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Francis Johnston + Townley Hall Tullyallen Louth

Thrill of the Chaste

An immaculate concept, a gorgeous late Georgian flowering. Townley Hall deep in the Boyne Valley came about in the closing years of the 18th century. Its architect Francis Johnston designed Rokeby Hall, 17 kilometres north of Townley Hall, a decade earlier in 1786. The former is a smaller version of the latter. Both are of a spare patrician architecture so appealing to the modern eye. Plain planes. Townley is an achingly svelte seven bay by seven bay 27.5 metre square block.

The architect conceals and reveals scale and massing as the viewer moves round the outside. This is a four storey house masquerading on three sides as a two storey building. Attic dormers lurk behind a solid parapet in a similar arrangement to the contemporaneous Castle Coole, County Fermanagh, except there the dormers peep through balustraded gaps in the parapet. Townley is Castle Coole taken to next level Grecian severity in a case of keeping up with the Lowry-Corrys. Francis’ brother Richard was the original architect for Castle Coole: he was replaced by the celebrity architect James Wyatt. There is another Fermanagh link: the client Blayney Townley Balfour married Lady Florence Cole in 1794. She was from Florence Court, a neighbouring estate of James Wyatt’s masterpiece.

Townley Hall is an essay in structural rationalism, a formal stone box grounded by rolling countryside. Recent semiformal planting softens the grey to green juxtaposition. Unencumbered by unnecessary architectural frippery, Francis employs taut lines. He let’s go – just a little – with the kitchen wing. A collection of curves carefully enriches the wing’s fenestration: recessed arches, roundheaded windows, segmental arched tripartite mezzanine windows, a bow window. It’s not just an august purity auguring minimalism that defines Townley. Workmanship and materiality are also top notch. The facing ashlar was quarried from nearby Sheephouse. It has lower absorbency than most limestone. Mortar is barely visible between the masonry. Metal rods reinforce the slimmest of glazing bars. A mid storey string cornice and Greek Doric eaves cornice relieve the expanse of wall.

A tetrastyle Doric portico leads into the entrance hall which has twin Doric chimneypieces – more restrained versions that those in Castle Coole. That’s a theme developing in this article. Rectangular plasterwork wall panels resemble vast empty picture frames. A coffered ceiling adds to the room’s crisp angularity. Straight ahead – silent drum roll – is the rotunda, a nine metre diameter glass domed cylinder forming the core of the house. A swagger of genius. A swoop of plasterwork swags and skulls. Irish design at its most suave. All the plasterwork whether naturalistic or geometric is of shallow relief. There are two coats of paint on the rotunda walls: the current 1920s creamy beige over the original stone grey. The ribbed dome casts a spidery web of shadows which leisurely climbs the staircase as the afternoon progresses.

An interlinking ceiling rose pattern in the drawing room is similar to the overhead plasterwork of the dining room in Castle Coole. Like all the main rooms around the rotunda it is 7.3 metres deep. This layout allows all the main rooms to have natural light while the rotunda is top lit. Rokeby Hall is similarly laid out and equally bright. It is an efficient arrangement removing the need for corridors. Andrea Palladio’s 1560s Villa Rotunda outside Vicenza is an obvious source of inspiration although the dome of Townley is hidden behind the attic floor rather than being on full display. Surprisingly Francis’ drawings illustrate the final rationality of layout and simplicity of design was achieved through an evolutionary process. For example, the more elaborate Ionic order (which James Wyatt used for the portico of Castle Coole) was replaced with the plainer Greek Doric for the portico. Francis was clearly a master of the Golden Ratio.

A set of early 1900s photographs courtesy of the Irish Architectural Archive includes views of the interior. Furnishings were suitably classical and restrained. Chinese wallpaper in the south facing drawing room is a rare flush of extravagance. The boudoir and dressing room over the drawing room overlook the parkland. They are one of five family suites clustered around the first floor rotunda landing. On the floor above, the view from the servants’ dormitories is the backside of the parapet below a sliver of sky. The only unobstructed attic windows are in the west facing barrack room which looks down into the courtyard: guards needed to be on watch.

