Kedleston Hall was built by Sir Nathaniel Curzon between 1759 and 1765 as a house to rival Chatsworth. It was intended as ‘a temple of the arts’ and a location for grand entertainments. I’d always associated Curzon with cinemas. I wouldn’t actually have described the flea-pit I used to visit in my younger days  as a ‘temple of the arts, but I guess it did show the odd entertaining film. The Curzons came as part of William the Conqueror’s mob and it is likely that the Curzons set up camp at Kedleston in the 1150s. There used to be a medieval house and village at the location, but all that got bulldozed as part of the Curzon’s architectural aspirations. Only the All Saints’ Church remains of the original village.   

The footprint of the Hall looks like a Minecraft built crab...well, it does to me. The west wing (crab’s right claw) was the living area and is actually still used as a residence by the family to this day. The east wing (crab’s left claw) was the Great Kitchen and used for the family’s great banquets and dinner parties. It is now the disappointingly expensive restaurant/cafe.  The central block (crab’s body) was the entertaining space, together with the servants’ quarters. The first floor was built to wow the guests and currently still wows the modern day visitors. The ground floor was converted to a museum in the 1920s and holds one of the largest Asian collections in the Midlands. That was my first port of call on my journey through the Hall. 

Museum

We were only a couple of weeks from Diwali and there were colourful celebratory decorations throughout the building. The Asian connection was due to George Nathaniel Curzon who was appointed the Viceroy of India in 1899. His appointment didn’t get off to a good start when India experienced a devastating famine that killed millions. He then partitioned Bengal in 1905 that caused so much division between the Muslims and Hindus that it had to be revoked in 1911. Given these successful credentials, it is therefore not  surprising that he was given a peerage in the House of Lords. He was active in his opposition to Liberal policies and in 1912 became president of The National League For Opposing Women’s Suffrage. I suppose one thing for which we should now be grateful is that the Asian culture rubbed off on him and he was able to bring back some of its treasures to Kedleston Hall. A lot of these are now placed in the Museum on the Hall’s ground floor and I started wandering around the displays. 

It was very dark in the Museum. It was so dark I actually had trouble seeing some of the items. There also weren’t many information boards giving any details about what I was looking at. That was a shame really, since there were quite a lot of things on display, but it was difficult to figure out their purpose or importance when no context was given. To be fair, some items did have notes, but the writing was so small that they were unreadable unless you happened to have a headtorch and a magnifying glass. The displays  included jewellery and weapons such as spears and swords. A few elephant tusks hung from the walls. Some of the artefacts were quite mystifying, such as what looked like an ornate wooden toboggan (I’m sure it wasn’t). My eyes were still not adjusting to the gloom of the Museum and so I followed a trace of daylight that took me into what looked like a Games Room. A billiard table had been covered with cloth and Diwali decorations set up on it. There were a few bookcases along the walls and I went to have a look at the titles. I was pleasantly surprised that a lot of them were quite readable, with quite a few accounts of worldwide travel. 

I drifted into what turned out to be the main stairwell. This contained a couple of large portraits; one of a man and the other a woman. I carried out a Bing Visual Search on the male and it said it was Napoleon. I’m pretty sure it was George Curzon since the portrait of the woman was definitely his wife Mary Curzon, since she was wearing her famous Peacock Dress (n.b. Peacocks are the national bird of India). Her melancholic face betrayed that of  a woman who was resigned to being married to the president of The National League For Opposing Women’s Suffrage. I climbed the stairs to the first floor. 

Marble Room And Saloon

There have been a few wow moments when I’ve entered some National Trust rooms, but none matching the WOW  when I entered the magnificent Marble Hall. It was a huge space with massive stone columns stretching from floor to ceiling in a style of Ancient Rome or Greece. It was intended as a sculpture gallery and to showcase the family’s arts and furnishings. At the moment it contained a large rangoli. The vivid colours are thought to bring happiness into the home. Three window domes on the ornate ceiling allowed light to enter this wonderful space.      

