Here in the United Kingdom, we are very lucky to have access to so many historic houses. Through institutions such as the National Trust, English Heritage, The Landmark Trust, and privately-owned homes of significance whose owners have opened their doors to the public, we all have the opportunity to enjoy rooms of great beauty, craftsmanship, and historic importance. While these houses certainly act as immersive history lessons and idyllic backdrops for picnics, they can be incredibly useful tools for us—especially when designing our own.
Scale
One important design lesson we can learn from these houses is scale. “If it’s a classical room, for instance, then we know it’s built on principles from Greek and Roman architecture,” explains interior designer and architectural historian Edward Bulmer. “Looking at houses such as Chiswick House and Harewood House as much as I possibly can helps me build a design vocabulary, and after a while, the vocabulary then becomes quite familiar.”
“No matter what the style of a room may be—whether it’s contemporary, modern, eighteenth century—it will look fantastic when everything is the correct scale,” adds Alidad. “Even if you’re doing a modern look,” he continues, “you should know about these things, because it will make this modern look seem richer when you’re aware of the architectural history associated with all of these houses, as they teach you so much about scale. The dado height, the size of the skirting, the architraves—all of these things are fascinating for me and are necessary to know about when designing a house.”
You needn’t have a house of grand proportions to apply these same principles. “These guidelines can be successfully downscaled once the proportions are understood,” historic decorator Caroline de Cabarrus assures. “No matter the size,” Alidad seconds, “if you have a tall room with tiny little cornices, it’s never going to look right. An unprofessional eye might not know what’s wrong with the room, but they can feel that something isn’t right.”
Layering
With these old homes of all sizes often comes a particular feel—one you can’t put together in an afternoon. Whether it’s been built for royalty or a band of bohemians, these places have a certain charm that stems from the development of layers of objects, colours and stories. “It’s all in the mélange of different periods which are happily living together,” explains Alidad. In many instances, these buildings were or have been occupied for centuries, leaving some rooms mixed with anything from Grand Tour objects to stacks of old magazines. Framed family photographs, watercolours by a random great-uncle, a pair of chairs from Granny’s side of the family, and textiles your dad bought in Rajasthan in the ‘60s during his Ravi Shankar phase—that’s what shows evolution and signs of life within a space.
“It’s very much like that at our house at Blenheim Palace,” says interior designer Henrietta Spencer-Churchill. “People who come to the private side are always quite surprised how warm and welcoming it is—and that’s partly because it has family photographs, it has portraits; the rooms have evolved over the centuries. Each person has put their touch on it.”
How does one employ this mindset in their brand new (or new-to-them) house? Alidad has a fun solution for that. “I often invent stories in my head in order to do my rooms,” he admits. This was evident at last year’s WOW!house, where he created a cabinet based on an imagined family history of one of the founders of Watts, which resulted in a space that felt as though it had existed for generations.
Similarly, Sambourne House, one of London’s Aesthetic Movement jewels, not only shows the contemporary collections of a Victorian man, but it features 18th-century heirlooms and 20th-century tweaks that future family members made along the way. It’s a home where Hepplewhite chairs and William Morris wallpaper speak the same language. The library at Bowood House in Wiltshire, along with its striking Wedgwood encaustic vases, is dotted with family photos, petit point cushions, and personal objects like letters and little perfume bottles—a private-looking space that anyone can see.
Even the best Modernist homes like The Homewood have a sense of layering—stacks of books, a variety of wood tones and personal keepsakes keep the interior from being cold. “The story of your family is important,” interior designer Fiona Shelburne emphasises. “We shouldn’t chuck out the things that our grandparents had, and we don’t have to be slavish about it, either—move things around to different rooms. That portrait you didn’t like in one room might look great in another.”
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Craftsmanship
Something we should all pay attention to within these homes is the quality and craftsmanship. “Talented, skilful craftsmen were brought into these places right from the beginning,” says decorative artist Sasha Compton, a craftswoman herself. Nostell Priory and its Joseph Rose plasterwork, Petworth House and its Grinling Gibbons woodwork, and the very Arts & Crafts banisters by Philip Webb at Standen House that were made to look like the backs of Windsor chairs all immediately come to mind when picturing craftsmanship that truly inspires.