In 1957 the family sold the house and 350 hectare estate to Trinity College Dublin for use as an agricultural school. Since 1977, Townley and its immediate 60 hectares has been a residential study centre owned by the School of Philosophy and Economic Science. A single level extension (visible as one storey on the north front) was recently completed over the kitchen wing plus a double height access link to the original house. The two main conservation schools of thought are to either design an extension that blends in with the host building or one that contrasts with it. The current Irish notion strongly favours the latter. Oh the architectural profession’s fear of that ultimate sin: pastiche! That’s despite every other modern glass building being derived from Philip Johnson’s Glass House in Connecticut and its 70 year old ilk. RKD Architects of Newmarket Dublin secured planning permission for an extension that consisted of similar massing to that executed except the courtyard facing elevation was a dormered mansard. RKD proposed Georgian style sash windows throughout.

Treasa Langford of Dúchas Heritage Service commented on the application, “The finishing of the north wall is not specified; however, the construction is specified as exposed uncoursed rubblestone, which would appear to be inappropriate on a cut stone house such as Townley Hall. We would recommend a ruled and lined nap lime plaster finish without use of cement.” Her opinion is based on the view of sympathetically blending old and new. It could be counterargued that rubblestone would be suitably subservient to the cut stone of the grand main block, emphasising the ancillary nature of the wing.

A decade later, MVK Architects of Fitzwilliam Square Dublin’s design also secured planning permission and this time it was built out. Their approach is very different. The design concept is to add an identifiably contemporary layer to this historic property. Subordination and deference are common themes of both practices’ thinking. MVK’s has neither a mansard nor Georgian style glazing bars but the window openings are classically positioned and proportioned.

Michael Kavanagh of MVK Architects relates, “The choice of material was based on aesthetic as well as practical considerations. Natural zinc has a light grey colour – from historic photographs it appears the slate on the original roof had a similar light grey colour. The material is not intended to match the limestone colour but rather be complementary to it. Zinc is natural, hardwearing, long lasting and difficult to puncture. These characteristics make it ideal for long term weatherproofed cladding. It is stiffer than lead or copper and consequently allows for the crispness of detailing which is intended throughout.” This metal envelope is fixed on plywood decking across battens to form a ventilation zone. The zinc is fitted in strips of varying widths using a staggered but repeating rhythm which reflects the use of differently sized limestone blocks on the main house exterior.

The best example in Ireland of a Modernist addition to a neoclassical building is of course the Ulster Museum Belfast extension. Edinburgh architect James Cumming Wynnes won the 1913 competition for the original museum. The exterior displays fairly ornate Beaux Arts decoration. In 1964, London architect Francis Pym won a competition to extend the museum. His highly inventive design is at once contextual and disruptive. He draws out the neoclassical detailing such as cornices and string courses which then collide with abstract cubic concrete blocks expressing the layout of the galleries inside. Francis’ dramatic work is unsurpassed in its genre. Surprisingly, he worked in church conservation and his only other recorded built form is a gazebo somewhere in England.

This is an article of superlatives. The O’Connell Wing of Abbey Leix in County Laois is a study in how to do it right. Architect John O’Connell’s masterful 1990s reimagining of an unfinished 1860s wing by Thomas Henry Wyatt (an Anglo Irish distant next generation relation of James) is a lesson in improving what’s there already. Client Sir David Davies explains, “This extension was never built as planned but the remains of the Wyatt scheme – a low unadorned wall to the right of the main house was a disfiguring distraction, an issue O’Connell resolved by puncturing the walls with windows and adding architectural ornament.” John O’Connell was also responsible for the late 20th century restoration of Castle Coole. This is an article of connections.

