The Rear View
In 2006 Ulster Architect was Ireland’s leading design magazine – by a country kilometre. Publisher Editor Anne Davey Orr blazed the trail much to the chagrin of Perspective journal which was set up in competition by some local architects to no fanfare: the bitterati. Ulster Architect far outlived Prince Charles’ blink and you’ll have missed it publication Perspectives in Architecture. Success is a dish best served cold. The articles in Ulster Architect – by Sir Charles Brett, Leo McKinstry and too many other literati to mention – have stood the test of time. It’s hard to believe that our interview with the glorious Sammy Leslie for the September edition of Ulster Architect is now nearly two decades old. Happy 18th!
Sir John Betjeman, Sir Winston Churchill, Marianne Faithfull, Sir Paul McCartney and William Butler Yeats have all been. The great and the good, the glitterati in other words. In recent years thanks to Sammy Leslie and her uncle the 4th Baronet, Sir John (forever known as Sir Jack), Castle Leslie has flung open its heavy doors to the hoi polloi (albeit the well heeled variety) too, rebuilding its rep as a byword for sybaritic hospitality. Visitors from Northern Ireland could be forgiven for experiencing déjà vu – it’s the doppelgänger of Belfast Castle. Both were designed in the 1870s by the same architects: William Lynn and Sir Charles Lanyon.
Together these two architects captured the spirit of the age. William Lynn produced a majestic baronial pile with chamfered bay windows perfectly angled for simultaneous views of the garden and lake. Sir Charles Lanyon crammed the house full of Italian Renaissance interiors and designed a matching loggia to boot. Fully signed up members of the MTV Cribs generation will find it hard not to go into unexpected sensory overload at this veritable treasure trove of historic delights. Castle Leslie is all about faded charm; it’s the antithesis of footballer’s pad bling. But still, the place is an explosion of rarity, of dazzling individuality. Sir Jack’s brother Desmond Leslie wrote in 1950, “The trees are enormous, 120 feet being average for conifers; the woods tangled and impenetrable; gigantic Arthur Rackham roots straddle quivering bog, and in the dark lake huge old fish lie or else bask in the amber ponds where branches sweep down to kiss the water.”
We caught up with Sammy in the cookery school in one of the castle’s wings. “Although I’m the fifth of six children, I always wanted to run the estate, even if I didn’t know how. After working abroad, I returned in 1991. The estate was at its lowest point ever. My father Desmond was thinking of selling up to a Japanese consortium. There was no income … crippling insurance to pay … The Troubles were in full swing. People forget how near we are to the border here.”
Nevertheless Sammy took it on. “I sold Dad’s car for five grand and got a five grand grant from the County Enterprise Board to start the ‘leaky tearooms’ in the conservatory. They were great as long as it didn’t rain! And I sold some green oak that went to Windsor Castle for their restoration. Sealing the roof was the first priority. Five years later we started to take people to stay and bit by bit we got the rest of the house done. So we finished the castle in 2006 after – what? – nearly 15 years of slow restoration.” The Castle Leslie and Caledon Regeneration Partnership part funded by the European Union provided finance of €1.2 million. Bravo! The house and estate were saved from the jaws of imminent destruction.
The Leslies are renowned for their sense of fun. An introductory letter sent to guests mentions Sir Jack (an octogenarian) will lead tours on Sunday mornings but only if he recovers in time from clubbing. In the gents (or “Lords” as it’s grandly labelled) off the entrance hall beyond a boot room, individual urinals on either side of a fireplace are labelled “large”, “medium”, “tiny” and “liar”. Take your pick. A plethora of placards between taxidermy proclaim such witticisms as “On this site in 1897 nothing happened” and “Please go slowly round the bend”.
Bathrooms are a bit of a Leslie obsession ever since thrones and thunderboxes were first introduced upstairs. “The sanitaryware in the new bathrooms off the long gallery is by Thomas Crapper. Who else?” she smiles. “We’ve even got a double loo in the ladies so that you can carry on conversations uninterrupted!” Exposed stone walls above tongue and groove panelling elevate these spaces above mere public conveniences. In the 1890s the 1st Sir John Leslie painted murals of his family straight onto the walls of the roof lantern lit long gallery, which runs parallel with the loggia, and framed them to look like hanging portraits.
Always one to carry on a family tradition with a sense of pun, this time visual tricks, Sammy has created a thumping big doll’s house containing an en suite bathroom within a bedroom which was once a nursery, complete with painted façade. It wouldn’t look out of place on the set of Irvine Walsh’s play Babylon Heights.
A sense of history prevails within these walls, from the mildly amusing to the most definitely macabre. The blood drenched shroud which received the head of James, 3rd Earl of Derwentwater, the last English earl to be beheaded for being a Catholic, is mounted on the staircase wall. “It’s a prized possession of Uncle Jack’s,” Sammy confides. Unsurprisingly, the castle is riddled with ghosts.
