Rival Reviews: Houghton House
Houghton House is a shell of its former self.
Poppy and Kieran survey the area
If you are a fan of windows, walls, doors and floors I would say that Houghton House won’t be for you. It severely lacks most features that makes houses homey, or at least, like, waterproof. Nevertheless, there is charm to this crumbling ruin.
And so here I am, and accompanied by my brother, Kieran, and our indomitable collie cross, Poppy. We have arrived to take a short traverse into the crumbling remains of Houghton House. Ruins have always appealed to me, they hold a certain mystique, a building both claimed by the past through disrepair, but existing against the odds with us now in the present. They have an uncertain future, and an enigmatic lack of context. As close to sketches as real life can get.
But I digress, what of Houghton House itself? It was built for Mary Herbert, Countess of Pembroke in the early 17th century as a hunting lodge. A hugely intricate over-the-top hunting lodge. With columns and everything. Jesus. And speaking of, so intricate was this monumental building that it has been lauded as the alleged inspiration for the ‘Palace Beautiful’ in 17th century writer John Bunyan’s ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress’, a long, boring, dull-looking, long book I haven’t read, and thus cannot comment on.
Mary Herbert was tight with the royal family and an it girl at court; she built Hougton on land given to her by King James I (the one after Queen Liz I) in 1615. The house was probably designed by two architects. In one corner, the architectural godfather, Inigo Jones, who introduced the Classical style to England after discovering it during his extended gap year in Italy, and in the other corner, John Thorpe, who represented the Jacobean architectural contingent. It is Thorpe that we can thank for having the humble corridor in our lives, providing a convenient way of getting from room to room without having to walk through all the ones in between one by one like a lemon. These two big hitter architects make a pretty impressive roster for a mere hunting lodge. But we do know the building was complete when James I came to visit Mary in 1621, so maybe she was trying to impress someone. Just a thought.
Whatever her intentions, what is for certain is that Mary died later that same year, and that snake James went right ahead and gave the house to the Bruce family (the Bruce’s were key figures throughout Tudor dynasty, and played a key role in the restoration of known party animal King Charles II, but you can look them up by yourself, I’m not your history teacher). The Bruce’s rightly recognised Houghton as pretty fucking cool actually, a house with some real architectural clout, and they decided to make it their main country seat (fancy word for gaff). I imagine this played out exactly like an episode A Place in the Sun, except it wasn’t sunny because this is England.
One big change made by the Bruce’s however was putting a large, grand staircase in the centre of the building, whereas before two smaller staircases resided in the corner turrets of the property. When the house was dismantled in the 18th century, the staircase was moved to the Swan Inn in nearby Bedford, where it can still be seen. The inn has just been recently remodelled actually. I went there for dinner not long ago and the food was really nice and the decoration was pretty tasteful. So there’s that I guess.
In 1738, the third Duke of Bedford, who owned extensive land nearby, acquired Houghton House and it became a residence for his son, the equivalent of living in your parents’ basement, until a hunting accident killed that very same son a mere three years later. Two Dukes of Bedford later, when the park around the house was rented out, the hunting lodge proved impossible to let. This is not a surprise. I too would not rent a hunting lodge with no land upon which to hunt.
As a consequence, the fifth Duke decided to cut his losses and had the house abandoned and its interiors ransacked. Since then, the house has sat as a shell, briefly being acquired as an extravagant lawn ornament by the equally extravagantly-named Earl of Upper Ossory. On the whole however, Houghton has remained relatively untouched since the day it was gutted.
These days, Houghton House is kind of visible from the road if you’re looking the right way at the right time, but to get there one must make their way up a narrow tarmac track, and park in a small layby, before walking a small way along a path which looks very much like it should be off limits to the public. The house itself is manned only by a small amount of informational plaques, almost as weathered and faded as the house itself. There is no fee for entry, and whether or not the grass has been mown is fifty-fifty.
It is beautiful, red brick with accents of whiter stones outlining the edges and corners, like a gingerbread house. The windows and doors are no more, but the floor plan of the house is more or less intact, and most of the walls survive up to the first floor. Inside the ghostly imprints of doors and fireplaces hang suspended 10 feet in the air. On two sides there are the remains of an ornamental portico, most unusual for the time, and on one side of the building, the floor caves through to what would have been the service wing, which was complete with a working kitchen and several storerooms in Houghton’s hayday.
We approach the building up a path lined with trees, leading towards the south front of Houghton. The building is H-shaped, and as such two protruding wings cast a shadow over the entrance porch, whose upper stories, appropriately, are the only ones that still reach to the lost third floor. Poppy pulls at the lead, but she’s always doing that so I’m not sure if she’s really that excited about early neoclassical architecture.
Though Houghton’s ruin can be regarded as nothing more than a 15 minute diversion, it is interesting to consider what this old dwelling offers through absences. For example, the old shell lays bare the house's floor plan, the skeleton visualising the symmetry of traditional architectural practice at the time better than any drawing. Here, you can walk through the sketch. It's also good for the soul to see a ruin from time to time. It reminds us of our own mortality, and keeps us humble about our own sense of importance in this great technological age. A bit like an episode of Black Mirror. This realisation can come from surprising interventions. For example, I notice that the porticos, an important example of an early use of the now all-pervading column in architecture, and most likely designed by Important Historical Figure: Inigo Jones, have been carved with names and ‘funny’ phrases. A ruin connotes no value. Though, in fairness, the Countess also had her family coat of arms carved into the top of the portico, and is ‘C luvs S’ really that different?
We circle the ruins for a short while. Kieran attemps to jump really high, at first to try and slap the top of the portico (local knowledge: some people attempt parkour on Houghton House, do not recommend), then to see across the neighbouring fence into the garden next door. Poppy snuffles the walls, though if she is looking for small animals or studying the degree of erosion on the stones, I cannot tell. I read the plaques, take some photos. Then we are done.
Lunch
No lunch. A good place for a picnic however if you were so inclined.
Is the café in the Stables or Kitchens?
No café. No Stables. I would not say the kitchens were in any kind of working order.
Can I take my dog?
This is the rare kind of country house that admits all dogs. Poppy seemed to approve, and she is very discerning.
Can I take my kids?
Yeah, they might like to frolic in the grass or attempt to climb the walls. Little weirdos.
Walks
The space itself is not huge, but might do as a bonus DVD extra on a longer walk.
Well, what did you think?
I have a soft spot for Houghton House, and I have a soft spot for ruins, which I find endlessly fascinating and often with more to say about the state of history and restoration than any lavishly decorated and fully intact country house. This is a particularly beautiful ruin, do not let the odd and confusingly signposted entrance put you off. If nothing else, it is a fun challenge trying to sneak a look into the next door's garden. I’m pretty sure they have a pool.