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Gotta Save the Castle? Start a Podcast.
The Duchess of Rutland learned the art of running a
castle on the job. Then she started interviewing other duchesses on how they
make it work.
Elizabeth
Paton
By
Elizabeth Paton
Reporting
from Leicestershire, England
July 11,
2023
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/07/11/style/duchess-podcast-belvoir-castle-rutland.html
Last month,
Emma, Duchess of Rutland sat in her drawing room and weighed the pros and cons
of living over the shop. Specifically, Belvoir Castle, a stately and splendid
pile perched on a wooded hilltop in the English countryside with more than 356
rooms and soaring neo-Gothic towers and turrets. It has been the site of the
family seat since the 16th century.
“Well, it
is magnificent, of course, and we are incredibly lucky, but you never quite
know who is in here with you,” she said. “There isn’t privacy in the way most
people might expect from their homes. And don’t get me started on the ghosts.”
A private
secretary wandered by with a giant flag that needed repair before it could fly
from the castle’s two-and-a-half-acre roof. Downstairs, the castle tearoom
hummed with tables of tourists sampling scones with jams from the Belvoir
estate. Nearby, a platoon of pickup trucks bounced across a field packing up
obstacles from a recent Tough Mudder endurance event. For the duchess, born
Emma Watkins, it was a day like any other.
A farmer’s
daughter from the Welsh borders, she moved to Belvoir in 2001 when her husband
became the 11th Duke of Rutland, one of the most senior hereditary titles in
England. He may have inherited a fairy-tale castle, but they were also landed
with 12 million pounds (almost $15.5 million) of inheritance taxes and, in her
words, “battalions of rats and staff who clearly preferred the former
incumbents to us.”
In the
years since, as both chatelaine and chief executive, the duchess has brokered
filming and event deals, streamlined the operations of the estate and
undertaken a costly restoration to safeguard Belvoir for the next generation.
Recently,
despite tabloid scrutiny for her unconventional living arrangements (the duke
and duchess are legally separated and have lived in different wings since 2012)
and the fact that Britain’s historic houses are increasingly part of a brewing
culture war over how the country should reckon with its colonial past, the
duchess has displayed a growing taste for the limelight, albeit on her terms.
In 2020,
she started a podcast, “Duchess,” in which she interviews other duchesses. A
Duchess Gallery shop on the estate sells branded clothing, home wares, gins,
wines and cider. And last year the duchess published “The Accidental Duchess,”
an autobiography that includes candid accounts of her husband’s serial affairs
and her string of miscarriages while raising five children.
Now 59, she
is emerging as one of the more amiable public faces of Britain’s aristocracy at
a time when many prefer to remain below the radar. That means she is more
sanguine than most about airing dirty laundry.
Brisk but
friendly, she crossed her bare, toned legs (she said she runs about two miles
each day after a cup of Earl Grey tea at sunrise) as she recalled an early
morning attempt to put a load of clothes into the washing machine. Her utility
room, she said, is on the other side of a landing from her living quarters,
which are concealed from the public by screens. She wore what she described as
“a granny nightie” as she nipped across the hall.
“To my
horror, there were 20 or 30 mesmerized Texans from a coach tour all pointing at
me from a staircase,” she said. She smiled and stroked the duke’s little Shih
Tzu, Spitfire, who was resting in her lap with a resigned air.
“There is
always something happening here,” she said. “We do what we need to do to keep
the lights on.”
Belvoir, Pronounced ‘Beaver’
It is an
idiosyncratic — and fiercely protected — quirk of the British cultural
landscape that so many of its stately homes can have visitors even while the
families that own them remain in residence. About one-third of the historic
houses are in the care of conservation charities like the National Trust or
English Heritage, but Belvoir Castle, in Leicestershire, remains in private
hands.
“Many
houses opened up for the first time after the Second World War, when new income
streams needed to be found to meet repair bills and when houses were being
knocked down because owners could no longer manage to keep them,” said Ben
Cowell, the director general of Historic Houses, a nonprofit that helps
preserve about 1,500 privately owned properties.
