Bringing life

So here is spring at Blickling. The magnolia blossom, daffodils and visitors all appear.


The long gallery welcomes visitors to play the piano, sit on the sofas, and chat to the librarian who is steadily cataloguing 12,500 books. Today he found a family connection with one of our many Bibles for a lucky visitor.


On the terrace, smell the scent of hundreds of hyacinths and watch the colourful summer borders return to life.


The trees' blossom attracts the bees, the blue haze of bluebells can be seen under the Turkey oak and the sheer joy of spring brings a smile to my face.

Can there be a better place to enjoy the spring? Easter was chilly, but hundreds of people came to try our egg hunt, and now we have bluebell trails in the garden for children to follow next weekend. The wildlife trail in the park is a great success with local schoolchildren and their parents. Even the most reluctant child can be encouraged to run from post to post, collecting rubbings of wildlife, and walking a couple of miles in the process.

Inside the house, small changes are helping to bring the place to life. Rearranged rooms and more fresh flowers provide a talking point for room guides and visitors. We've been rummaging in the attics to see what can be brought back into the show rooms, after a bit of TLC. And the live interpretation group are getting some new costumes, and will soon be doing real cooking in the basement kitchen.

Around my cottage, the damson tree is in blossom, and the apple isn't far behind -- despite a radical prune a few weeks ago. The primulas and daffodils are giving way to tulips and grape hyacinths. We managed all last year without a lawn mower. This may be why the dandelions have done so well. I think we'll have to buy a mower at the weekend. But the rabbits do quite a good job of keeping the weeds in check.

This may sound idyllic (it is), but I'm still fighting through the brambles of the Trust in many ways. It's great to take a breather sometimes and appreciate how lucky I am.

Winter Wonderland

At Blickling, follow the sign to go for a winter walk in the garden...




Have a seat, but don't get cold!



Enjoy the view of the Parterre and the frozen lake.



And gaze at the ancient plane tree, survivor of many hard winters.


Winter was wonderful this year. We had nearly two months of snow covered ground and freezing temperatures. Luckily the urns on the Parterre were protected from the worst of the frost, but some damage occurred. Although the gardens were open for much of the winter, we saw very few visitors. Bad news for our final numbers, but we had such a fabulous year, we couldn't really complain. It meant that all the staff and volunteers were able to appreciate the space in silence and solitude. Simply blissful.

Spring flowers have been a little late, but everything is catching up at last. After a cold winter, we appreciate the new season even more than usual.

Pictures by Paul, as normal.

Lost in Norfolk

I'm still adjusting to the way of life in Norfolk. In the summer, thousands of people find their way here -- and presumably go home again. They all have happy memories of lazy days in a county geared up for visitors.

Traditionally, Norfolk has been a place to go and rest, or even hide. In Tudor times, many of the key players came from this part of the world and retreated here when they were out of favour. Anne Boleyn's father was one such, and Blickling played its part in the intrigues of Tudor England.

This is still true today. Sandringham is where the royal family spends Christmas -- there were pictures of the Queen on the train to Kings Lynn last week heading for her Christmas break. Her grandchildren are often seen in local villages. The other day one of my colleagues saw Prince William and Kate Middleton in her village shop. William wanted to buy a copy of the Times -- the last in the shop -- but the shopkeeper refused as it was promised to a regular customer!

All this is fine, but getting out of Norfolk in the winter isn't always easy. I had to cancel a trip to head office a few weeks ago as none of the rail lines out of Norfolk were working over the weekend. One Saturday, Paul and I were heading to London for a dose of culture. Vandals had stolen cables from the signalling system and the trains were all running late, and taking 3 hours instead of 2 to get from Norwich to London. We got there in the end, but as the cables are replaced, more get stolen, creating a real problem for commuters. I'm starting to think this is the East Anglian edition of the Truman Show.

Then last week it snowed. On Thursday evening we went shopping in Cromer, about 8 miles north of here on the coast. It was snowing sideways, with wind coming straight from the north pole, gusting to 55 mph. That was only the beginning. The wind dropped Friday, but it kept snowing. Saturday it snowed some more, and Sunday. By now we're feeling triumphant if we can get out of our driveway, let alone along the lane to the village. Our wood burner is on all day and the birds are leaving tracks across the garden in between snowfalls.