Sympathetic contextual additions; visibly contemporary extensions; dramatic architectural interventions; subtly remodelled wings – they all have their place and supporters. English Poet Laureate and architectural historian Sir John Betjeman once stated, “I have seen many Irish houses, but I know none at once so dignified, so restrained and so original as Townley Hall in County Louth.” More than 230 years after it was finished, such is the strength of Francis Johnson’s design, capturing the spirit of a future age, it still possesses dignity, restraint and originality.

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St Pancras Renaissance Hotel + Victor Garvey at The Midland Grand Dining Room St Pancras London

No Rotten Tomatoes

So long ago. Back in 2011, we interviewed Harry Handelsman, the visionary replacing ossification with revivification at the majestic St Pancras Renaissance Hotel. Rewinding 14 years: a Polly Morgan taxidermy of a fox snuggled in a glass dome in the reception is a sign this is no ordinary office block. The Edison Building on Old Marylebone Road is named after the world’s most prolific inventor Thomas Edison. Its 1930s Art Deco exterior has been reinvented by architect David Adjaye who’s cloaked it in his trademark charcoal grey rendering. The client was Harry Handelsman of Manhattan Loft Corporation, the property developer who brought loft living to London before reinventing the Capital’s best Victorian railway hotel.

“This could have been a cool apartment building but I wanted to do something more exciting,” starts Harry. He’s clad in a charcoal grey suit, no tie, sitting in his charcoal grey top floor corner office. So far, so suave. Sliding doors open onto a huge decked terrace. “I called on my friend David. He designed an amazing transformation.” Adjaye Associates now occupy the ground floor of the Edison Building which has filled up with design companies. Munich born Harry worked as a financier in New York before arriving in London in 1984. He soon realised the potential for American style loft living in Britain. “Lofts are the concept behind giving buildings a new lease of life – they’re exciting and wonderful places,” Harry enthuses. He set up Manhattan Loft Corporation in 1992. To date around 1,000 apartments have been completed in the UK and Germany.

“We’ve no concerns about building something new though,” he adds. “Even our first scheme in London – Bankside Lofts next to what is now Tate Modern – was part newbuild. So much other new development seems too simplistic. It needs to be more energetic, more dramatic. We want to give our developments a bit of punch!” There’s nothing unenergetic or undramatic about St Pancras Renaissance Hotel. And it literally has punch – as we will discover later.

Two decades after he brought loft living to London, he’s also the best man to know what’s next in the residential development world of 2011. “High rise apartments. That’s the way things are going,” states Harry. “London is the most exciting city in the world. Development can make such a positive contribution. It’s not all about commerce. Each of our projects is different. An exciting thing is that we can make a positive difference to the cityscape. We are incredibly privileged. My team is second to none, combining creativity and commitment. I wish the planning regime would be simplified but any issues aren’t insurmountable. There’s enough appreciation of design quality. If it was all smooth sailing I wouldn’t have any grey hairs!”

Also in 2011, a busy year, we reviewed the hotel opening for Luxury Travel Magazine. Paris in two hours. Amsterdam in four hours. Lobby in 2.4 minutes. Those are the travel times from the First Class platform of the Eurostar train in London to St Pancras Renaissance Hotel … and so we continued, the excitement lifting off the screen. The motif of the hotel is the peacock which represents rejuvenation – and not just vanity (although with such architectural beauty that would be justifiable). When a peacock loses a feather it grows back perfectly. St Pancras is more like plume replacement. In 1865 Sir George Gilbert Scott won a competition held by Midland Railway to design a hotel for St Pancras Station. The client’s vision was for an understated building. The architect had other ideas.