Starting in
the 1970s, changing laws about inheritance taxes made it fiscally advantageous
to open up houses to the public for a certain number of days each year,
generating funds for eye-watering preservation costs. (Today, Historic Houses
estimates its properties have, collectively, a roughly £2 billion (about $2.5
billion) repair and maintenance backlog.)
“We find
that visitors really love seeing houses that remain lived-in homes, as opposed
to being museum pieces where nobody now lives,” Mr. Cowell said.
At Belvoir,
some even stay the night. The castle, which was a stand-in for Windsor Castle
in “The Crown” and has been featured in movies including “The Da Vinci Code”
and “The Young Victoria,” often hosts guests for weekend events and photo
shoots. They can stay in sumptuous state bedrooms, several of which are newly
renovated, including one that, in collaboration with de Gournay, is covered in
hand-painted wallpapers. (Belvoir wallpapers are, naturally, available to
order.)
In fact,
wallpaper preservation is often a priority for the duchess, a onetime interior
decorator (and real estate agent and opera singer). It is a cornerstone of her
new charitable initiative, American Friends of Belvoir Castle, which will host
an inaugural fund-raising gala at the Breakers in Palm Beach, Fla., next year.
An American
reverence for Britain’s grand houses, spurred by the popularity of shows like
“The Crown” and “Downton Abbey,” has been important for the castle coffers.
After all, Belvoir — pronounced “beaver” — costs about £1 million a year to run
“just standing still,” the duchess said. She is always looking for donors.
“ Americans
love to trace their roots and the sense of history we have here,” she
said. “It has been simply wonderful to
have so many listeners from there for ‘Duchess.’”
Ah yes, the
“Duchess” podcast. Meghan Markle is not the only duchess in the podcast game.
(A biography of the Duchess of Sussex sat on an ottoman in the family drawing
room at Belvoir.)
But why
would the Duchess of Rutland, who said she didn’t even know what a podcast was
until the idea was presented to her, agree to interview other women who run
stately homes, including Lady Henrietta Spencer Churchill of Blenheim Palace
and the Duchess of Argyll of Inveraray Castle and Countess Spencer of Althorp
House? Was she not worried that a project with such an unashamedly niche and
elitist focus could backfire? The duchess looked shocked at the suggestion.
“Not for a
moment,” she said. “People can like me or hate me. but I have never been one to
dwell on others’ negativity. ‘Duchess’ was about giving people a glimpse behind
the scenes of what it’s like to be a woman running one of these properties. And
the fact that it can be jolly hard work. I don’t think I’ve had breakfast in
bed once in the two decades I’ve lived here.”
The podcast
was the brainchild of the duchess’s oldest daughter, Lady Violet Manners, who
came up with the idea while studying at U.C.L.A. Violet, her mother said, felt
sure there was an audience for such a series. The duchess, who is an adept
interviewer, cast herself in the mold of “upmarket showgirl,” she said, happy
to come on and do her bit.
Lady Violet
found inspiration for the podcast from years of listening to after-dinner
conversation between duchesses as they sat by the Belvoir fire, swapping
recommendations for curtain makers and stonemasons or tips on what to do when a
flood happens or a ceiling caves in. What struck the duchess when recording the
podcasts was that many of the women, or “girls,” as she called them, were of a
similar mind-set. Namely, that they were custodians of personal and collective
monuments to important national history and were largely unafraid to get their
hands dirty.
“I also
realized that the British aristocracy have been rather practical at picking the
right sort of wife they needed at a particular time, which is partly why
they’ve kept going for generations,” the duchess said. Sorts like an artistic
visionary or an American heiress. Or someone like her.
“I was
raised on a farm,” she said. “I didn’t come with a title or know a thing about
the worlds of heritage or class, but I will do everything I possibly can for
Belvoir to thrive for as long as I’m here.”
Not Without Its Complications
Some of
these efforts have gone above and beyond what many would be prepared to do. In
her autobiography, the duchess describes weeping while breastfeeding her son
Charles, the Belvoir heir, the first time she realized the duke had been
unfaithful — at his 1920s-themed 50th birthday party in 2009. It was a moment,
she wrote, that left her “feeling as if I’d been punched and fighting for
breath.”
