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The Flask Pub + Highgate London

Raising the Roofs

It’s the part of London associated with the dead but there’s also plenty of life in Highgate. England does pubs well and The Flask is an oasis for thirsty – and hungry – travellers. The pub blends in so well with its Georgian neighbours it could easily be mistaken for one of the grand houses. A stone plaque on the five bay three storey redbrick façade displays the date “1663” which must predate the current building. A rabbit warren of bars and dining rooms, some under low vaulted ceilings bending all sorts of modern building regulations, has all the atmosphere of a coaching inn. Highwayman Claude Duval might just swing by for a pint.

Or a glass of Champagne. She may have had a vested interest but a chalk message on a blackboard in The Flask quotes the sage words of Lilly Bollinger, “I only drink Champagne when I’m happy and when I’m sad. Sometimes I drink it when I’m alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I am not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it – unless I’m thirsty.” A faded print of Queen Anne hangs on the ladies’ lavatory door; Henry Prince of Wales beckons the gents.

Opposite The Flask is The Grove, an early 18th century suburban residential development in leafy environs. Poets Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Leigh Hunt; spy Anthony Blunt; singer George Michael; musicians Annie Lennox, Yehudi Menuhin and Sting; actors Gladys Cooper, Robert Donat and Jude Law; and model Kate Moss have all called The Grove home across the ages. It’s the sort of Georgian enclave that can only be found in London’s classier outlying villages such as Blackheath, Clapham and West Dulwich.

Across the road, or is it down the hill, or maybe over the brae – Highgate’s attractiveness is matched only by its confusion of layout – stands Lauderdale House. Vicky Wilson writes in London’s Houses, 2011, “An unattractive pebbledash building with an uninspiring five bay Georgian entrance front, a surprisingly unthought-out arrangement of windows on its long southeast side and a fine Doric colonnade at the back, Lauderdale House is nevertheless endowed with a history – both architectural and social. One of the few surviving large timber framed London houses, Lauderdale was built in 1582 by Sir Richard Martin, Warden and Masterworker of the Royal Mint, for his younger son Richard, probably with a rich bounty of Spanish gold earned from financing Sir Francis Drake’s circumnavigatoin of 1577 to 1580.”

She summarises the evolution of the house: “The Martins’ home was designed to be a U shaped plan around a central courtyard. The long southeast flank was probably divided into three rooms with a traditional great chamber on the first floor; the present entrance hall in the northeast wing was probably a dining room. A single storey building at the open end of the courtyard, connected by a corridor to the dining room, contained the kitchens. The construction is timberframe infilled with wattle and daub, with the larger upper floor frame resting on projecting joists, a method known as continuous jetting. The slight projection of the the upper floor today and the asymmetrical fenestration on the long front are the clearest clues to the building’s Tudor origins.”

Professor Finola O’Kane of University College Dublin has a slightly more positive view of the house, “Lauderdale House is an attractive, rambling, not very distinguished looking building which conceals a much earlier timber house. It has a few vestiges of its early garden including a parterre and mount. St Paul’s Cathedral could be seen from the garden. This is a suburban house closer to the City than the West End. Highgate wasn’t very fashionable in the 17th century and it really only got going in the 18th century.”

Both commentators criticise its mostly casual appearance resulting from a Georgian cloak draping over a Tudor frame. The lawn front is symmetrical from the first floor five bay jettied projection upwards. A second floor Diocletian window is surmounted by a pediment and flanked by half gables. The garden backs onto Waterlow Park which in turn abuts Highgate Cemetery. Lauderdale House is now an arts and education centre. Sunbathers catch rays between crawling ladybirds and fluttering white butterflies. A sky of awnings provides respite from the summer heat. An ice cream parlour is handily located off the lawn front.

Northwest of Lauderdale House is the former residence of the 19th century explorer Mary Kingsley. She was brought up in Avalon, a late Georgian two storey over basement redbrick villa with an elegant prostyle Roman Doric porch. The only window on the façade is over the porch. Four blind windows complete the balanced elevational composition. Wide windows capture views of the Capital on the garden facing south front. Opposite Avalon is a long single storey redbrick block with a double height centrepiece. A plaque under the central pediment reads: “Anno 1722. The si almes-houses founded by Sir John Woolaston being very old and decayed were pull’d down and these 12 built in their room together with a schoolhouse for the charity girls at the sole charge of Edward Pauncfort, one of the governours and treasurer of the Chapell and Free School of Highgate.”