A Gothic Revival extravaganza, his gargantuan fairytale confection of towers, turrets and terracotta tiles overwhelmed visitors when it opened in 1873, did once again in 2011, and still does in 2025. The verticality of a 72 metre high clocktower is balanced by the horizontality of a sweep of 150 metre wide frontage and the third of a kilometre depth including engineer William Barlow’s railway terminus behind the hotel. If the hotel is all about design and detailing, the terminus with its 800 cast iron columns and 2,000 wrought iron girders is a pure expression of structure and function – the sort of thundering modernity captured on canvas down the line in Joseph Turner’s 1844 Rain, Steam, and Speed: The Great Western Railway.

Sir George’s design incorporated all the latest fittings too: the first lift in a British hotel; the first revolving door in Britain; 40 centimetre thick fireproof walls. The latter was to contribute to its downfall. Time stands still for no architect or builder or hotelier. Not long after it opened, en suite bathrooms became all the rage for grand hotels. Thick internal walls did not adapt well to the insertion of bathrooms. The hotel eventually closed after just 62 years of operation and was downgraded to British Rail offices. It was even threatened with demolition in the 1960s before Poet Laureate Sir John Betjeman successfully campaigned for its retention.

This Grade I Listed Building was finally saved by Harry Handelsman. A labour of love, albeit an expensive affair. His company Manhattan Loft Corporation spent £100 million converting the three upper floors to 67 apartments and a further £150 million rejuvenating the remainder of the building back to a hotel. It’s a physical embodiment of joie de vivre. The peacock’s feathers have truly regrown. Such rare and colourful plumage! The original entrance hall is now a bar with a polychromatic corniced ceiling, encaustic filed floors and walls dripping in gold leaf. Upstairs, the Renaissance inspired ceiling of the Ladies’ Smoking Room cost nearly £1 million to restore. It was the first place in Europe where females could acceptably smoke in public. This room now aptly leads onto a smoking terrace (or at least did until the boring ban was introduced).

The St Pancras Railway Terminus designed by engineer William Henry Barlow was – wait for it, another record breaker – the single largest railway structure of its time. The former taxi rank between the railway shed and original hotel (originally the pedestrian entrance to the railway platforms) has been converted into a cavernous glass roofed lobby lounge. The adjacent Booking Office is now a brasserie and bar serving traditional English delights such as quail’s eggs with anchovies. Victorian drinks like Garrick Club Punch and Moonlight White Tea are served on neverending bar. The grand staircase is the interior pièce de resistance. It’s a cathedral of colour with hand painted fleur de lys walls framed by Midland Stone arches and vaults. Exposed structural ironwork under the flights of stair fuses romance and technology. Harry’s workforce even aged the carpet on the dizzying array of fanciful flights of stairs. In 2011, we observed that the limestone pillared Gilbert Scott Restaurant looked positively restrained in comparison. Celebrity Chef Marcus Wareing’s team offered its own take on nostalgic classics such as Queen Anne’s Artichoke Tart and Mrs Beeton’s Snow Egg. The Gilbert Scott Restaurant was the setting of our first lunch with Dame Rosalind Savill, then Director of The Wallace Collection, London’s best museum.

Harry carved 38 bedrooms out of the old building and inserted 207 into a new sympathetically designed extension. Once more, the hotel caters for the demands of five star guests. A subterranean spa occupies the former steam kitchen. Our Luxury Travel Magazine 2011 article ended with Stairway to Seven (Facts). A double storey apartment is housed in the clocktower. English Heritage only allowed a 20 colour palette which includes Barlow Blue and Midland Red. The latter hue has a tomato tinge to it, an augury of our 2025 dinner. On Thursday nights in 2011, DJ Eloise rocked the Booking Office and on Friday nights it was the turn of DJ Zulu. The diamond shape is another motif of the hotel and 725 can be found in the Booking Office.

In 2018, Harry reminisced, “I always knew that St Pancras would be a challenge. The complexity of the structure and the Grade I Listing by English Heritage allowing only minimum intervention in the creation of a 21st century hotel was always going to be difficult. Many of my business compatriots thought that I was mad for undertaking such an ambitious project. At times I thought they were right. It was the sheer excitement and privilege of being given the opportunity and responsibility for this most fascinating building that kept me from desperation.”

