First of all, with huge gratitude to the indefatigable Kelsey Griffin, Bletchley Parks Director of Museum Operations, who not only opened up a treasure trove of rare pictures but was also extremely generous with her time; Iain Standen, Bletchley Parks CEO, who has been passed the baton and is masterminding the coming stages of Bletchleys full glorious regeneration; Sue May for endless patience; plus Bletchley Parks team of dedicated archivists and even more dedicated volunteers, without whom the Park would really not be the same. Thanks to Ian Allen for excellent editing and to managing editor Melissa Smith for the formidable job of pulling the entire thing together, with a sharp eye and good humour. And not least thanks to publishing director at Aurum, Graham Coster, whose idea this was in the first place.
When the popular BBC television series Antiques Roadshow filmed editions at Bletchley, the crowds and the queues were prodigious.
A few years ago, the television series Antiques Roadshow featured a couple of editions filmed in front of the mansion of Bletchley Park. Were it not for the illustrious wartime history of the house, it is extremely unlikely that it would have done so. Indeed, it is questionable whether the house would have been there at all, or whether it would have been cheerfully demolished with little in the way of aesthetic regret. The house itself does have a few admirers; but its many detractors over the years have had the better lines. However, the house and the site are actually fascinating in their own right, and the estate is a beguiling snapshot of a moment of social history.
It is thought that some sort of house though obviously not the present one has stood on the site of Bletchley Park since the medieval period. Ownership of the land seesawed between various families, and various houses were built and then came down. Especially notable was an 18th-century Palladian effort erected by the antiquarian Browne Willis. By this stage, the land around had been imparked, then turned back to purely agricultural use, and then imparked again. It is possible, though we will never know, that the Browne Willis incarnation of the property was the most aesthetically pleasing by a very long way. But ownership switched again and in 1805 that house was demolished and practically nothing remains in terms of records.
Throughout much of the 19th century, the site was most probably occupied by a farmhouse, lived in by a Mr Coleman. But the mansion that we see today was most probably started (again, the records are not conclusively clear) by Samuel Seckham, a businessman, surveyor and architect. This was at some point in the 1870s, when the little village of Bletchley would have been greatly expanded, thanks to the railway and the works that came with it. The locale could never really have been described as a prime beauty spot.
Sir Herbert Leons mansion was originally larger, and more architecturally unified, with a west wing that was pulled down before the war.
As well as designing this new house, at first an unassuming construction of red brick and black slate, Seckham also remodelled the gardens and the fields around, landscaping them with lakes, and also avenues of trees that would help to muffle the clanking and shrill whistle screams from the railway lines, which some have suggested he found wearing. There were also lines of limes and elms, but not long after the house was built, he decided to sell up and move elsewhere in the county. Owing to its favourable proximity to London, he probably knew that he would have no difficulty finding a buyer. The grounds and the property were then bought by Sir Herbert Leon in 1883, and it was he who decided to add to Seckhams original.
Sir Herbert was a successful stockbroker who went on to become very active in politics; first sitting on Buckinghamshire council and then, in 1891, getting himself elected as Liberal MP for Buckingham. David Lloyd George was a frequent visitor to the house. Sir Herbert was then defeated in 1895, but his energies found other outlets, and he helped with an organisation called the Rationalist Free Press. With Bletchley Park, he took what was rather an ordinary Victorian house and, whatever one might think of the end result, it was certainly less ordinary afterwards. His builders used the same kind of brick and slate but Sir Herbert had much grander plans involving a ballroom, a library, an extensive still-house for cold storage of dairy products, a proper suite for his wife Lady Fanny, and quarters for servants.
Historic maps depict the evolution both of the estate, and of the town. Note the clay pitt Bletchley later acquired extensive brickworks.
Sir Herbert Leon: parliamentarian, wealthy stockbroker and enthusiastic squire, who played an energetic role in the life of the local community.
Lady Fanny Leon, who presided over the estates busy social diary: the grand balls, the hunts, the whirl of weekend parties. She also involved herself with the local council and nursing association.
These days, the eye is drawn to the copper cupola which seems rather awkwardly jammed on to one side of the houses roof. Sir Herberts taste was eclectic, and is reflected in the contemporary dark wooden panelling, the occasional outbreaks of stained glass and the ornately plastered ballroom ceiling which the Hon. Sarah Baring said made her think of drooping bosoms. Apologists for the structure say that any prejudice against it is a manifestation of anti-Victorian sentiment, a dislike for the pre-modern, and that its merits will be seen properly in time. Whether that is the case or not, the Bletchley Park Trust is doing a terrific job in restoring it to its original glory.
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