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Documentary
Modern Times: The Last Dukes review – a human zoo
with proper toffs
Dukes exist for the same purpose as the rest of the
English aristocracy – to amuse everyone else on television
Sam
Wollaston
@samwollaston
Tue 27 Oct
2015 07.30 GMTLast modified on Tue 19 Jun 2018 12.25 BST
Dukedoms
are created by the monarch – because someone played well in a war, maybe, or
just because someone was the king’s bastard son. There hasn’t been a new one
since Queen Victoria’s reign (neither the Thin White Duke nor the the Dukes of
Hazzard were proper, official dukes). Now there are just 24 left and, although
some still have a lot of land, they are not that important any more. They
really exist for the same purpose as the rest of the English aristocracy – to
amuse everyone else, on television. Which is what they are doing, rather well,
in Modern Times: The Last Dukes (BBC2).
Oh, this is
a lady: Lady Rosemary Spencer-Churchill. But she is the daughter of a previous
duke of Marlborough, and auntie of the current one, Jamie Spencer-Churchill,
who used to be called the Marquess of Blandford and was at one time best known
for putting thin white lines up his nose. Lady Rosemary is showing us around
the family house, Blenheim Palace. That’s where the P&O used to be, which
she played as a child, she says. What, a ferry? There is certainly room for
one, it just seems a strange toy for a little girl … Oh, I see, a piano! Piano
doesn’t rhyme with Joanna at Blenheim.
Another
duke’s daughter, Camilla, lives in a new-build close in London, poor dear;
she’s rather sad and unfulfilled. Her father’s dukedom is extinct. No male
heirs, that was the problem; women don’t really count for all that much in this
world.
And north
of the border, the dukedom of Atholl is still going, but it might as well be
extinct: the current duke is a South African (white, of course, and also quite
thin, as it happens) called Bruce. He runs a small sign-making business back
home; now he also has a small private army in the Scottish highlands. Tossers,
of cabers.
The Duke
and Duchess of St Albans have all the right robes and coronets, and produce all
the right vowel sounds, but they have no land. The heir isn’t sure even whether
he will call himself duke or not; he used to be an earl, but he dropped it, now
he’s just a Mr. He is more interested in the family’s history of mental
illness. By acknowledging and taking an interest in it, he will avoid it, he
says; the demon will be purged for future generations. Really? I’m not sure
that is how mental illnesses operate, is it? Oh, and the family pile is now a Best
Western hotel, three-and-a-half stars average on TripAdvisor.
It is a
lovely programme by Michael Waldman, though – nicely non-judgmental, that is
left entirely to you. I think the aristocracy – not just posh people, but
proper top toffs – make excellent television, because they are so very
different from anyone you come across in the real world, even the ones who do
their damnedest to be normal. A human zoo, basically, but you don’t have to
feel too guilty about laughing.
And a
special shout-out to the camera operator(s) for spotting the “One’s Palace”
cushion and the painting of a packet of Marlboro in the Duke of Marlborough’s
private quarters at Blenheim. And for lingering on the Duchess of St Albans’
coronet, which she has to hold on her head throughout the interview after
talking about how brilliantly and securely the system of hatpins works. Ha.
Scream
Queens (E4) could well be my new Glee – ie a sad, middle-aged Englishman’s
attempt to stay in touch with what young people are getting up to and saying on
the other side of the Atlantic. It is actually created by the same people as
Glee, and it shows, but this has the added bonus of blood. Kinda Glee (with
Jamie Lee Curtis, the college dean, in the Sue Sylvester role) meets Mean Girls
meets Carrie.
The
university sorority, led by blond despot Chanel Oberlin (Emma Roberts), is
thrown into turmoil when ordered by JLC’s dean to open its doors to everyone,
including non-blondes, “ethnics”, ugly people etc. There is also someone
dressed as the devil killing people on campus, but to be honest, that worries
them less.
It is
outrageous, fabulous and hilarious, with the sort of confident, polished
writing that you only really get in the US. I may not be its core target
audience, but I know a good line when I hear one, and here they come in salvos.
“I do sort of love you, but I’d love you a lot more if other people loved you
too.” And: “You’re so confident without being mean, what antidepressants are
you on?” And, I think my favourite of all: “Everyone is encouraged to wear/be
white.” And thin, too, of course.
BBC documentary reveals Britain's dukes last of a
dying breed
THERE was a time when dukes lived like, well, kings.
They occupied castles with hundreds of rooms, employed dozens of servants and
hosted lavish balls.
PUBLISHED:
10:10, Sat, Oct 24, 2015 | UPDATED: 10:35, Sat, Oct 24, 2015
In the
political sphere they enjoyed power by virtue of their seats in the Lords. And
one duke – by a special dispensation from Queen Victoria – even maintained the
only private army in Europe.
However
their fortunes are on the wane. Income from investments and farming are no
longer enough to maintain their stately piles despite the fact they still
collectively own more than a million acres of Britain.
All but
three of them have lost the right to vote in the Lords following former prime
minister Tony Blair’s purge of hereditary peers. And a shortage of male heirs
has also taken its toll.
Unlike the
British throne the title of duke can only pass down the male line and of the 28
non-royal dukes who attended the Queen’s coronation in 1953 only 24 remain.
As no new
dukedoms have been created since Queen Victoria made the Earl of Fife the Duke
of Fife in 1889 that total can only dwindle further with the passage of time.