That was then and this is now: 2025 to be precise. We’re staying in a modern bedroom of St Pancras Renaissance Hotel, dining in the restaurant and late night drinking in the hotel opposite. Bedroom furniture was graduated by wood when our hotel first opened. The best rooms on the first floor contained pieces made of oak or walnut. Second floor rooms had oak or teak furniture; third floor, mahogany; poor old fourth floor, ash. Decoration is more democratic this time round. Our fourth floor room is elegant simplicity: pattern free, clutter free, bad artwork free. The view is of the British Library, another vast red brick building (designed by Colin St John Wilson in the 1990s) although not quite so beloved as its neighbour. Our two paned rectangular window is set in a Gothic arch on the exterior: contemporary inside, traditional outside. Richard Griffiths’ architecture hits all the right notes. RHWL was the overseeing design practice of the development. Encaustic tiles on the floors of the long bedroom corridors draws the original hotel into the extension which fits neatly between the rear of the hotel and the side of the station.

The Gilbert Scott Restaurant closed in 2021. Two years later, The Midland Grand Dining Room by Patrick Powell (an Irish chef) opened before closing last year. And that brings us to The Midland Grand Dining Room by Victor Garvey (a mostly American chef). His CV includes working at two of the world’s most famous restaurants: El Bulli in Barcelona and Noma Copenhagen. Victor’s maternal grandmother was a personal chef for Charles de Gaulle so it makes sense the rebooted restaurant offers French haute cuisine even before you hop across the Channel on the Eurostar.

“There are only a few times in a chef’s life when they get handed a dining room,” says Victor, “and I’m extremely honoured and privileged and excited to be able to embark on this journey in something like this. The idea behind the menu here stems from respecting tradition but innovating and making it lighter and making it more streamlined and making it more concise and finding a way to tell the story of that incredibly deep French culinary heritage and respecting it but updating it. Old world, new ideas.” The sausage shaped Dining Room has a robust neoclassicism of the mid Victorian muscularity ilk befitting its original use as the Smoking Room. The Midland Grand isn’t the only French newcomer in town: a week later we will venture to the wildly popular Joséphine Bouchon in Fulham for cabillaud au beurre blanc à l’é chalote. Chef Claud Bossi of Bibendum South Kensington fame is once again putting the Lyon into lyonnaise in the English Capital.

Tick tock. It’s Pimm’s O’Clock on the Champagne Terrace (we’ve worked up a thirst strolling through the wetland habitat of Camley Street Park). One of London’s hidden gems, the Champagne Terrace is perched below the back of the hotel entrance tower and looked down on from the modern bedroom wing. Oysters are only to be consumed in months with an R and Pimm’s are only to be downed in months without an R. James Pimm’s recipe of liqueurs and herbs remains a warm weather winner 185 years after it was trademarked. In The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook (1982), Peter York and Ann Barr order, “May: at the first sign of summer, Pimm’s.” But no accompanying oysters.

We’re all on for tenuously excused partying and it doesn’t come much better than the 5.05pm Punch Ritual in the Booking Office for guests to celebrate the 152nd anniversary of the original hotel opening. It’s a few days off the actual date (5 May) but we don’t fuss about detail. Historic fountain penned letters from the hotel’s archives are shared while the sommelier stirs his cauldron of elixir. We’ve barely ordered more drinks in the main hotel bar when we’re ushered to our window table in The Midland Grand Dining Room. Oh the anticipation! The à la carte caters for the carnivorous so our waitress suggests vegetarian alternatives. In between pretty amuse bouches and freshly baked bread we’re served a sliced tomato starter and a diced tomato main. We’re all on for retaining our Parisian waistlines. Minimalist plates in maximalist architecture. Pudding is l’Opéra which turns out to be a delightfully deconstructed coffee cake.

