain its original furniture by this company, so the dispersal was much to be regretted. The items’ importance can be gauged by the fact that most of the lots exceeded their estimates: a rosewood writing table, for example, which was expected to make €8,000-€10,000, fetched €19,000. In the dining room, a set of 17 mahogany chairs (€12,000-€18,000) fetched €22,000 and the dining table itself (€30,000-€50,000) went for €65,000. Forced to bid against other potential purchasers, Lissadell’s new private owners managed to acquire some pieces, such as a pair of handsome mahogany Grecian-style bookcases clearly inspired by the work of Thomas Hope and, again in the dining room, a sturdy mahogany sideboard. But many of the contents, first installed some 170 years earlier, now left for good and not just the Williams & Gibton furniture. There were, for example, a number of fine 17th century Italian baroque paintings, many in spectacular gilt frames, which had been acquired for the rooms by Sir Robert Gore-Booth. And then there were all the miscellaneous objects that build up in any house over generations, from sets of copper jelly moulds to discarded furnishings such as old curtains. These, as much as the more valuable pieces, are what inform the history of a building, and when they are gone, part of that history disappears forever. 





In Ireland, it has long been apparent that if the remaining number of historic houses and contents are to survive, then a coherent strategy to secure their future needs to be considered. The first attempt to devise such a strategy occurred back in 1985 when a body called the Irish Historic Properties Commission, established three years earlier, produced a report written by the late Kevin B Nolan and Lewis Clohessy and called Safeguarding Historic Houses. This clearly stated that ‘our heritage historic properties cannot be preserved without the active and consistent support of the Irish Government.’ Eight years later, in 1993 the Irish Georgian Society and another body since gone, Irish Heritage Properties, held a conference on the future of the Irish country house, subsequently publishing a report on its proceedings. This makes for melancholy reading, since so many of the problems then highlighted remain to the present day, not least the want of sufficient support from central and local government. Ten years later again, Professor Terence Dooley of Maynooth University, at the request of the Irish Georgian Society and the Dept of Environment, Heritage and Local Government, produced a report, A Future for Irish Historic Houses? A Study of Fifty Houses. A year later, the same government department invited Indecon International Consultants to produce an Examination of the Issue of Trust-type Organisations to Manage Heritage Properties in Ireland. Most recently, in 2015 the Department of Arts, Heritage and the Gaeltacht in collaboration with Irish Historic Houses Association after extensive consultation with a wide variety of interested parties and stakeholders, issued an Action Plan for the Sustainable Future of the Irish Historic House in Private Ownership, a document which was duly approved by the Irish cabinet and appeared in 2016. In other words, no one can complain that the challenges facing the Irish country house and the retention of its contents have been insufficiently examined and analysed. Produced over a period of almost 40 years, these and other documents have constantly made the same point: that houses in private ownership, if they are to have a viable future and hold onto their original furnishings, need assistance from central and local government, the kind of assistance that is available in other European countries but has consistently failed to materialise to any adequate extent in Ireland.





Outside observers often note with surprise that in Ireland there is no equivalent of the National Trust which operates on the other side of the Irish Sea and in Northern Ireland. An attempt was made to create such an equivalent with the establishment of the Irish Heritage Trust in 2006. The IHT was largely the brainchild of the Irish Georgian Society’s current president Sir David Davies. The original purpose of this organisation was that it would, like the National Trust, acquire for public access significant heritage properties deemed to be at risk and for which the State did not want to assume direct responsibility. This would ensure that the houses and their contents would remain intact and preserved for future generations. At the time of its establishment and in recognition of the potential significance of IHT’s work, the government of the time earmarked €35 million for the organisation over the duration of the National Development Plan 2007-2013. Accordingly the IHT entered into discussions with the owners of a number of properties judged to be most suitable for such an arrangement. At all times the relevant government department – for Environment, Heritage and Local Government as well as the Department of Finance – was briefed on developments at Anne’s Grove and in 2008 all relevant parties agreed the IHT would assume responsibility for its first estate thanks to an endowment fund of €5 million (drawn from its National Development Plan funding) and associated tax credits. Then in December 2008, the department’s minister wrote to the IHT advising that due to changing circumstances it would not be possible to provide the necessary support. The IHT has since successfully reinvented itself, but the fact remains that there is still no equivalent of the National Trust in Ireland, and historic properties, along with their contents, continue to be lost because of want of state support for their survival. Today’s photographs show the empty interiors of Howth Castle, sold in 2019 after being occupied for more than 800 years by the same family. The house’s remaining contents were dispersed at public auction two years ago in September 2021. Unless there is a change in state policy towards these properties, and towards the histories they contain, more such sales will occur in the years ahead. And we will continue to be the poorer. 