She locked
herself in the state dining room to smoke cigarettes, drink wine and dance
(alone) to “I Will Survive.” A divorce lawyer told her she could expect to walk
away with £30 million, she said. But she chose to stay, the duke residing in
the Shepherds’ Tower and the duchess in the Nursery Wing.
.
“It’s a
very modern arrangement, yet very French 18th century at the same time,” Nicky
Haslam, the interior designer and socialite, said in an article in Vanity Fair.
The duke, a vocal fan of Donald Trump and Brexit who has written several books
on subjects like naval history, has lived at the castle with various partners
in the years since the separation. For the last decade, the duchess has been in
a relationship with Phil Burtt, the estate manager.
“It’s not
without its complications, but when is anything perfect?” said the duchess, who
said she had a breakdown in 2017 when she walked across the castle to her late
mother-in-law’s bedroom and didn’t emerge for months. She stressed that she was
“much better” now and that crystals, reiki and meditation had all helped. And,
she said, she and the duke were “on the same page,” with a friendship and a
deal in place that will allow her to remain at Belvoir as chief executive until
she is 65. They even share the occasional supper together.
“Money is
not my God,” she said. “How awful it would be to go down in history as the
person who caused this place to be broken up after hundreds of years.”
The duchess
still believes in primogeniture, or the right of succession belonging to the
firstborn son, and doesn’t think that her other four children would want the
burden of such an inheritance anyway. Lady Violet, Lady Alice and Lady Eliza,
once known as the beautiful “bad-Manners sisters” on account of London parties
so raucous that their neighbors complained to the newspapers, are now working in
creative consultancy, styling and interior design, while Charles works in the
City of London and his brother Hugo attends Newcastle University.
And while
she has loved working on the podcast, the duchess said, she is now handing over
the reins to Lady Violet for the next series, which begins Aug. 17 and features
custodians of historic houses presenting individual episodes themselves. The
duchess wants to focus on the estate’s commercial enterprises, including a
retail village and farm, as well as a new YouTube series that delves into the
history of Belvoir, rather than houses elsewhere.
Perhaps
building a multiplatform social media following was part and parcel with being
a successful 21st-century duchess?
“Oh no, no,
I don’t think so,” the duchess said. “Most of the girls I interviewed probably
think ‘Oh no, what on earth is she doing now?’ Putting yourself out there and
talking about money can still be seen by much of the British aristocracy with
an eye roll. But I just do the work and keep going. I know why I do what I do.”
Elizabeth
Paton is a reporter for the Styles section, covering the fashion and luxury
sectors in Europe. Before joining The Times in 2015, she was a reporter at the
Financial Times both in London and New York. More about Elizabeth Paton
Daisy Dunn
It’s not easy running a stately home: Duchess
podcast reviewed
From
magazine issue:
13 February
2021
https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/it-s-not-easy-running-a-stately-home-duchess-podcast-reviewed/
The Duchess
of Rutland, Emma Manners (née Watkins), grew up on a farm in the Welsh Borders
before becoming proprietress of Belvoir Castle in Leicestershire. ‘On so many
levels I was ill-equipped for the job,’ she reflects in her new podcast,
Duchess. ‘I so remember opening a door and hearing the butlers downstairs
saying: “Have we broken her yet?”… I felt like a ball they were bouncing.’
Thirty
years after coming to Belvoir — pronounced ‘Beaver’ — the Duchess is ready to
talk candidly about the difficulties she and other women have faced as
custodians of stately homes. Following in the footsteps of Lady Carnarvon, who
launched a podcast of her own from Highclere last spring, the Duchess dotes on
the Downton and Bridgerton brigade, while highlighting the real existential
threat faced by many historic estates.