A quick dash across the road and we’re soon zooming up 11 storeys in the external lift of The Standard Hotel to Sweeties bar for Power Play cocktails (Belvedere Vodka, Dry Vermouth, Sweeties Savoury Brine). We skip the Bloody Marys: enough tomato for one day. Sure enough, against a darkening pink sky, St Pancras Renaissance Hotel looms in all its pinnacled silhouetted glory. But it’s not over till the fat lady sings or the slim girl walks: before stepping onto the First Class Eurostar to post paschal pastures anew in Paris we’re off to Lightroom (a Louboutin’s throw from the hotel and Central St Martin’s Art College) for a Vogue installation. A tomato red Mercedes roars up and the fashion artist Dame Mary Martin emerges to join us – from the hemline to the frontline of fashion. So now.

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Pont Street + 11 Cadogan Gardens Hotel Chelsea London

Beautiful as a Story

“Architectural fashion is so often a reaction to what went immediately before. There’s even a perceptible difference between the father A W Pugin and the son E W Pugin’s work. The second generation architect’s designs are more rationalised,” believes artist and architectural publisher Anne Davey Orr. “Later, the use of concrete in the 20th century would issue in a much more open expression of materials and structure.”

The penultimate decades of the last two centuries both stuck to something of a “more is more” mantra. A sort of turn of the century syndrome. Eclecticism gone wild. Not without honour and slightly mad. Pont Street for the 1880s and 90s; Postmodernism for the 1980s and 90s. Out went conformity and goodbye to context; in came variety and hello to contrast. It was the ever inventive cartoonist Osbert Lancaster who came up with the name Pont Street Dutch due to the style flourishing in Chelsea. It could easily have been North German Revival, Flemish Revival or New Queen Anne. Or even Hans Town or Cadogan. Sir John Betjeman abbreviated it to Pont Street, making it even more geographically precise. He calls it the “new built red as hard as the morning gaslight” in his poem The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel. These days the SW postcodes are as golden as they are terracotta.

That’s the name explained but who invented the style? Architect John James Stevenson claimed Queen Anne as his creation. The practice Ernest George and Harold Peto produced some of the most overblown examples in Harrington Gardens but really the style was to become synonymous with the dominating work of Norman Shaw. Pont Street rang the death knell, scrawled the writing on the wall, beckoned the banshee for regular terraces, heralding an asymmetric age of individualism. “Look at me, look at me!” screams each house as the rooflines tipsily whoosh and swoosh over more Dutch gables than Keizersgracht. Against the navy canvas of a sun drenched winter’s morning, and to be repeated nine years later on a sun drenched summer’s morning, the red brick dressed with white stone renders Pont Street a patriotic tricolour.

Such strength of character allows 20th century blips such as the picture window spanning the penthouse of 41 Lennox Gardens to be immersed into the wider townscape. The houses celebrate their birthdays: “1884” shouts 25 Lennox Gardens from metre tall letters on its third floor. A few doors up, 43 Lennox Gardens announces to the world it’s a year younger. A wander in wonder along the streets of SW1 and SW3, the blessed boulevards of the Cadogan Estate, throws up a maximalist impure visual feast, an aesthetic eyeful, for the devil and angels are in the detail.

At a glance, here are some of the hyperactive highlights. Keyhold silhouette broken pediment copper domes in Sloane Gardens. Double decker dormers in Culford Gardens. Witch’s hat copper turrets where Draycott Place meets Blacklands Terrace. Quoined porthole windows peering out of 54 to 58 Draycott Place. A neo Elizabethan fretwork loggia hugging 3 Cadogan Gardens. Pierless Brighton balconies clinging onto 85 to 87 Cadogan Gardens. A château mansard atop 89 Cadogan Gardens. Twin Queen Anne fanlights surmounting the doorcase of 105 Cadogan Gardens. Stumpy Ionic pilasters holding up egg and dart capitals framing the porch of 60 Cadogan Square. A pair of ballsy busty bulbous oriel windows on the side elevation of 63 Cadogan Square. And that’s just at a glance.