The story
of their “magnificent struggle” to survive in the modern world is told in The
Last Dukes, a BBC Two documentary to be shown on Monday.
Through
intimate interviews with a number of dukes and duchesses it reveals a wide
disparity in the lifestyles of the poshest aristocrats and their very different
approaches to keeping going.
THE
DETERMINED DUCHESS
The Duke of
Rutland had the good sense to marry a sensible girl and it is the duchess who
has run the 16,000-acre Belvoir Castle estate for the past 15 years.
Emma
Watkins was a farmer’s daughter when she met her future husband, then the
Marquis of Granby, at a dinner party. They married a couple of years later and
went on to have three daughters before producing son and heir Charles, followed
by a spare – Hugo.
The
marriage ran into difficulties three years ago and the couple now live apart.
But with 300 rooms at their disposal they continue to co-habit: the duke in one
tower and the duchess in another.
Under the
duchess dozens of staff were made redundant and the number of days the castle
was opened to the public was reduced to 30 a year in order to accommodate
high-income shooting parties and wedding parties.
Blenheim
Palace was the birthplace of Winston Churchill
THE
LANDLESS DUKE
The dukedom
of St Albans was created for the illegitimate son of King Charles II and
actress Nell Gwyn and for many years the family seat was Bestwood Lodge in
Nottinghamshire.
That is now
a hotel and the present duke and his duchess live in a terraced house in
central London.
Up until a
few years ago one used to get a quarter of a deer twice a year from Richmond
Park but that was stopped by Tony Blair
Murray St
Albans makes his living as an accountant but his hallway boasts a portrait of
himself in his ducal robes accompanied by a stuffed bird to denote his role as
the Hereditary Grand Falconer.
He says:
“Up until a few years ago one used to get a quarter of a deer twice a year from
Richmond Park but that was stopped by Tony Blair. I thought it was a pretty
poor show.”
THE EXTINCT
DUKEDOM
Lady
Camilla Osborne is a good example of how the mighty are fallen. The daughter of
the 11th Duke of Leeds, whose family seat was Hornby Castle in Yorkshire, now
lives in a new-build close in south-west London.
Lady
Camilla’s father John inherited a substantial sum but despite this he sold
Hornby three years later and moved to the French Riviera.
He proved
to be unlucky in love, however. First he married a Serbian ballet dancer who
ran off with an American millionaire.
Then he
married a much younger woman, Camilla’s mother, and moved to tax-haven Jersey
only to lose her to a young Guards officer.
He married
for a third time before dying without any male issue.
The title
went to distant cousin Sir D’Arcy Osborne, a former British ambassador to the
Vatican who was in his 70s but he died months later and in the absence of a
male heir the title died with him.
Camilla,
who is the ex-wife of the late gossip columnist Nigel Dempster, believes her
father was unfulfilled because, “He had absolutely no purpose in life except
getting through the day by going to the cinema or going to the tailor or having
the third Pernod”.
Jamie Blandford,
Duke of Marlborough and family attend a service of thanksgivingGETTY
Jamie
Blandford, Duke of Marlborough and family attend a service of thanksgiving
THE
LONG-DISTANCE DUKE
In 2012
Bruce Murray was running a small sign-making shop in an obscure provincial town
in South Africa when he and his second wife Charmaine found themselves the Duke
and Duchess of Atholl with 12 subsidiary titles following the death of his
father John.
John was
himself a very distant relative of his predecessor the 11th duke and had no
desire to leave South Africa.
“He
actually made enquiries as to how he could get out of it,” recalls Bruce.
“The person
he consulted at the Court of the Lord Lyon [the heraldry office for Scotland]
said, ‘You can either commit a schedule-one offence [an offence against a
child] or felony and go to jail for the rest of your life, or die.’ You can’t
abdicate being a duke.”
John’s
unwillingness to take on the dukedom led the 11th duke to put the ancestral
seat Blair Castle in the hands of a trust and the current duke’s role is
limited to a short annual visit to perform ceremonial duties, such as
overseeing parades by the Atholl Army, the unique private army mentioned above.
THE
COMMERCIAL DUKEDOM
The
finances of Blenheim Palace were so parlous at the end of the 19th century that
the 9th Duke of Marlborough was virtually ordered to marry an American heiress.
Consuelo
Vanderbilt, the daughter of a railroad millionaire, came with a substantial
dowry and while money can’t buy you love the couple did produce an heir and a
spare.
Standards
were certainly high – literally and metaphorically – in the next generation.
The wife of
the 10th duke insisted that all their footmen were at least 6ft tall, a
demanding requirement in an era when the average working-class man stood at 5ft
3ins.
Blenheim,
the grandest of all the ducal family seats, pays its way today by welcoming
700,000 visitors a year through its imposing doors and hosting events such as
the Salon Privé Concours d’Elégance, a car show.
The present
duke James Blandford was something of a black sheep in his youth.
As the
documentary’s narrator, producer and director Michael Waldman says: “He had a
sticky time during his early life. A well-publicised drug addiction and a
passion for fast cars hardly prepared him for the now professional business of
running such a vast estate.”
As a result
Blenheim is managed by a trust and its day-to-day running is in the hands of
John Hoy.
He neatly
sums up the appeal of family-run stately houses: “I think it’s part of our DNA.
We’re the envy of the world because of places like Blenheim. The heritage and
the private historic houses are utterly unique.”
The Last
Dukes can be seen on October 26 at 9pm on BBC Two.
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