Towards the end of my tenure, the success of the garden restoration led to the house and garden being declared inalienable. We could no longer be sold. Following shortly on from this, we were reassigned to a different Regional Office and I gained a new Area Manager. She was the Carlsberg of bosses - probably the best boss I ever had. Her period of influence coincided with a change of leadership at the highest level, which meant that the occupant of the house no longer had the benefit of old-school affiliations or a weekend hotline to the Management Board. This, and the declaration of inalienability, led my boss to investigate the functioning and effect of the tenancy on the running and well-being of the property, and this brought her to the conclusion I had been working towards for my entire time there - a tenancy was not the most suitable way for the property to progress into the future. To take us into that future, she envisaged the need for a dedicated Property Manager to build the infrastructure for a new shop and tea-room etc. I still clung tenaciously to my dual role, and my loyal team backed me to the hilt, so for a while the boss let me try out the increased responsibilities. My job title, I think, remained Assistant Property Manager, even though I had no one to assist, but mine was now a Manager-in-Charge role. I was doing everything myself, apart from running the house and farm tenancies, which required specialist skills, not least the one known as self-restraint, which wasn't my strong suit. I was now responsible for all the building budgets on the estate, any works to the 35 tenanted cottages, etc. It was my job to draw up the first Statement of Significance, hold the meetings and draw up the Management Plan, all of which were completed successfully. And I still had the full-time job of a garden to run. It became clear even to me that the job had begun to outgrow me, and I eventually relented, agreeing to have a Property Manager appointed above me, and to remain as Head Gardener/Assistant Property Manager. This meant I had to watch somebody take over the office I had created from nothing, and watch decisions being taken which I fundamentally disagreed with. The future meant going all out for maximising visitor numbers and opening hours, and making loadsamoney. I mopped up all the now neglected aspects of personal attention which had given us such a strong volunteer base so as not to lose that delicate and friendly touch, but it was clear that it was now time for me to move on. I couldn't bear to watch somebody else sitting at my desk, with his head in his hands, drinking cold black coffee, or wandering aimlessly round the yard smoking his nerves to calmness. As I saw it, a myocardial infarction was being incubated in my lovely office, and I didn't want to be around when the shpoo hit the fan.
The other part of the new direction, was that my boss was negotiating furiously over the tenancy behind the scenes, and eventually reached termination point.
All of my time on this job, my career had been under threat, and I think I held on by the skin of my teeth. I wasn't inclined to be cowed by the precariousness of my position, and am endowed with a strong sense of justice. I had vowed very early on that I wouldn't let the occupants drive me out. When they were infringing, or should I say, compromising the landlord/tenant relationship, by for example, shooting the visitors or wrecking the garden with hedge-hopping and motor-scooters, amongst other things which I prefer not to describe, I would be in there making my presence felt. Many attempts were made behind the scenes to oust me from my position, and I was at a perilous disadvantage, not having been to the same school as either the tenant or our directors. I had attended an establishment which scored consistently higher in the league tables than theirs. I don't expect they even considered that possibility. I was a gardener. You can't get much lower than that. However smart you may be.
In the end, I left for my new job one week before the tenant's removal van arrived at the door to take the family and staff away for ever. I may not have had the very last word, but I helped to bring about the right solution. The old place now thrives as an independent historic attraction which the present team has the pleasure of being able to interpret freely within the constraints of history.
Now I won't be leaving it behind immediately, because I have a lot of pictures of nice plants that I haven't shown you yet, and it seems fitting to me if over the next couple of days I show you some of them, and tell the odd story about them in the process. Here's one to be getting on with. Dodecatheon meadia, a member of the primrose family, Shooting Stars -
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