Rival Reviews: Dunham Massey
The history is a mystery at Dunham Massey.
A neo-17th century façade
Oh Dunham Massey, what to do with you.
A Georgian-looking house nestled comfortably against a lake that sits in the midst of a 300 acre deer park on the edge of Manchester’s Altrincham, Dunham Massey as been in business for almost 400 years; from the 17th century to 1976 when it was passed to the National Trust, the largest ever bequeathment at the time.
The present hall is a relatively unadorned red brick building with a neo-classical façade, built in 1616 but extensively remodelled by John Norris in the 1730’s, adding a brick façade with bays and a stone centrepiece for the drama, reworked in 1905. The result is an Elizabethan house in a Georgian shell with 20th century decoration. A surprise kinder egg of architecture.
Even early on, it was a shaky start for Dunham. In fact there was almost no house at all. The original Dunham was created by George Booth 1, 1st Baronet, but by the time his grandson, George Booth 3, 2nd Duke of Warrington, inherited the house in 1694 it was still in an unfinished state. It turned out that our missing link between these two men, George Booth 2, was more interested in accumulating debt than building a house. George Booth 3 inherited £50,000 of debt from his father. Thanks Dad. It was only through his canny business decision of marrying rich that George 3 was able to recoup some of his losses. He also planted hundreds of trees across the estate as a timber resource, which might be significant later.
In a rogue move for the 18th century, George 3 left control of his estate to a woman. His only heir, Mary Booth. Mary married Harry Grey, Earl of Stamford and united the two families forever more. Though Mary was not able to inherit Dunham because of the whole ‘being a girl’ thing, she did take charge of its care, remodelling the grounds with the help of garden design genius Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown. In 1745 she built a three mile long wall to enclose the deer park, keeping intruders out and deer in.
The house was passed down along the Grey family descendants until 1855, when the 7th Earl George Harry Grey (this family really liked to recycle names) married a second time to Catherine Cox, a skilled circus performer and independent woman. Ths proved too much for their fellow gentry, who hated to see a girlboss winning, and the media relished spreading the drama far and wide. As a result the couple were forced to move to the Grey’s historical family seat in Staffordshire, Enville Hall. They managed Dunham remotely, and the family were not to reside in Dunham Massey again until 1906, when William Grey, 9th Earl of Stamford began a full refurb to prepare the estate for habitation.
William modernised the mansion by adding electricity and employing Compton Hall (a person, not a place) to redesign the front façade to look less 17th century and more neo-17th century. The interior was also redesigned in an Edwardian fashion by Perry Macquoid, a nepo-hire but still a solid choice, a bit like actor Jack Quaid. Unfortunately William was to die in 1910 just before renovations were completed, and his 13 year old son, Roger, became the 10th and last Earl of Stamford and the final proprietor of Dunham Massey.
We can thank Roger that Dunham is what it is. Never marrying, he spent his adult life dedicated to preserving the estate from development and reassembling the collections of Dunham Massey which had been separated by the 7th Earl all those years ago when he fled for Enville. Some particular gems of the inventory include a significant collection of Huguenot silver and a unique state bed.
A bed fit for a Duchess, or a pineapple
Sidenote - Huguenot silver refers to silver smithed by the Huguenot religious minority who were forced from France in 1685 following religious reforms. They introduced new techniques to English silversmithing and their work was highly coveted. In addition, silver itself retains its value, it is antibacterial, helpful in a time with limited effective healthcare, and extremely reflective, helpful in a time with no electricity. In short, an excellent investment.
Second sidenote - A State Bed was a significant piece of furniture in any home. A bed itself has long been one of the most costly items a family can own, an asset that was considered on par with landholding and leases, and was often passed down in wills. Dunham’s state bed was likely created for a relative, the Duchess of Somerset, for her third marriage in 1680, and bequeathed to her nephew George Booth. The bougie crimson silk bed, matching curtain, and decorative ostrich plumes were put in storage when the family moved to Enville Hall, and stayed there until Roger Grey restored this bed jigsaw to Dunham in the 20th century.
Roger never married, and lived in Dunham until he passed in 1976, at which point his titles became extinct. He left the estate to the National Trust, the most generous donation in the organisation's history.
What this means is that the house was occupied up until the mid 1970’s, donated the same year that saw the shock resignation of then prime minister Harold Wilson, riots at the Notting Hill Carnival, the plummeting of the value of the pound, the Sex Pistols riots on ITV and, most significantly, the release of Dancing Queen by ABBA. It seems inconceivable that someone was living in this country house when ABBA were writing Dancing Queen, but that was the context of the moment. And enjoy it, because that’s some of the last we’ll see of context on this visit.
It’s a sunny morning here at Dunham Massey, and we’ve arrived slightly ahead of the crowds. Enough time to sit in the entrance cafe, next to an impressive wildflower meadow reinvigoration project. I am joined by Emma, now wisely in possession of a National Trust membership card and eager to get going.
The house opens at 12pm, and we are second in line when the wrought iron gates open. The tour starts in the service quarters, a laundry room with large basins and a mangle, a still room displaying old-timey butter churning equipment, a larder with fresh game hanging up, ready to be plucked and looking a little too real to be decoration for my comfort.
All the mod-cons
I am interested in any property where the tour starts in the servants quarters, it is a decided rarity, though becoming less so, as most country houses seem to employ a top down approach. In fairness, I would imagine that this is often dictated by the practicalities of integrating a one way visitor system into a historic home, but context is everything. Entering through the service quarters frames the house differently. We start in the washing rooms, leading into the kitchens and finally the butlers pantry before walking around a corner and straight into the dining hall. Besides from a carefully positioned wall that hides the poor people from view, there is no material barrier between these worlds. The 8th Earl had the dining hall re-positioned in the early 20th century where senior servants quarters used to be.