Our conversation moves on to her latest enterprise: the Castle Leslie Village. “An 1850s map records a village on the site,” she says. “Tenant strips belonging to old mud houses used to stretch down to the lake. Our development is designed as a natural extension to the present village of Glaslough.” In contrast to the ornate articulation of its country houses, Ulster’s vernacular vocabulary is one of restraint. Dublin architect John Cully produced initial drawings; Belfast practice Consarc provided further designs and project managed the scheme. Consarc architect Dawson Stelfox has adhered to classical proportions rather than applied decoration to achieve harmony. Unpretentiousness is the key. At Castle Leslie Village there are no superfluous posts or pillars or piers or peers or pediments or porticos or porte cochères. Self builders of Ulster take note!
That said, enough variety has been introduced into the detail of the terraces to banish monotony. Organic growth is suggested through the use of Georgian 12 pane, Victorian four pane and Edwardian two pane windows. There are more sashes than a 12th of July Orange Day parade. Rectangular, elliptical and semicircular fanlights are over the doorways, some sporting spider’s web glazing bars, others Piscean patterns. “We’ve used proper limestone and salvaged brick,” notes Sammy. “And timber window frames and slate.”
We question Sammy how she would respond to accusations of pastiche. “They’re original designs, not copies,” she retorts. “For example although they’re village houses, the bay window idea comes from the castle. The development is all about integration with the existing village. It’s contextual. These houses are like fine wine. They’ll get better with age.” It’s hard to disagree. “There’s a fine line between copying and adapting but we’ve gone for the latter.”
Later we spoke to Dawson Stelfox. “Pastiche is copying without understanding. We’re keeping alive tradition, not window dressing. For example we paid careful attention to solid-to-void ratios. Good quality traditional architecture is not time linked. We’re simply preserving a way of building. McGurran Construction did a good job. I think Castle Leslie Village is quite similar to our work at Strangford.” The houses are clustered around two highly legible and permeable spaces: a square and a green. Dwelling sizes range from 80 to 230 square metres. “We offered the first two phases to locals at the best price possible and they were all snapped up,” says Sammy. “This has resulted in a readymade sense of community because everyone knows each other already. A few of the houses are available for holiday letting.”
“We’re concentrating on construction first,” she explains. “The Hunting Lodge being restored by Dawson will have 25 bedrooms, a spa and 60 stables. It’ll be great craic! Between the various development sites we must be employing at least 120 builders at the moment. Estate management is next on the agenda. Food production and so on.” Just when we think we’ve heard about all of the building taking place at Castle Leslie, Sammy mentions the old stables. “They date from 1780 and have never been touched. Two sides of the courtyard are missing. We’re going to rebuild them. The old stables will then house 12 holiday cottages.”
We ask her if she ever feels daunted by the mammoth scale of the task. “I do have my wobbly days but our family motto is ‘Grip Fast’! I think that when you grow up in a place like this you always have a sense of scale so working on a big scale is normal. I mean it’s 400 hectares, there’s seven kilometres of estate wall, six gatelodges – all different, and 7,300 square metres of historic buildings.” Sammy continues, “The back wall from the cookery school entrance to the end of the billiard room is a quarter of a kilometre.”
“A place like this evolves,” Sammy ruminates. “There’s no point in thinking about the good ol’ days of the past. The castle was cold and damp, y’know, and crumbling. And it’s just – it’s a joy to see it all coming back to life. The whole reason we’re here is to protect and preserve the castle and because the house was built to entertain, that’s what we’re doing. We’re just entertaining on a grand scale. People are coming and having huge amounts of fun here. Castle Leslie hasn’t changed as much as the outside world. Ha!” This year there’s plenty to celebrate including the completion of Castle Leslie Village, the Leslie family’s 1,000th anniversary, Sammy’s 40th birthday, and Sir Jack’s 90th coinciding with the publication of his memoirs.
That was six years ago. This summer we returned to Castle Leslie. Our seventh visit, we first visited the house umpteen years ago. Back then Sammy served us delicious sweetcorn sandwiches and French onion soup in the leaky tearooms, looking over the gardens of knee high grass. The shadows were heightening and lengthening ‘cross the estate. Her late father Desmond showed a nun and us round the fragile rooms lost in a time warp. Ireland’s Calke Abbey without The National Trust saviour. He would later write to us on 11 May 1993, waxing lyrical to transform an acknowledgement letter into a piece of allegorical and existential prose.
On another occasion, Sammy’s younger sister, the vivacious blonde screenwriter Camilla Leslie, came striding up the driveway, returning home from London to get ready for her wedding the following week. “People have been buying me pints all day! Nothing’s ready! I’ve to get the cake organised, my dress, at least we’ve got the church!” she exclaimed to us, pointing to the estate church.
This time round we stay in Wee Joey Farm Hand’s Cottage in Castle Leslie Village and enjoy a lively Friday night dinner in Snaffles restaurant on the first floor of the Hunting Lodge. We’re all “tastefully atwitter over glissades and pirouettes” to take a quote from Armistead Maupin’s More Tales of the City (1984), applying it to a rural setting. The following day, afternoon tea is served, this time in the drawing room. Meanwhile, Sir Jack is taking a disco nap in the new spa to prepare for his regular Saturday night clubbing in nearby Carrickmacross.