“This more industrial and digital world has meant that there have been a lot of shortcuts regarding the home and decoration,” Sasha continues. Furniture, textiles, and everything else one could fill a house with were once made by hand—a way of manufacturing that has dwindled since the Industrial Revolution. So many of these homes show how handmade details (carpentry, needlework, thrown pottery) add a significant amount of depth, sustainability, and quality to an interior. “If the quality is there in the first instance, things last,” advises Fiona. “Quality of materials and quality of workmanship was something that was drummed into me by Imogen Taylor,” she recalls from her days spent working at Sibyl Colefax & John Fowler before opening her own studio.
“One should use the very best that they can afford, be that curtain makers, painters, and materials, because that’s what’s going to last.” Don’t be afraid to take your time when you design your house. If it takes you a couple of years to afford those wooden cabinets as opposed to the laminate ones, there’s nothing wrong with waiting until that goal becomes realistic. If you have your heart set on some expensive chintz or silk curtains, but they just aren’t in your budget, go for a high-quality linen rather than a synthetic option. Vintage and antique pieces are always a good idea—the fact that they’ve survived this long is a testament to their quality.
Things made by hand also leave a rather charming maker’s mark. “I love when I can see the wonky little handmade touches—like when you can see brushstrokes in The Painted Room at Spencer House, or on the painted chairs in the Etruscan Dressing Room at Osterley Park,” Sasha notes, “and when things are done by hand, they’re often going to be a little ‘off,’ but that sense of ‘off’ is a good thing.”
Signs of life
One category of “off” that so many of these spaces have in common is that nothing truly matches. “In a lot of these houses, no two fabrics necessarily go with each other, but somehow the overall look is good,” says Alidad. “It’s refreshing when you go to a house and everything isn’t matchy-matchy,” Sasha agrees. “I feel like people often strive to perfect a vision by trying to make everything match, when it’s not always necessary.” While we do love formal themed rooms like the Blue Bedroom at Kedleston Hall or the Yellow Drawing Room at Goodwood House, they don’t necessarily reflect the comfort and ease that we seek in everyday life.
Take Carlyle’s House or Rudyard Kipling’s Bateman’s. Imagine a pair of chairs that have perfectly sun-faded silk—once red and now a soft shade of pink one can’t find at the Design Centre. Next to them may be a needlepoint stool stitched to look like the family tartan. The sofas, flanking the faded chairs, may be a yellow damask that no one dares reupholster because someone along the lines of Stanley Falconer or John Fowler himself brought them into the house fifty-odd years ago, and yet it all works.
Whimsy
Don’t be afraid to have a bit of fun with design—the builders and patrons of these homes certainly weren’t. “Houses that have had creative custodians are the ones that tend to have more personality,” Sasha explains. She cites Charleston as an example: “You can tell that a variety of artists lived there, because they hand painted just about everything—expressive cupboards, tiling, fireplaces. All of these are elements that show experimentation and play.” Even the grandest houses contain whimsy. Take Syon Park’s Long Gallery with its trick mirrors and jib doors, or Stephen and Virginia Courtauld, who commissioned a portrait of themselves with their pet lemur “Mah-Jongg” for Eltham Palace.
You don’t have to create a room of total fantasy like the Chinese Room at Claydon House – not everyone has the budget for an elaborately carved pagoda to contain their yellow silk sofa – but incorporating at least a few elements of originality and creativity keeps your house from looking like everyone else’s. You can’t adopt a lemur, as it’s currently illegal to do so in the United Kingdom (we checked), but you can paint that mashrabiya mural in your foyer to remind you of your childhood holidays in Morocco, you can make that awkwardly-placed loo door by the breakfast table a jib door, and you can tent that tiny London spare room— it’s those unexpected elements of fun and personality that help give a house some soul.
Longevity
One major lesson we can learn from these spaces is that they’re here to be enjoyed. John Ruskin famously said: “Our duty is to preserve what the past has had to say for itself, and to say for ourselves what shall be true for the future.” Above all, historic houses force us to consider what our spaces will say about us in years to come. The materials we use, the ornamentation we employ, the intellectual ethos behind our decisions—all of these elements matter. We are left asking: are we making spaces that future generations will be inspired by and feel compelled to preserve?