Luckily, we've done most of our Christmas shopping. Collecting Hannah from Leicester was a bit of a challenge, but we managed it. If it thaws before Friday, we'll have a slushy Christmas. It will still be beautiful.

Pictures by Paul Bailey of Blickling Hall and Point Cottage, December 2009.

Halloween

We have had the most beautiful autumn. September and October have been warm, sunny, simply delightful. For most of the last 2 months, preparations have been underway for one big event -- Halloween at Blickling.

Halloween falls on the last open weekend for the House -- the gardens continue to be open 4 days a week all year around, but the house closes to the public for most of the winter. Just at the point you would expect everyone to be winding down, or at least preparing for the big winter clean, the focus is on getting ready for a big party with 600 paying guests. Outside the entrance, a 22 foot wide bat; inside, a huge spider with glowing red eyes sits across the staircase in the Great Hall. Monks in black habits jump out from dark corners, a gory 2nd Earl (who died after losing a duel) moans and complains about his injuries, two witches in a cavern stir their cauldron, line dancing skeletons encourage visitors to join in to music provided by a group of drummers in costume.

Having finished the tour of the house, visitors then go to hear a ghost story -- actually a very educational tale of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII and the torture and execution preferences of Tudor England. Anne's ghostly connection with Blickling is emphasized, of course, but some of the adults felt there was too much gruesome detail. The children didn't complain. I got to play the Good Fairy, helping children make a wish after the story was finished. None of them looked traumatized, unless it was my purple wig and wings upsetting them.

In the gardens, the floodlights were coloured to give an eery glow and the mist rose from the lake forming the perfect spooky atmosphere. The child catcher was out with his net, a spider descended on the unwary as they walked past the yew hedge, and two vampires took it in turns to jump out of a coffin. One person fell over trying to get away, but we didn't complete an accident form. Shrieks and laughter could be heard all over the gardens.

The best thing about this event was seeing the whole house being used, not just static displays of stuff, but the space being occupied by staff and volunteers enjoying themselves with the visitors. Breaking away from the habit of showing the house in a formal and rigid fashion will take more work, but Halloween has shown me it can be done.

Water leaks and damp squibs

The water main at Blickling is a testament to ingenuity: that of the generations of engineers and plumbers who have built it, extended it, added pipework in a variety of different materials, and above all failed to leave any reliable records of where it goes and where the stopcocks are.

I met a tenant farmer who told me that his family have been farming on the estate here for 300 years. Seven generations have worked the land, passing their knowledge of the seasons, the crops, the animals one to another. But they must have forgotten about the water pipes because a week after I met him, this same farmer managed to spike the water main that passes through his field, thus cutting off supplies to a dozen or so houses and farms. Our building surveyor was soon on the scene, just in time to watch the same farmer spike the same pipe in a neighbouring field! Water was gushing out, washing away all the topsoil, demonstrating the soil loss -- the pipe was less than a metre deep in the middle of the field, but two metres deep at the margins. This is typical, I'm told, of the soil erosion that occurs in Norfolk.

After several hours' work, the householders and farmers were reconnected, but this underlines the fragility of the infrastructure which we all rely upon. A week or so later, another leak appeared outside the Hall, probably a mile from the field of the first leak, but undoubtedly related. A section of the damaged pipe was brought to me (I get to see all sorts of stuff) -- the rusted Victorian cast iron pipe was barely a millimetre thick and the impact of turning the water off and on again had caused a crack. Because the leak was close to the house, we were concerned it might damage the foundations, or the moat bridge, or even the yew hedge above it. The engineers were fantastic and discovered more stopcocks in the garden that had been carefully covered with lawn by previous generations of gardeners. So we didn't have to disconnect everyone on the property and we saved the yew hedge. Everyone was happy. Next year we have decided we must begin to replace this ancient water main -- or at least get it properly mapped.

So what about the damp squib? Well, we were meant to be having a royal visit. The King and Queen of Malaysia were visiting Lotus cars south of Norwich, and we were told that the Queen wanted to visit Blickling for a tour of the house and garden and afternoon tea. She would have a retinue of 20 people, and a press corps of 10. And she was bringing her own butler to serve her tea. So on a chilly Friday afternoon, we were all ready to receive the royal party, with tea laid on in the house, a seating plan prepared, various staff on hand to receive the guests and give them guided tours.