That was four years ago. Visit number eight and counting. More to celebrate as Sammy, still living in the West Wing, turns 50. Sir Jack would have turned 100 on 6 December 2016 but sadly died just weeks before our visit. This time, we’re here for afternoon tea in the rebuilt conservatory or ‘sunny tearooms’ as they turn out to be today. The assault of a rare Irish heatwave, 26 degrees centigrade for days on end, won’t interrupt tradition. A turf fire is still lit in the drawing room. “Apologies for the mismatching crockery as so many of our plates have been smashed during lively dinner debates” warned a sign on our first visit. The crockery all matches now but the food is of the same high standard: cucumber and cream cheese brioches; oak cured Irish smoked salmon pitta; fruit scones with Castle Leslie preserves and clotted cream; crumpets and custard pies; rounded off with Earl Grey macaroons, Victoria sponge cake and lemon meringues.
Miraculously, Castle Leslie still has no modern extensions. It hasn’t been ‘Carton’d’ (in conservation-speak that means more extensions than an Essex girl in a hairdressers). Instead, the hotel has grown organically, stretching further and further into Lynn and Lanyon’s building. An upstairs corridor lined with servants’ bells – Sir J Leslie’s Dressing Room, Lady Leslie’s Dressing Room, Dining Room, Office – leads to a cinema carved out of old attics. Castle Leslie has had its ups and downs but Sammy Leslie is determined to ‘Grip Fast’! And in response to Ms Leslie’s late father’s letter to us, we will come again when there is nothing better to do on a nice weekend.
That nice weekend has come or at least a nice Friday evening. We’re here for a celebration dinner. January 2024 is especially cold – minus two degrees centigrade but the turf fires at Castle Leslie are, as ever, roaring. Dinner is in Conor’s Bar on the ground floor of the Hunting Lodge below Snaffles.
It’s 3pm in New York, 5am in Tokyo and 8pm in Glaslough according to clocks high up on the stone wall of the courtyard entrance hall. A poem by the comedian Billy Connolly, The Welly Boot Boy, hangs in the boot room. A cartoon series on The Gentle Art of Making Guinness hangs in the gents. And so to dinner: garlic tiger prawns (toasted sourdough, Estate Walled Garden chimichurri sauce) followed by sweet potato and mozzarella gnocchi (asparagus, peas, spinach and crushed basil) keep up the very high standard of gourmet cooking with local produce.
We’re dressed to the nines, accessorised by Mary Martin London, for our ninth visit to the castle. Sammy, looking as fresh as she did 18 years ago, also dining in Conor’s, greets us like a long lost friend. We congratulate her on saving one of Ireland’s most important historic houses and estates. “There’s still more to do!” she beams. “We need to restore the seven kilometre Famine Wall next and several gatelodges too. There’s always work to be done!”
Sammy explains that overnight guests staying in the castle bedrooms have breakfast in the dining room but later meals in the day are down in the Hunting Lodge as that’s where the main kitchen is now. The paradox of continuity and progress at Castle Leslie. Time stands still for no woman. The leaky tearooms may no longer leak but the ghosts are still all around, some new ones in their midst, silent misty figures just out of clear vision, partying in the shadows. To take another quote by Armistead Maupin, “Too much of a good thing is wonderful.”
We’re back in town and we mean business. Straight off the hot mess express. Owning it. Cutting deals. Not just gadding about. Chop chop. We’re pumped up and pimped up between the plumped up poshness. In a basement next to the bright lights’ busiest roundabout. Sounds glam? It’s The Lanesborough’s Garden Room, darlings. Antiques and antics, busts and bust ups, teas and tiaras.
“A sky full of stars a room full of cigars,” postdebutante Annabel P wistfully murmurs before sinking behind the smoky haze into a Napoléon II club chair. The Garden Room’s impeccable Manager Neil Millington and his team are on it like a Selina Blow bonnet in this exclusive Cuba-on-Thames. “I’m going to keep the table as authentic as possible.” Bolney Estate Bacchus magically appears and reappears. Bad Pollyanna. Bad. And a legacy’s worth of Hoyo de Monterreys. “There are three cuts: punch, straight and V.”
Fresh from VIP seats applauding the thrillingly talented singer Noah Francis Johnson (the late Dodi Fayed’s brother-in-law) bring the (Soho) house down in White City (London not Tel Aviv), we’d glided past a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II en route to The Garden Room. Her painted lips parted: “We are so bemused.” An image of Salisbury’s Wilton House carried our reflection. People do say we’re a pair of oil paintings. “Welcome back!” chime Neil and his cohort each time we re-enter The Garden Room. Standing to attention of course. You can get the staff these days.
“When the party’s over and the lights go on …” sang Noah. This party’s only getting started so keep those lights dim!
The hotel is all “courtesy clouds” and “honeyed luxury” in a “rococo harmony” straight from 