I’ve walked into many pub saloons, but I’ve never walked into a saloon like the one at Kedleston Hall. If the Marble Hall had a wow factor of 11, then the Saloon notched it up to 12. I’d noticed the huge dome on the top of the central building as I’d made my external inspections earlier in the day. I’d naturally concluded that it was just a concrete shield for a thermo-nuclear reactor…well, these buildings do take some heating. How wrong could I be! I stepped from the Marble Hall into the circular Saloon. Up above was the massive dome which turned out to be an ornate ceiling decorated with geometric shapes. At its centre was a circular window where I could see a blue sky with white clouds occasionally scudding across. Around the perimeter of the room were smaller ‘half-domes’ which were embedded into the walls.  Up above them were massive, classical paintings that were bent around the circle of the walls. I found the dome captivating. The curves and geometric shapes shifted my perspective as I shuffled about the floor. This room, in fact the house, had been designed by Robert Adam when the house was commissioned in 1759. I presume he got a first class degree from the architectural university he attended. I did think about laying on the floor and getting a good look at the dome, but I didn’t want to create a scene. 

Library, Withdrawing Room, Music Room And East Corridor

It was difficult to drag myself away from the Saloon, but I managed in the end. The eastern side of the central building consisted of the Library, Withdrawing Room and Music Room. The Library was a cosy enough place and had an ornate desk  that I’d love to have in my house if I’d got a room with bigger dimensions. The books in this room were a bit drier in content than those downstairs.     

The Withdrawing Room was very blue as colour schemes go, although the chandelier had been lit purple. The room seemed dominated by a massive picture above the mantlepiece. It was ‘Orlando Delivering Olympia From The Sea Monster’ and was  painted by Ludovico Carracci between 1575-1619. It portrayed a very dramatic scene with a completely naked Olympia chained to some rocks, her modesty preserved by a convenient shadow. A muscular Orlando is saving her from a maiden-eating orc (although, to be honest, it just looks like an oversized Sea Lion), by flinging a sea anchor into its jaws. I thought that this scene looked very much like what a president of The National League For Opposing Women’s Suffrage might appreciate. 

The music room had a piano at its centre, although it may well have been a harpsichord. There seemed to be an organ at one end, although I couldn’t see any keyboard. There were a couple of bongo drums nearby. It was easy to imagine the Curzon family congregating here of an evening and having a jamming session. Although, I’m not sure what fusion of music  a harpsichord, organ and bongo drums might make. I do have a personal theory that there has never been a bad tune produced incorporating a Hammond organ, and so I’m confident their jamming would sound surprisingly good.

A curved corridor (the crab’s right arm) led to the east wing of the house. This was a nice light space and contained portraits, presumably of past Curzons. There were some large diagrams showing complex family trees too. I retraced my steps down the corridor and headed for the west side of the central building. 

Dining Room, West Corridor, State Bed Chamber And Principal Room

‘If you have any questions, then let me know’ said the NT Greeter as I entered the Dining Room. The dining table was positioned centrally in the room and seemed modest compared to other dining tables I'd seen at other National Trust properties. There again, I normally have all my meals off a tin tray and so maybe I shouldn’t criticise. What I really wanted to ask the NT Greeter was why anybody would paint a picture like the one I was looking at on the wall. The picture was ‘Dead Game On A Table’ by Frans Snyders (1600-1699). It was a good title, because that is exactly what it portrayed. The dead game included a deer, peacock, goose and hare. A small collection of fruits and veg were thrown onto the table to satisfy the vegetarians of the day. A dog was sniffing at the head of the deer carcass, as if hygiene standards couldn’t get any worse. It seemed odd to have it positioned in the dining room since its impact was to put me off eating. In fact, it was an odd scene to paint at all.   

Mirroring the east side of the central building, there was a curved corridor that led to the west wing. This was filled with pictures and two large glass cases containing model ships. Unfortunately, this was closed off due to the fragility of the glass cases. 

I therefore turned my attention to the State Bedroom. It was rare for anybody to actually sleep in the State Bedroom  since they were built on the off-chance that some Royalty might pop by in the future. It was probably a good thing they weren’t used since I overheard the NT Greeter in the room saying that the mattress was so hard it would be comfier sleeping on the wooden floor. It was another very blue room.    

The adjacent Principal Room left such an un-lasting memory that I can remember nothing about it at all and I didn’t take any pictures either. It did conclude my tour of the first floor though and so I headed towards the servant’s staircase to make my way back downstairs. 

