Daily Mail - Daily Mail Weekend Magazine
HIGH TIMES AT HIGHCLERE — THE REAL DOWNTON ABBEY
Royal shooting parties. Extravagant dinners. Saucy games of Sardines. Lady Carnarvon reveals how her family have entertained their grand guests at Highclere Castle through the ages in a glorious new book
Almina, a predecessor of mine as Countess of Carnarvon, looked nervously round the grand bedroom at Highclere Castle, her stately home in Hampshire. The huge new bed looked immaculate for the royal visitor who would that night be sleeping in it. The red carpet glowed, as did the damask silk on the walls. She made sure everything was in its right place. Then she glanced out of the window to see a procession of carriages heading down the drive, off to the railway station. Soon he’d be here.
The ‘he’ in question was the Prince of Wales, eldest son of Queen Victoria, the man who one day would be King Edward VII. That Saturday in 1895, he was arriving to shoot on the Highclere estate, a guest of Almina’s husband, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, the man who famously went on to discover the tomb of Tutankhamun.
Beautiful and vivacious, Almina was just 5ft tall and known as the ‘Dresden Doll’ because with her exquisite clothes she resembled a porcelain figurine from the German city. She was, however, feeling anxious. Aged just 19, she was recently married to the Earl, bringing a large dowry (the equivalent of £ 30 million today) from her Rothschild father to boost the Carnarvon coffers.
She had never been mistress of a house before, or responsible for the seamless running of an elegant weekend house party attended by the grandest person in the land. But her preparations turned out to be perfect. Down in the kitchens, chefs brought in from the Savoy Hotel in London were creating works of art with delicately garnished jellies for the extravagant dinner that night. Italian ice cream was chilling in an ice house in the garden and bottles of the prince’s favourite wine were waiting in the cellar.
A huge fire crackled in the saloon, the vast reception room at the heart of the castle (and now very familiar to Downton Abbey fans because, with its magnificent oak staircase, it was the backdrop for many scenes). Footmen in dark blue livery were standing by.
And now he was here, stepping down from his carriage and sweeping in through the front doors – the prince himself, unmistakeable with his ‘magnificent girth’ and regal bearing. Almina curtseyed and then led him and his party through to the drawing room for tea. The weekend – one of the most memorable in my family’s long history – was underway.
It was a resounding success. The evenings involved bridge, billiards and cigars, and there was an excellent day’s sport on the estate in which 855 pheasants and 2,168 rabbits were bagged. After a final breakfast of cold fowl, eggs, devilled kidneys, lamb cutlets and kedgeree, the prince returned to London with his entourage. He waved his goodbyes while the housemaids peered down from the top- f loor windows for a glimpse of the man who in five years would be their new king.
Today, more than 120 years on, we still entertain at Highclere, though perhaps not with the extravagance of those distant days when a future monarch came to stay. Nor can we match the hospitality of the 6th Earl and his wife Catherine in the 1930s, when London high society often descended on the castle and the place was such a byword for a good time that Evelyn Waugh described an especially comfortable weekend he’d been on as ‘very Highclere’.
But in our own more modest way, my husband Geordie and I love to welcome friends, family, politicians and artists from the worlds of literature, music, TV and film to weekend house parties – when the castle isn’t open to the public or being used for filming (as it was for those years as the location for Downton). We believe food and dining play an important social role in bringing people together, fostering conversation, relationships and shared laughter.
Such occasions begin when, unlike my predecessors, I send out some emails. However, like my predecessors, they’re followed up with letters and ‘At Home’ cards. The etiquette of the invitation, the format of the weekend house party, the placement at dinners and the entertainment of guests preoccupies us as much as it did each previous generation. I carefully mix old and new friends with the aim of all having a lively and interesting time.
Ahead of the weekend Paul, our head chef, and I decide on the menus while our head butler, Luis, confers with my husband on the wines. Then the beds are made up in traditional fashion with sheets, blankets, feather eiderdowns and throws. Dressing
‘The 6th Earl was famous for his indiscretions’
gowns are vital because, although some rooms have ensuites, some guests do have to share a bathroom.
There are around 50 bedrooms, which all have names. Queen Caroline’s bedroom is in honour of her stay at Highclere around 1730. Arundel references the 4th Earl’s mother, whose family lived at Arundel Castle in Sussex. Stanhope bedroom – where the Prince of Wales slept in 1895 – refers to Lady Evelyn Stanhope, wife of the 4th Earl.