There is a strange disconnect between the relative simplicity of the first few rooms in the servants quarters, where it decidedly does not feel like electricity has yet been invented, and then the kitchen, where there is an AGA oven and a normal stovetop. In addition, this is also the only room to contain mannequins displaying historical clothing: a housemaid uniform, and a housekeeper’s dress displayed on a balcony over the kitchen, perched menacingly at the rail like she might at any moment swoop down for the kill, Woman in Black style. Knowing a little about the temperament of housekeepers, this may well be the case. Elsewhere, further into the house there is another outfit, but laid out on a table this time. The disjoint is kind of confusing, and I wonder what the aim is. We seem to be bouncing around eras and interpretation styles, and I’d honestly love a little plaque right now.
Rug storage in the tea room
The ‘upstairs’ of the house seems equally at war with itself, though I always feel the vibe is automatically off kilter when a room in a country house, resplendent with portraiture of affluent predecessors, gilded furniture and stone masonry above the fireplace also has a few magazines and a Rubiks Cube on the table (last occupied in 1976, remember?). A few rooms are closed or partially dressed for conservation, but those that are open vary between the traditional practice of laying out a room like the owner has just popped out to hail a servant, museum-style rooms with cabinets displaying labelled objects, and something I can't quite describe. Let me explain: a room labelled ‘Tea Room’ contains only several large climate controlled cabinets storing the house’s not insignificantly large collection of unusable rugs. They are rolled up in tissue paper so you can’t actually see them. There is a feeling that they have been placed there temporarily, but whether this is the truth or just the vibe remains unclear. Certainly it is interesting to see this traditionally ‘behind-the-scenes’ storage convention, but without sufficient interpretation to explain the ‘why’ it feels overlooked.
Unfortunately, throughout the property interpretation has been kept to a minimum, making the disjointed curation more pronounced. To give Dunham Massey its due, I don’t recall ever really seeing a timeline of a room’s changing functions as is on display in each room before, a choice perhaps testament to Dunham Massey’s somewhat unusual renovations. It is a charming touch that adds humanity and context to a confusing concept. There are also a few large informational plaques which cover random tidbits of historical fact in disorientating detail while leaving the rest of the room unexplored. No guidebook is available (apparently it’s in reprint), so no help comes from that quarter either. The result being that house stewards were mobbed by desperate visitors seeking any information at all to contextualise the house.
The moss garden and its treasures beyond, but what does it mean?!
All in all, I left Dunham Massey with the impression that the interpretation was decided by a large committee, creating something incohesive and confusing as only a large group can. Perhaps they didn't like each other.
The garden is similarly bereft, one particularly fascinating sign at the entrance to what looks like an abandoned field simply says ‘moss garden’, a concept I would just love to explore in more depth. Finally, to add insult to injury, we find Dunham Massey’s historic mill is only open for tours (don't worry, it's free) and then only on weekdays, a decision I always feel is a rogue move for a visitor attraction. After brief experimentation, it turns out trying to read a small interpretation panel in an unlit room through smoggy glass is not a suitable replacement for this. Perhaps it’s time to leave.
Lunch
Lunch was spring chicken casserole. I've decided the best way to get a decent lunch at a National Trust property is by avoiding those god awful sandwiches. Had a scone on arrival though and it was warm and delicious.
Is the cafe in the Stables or Kitchens?
Stables! A sit down restaurant on the top floor of the historic stables with the appropriate amount of horse-themed decor.
Can I take my dog?
There were many people with dogs. In the deer park it was clearly signposted that dogs are not to be off lead, nevertheless as we walked along the clearly delineated path, a deer scarpered across in front of us with a small terrier in hot pursuit. I don't blame the dog, I blame the owner.
Can I take my kids?
There’s loads of cute little games for kids to play dotted around the gardens, and a stamp trail in the house prominently featuring a pineapple.
Walks
The deer park is walkable but visitors must not stray from the paths as that is the deer’s territory. A close up sighting of a deer is almost inevitable if you like that kind of thing. If you’re terrified of deer however I would give this one a miss.
Well, what did you think?
Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed my day at Dunham Massey, the excellent company perhaps distracting me at first from what is ultimately a messy visitor experience. There is a glaring lack of context in the rooms, and the varying interpretation styles is dizzying. It seems such a shame that after Roger Grey strived so tirelessly to reunite the collections of Dunham Massey, those very collections feel so underserved here. This is a house with genuine character and unique architectural shape. More could be done!
But perhaps it is. No guidebook is available, and seems to have been out of commission for some time. My best guess? Judging from the careful consideration of Dunham’s colonial roots on the National Trust website, the trigger warnings before certain paintings depicting enslaved peoples, and the removal of a certain sundial, the guidebook is being reworked to properly address these concerns in the wake of the Black Lives Matter movement. I applaud any organisation making steps to address our troubled past, which shapes the very heart of English society and most certainly the stately homes that for better or worse disproportionately define our understanding of the 18th century in particular. It is necessary work, especially in spaces which are so celebrated and so close to the English sense of national identity, and should be carefully considered. I will be following with interest what new decisions are made here. Regardless however, I do feel a disservice has been done to people who are here now. What are they left with to consider in the meantime?
I also hear that parking is charged per person which if TripAdvisor is any indication is divisive to say the least, but I must confess we all had National Trust membership cards so cannot comment.