In contrast to its Georgian neighbours, Holly Village is very High Victorian Gothic. An archway on one side and a gateway on the other side linked by holly hedgerows provide tantalising glimpses of 12 highly ornate large cottages grouped around a green. Built in 1865 by the property developer William Cubitt to the design of Henry Astley Darbishire, the four villas and four pairs of semi detached houses are – to use modern property parlance – highly spec’d, from Portland stone to teak wood. Gated developments are very Highgate: luxuriously appointed apartment and housing schemes behind cast iron railings would arrive in the 20th century on nearby Hillway.

Another piece of non neoclassical architecture is the Catholic Church of St Joseph on Highgate Hill. It is known locally as “Smoky Joe’s” after the high church religious order which runs it. The Passionists built the current monastery and chapel in 1858 in a Neo Romanesque style to the design of Albert Vicars (potentially some nominative determinism going on with that surname). The powerful white gone grey brick complex with copper domes over a dominant octagonal tower and smaller octagonal corner turrets dominates the townscape southeast of Lauderdale House.

The cemetery can wait.

Postscript: we know many of you missed out on the limited first edition of our bestseller Sabbath Plus One. But fear not: Daunt Marylebone may have sold out but north London’s top independent literature retailer House of Books in West Hampstead is now stocking the second edition. And the most flattering compliment of the month comes from said retailer about the 30 year old opening portrait in the fabric covered hand stitched 300 GSM paper heavyweight book, “That’s still you!”

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Dorinda The Honourable Lady Dunleath + Killyvolgan House Ballywalter Down

Life and Times

Dorinda loved discussing the many Irish country houses she knew well. “I could write a book about my experiences in country houses. Maybe you should for me!” One of her earliest memories was visiting her uncle and aunt, Major Charlie and Sylvia Alexander, at the now demolished Pomeroy House in County Tyrone. Dorinda also enjoyed visiting Springhill in County Londonderry (now owned by The National Trust) – she was married from there in 1959. There was a painting of Springhill in the sitting room of Killyvolgan House. It was her Great Aunt Mina’s home. Mina Lenox-Conyngham was the last owner of Springhill. “Staying at her house was always enormous fun.”

“I remember aged six being taken against my will to dancing lessons at Lissan House. It was absolutely freezing! I lay on the ground screaming and kicking my feet in the air. Such a dull house, don’t you think?” She was great pals with Diana Pollock of Mountainstown House in County Meath and recalled good times there with Diana and her sisters. “I could never love Mount Stewart. Dundarave has an interesting vast hall but the reception rooms are plain. I remember the auction of Mount Panther’s contents. Everyone was standing in the entrance hall and up the stairs when the staircase started coming away from the wall! Cousin Captain Bush lived in Drumhalla House near Rathmullan in Donegal. He’d a parrot and wore a wig. I remember he threw his wig off when he went swimming in the cove end of the garden. I was absolutely terrified to jump in after him!”

One of Dorinda’s most memorable stories combines several of her loves: country houses, fashion and parties. “It was the Sixties and I had just bought a rather fashionable tin foil dress from a catalogue. I thought it would be perfect for Lady Mairi Bury’s party at Mount Stewart. It was so tight and I was scared of ripping it so I lay down on our bedroom floor, arms stretched out in front of me, and Henry slid me into it.” She gave a demonstration, laughing. “Unfortunately I stood too near one of the open fires and my dress got hotter and hotter. I thought I was going to go up in smoke! So that was the first and last time I wore it!” Dorinda always managed to look stylish, whether casual or formal. Her suits were the envy of fellow Trustees of the Board of Historic Buildings Trust. Her ‘off duty’ uniform of polo neck, sports jacket, jeans and boyish shoes was effortlessly chic.