Remembering a Valiant Woman


In 1598, at the age of 18 Lettice FitzGerald married Sir Robert Digby, a Warwickshire landowner. Born in 1580, Lettice was the only child of Gerald FitzGerald, eldest son of the 11th Earl of Kildare. However, her father died around the time of her birth, leaving her, she would claim, as heir general to the great FitzGerald estates. Her cousin, who had become 14th Earl of Kildare, begged to differ and so in 1602 Lettice and her husband embarked on a long and costly law suit – the Jacobean equivalent of Jarndyce v Jarndyce – in pursuit of her entitlements. During the course of a legal battle that lasted almost two decades, they were able to prove that the will of Lettice’s grandfather had been fraudulently altered after his death in order to disinherit her, but still the fight continued. Eventually, in 1619 King James I, while rejecting Lettice’s claim to be the 11th Earl’s heir general, granted her and her heirs the manor of Geashill, comprising some 30,000 acres in King’s County (now Offaly), thereby partitioning the FitzGerald patrimony. The following year, the king recognised Lettice as Baroness Offaly for life, on the understanding that after her death the title would revert to the Earls of Kildare.





At the centre of the Geashill estate lay a castle, originally erected in the late 12th or early 13th century by Maurice FitzGerald, second Baron Offaly. For a considerable period during the Middle Ages, this property had been in the hands of the O’Dempsey clan, but was back under the control of the FitzGeralds by the time Lettice was born. It is here that she chose to live following the death of her husband, Sir Robert Digby, in 1618 and the confirmation by the crown of her right to the estate soon afterwards. By then in her early 60s, Lettice was in residence at Geashill Castle at the onset of the Confederate Wars in 1641 and that found herself besieged by the O’Dempseys, to whom she was related. They offered her and her family safe passage if the castle was surrendered, otherwise it would be burnt down. In the face of this threat, she replied ‘Being free from offending His Majesty, or doing wrong to any of you, I will live and die innocently, and will do my best to defend my own, leaving the issue to God.’ The siege was eventually lifted, but renewed the following spring when the attackers arrived with a make-shift cannon: it exploded at the first shot, as did a second attempt using the same device. Meanwhile, as Terry Clain notes in the Dictionary of Irish Biography, Lettice  ‘affected an aristocratic sang-froid in the face of imminent peril.’ Eventually, in October 1642 she was persuaded by allies to leave the property and subsequently retired to live on her late husband’s property in Warwickshire, where she died in 1658. Geashill Castle and the surrounding estate was inherited by her grandson, the second Baron Digby (her eldest son having predeceased her), whose heirs continued to own the property until the last century. 





