Written by Olivia Norbury
The British country house is often romanticised as a symbol of tradition, nostalgia, and tranquillity, a timeless retreat where visitors can immerse themselves in history, culture, and a comforting afternoon of tea and cake. It embodies a sense of national pride, reflecting an idealised version of British identity and heritage. However, this picturesque image obscures a more uncomfortable truth: the deep entanglement of these grand estates with slavery. For centuries, wealth generated from the transatlantic slave trade not only helped to finance and sustain these houses but also relied on enslaved labour to function. Many estate owners also had indirect but significant connections with the British Empire, occupying administrative and bureaucratic roles that contributed to the perpetuation of slavery. These connections have long been downplayed or ignored.
Even today, as cultural heritage sites, British country houses raise pressing questions about whose heritage is being represented. Throughout the past century, many of these estates have been transformed into heritage sites, relying on their portrayal as national symbols of pride, particularly after World War II, to construct a national and shared history of Britain. However, the version of history they present is often sanitised and romanticised, reinforcing a narrow and exclusionary vision of the past that equates Britishness to whiteness. This selective storytelling erases the contributions of enslaved people and conceals connections to the British Empire to maintain a palatable narrative for a predominately white audience, glorifying Britain and its past while marginalising Black history. When references to the British Empire do appear, they often celebrate British success and power, rather than acknowledging its exploitation and violence. As a result, country houses remain highly politicised heritage sites that prioritise white narratives, shaping a comfortable and selective history while obscuring others. Blackness is not only absent in the narratives told within these houses, but also in their commercial spaces, such as gift shops. These exclusions reinforce the notion that Black people belong in urban settings, not rural spaces, perpetuating a romanticised and ahistorical vision of the British countryside. The history and legacies of two country houses, Dyrham Park and Kenwood House, demonstrate this ideology in action.
William Blaythwayt, a colonial administrator, offers a case study in how bureaucratic ties to the British Empire linked country houses to slavery. He inherited Dyrham Park, near Bristol, through his marriage to Mary Wynter in 1686, and was also influenced by his uncle, Thomas Povey, who secured him a position as a clerk in the plantation office in 1675. Blaythwayt rose through the ranks, becoming Surveyor and Auditor General of Plantation Revenues in 1680, making him responsible for overseeing the financial contributions of British colonies. His career gave him access to luxury commodities from the empire, many of which he received as gifts and are displayed at Dyrham, illustrating his reliance on the exploitation of enslaved people.
Despite these connections, the current presentation of Dyrham Park largely omits its colonial past. The general guidebook references Blaythwayt’s titles but fails to provide context about the colonial economy that underpinned his wealth, instead vaguely attributing his wealth to ‘marrying well and acquiring lucrative jobs.’ Even tangible links to slavery, such as the fabrics and the artefacts within the house, go unacknowledged. The guidebook mentions ‘exotic palms and pineapples’ on display, and the updated version in 2017, extends this, describing ‘exotic’ flora and fauna on the grounds and the colonial timber used to construct the main staircases, but provides little further explanation.
One of the most striking objects at Dyrham is a pair of decorative stands listed as ‘torcheries’ in the inventory, featuring two chained Black African men holding a bowl in the shape of a scallop shell above their heads. Rather than being contextualised as artefacts of Britain’s participation in slavery, they are displayed as mere decorative pieces, described passively as having ‘arrived’ at Dyrham without any further explanation. The guidebook even excuses Blaythwayt’s ownership of them, stating that ‘slavery was part of colonial life and unfortunately William would have been unconcerned by this depiction of slaves.’ This framing absolves Blaythwayt of responsibility, rather than recognising his central role in administrating the enslavement of Africans in colonies. The updated guidebook acknowledges the artefacts as symbols of ‘colonial life’ and further Blaythwayt’s acquisition of exotic goods acquired as a direct result of the ‘human suffering that lay behind much of this explosion of prosperity.’ However, this history remains marginalised, only accessible if visitors actively seek out the guidebooks or interpretation cards with this information.
Kenwood House, in North London, presents a similar trend of historical omission. One of its most notable paintings, ‘Princess Henrietta of Lorraine attended by a page’ (1634), includes a Black boy gazing admiringly at the princess. However, the boy is hardly mentioned in the painting’s description, and even the postcard version in the gift shop omits any reference to him. This is a subtle yet powerful form of erasure: the boy is visible but not seen.
