Guernsey Press

Northern delights

Closer to home than usual, Tim Earl enjoyed returning to his northern roots. He finds a shipshape Sheffield and finally sets foot inside a house he's admired since he was a boy. And Chatsworth is pulling out all the stops when it comes to decking the halls this Christmas...

Published

SHEFFIELD, where I grew up, was called the dirty picture in a golden frame. Rightly so: the city's wealth was based on steel, its manufacture and its conversion into products that the world and its mother needed.

But it is – and was then – surrounded by the most beautiful countryside, some being in the Peak National Park, Britain's first.

Sheffield paid a great penalty for the privilege of being named 'the city of steel'. It was a filthy place.

'Wheer thar's muck thar's brass,' was a common refrain of those in the steel industry. My family experienced both...

My great-great-grandfather was Henry Harrison Earl and the bus taking me to school each day went past the steel wholesaler's business he founded, H. H. Earl and Son.

Sadly, not much of the brass descended to my generation but the muck did: when my little sister was born in 1959, the white baby-blankets draped over her sleeping form in a pram out in the garden turned black with smuts raining down from the steelworks.

The Clean Air Act changed all that and the city's beautiful buildings were soon being cleaned up and back to their original glowing colours.

I left in 1969 and did not start returning regularly until 30 years later.

By then, the steelworks were gone and a totally unimaginable transformation had taken place. Hundreds of acres that housed belching furnaces had been converted into vast shopping centres, such as Meadowhall, and housing estates.

My parents moved out to Bamford in the Peak District, with views to die for across some of the most beautiful landscapes in Britain. (They later moved back to Guernsey, my mother's home.)

Nearby is stunning Chatsworth House, which was built by Bess of Hardwick and Sir William Cavendish, who made his money in the service of King Henry VIII.

Their second son, William, was granted an earldom, but as there was already an Earl of Derby, he became the 1st Earl of Devonshire. The fourth earl was awarded a dukedom in 1694 for helping bring King William III and Queen Mary II to the throne. The Dukes of Devonshire have occupied the seat ever since, with Peregrine Cavendish holding the present title of 12th Duke of Devonshire. His wife is the authoress Lady Amanda Cavendish and his mother, the Dowager Duchess, Deborah Mitford.

As a boy, I was occasionally taken to see the big herd of fallow deer that roam the estate, admire the building and gaze at the cascade and fountain, but sadly, it was just a month ago that I first set foot inside the house.

Golden frames were the first thing to strike me as I sat in a long line of traffic, waiting to be parked – a Christmas market was being held and many people were arriving.

Chatsworth House is being renovated, with gold leaf being applied to all window frames, balconies and some architectural features. The effect is stunning, with glistening gilt-work twinkling across the facia in the sunlight.

We were pleased that the market was there, as it drew folk away from entering the house, although it was still busy, with the theme of 'deck the halls' featuring Christmas decorations. There were at least 30 huge trees, each dressed – or decked – in a theme that matched the grand room in which it stood.

The walls, windows and furniture were also decorated for the festive season, while each room had piped carols playing, again to match the theme. Even the stunning chapel (I always fancied living in a house with its own chapel) was decorated.

The overall effect was fabulous and magical, almost dreamlike in the presentation of a child's perfect Christmas. Even I was moved.

For the children there was plenty, including an area where they could dress up and pose for pictures with Victorian toys and tableaux. For us there was a wishing tree – a fir covered in labels placed by visitors, on which they had written their wishes for the season and coming year.

Many of the decorations had been made by local schoolchildren, including window-mounted mobiles and the entire contents of a vast table set up for Christmas lunch. It was covered in dishes of food, all artificial and made by pupils of a nearby school.

Eventually, we spilled out into the garden.

I was ahead of my wife and friends, who were lost in the gift shop – my anxiety levels were high, as I had not bought a single gift for anyone, but at least I was probably the only person among the hundreds at Chatsworth to see and hear a raven fly over the house.

Coffee and delicious cakes were followed by a leisurely amble around the garden, cascade and fountain. The latter were designed by Sir Joseph Paxton, although the gardens and setting are of an older design by Lancelot 'Capability' Brown.

Paxton was recruited by the 6th Duke, William Cavendish, who also owned Chiswick House close to the Horticultural Society's Chiswick Gardens, where the former worked as a 20-year-old.

He created the Emperor's Lake (for a planned visit of the Tsar who never came to Chatsworth) 122m above the house. The water from it feeds the wonderful cascade and another pipe powers the 30m fountain, although it is usually only half this height to conserve water. The cascade has steps of differing height so that the sound of the water descending changes through its length.

The present duke and duchess, like those before them, are great supporters of the arts and the gardens are home to a riot of superb sculptures.

There are many eye-catching pieces: my favourites included a sundial by Barry Breeze called Timepiece, which besides telling the time also gave the direction and distance to many local places of interest.

Two of the most popular sculptures with visitors are Drummer, featuring a left-handed hare, and its predecessor Hare Jumping Over a Curly Bell, both by Barry Flanagan.

Next to Drummer, just outside the maze in the Conservatory Garden, is a human sundial. Here, one stands on a flat stone at the appropriate month marked and the shadow cast shows the time of day on smaller stones. It even allows for British Summer Time.

The trees are largely native British and were in superb colour on our visit. The scene matched parts of Ontario we had visited a couple of years ago.

To my delight, several flocks of wintering tits, goldcrests, nuthatches and treecreepers were flitting busily among the sculptures.

The last great piece to take my eye – there were many more – was War Horse by Elizabeth Frink, which stands in the entrance to the former stables that have been converted into an upmarket cafe.

More than 100 stalls had drawn people away from this extravaganza of wealth and opulence, a memorial to one of Britain's great families and a true treasure of the nation.

The male genes in me are strong (I still have no presents bought, but Christmas Eve will do) and I was content to dwell upon memories of birds among art as people busied themselves.

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