Pont Street the address bisects Cadogan Place Gardens under the watchful eyes of the 18 storeyed 1961 Jumeirah Carlton Tower. But the great swathe of red is mostly found between Sloane Street and Lennox Gardens. The extremities of Pont Street dive back into stuccoland. A morning of architectural investigation must be balanced by an afternoon of gourmet indulgence. Historically, afternoon tea was the outcome of dinner slipping to beyond 7pm by the opening years of the 19th century. Hiccupping ladies at first surreptitiously downed tea and gobbled cake in their boudoirs after midday. By 1842, trailblazing trendsetting taboo busting gal about castle Anna Maria Russell, 7th Duchess of Bedford, was bolshily dispensing tea in her sitting room to fill the gap created by the evening meal becoming later and later thanks to gaslighting. Fast forward to the Pont Street era and both sexes were merrily letting rip into cucumber sandwiches and scones with clotted cream in the drawing room or on the lawn. Where better then to indulge than 11 Cadogan Gardens, the hotel launched by the eponymous Estate in 2012? A Darjeeling fuelled calorific high awaits: Carrot Cake Explosion; Chocolate Fudge Bar; Lemon Drizzle Loaf; Macarons; Raspberry Orange Battenburg.

The first part of the hotel’s name is mildly misleading: the reception rooms and 54 bedrooms are spread across four townhouses (“5, 7, 9 and 11 Cadogan Gardens” being something of a mouthful). Bright red brick with white trimmings, in some places to stripy effect (more bands than a 12th of July march); terracotta tracery and scrolls; rusticated Doric columns and shortened Ionic columns; rectangular metal balconies and semicircular brick balconies; windows of every frame and shape and type (more casements than a West Belfast cemetery; and again more sashes than a 12th of July march) and orientation (more than a Pride march in London); oriels, chamfered bays and rectangular bays; flat, round arched and segmental arched windows; mini, Dutch and swan neck gables; 11 Cadogan Gardens is as dynamic Pont Street as it gets. The last part of the hotel’s name is wildly accurate. It faces a densely treed green square. The only two London members of the exclusive Relais et Châteaux group are 11 Cadogan Gardens and its sister hotel further round the square, The Chelsea Townhouse.
The interior is just as eclectic. A maze of lacquered cloistered sequestered panelled hallways and lobbies and corridors and passageways leads into the consciously picturesque opalescent Drawing Room. Starched linen at the ready, afternoon tea awaits, designed to instil a divine inertia into the remainder of a stimulating day. Decked and bedecked, espaliered and jardinièred, the Terrace is tucked between the townhouses and the mews. Alive with remote anticipation, it’s a place to dwell on the meaningfulness of life. Another surprising place is the Versailles inspired Mirrored Hall, a space designed to contemplate the advantage of beauty. Monochromatic photographs of supermodels line the descending staircase to the basement gym. Oil paintings of aristos line the ascending staircase to the bedrooms. Souls of different ages bordering the universe in process of consummation. This hotel has a distinct and dynamic personality, one that is warm and sensuous.

Over to the father of town planning Manning Robertson of Huntington Castle, County Carlow, for some pontification on not just Pont Street but classification itself. Everyday Architecture, 1948, “Definitions of architecture are as unsatisfactory as any other expositions of the aim and meaning of the arts; but if architecture is to be alive at all it must clearly involve the erection of buildings to suit the demands of the period, and the embellishment of those buildings according to the dictates of the materials in use, the treatment being a direct reflection of the outlook of the epoch, based of course upon past work, insofar as it is applicable. We cannot say that the 19th century, which produced principally a dead copying of the past, did not reflect itself truly; it was, on the contrary, amazingly accurate in illustrating that the worship of material prosperity is not consistent with a high level of art.”

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Sammy Leslie + Castle Leslie Glaslough Monaghan

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.”