At some date, perhaps as early as the 17th century, the Digbys built a new house to the immediate east of the old castle, part of which was most likely incorporated into the structure, where material from the abandoned building was probably also reused. The house appears to have been substantial but somewhat plain, of seven bays and two storeys, with a series of service extensions and yards further to the east. The south front had short projecting wings on either side of the central three bays creating a shallow forecourt. In 1860, Dublin architect James Rawson Carroll remodelled the house, adding a porch on the south side, a canted bay window on the ground floor of the north side and cambered arches over the windows on the west. The Digbys chose to live on their English estate, Sherborne Castle in Dorset, so the house at Geashill was occupied by a succession of agents who looked after the family’s Irish property; in the opening decades of the last century, the agent was Reginald Digby, a cousin of Lord Digby. In 1922, Mr Digby needed to go to London for an operation, but was unwilling to leave Geashill Castle unattended, aware that the place would be vulnerable to assault, this being at the height of the Civil War. However, eventually he was required to leave and on August 19th 1922, the building was attacked and burnt. Like other house owners whose property suffered in this way, the Digbys applied for compensation from the courts but because nobody was resident in Geashill Castle at the time, it was argued that the family was entitled to only minimal funding. In consequence, the house was not rebuilt but left as a ruin. Under the terms of the Wyndham Act of 1903, most of the ancient estate had already been sold to tenants and in 1926 the Land Commission took over the demesne, thereby ending a link with this part of the country that stretched back not just to plucky Lettice Digby in the 17th century but as far as the O’Dempseys in the 14th century. 

The Protected Structure


Anyone who travels about Ireland cannot fail to notice the sheer number of vacant buildings which have been left to fall into dereliction and which are intermittently the subject of attention on this site. Sadly, such is the case with today’s property, Kilheffernan Cottage, County Tipperary. 





This is a curious building in three parts and the challenge for anyone looking at the place is working out dates of construction for each member of the trio. To the left (westerly) is a two storey, three bay house with two deep windows, six over six panes, on the ground floor and a blank wall between them; marks on the exterior render suggest that there was once a door here providing access to the house. The building to the right (east) now has a steeply pitched corrugated iron roof but, it is proposed in buildingsofireland.ie, was originally thatched. Four pretty glazed doors with decorative overlights open to a large single room which, in turn, leads into the little link building, an entrance hall with coved ceiling and glazed porch to the front. As for the largest of the buildings, the ground floor contains two reception rooms as well as a kitchen and ancillary rooms to the rear. The most notable feature is the wooden spiral staircase that snakes up to the first floor bedrooms and bathrooms. Unfortunately, having been neglected for a long period, slates have been lost from the roof and the interior has suffered severe damage from water ingress; regrettably, all the chimneypieces have also been removed. There is a range of outbuildings to the rear of the property. 





Tracing the history of Kilheffernan Cottage is something of a challenge. At least some of it must date from the 18th century. According to landedestates.ie, a Thomas Ryan, whose family had been resident in the area since the early 1700s, was proprietor of the place in 1814. Samuel Lewis likewise lists T. Ryan as being there in 1837 and by the time of Griffith’s Valuation a couple of decades later, Patrick Fennelly held the house – valued at £10 and 13 shillings – from Thomas Ryan. In 1922 the historian Maurice O’Connell, a descendant of Daniel O’Connell, was born at Kilheffernan Cottage where his parents were then living. In 2005, the year of Maurice O’Connell’s death, the place was offered for sale with 15 acres. Since then, it would appear to have sat empty and allowed to fall into its present condition. Inevitably, the house is included on the local authority’s list of protected structures. 

Remembering What’s Lost



Ireland’s Decade of Centenaries, marking the country’s ten years of transformation 1913-23 is now drawing to a close, but there are still opportunities for analysis and reflection about what happened during that period. On Saturday, October 7th the Irish Aesthete will be participating in County Tipperary’s annual Dromineer Nenagh Literary Festival (celebrating its own 20th anniversary), in conversation with poet Vona Groarke about some of the great houses which were burnt in the early 1920s, many of them never rebuilt and lost forever. One such was Ardfert, County Kerry, set on fire in August 1922. The photographs above show the building before and after the conflagration, while those below are images of the interior, including the panelled hall with its classical grisaille figures, and the splendid main staircase, all lost in that fire, after which the house was pulled down so that nothing survives as a memory of its existence.



For further information about this event and others in the Dromineer Nenagh Literary Festival, please see: Left without a Handkerchief – dnlf