When it came to finding her own country house after her tenure at Ballywalter Park ended, things proved challenging. “I searched for two years for a suitable property. There’s a country house for sale in Keady. Nobody lives there! I’d be driving up and down to Belfast non stop!” Eventually Dorinda would build her own house on a site just beyond the walled estate of Ballywalter Park. At first, she wanted to rebuild the double pile gable ended two storey three bay house occupying the site called McKee’s Farm but when the structure proved unstable, a new house was conceived. Despite being known as a modernist, Belfast architect Joe Fitzgerald was selected to design a replacement house of similar massing to McKee’s Farm, adding single storey wings in Palladian style. Like its owner, Killyvolgan House is understated, elegant and charming. She was pleased when the council planners described Killyvolgan as the ideal new house in the countryside. It displays a distinguished handling of proportion and lightness of touch.

“I bought the Georgian grandfather clock in the entrance hall from Dublin. I’m always slightly concerned at how fragile my papier mâché chairs are for ‘larger guests’ in the drawing room. I guess the chairs were really meant for a bedroom? I’ve painted all the walls in the house white as the shadows on them help me see around.” And then there was the urn in the courtyard. “The Coade stone urn I found in the 19th century barn was much too grand. So instead I bought this cast iron urn on the King’s Road in Belfast. Fine, I will leave the Marston and Langinger pot you have brought me in the urn so that I remember that colour. Oh, Farrow and Ball are very smart! They’re very clever at their marketing.” In the end, the much debated urn would remain unpainted. “Henry wouldn’t deal with snobs. That’s why I liked him. Henry took everything he got involved in very seriously. Henry was the only Alliance Party member in the House of Lords. He strongly promoted the Education (Northern Ireland) Act 1974 which provided greater parity across the sectarian divide.” Later, “Oh how exciting, is it full of good restaurants and bars? Great! I’ll be an authority now on Ballyhackamore.”

She recalled an early drama at The Park. It was a tranquil Sunday morning in 1973 and unusually Dorinda was at home rather than at Holy Trinity Church Ballywalter. “Henry was singing the 23rd Psalm at Eucharist when he heard six fire brigades go by. Poor people, he pitied. I’d warned our butler not to interfere with the gas cylinders of the boiler, but he did, and the whole thing exploded, lifting off the dome of the Staircase Hall like a pressure cooker. The Billiard Room disappeared under a billow of smoke and flames. I rang the fire brigade and said, ‘Come quickly! There’s a fire at Ballywalter Park!’ The operator replied, ‘Yes, madam, but what number in Ballywalter Park?’” The estate of course doesn’t have a number – although it does have its own postcode.

“A spare room full of china collections fell through the roof. Well, I guess I’d always wanted to do an archaeological dig! It was so sad, really. As well as the six fire brigades, 300 people gathered from the village and around to help lift furniture onto the lawn. Fortunately the dome didn’t crack. Isn’t life stranger than fiction? The Powerscourt fire happened just one year later. Henry was philosophical and said we can build a replacement house in the walled garden.” In the end the couple would be responsible for restoring the house to its lasting glory. Ballywalter Park is a mid 19th century architectural marvel designed by Sir Charles Lanyon.

“I arrived over from London as a young wife and suddenly had to manage 12 servants. I used to tiptoe around so as not to disturb them. There was a crazy crew in the kitchen. Mrs Clarke was the cook. Billy Clarke, the scatty elderly butler, mostly sat smoking. Mrs Clarke couldn’t cook unless he was there. I was too shy to say anything!” Dorinda once briefly dated Tony Armstrong-Jones who would become the society photographer Lord Snowdon. “We met at pony club. He got me to model sitting next to a pond at our house in Widford, Hertfordshire.” One book described Dorinda as being “very pretty”. When questioned, she replied, “Well, quite pretty!” She was more interested in her time bookbinding for The Red Cross. In those days The Bunch of Grapes in Knightsbridge was Dorinda’s local. “Browns Hotel and The Goring were ‘safe’ for debutantes. After we got married we went to the State Opening of Parliament. We stayed in Henry’s club and I haled a taxi wearing a tiara and evening dress. Harrods was once full of people one would know. We would know people there. ‘Do you live near Harrods?’ people would ask. I’ve heard everyone now lives southwest down the river, near the boat races. You need some luck and then you’ve just got to make your own way having fun in London.”

