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We Landed On Our Feet

Inheriting a crumbling stately isn’t always as dreamy as it sounds. Meet the young heirs who are putting a fresh spin on their family seats

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Wasing Park, an estate on English parkland available as an event venue.

canvasandstone.co.uk
Wasing Park, an estate on English parkland available as an event venue.
canvasandstone.co.uk

What do a rave DJ, a chartered surveyor, an art dealer, a documentary-maker and a teacher in inner-city schools have in common? Not much, you might think. But the group of thirty- and fortysomethings assembled in a grand reception space at grade II listed Wasing Park, in West Berkshire, share more than just good elocution and expensive-looking shoes. Each of them has inherited a vast historic estate — and by hook, crook and a spot of canny diversification, managed to keep it as their family home. “We have had land and houses thrown at us, and have had to find a way to keep them going,” says Anselm Guise, 44, a former promoter on the Ibiza dance scene and festival organiser. He inherited grade II* listed Elmore Court, a 16th-century house near Gloucester, from his uncle in 2007. The site has been the family seat for 800 years. “At first, I thought it would just be a way of having parties — but then the bills started coming in.” Guise has spent £2m renovating his dilapidated, sprawling estate from scratch. “It was so dingy and run-down, it was known as Elmoribunda,” says his bubbly wife, Sarah, 36, one of the founders of the hip arts festival Secret Garden Party, who also grew up in a “huge house”. The couple raised funds by selling a farm and about 200 acres; they and their children, Wylder, 5, and Lyra, 3, use the refurbished four-bedroom servants’ quarters in the main house as their home.

The rest of Elmore is now an exclusive-use venue with eight guest rooms and the Riba award-winning Gillyflower, a soundproofed “supermarquee” made from rammed earth and timber, as its USP. They charge from £3,750 for an event. The easy repartee within the group shows that many are old friends, but all have now bonded through transforming their ancestral homes into high-end venues. Having hosted more than 1,500 events between them over the past few years — from weddings and yoga retreats to music festivals and songwriting workshops — they’ve decided to join forces and market themselves as a unique collective called Canvas & Stone. The film-maker Josh Dugdale, 41, inherited 34-bedroom Wasing Park — a grade II listed 4,000-acre estate near Aldermaston, with a range of mostly 18th-century buildings, including a chapel, a dovecote and a granary — when he was just 25. The art expert Philip Godsal, 44, and his wife, Susie, 41, a food stylist, took over Iscoyd Park, a grade II* listed Georgian pile in Whitchurch, Shropshire, in 2009. Then there’s Samantha Vaughan, 38, a former teacher who grew up in Dewsall Court, Herefordshire, with the Black Mountains as a backdrop. She has turned it into a sumptuous 10-bedroom retreat and become well known for the chic supper clubs she hosts there. And quietly spoken Harry Dearden, 37, a former chartered surveyor who runs grade II listed Pennard House, an impossibly romantic 17th-century manor near Glastonbury, Somerset, with his wife, Gi, 36, a former child psychologist. It has a Victorian swimming lake for working off post-party headaches.

“We want to keep our houses relevant to 21st-century life and to shake up the current hospitality industry to encourage you to imagine a different way to plan your perfect event,” runs the blurb on the Canvas & Stone website. “Essentially, these houses are in their prime when they are filled with people, and we each have an ambition to continuously outdo ourselves,” says Dearden, who charges from about £1,950 for an exclusive event at Pennard House. “We have all had to learn so much on the job, and the collective allows us to share ideas.” It’s easy to scoff when privileged, good-looking upper-crusters talk about the challenges they have overcome to save their family homes. Surely being handed a glorious estate with a historic home, acreage and sometimes even a baronetcy is a fairy tale come true? After all, the former stables, coach houses and servants’ attics they have had to downsize to are still pretty impressive. “Inheriting a house like this has been a huge privilege,” says Godsal, the scion of a Georgian coach-making dynasty. “But it is also a big responsibility. Iscoyd had been in my family for 11 generations, so we didn’t feel that selling up was really an option — though we had no idea what we were taking on.” He and Susie gave up their London jobs and home to take over Iscoyd. “It was in a dire state,” he recalls. “My father chose to pass the house on to me before he got too old to maintain it, and he had kept the roof on the place, but parts of the house have been derelict since the 1920s. We had to do everything to restore it, starting with asbestos removal.” They received conditional exemption — which meant they avoided paying death duties — on the condition that nothing on or from the 18th-century estate was sold off. “But the bank pulled out on our loan at the last minute, in 2009, so we had to go to a private bank,” Susie says. “We borrowed significantly more than £1m. It was an extremely anxious time.” Their first guests had to wear hard hats when they viewed it for a wedding, as the estate was still a building site. It now has 14 bedrooms and the Godsals charge about £4,500 for a midweek off-peak event. The couple have lived in various parts of the house with their children, Poppy, 9, Hector, 7, and Cecily, 4 — the rooms directly over the dancefloor didn’t work out — but they are now permanently ensconced in the four-bedroom former servants’ rooms. “It has been stressful enough getting here,” Godsal says, “but we have no idea how people deal with the fallout of someone close to them dying and having to take on a place like this simultaneously.” This is exactly what Vaughan had to face. When her father died, eight years ago, she and the rest of her family considered selling Dewsall Court, a 12-acre estate with a 1640s house that was the birthplace of the first Duke of Chandos, a key patron of Handel. “We didn’t make huge changes, but we made sure every room had its own bathroom and we created a yoga studio,” she says. “We are now investing in the outbuildings. We’ve certainly spent a few hundred thousand pounds.” Today, there’s a canvas canopy for al fresco events, a croquet lawn and a sunken rose garden. “Dewsall is all about rustic glamour and sophisticated but family-style dinners,” says Vaughan, who has hosted the photographer David Bailey and the actress Rosamund Pike. Hiring her Herefordshire home for a midweek off-peak event starts at about £3,140. What have they learnt along the way? Each owner stresses the importance of carving out a niche. At Wasing, for example, where Dugdale has spent about £3.5m on restoration, the 15th-century church is a big draw for wedding parties who want everything on site; there’s game shooting, too. Iscoyd Park offers own-label champagne, illuminated “pleasure gardens” and a bar managed by a five-time world champion cocktail-maker. Elmore Court emphasises sustainable energy and fabulous colourful interiors shot through with Malabar fabrics. Vaughan organises “Great British safaris” in the Black Mountains for her guests, and Dearden capitalises on Pennard House’s proximity to Glastonbury, offering 16ft-high handmade tepees in its parkland. Yet the key, they all agree, is to make guests feel as if it is their home — no matter how much privacy you might crave, how absurd the demands of the bridal party or how desperate you are for a weekend off. “We meet every single guest,” Gi says, “and they love the fact that it is your family home. I don’t think it would work otherwise.” More than 1,000 grand British country houses have been lost to dereliction or destruction over the past 150 years. With maintenance costs for those still standing so high — the Historic Houses Association estimates that private estate owners in the UK spend a total of £139m each year on upkeep — you could see the founders of Canvas & Stone as less pampered progeny, more heritage heroes. This article originally appeared on The Sunday Times.