In 2007, during the Bicentenary of the Abolition of the British Slave Trade of 1807, Kenwood hosted an exhibition titled ‘Dido, Slavery and Justice’. It featured the portrait of Dido Elizabeth Belle, an aristocratic woman of colour, and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray, who both lived in an estate with their great-uncle Lord Mansfield, highlighting Dido’s presence. However, once the temporary exhibition was taken down, few of its findings were incorporated into Kenwood’s overarching narrative. Furthermore, the painting of Dido was only on loan, so visitors today would be disappointed if they came to Kenwood expecting to see it. Most visitors may not even be aware of Dido’s connection to the estate and would not know what they were missing unless they stumbled upon the information by chance. This continual marginalisation of Kenwood’s Black history harmfully erases the presence of its Black residents. While the bicentenary commemorations were significant, they also reinforced a selective amnesia that overlooks the long history of enslavement and instead centres on its abolition, allowing the broader narrative of slavery to remain obscured.
The limited integration of Black history at Kenwood is further exemplified by the way historical information is physically presented. A ring binder containing details about enslaved individuals connected to the estate is left at the side of the room, available but easily overlooked. Leaflets on Dido and Kenwood’s ties to slavery also exist, but visitors must actively seek them out to consume this information, reinforcing the idea that Black history is of secondary importance, rather than an integral part of British heritage. This allows visitors to maintain both a moral and physical distance from the realities of slavery, an irony given the central role that estates like Kenwood played in sustaining it.
Much work remains to be done to restore these neglected histories. Heritage collections must be reassessed and properly labelled, with a commitment to acknowledging their colonial and exploitative pasts. Integrating these narratives into the mainstream presentation of country houses is essential, rather than relegating them to side exhibits or supplementary materials. Furthermore, heritage sites must actively engage with Black audiences, as they continue to attract predominately white visitors, a dynamic which sustains the unequal representations within the country houses themselves.
Even in 2020, efforts to highlight the colonial ties of country houses faced significant backlash. An Interim Report identified 60 out of 300 National Trust properties whose former owners were linked to the slave economy, prompting a fierce public response. The National Trust faced widespread criticism, involving 170 newspaper articles denouncing the report, and threats to heritage staff involved in projects on slavery. Publications, such as The Spectator, argued on September 22 that the Trust was ‘obsessing over colonialism’, illustrating the resistance to confronting Britain’s imperial past.
This reaction underscores just how much remains to be done. The history of country houses cannot be separated from the history of slavery and empire, and until these narratives are fully integrated into the national heritage framework, Britain’s country houses continue to present an incomplete, romanticised, and exclusionary version of the past.
Bibliography
Bressey, Caroline. ‘Contesting the political legacy of slavery in England’s country houses: a case study of Kenwood House and Osborne House.’ In Slavery and the British Country House, edited by Madge Dresser and Andrew Hann, 114-122. Swindon: English Heritage, 2013.
Donington, Katie. ‘Whose Heritage? Slavery, Country Houses, and the “Culture Wars” in England.’ In Cultural Heritage and Slavery: Perspectives from Europe, edited by Stephan Conermann, Claudia Rauhut, Ulrike Schmieder, and Michael Zeuske, 139-166. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2023.
Draper, Nicholas. ‘Slave ownership and the British country house: the records of the Slave Compensation Commission as evidence.’ In Slavery and the British Country House, edited by Madge Dresser and Andrew Hann, 17-28. Swindon: English Heritage, 2013.
Hall, Stuart. ‘Whose Heritage? Un-settling ‘the Heritage’, Re-Imagining the Post-Nation.’ In The Politics of Heritage: The Legacies of Race, edited by Jo Littler and Roshi Naidoo, 21-31. London: Routledge, 2005.
Moody, Jessica and Small, Stephen. ‘Slavery and Public History at the Big House: Remembering and Forgetting at American Plantation Museums and British Country Houses.’ Journal of Global Slavery 4, no.1 (2019): 34-68.
Featured image credit: “Bramdean House in Hampshire” by Anguskirk is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
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