Guests arrive in time for tea on Friday and unwind with a welcoming cup of tea or a stiff drink and immediately relax into conversations, puzzles, newspapers and books. I wait in the saloon, ready to guide them to their rooms and make sure they know where their bathroom is and how it works.
The enormous baths owe much to Almina, who with plenty of her father’s resources to invest, installed what was, in its time, modern plumbing and electricity. The water supplies are still remarkably plentiful even when the house is full, but there are no showers – just a plastic jug to rinse your hair.
Before dinner, today as in the past, everyone gathers for champagne in the saloon or the drawing room, which is filled with French furniture and dominated by an 18th-century Bohemian chandelier that has 365 pieces of glass.
There’s also a black-lacquered Steinway piano which guests are encouraged to play. Among the maestros who have graced it over the years was suave conductor Malcolm Sargent, who was a regular guest of the 6th Earl.
Dressing for dinner, although no longer as formal as in the Victorian era, is still a tradition here. Geordie favours a smoking jacket and velvet slippers. Occasionally we revert to white tie, which is very smart but can lead to pleas for help as studs and starched collars go missing.
As the hubbub of a good party gathers pace, I get the nod from Luis and lead the way to dinner either in the
music room, with its baroque painted ceiling and Italian-embroidery wall panels, or in the dining room with Van Dyck’s equestrian portrait of Charles I.
In the past, footmen with powdered hair and dressed in full livery entered from behind a painted screen from the kitchen servery and passed around the room in a clockwise direction before departing through the saloon door. It’s less grand today, but we sit at the same Victorian table, which seats 12 of us for a three- course supper. Normally we retire early to bed for a good night’s sleep before Saturday’s activities.
Breakfast the next morning may not be as extravagant as the one the Prince of Wales enjoyed at Highclere over 120 years ago but it’s still substantial. Scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon and sausages, porridge and fruit line the table near the servery.
Everyone sits where they choose. Some read newspapers, others chatter.
The agenda for Saturday depends on the time of year. In January we celebrate a cold wintry month with a Burns Night party. In March we might ride, walk and picnic in the park. May heralds the annual charity music concert while June is the time for the village fête, horse racing and cricket. Autumn means shooting parties and a Harvest Festival church service on the Sunday.
Marking the cycle of the year with friends is no different to what my pre- decessors did and creates a sense of place. In May our annual music festival reflects a long tradition of musicians visiting the castle. The saloon becomes an auditorium for 80 and sublime music soars around the galleries. One spring, when Dame Kiri Te Kanawa arrived to play Dame Nellie Melba in Downton, we were treated to a recital of arias.
As summer descends on Highclere, our guests can play croquet on the lawn or watch my husband’s cricket team hopefully win on the castle’s own pitch, where the game has been played
since 1840. It’s a wonderful backdrop for a lazy summer afternoon.
Then, in autumn, the shooting season arrives. Nowadays the bag is on average 250. My husband is more courteous than the 6th Earl, who intimidated guests who were less skilful at shooting. He’d stand behind them as they fired and missed and say, ‘I did not ask you here to look at the birds, I asked you here to shoot them!’
We celebrate the weekend with a splendid dinner on Saturday evening. The dining-room table can seat up to 30 people when all its leaves are in place. The rich wood gleams in the muted light, set off by the Georgian candlesticks positioned down the centre along with the family silver of cutlery, sauce boats and salvers.
At dinner, we follow the tradition of conversing with the person on one side for half of the meal and then switch to the other side. After the meal, I lead the ladies to the library, leaving the men to their port or brandy.
Later we all gather for games. My husband likes charades, but his grandfather Porchey, the 6th Earl, was fond of Sardines, where one person hides and as others find them they hide with them. With his amorous nature, he probably hoped to spend time with a new love in a dark corner. Given the castle’s size, they might not be found for a while.
During his time, the castle was plunged into darkness at the end of the evening. The butler brought torches for each guest to find their way to their bedrooms, either to save on electricity or in the hope that some beautiful girl would need Porchey’s help to find her bedroom.
He was famous for his indiscretions and there was much gossip about him squiring women around London, to his wife’s dismay. After the guests had departed from a splendid house party in 1935, he turned to her and told her he was in love with another woman. He wanted a divorce. It was a rare sad ending to a Highclere weekend.
Adapted from At Home At Highclere: Entertaining At The Real Downton Abbey by the Countess of Carnarvon. Published by Preface on 9 March, £30.