The first
episode takes her to Hedingham Castle, a magnificent Norman keep near Braintree
in Essex, to meet its chatelaine, Demetra Lindsay. Built on land bequeathed to
Aubrey de Vere, a baron of William the Conqueror, the castle was home to the
Earls of Oxford and visited by Henry VIII before being inherited by the
Lindsays via the Majendie family, the last of whom died without issue.
Achilles at
one point described Hector ‘zigzagging all over the shop like a fart in a
colander’
Apparently
on better terms with the ghosts than the staff upon arriving at Hedingham 17
years ago, Demetra, a trained architect, had little choice but to develop a
thick skin. ‘You have to be assertive,’ she said, reflecting on the troubles
she experienced in persuading male employees to follow her instructions.
Nicknamed ‘Treacle’ in her professional life, in which she was vastly
outnumbered by men, she was clearly shocked to find herself subject to similar
prejudice in her own home.
The Duchess
of Rutland enjoys telling her own story, which tends to creep in, perhaps
unconsciously, at vital junctures in the podcast. There are clearly things she
wants to say. She now has an audience to hear them. The series should also bring
some much-needed revenue to homes like these, which cost in the region of
£250,000 a year to run and depend upon tourism.
After the
gentle tinkling of ‘Lord of All Hopefulness’, employed as background music in
Duchess, the heavy metal of The Brummie Iliad quickened the pulse. The bass of
Black Sabbath blared with every manoeuvre on the Trojan battlefield, shield
repelling spear, arrow striking greave. Described as ‘a happy collision’ of
Homer’s epic and the ‘gorgeous cadences of Britain’s second city’, the drama
was certainly loud.
Roderick
Smith, an actor raised in Birmingham, was the composer and bard, performing
Homer’s role from the point in the story where Patroclus borrows Achilles’s
armour. ‘Just give us a lend on it,’ the young warrior begs. Achilles is still
in a mood, effing and blinding, not giving ‘a kipper’s dick about prophecies’.
Reluctantly, he agrees to hand over his metalwork, and unwittingly sends
Patroclus to his death.
There was
some clever poetry in Smith’s rendering. Wisely steering clear of hexameters,
he employed rhyme where he felt it was needed, and elsewhere played loose, even
introducing a tragic chorus into the epic. Between Sarpedon’s request for his
men to ‘make a porcupine of spears’ about his corpse, and tough talk uniting
men ‘like razor clams’, the vulgarity of the vernacular broke in. Achilles at
one point described Hector ‘zigzagging all over the shop like a fart in a
colander’.
So gruff
were these warriors that, at such moments, the pathos of the poetry became lost
in the language. While we were transported to the battlefield, we were liable
to forget that we were on Homer’s battlefield, where for every grunt of ‘scum’
there ought to have been another of ‘honour’ and ‘reputation’. ‘Spunk’,
however, was inspired. Whether Smith intended it or not, I am taking it as a
close translation of thumos, the heroic fighting spirit that no one quite knows
how to English.
That said,
an hour and a half in, I was beginning to feel like Louis MacNeice during his
years as a lecturer at Birmingham, buckling as the room resounded ‘To Homer in
a Dudley accent’. For all its rhythmic beauty, the downward intonation of the
dialect, coupled with the heavy metal, brought out the grimness of these
scenes. Few today have the staying power of Homer’s early audiences. At half
the length this Brummie epic would have been summat.
THE DUCHESS PODCAST
WRITTEN BY
Daisy Dunn
https://www.duchessthepodcast.com/
Welcome to Duchess - the podcast which explores the
heritage of Great Britain & Ireland, and meets the inspiring people responsible for its custodianship. Created by Emma Rutland and her daughter
Violet, who wanted to explore the
fascinating stories behind historic homes and discover the work that goes on
behind-the-scenes by their custodians to maintain their homes enduring beauty
and share their heritage with us all.
In this podcast we hear the epic tales of the
construction of these amazing buildings. We meet the historic figures that
walked their halls, hear chilling ghost stories and heart-breaking tales of
romance. All whilst getting to know the people responsible for the
custodianship of our national heritage, and hear from world leading experts
about the remarkable legacy that is British heritage. Join us on a this special
journey. This is Duchess, the podcast.
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