As ever with Dorinda there were always more great stories to relate. “I bought the two paintings from the School of Van Dyke in my dining room for £40. I knew they were rather good landscapes so I decided to talk to Anthony Blunt about them. We arranged to meet in The Courtauld for lunch. Halfway though our meal he disappeared for a phone call. He was probably waiting for a message, ‘Go to the second tree on the left!’ He never reappeared. Next thing I heard he was a spy and had gone missing! I think he turned up in Moscow. I’ll remember other interesting things when you’re gone.” Occasionally colloquialisms would slip into her polite conversation. “The funeral was bunged! He’s completely mustard! She’s a pill!” One of Dorinda’s catchphrases, always expressed with glee, was, “That’s rather wild!”

“I called up to The Park. It was so funny: for the first time in history there were three Lady Dunleaths including me all sitting chatting on a sofa! One lives in The Park; the other, King’s Road and I don’t mean Belfast!” Dorinda made steeple chasing sound so riveting. A dedicated rider and breeder, she was Chairman of the Half Bred Horse Breeders Society. The Baroness’s contribution to Northern Irish culture and society is unsurpassed. She was Patron of the Northern Ireland Chest Stroke and Heart Association and the Northern Ireland Council for Integrated Education, as well as being a Committee Member of the Royal Ulster Agricultural Society. Dorinda was a Director of the Ulster Orchestra and a founding member of the National Trust in Northern Ireland and the Ulster Architectural Heritage Society. Along with Sir Charles Brett she laboriously carried out and published early ‘Listings’ of buildings in places such as Downpatrick, Dungannon and Lisburn. The Baroness’s legacy lives on in the Dorinda Lady Dunleath Charitable Trust. This charity was started by her late husband but after he died it was changed into Dorinda’s name and she added to it every year thereafter. It supports education; healthcare and medical research; the arts, culture, heritage and science; the environment; alleviating poverty; and advancement of the Christian faith. The Dorinda Lady Dunleath Charitable Trust continues to donate to charities that she would have liked, with a focus on Northern Ireland.

One of the last heritage projects Dorinda supported was the restoration and rejuvenation of Portaferry Presbyterian Church, not far from Ballywalter. It’s one of the best Greek Revival buildings in the United Kingdom. “Prince Charles came to the reopening. I curtsied so low I could barely stand up again! Afterwards, a few of us had a very grand supper at Ikea to celebrate!” She voiced concern about the future of the organ at Down Cathedral. Music in May at Ballywalter Park was an annual festival of organ music started by the newlyweds. The Dunleath Organ Scholarship Trust was set up by her late husband and she continued to support it for the rest of her life, attending its concerts each year.

“It’s so exciting… I can’t say how exciting it is you’re here! Tell me, who is this David Bowie everyone’s talking about? I feel like I’m about 100! It’s like when my father asked me, ‘Who is this Bing Crosby?’ The House of Lords used to be full of country specialists like experts in bees or men who loved linen. They used to give the most marvellous speeches. Each generation must do something. It would be great to write this down.” Later, “Gardens should have vistas, don’t you think? They need focal points; you need to walk for an hour to a place of discovery. Capability Brown and Repton knew how to do it.”

In latter years, there were memorable times to be had at The Wildfowler Inn, Greyabbey. Those long, languid lunches. “Portavogie scampi? I’ll have the same as you. And a glass of white wine please. We can have sticky toffee pudding after.” Dorinda would don her yellow high viz jacket, pulling the distinctive look off with considerable aplomb. Her eyesight failing, she would claim, “It helps people see me in Tesco in Newtownards!” Much later, balmy summer afternoons in the sheltered courtyard of Killyvolgan House would stretch long into the evening. There was Darjeeling and more laughter. Those were the days. Halcyon days by the shore. Days that will linger forever. On that last evening at Killyvolgan, Dorinda pondered, “Is there anyone left who cares about architectural heritage?”