Servants' Staircase And Ground Western Corridor

There were  paintings and photographs displayed around the servant’s staircase. The most striking was probably a portrait of Mrs Mary Garnett (1724-1809) who served as a housekeeper. Apart from keeping the house she also provided guided tours of the Hall’s artwork for visitors. Apparently, the National Trust still holds her handwritten notes on the artwork in their collections. 

I followed a dimly lit corridor that had photographs hanging on either side. One was of George and Mary standing over the carcass of a Tiger. As with her portrait in the main stairwell, her melancholic face betrayed that of  a woman who was resigned to having married somebody who would later become president of The National League For Opposing Women’s Suffrage. I’m pretty sure the poor Tiger would have had a similar face too if it hadn’t suffered the obvious head wound.     

Further along the corridor was an interesting control board for the ‘bell communication’ with the various rooms. Some of the rooms I’d definitely not visited; for example the ‘cross stitch dressing room.’ The corridor led to a curved corridor that mirrored the closed one on the first floor. This was poorly lit too and so it was difficult to appreciate the various stuffed animals and objects on display. I was particularly spooked by the eyes of an Indian Bison; I wondered whether the taxidermists had inserted human eyes by mistake. 

There were plenty of old canons along the corridor. The most interesting one was a French Siege Mortar that had been left by Lord Ogilvy’s regiment when Bonnie Prince Charlie retreated from Derby in 1765. The corridor of stuffed animals and canons concluded my tour of the hall and so I stepped outside to have a look at the Stables. 

Stables

I nearly collided into a woman who was exiting the Stables as I entered.
‘I wonder where the dung vaults are?’ she asked me. I certainly wasn’t expecting such a question and could only muster an answer in the negative. She strode purposefully across the Stable’s yard, presumably in search of them. I would have pointed her towards the women’s loos for her convenience, but she was too far away. The Stables were actually an impressive and grand building. Each horse had its own particular area with its nameplate above it, such as: Kimberley, Sirena, Isabella and Caravel. In Rufus’ pod I found an information board saying that 48 horses produced about 5 tons of dung a day and all this was dumped in the nearby dung vaults. Ahhh, that went some way to explain the lady’s mission to find the dung vaults. There was so much dung produced in London that there was the Great Horse Manure Crisis of 1894. Who would have thought so much crap could be produced in London?

Pleasure Grounds

I wandered from the Stables to the Pleasure Grounds. This was a very pleasant garden area on the south side of the house and had a lovely view across parkland to the woodland that I’d walked through this morning. There were plenty of National Trust deckchairs around with people sitting down enjoying the afternoon sun. I headed eastwards to get a better view of the Central building of the House. It was indeed very impressive, with a curving dual staircase that went up to that incredible Saloon Room on the first floor. They must have had a great time sunbathing on that first floor balcony, back in the day. 

All Saint's Church

The All Saint’s Church was my last stop on my itinerary. The first mention of the church was in the Domesday Book in 1198-99. The door of the church actually had 1613 carved on it. I took that to be a year, rather than a house number, since the old Kedleston village had only a few houses. The church had a warm sandstone glow and was well presented inside.
‘I used to know what it meant when they laid their feet on dogs’ said the elderly lady standing next to me. ‘I can’t remember what it means for the life of me now’ she bemoaned. Initially I  thought she was speaking to me, since I’d been pondering why on the tomb of Marquess Curzon and his wife Mary, the feet of their stone figures were indeed resting on stone dogs. Fortunately, the statement had been directed to her elderly friend who was slowly shuffling towards the tomb. It was definitely a catalyst to my curiosity though and when I stepped outside of the church, I had to Google it. Apparently, it symbolised fidelity, loyalty and companionship. The dogs served as guides in the afterlife, in the belief that they would accompany their masters to the underworld. Well, you learn something every day.     

It had been an interesting tour of Kedleston Hall. Architecturally the Marble Room and Saloon were the best examples I’ve seen in the National Trust properties I've so far visited. They definitely had the wow factor. The Hall was also well provisioned with paintings and other historical artefacts. It was a shame that it was so dark in the Museum, but I guess it will always be a compromise regarding the light-damage to items. I never did stumble across the dung vault though, but maybe that was a good thing.