Then a series of phone calls. First, the Queen has her two youngest children with her, and they aren't on the seating plan. Then, the press corps won't be coming as they have to file their stories. Then -- no Queen! But we will be receiving a group of 5 ladies -- one director of Lotus and 4 of her colleagues' wives! They were charming and seemed to enjoy their special tour and a rather huge afternoon tea -- but no butler.

But the following day, the local newspaper proudly reported that the Queen of Malaysia had enjoyed her visit to Blickling Hall. Perhaps she was incognito.

It's Showtime!

My first experience of a real agricultural show was memorable. A very hot and humid August Bank Holiday Monday was my chance to see the Aylsham Agricultural Show, a proper farming event for the local community held in Blickling Park.

Needless to say, the animals stole the show. Showjumping, donkey rides for children and alpacas you could take for a walk around the showground drew the crowds. But my favourites were the cattle, sheep and goats in pens waiting to be led around a ring to be judged by experts. Goats seem to think their main aim in life is to head butt any other goat that catches their eye. I've had colleagues like that. I never knew how many different breeds of sheep there are -- some have ginger wool, some have rabbit-like ears, all look pretty stupid. I'm told the disadvantage of being a sheep farmer is that sheep spend most of their lives figuring out how to die.

The cattle are huge and beautiful and clearly love having a fuss made of them. In the picture at the top of the blog, you can't quite see the lady standing at the rear of this bull, washing its bottom and brushing it with a curry comb. Not a job I'd volunteer for. The animals walk fairly placidly round the ring, being led by their handlers. But once they return to the pens, cooperation is over. I saw three large men pushing with all their might to get a cow to move a few inches. Then, with a sigh, she lifted one foot and shifted her weight to the other side, just about making room for a neighbouring cow to get in alongside.

All the usual fairground attractions were there -- daredevil motorcycle riders, dog display teams, parachutists and even a chainsaw sculptor. The local community were out in force, spending money at the trade stands and overflowing the beer tent.

It only lasts one day, and then September is here, children are back at school and coach parties reappear to enjoy the treasures of Blickling. And we start to plan for our next big event, Halloween.

Summer Harvest

For the last few weeks, we have had to warn our guests that apples are likely to fall off the tree and land on their car while parked outside our cottage. Luckily, there have been no damaging incidents, although the apples are now turning into large Bramley cooking apples, some weighing over half a pound.

Harvesting fruit from the garden and hedgerows is one of the joys of living here. It has become impossible to keep up with the glut of apples. The freezer is crammed with bags of sliced apples, and we are picking blackberries from the hedgerow as well. Blackberry and apple crumble is a favourite -- the fruit melts in the oven into a delicious purple mush. Today we picked nearly seven pounds of damsons off the tree outside the window. Half went into spiced damson chutney and the other half into damson jam. The tree is still laden with fruit. I'm speckled with damson juice and feeling strangely fulfilled from the pleasure of standing over a large preserving pan all day. And all the fruit was picked only a few feet from my front door.

At the Hall, the staff car park is an old orchard with various local apple and pear trees. I picked a large eating apple the other day, and ate it with my lunch. I'm hoping I will have a chance to try several different varieties before they finish. Someone can probably tell me what they are called, but for now I'm happy enough to notice the different shapes, colours and flavours. The trees are old -- planted several generations ago by people prepared to try different varieties of fruit and looked after so they are still fruitful today. Although the estate has been through many changes, people were sufficiently prescient to allow the trees their space. A remarkable legacy.

There is always a temptation to rip things up and start again -- gardeners, decorators and builders can be entranced with the thought of starting from scratch. But there is value in keeping and restoring the old, replacing things past their best, and being honest about what one is doing. Getting the balance right between conservation and restoration is yet another challenge for the Trust. Recreating a walled garden to supply produce for the restaurant, staff and volunteers is one of next year's projects. The garden was taken out after WW2, due to the effort required to maintain it. Now we have a waiting list of volunteers who want to work on it.

This emphasis on the value of local seems an enormous strength to me. So often local is equated with parochial, with an underlying meaning of restricted or even small-minded. Developing local relationships, with suppliers, contractors, farmers is a way of engaging with the community. I'm open to the idea of going local and feeling part of something that has a human dimension.

Come the winter, we will be eating our jams and chutneys, sitting in front of the wood burner full of logs from the estate. I could get used to this.