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History was made here. I mean, history happens everywhere. But a long, important, world-changing piece of history took place at Trent Park.
Built on the grounds of Enfield Chase, a rural Hertfordshire estate used as a hunting and royal estate, this house has seen many lives. It was a Georgian retreat, a Victorian mansion, a post-Edwardian sanctuary, and then, in the midst of World War II, it became a secret place. Later, it became the site of a university, before falling into disrepair. Now, it has been revived, and its hidden stories have been brought to light.
The house was built after George III leased the property to his favorite doctor, Sir Richard Jebb, in the 1770s. It ended up in the hands of the Bevan banking family, who extended and renovated it, before the Sassoon family acquired it and did the same. Mega-socialite Philip Sassoon spent the equivalent of millions transforming his dream home in the 1920s – a country palace favored by Churchill and Wallis Simpson.
The house has been renovated, and especially if Sassoon would have left it: pastel walls, floral curtains, countless deep, shiny sofas for guests to sleep on. On a large bookcase in the library are photographs of Sassoon and his sister Sibyl by John Singer Sargent. It’s a beautiful painting. Philip is strong, calm, carefree. Sibyl is dark, beautiful, sombre.
But what is between the pictures is important. Give that little book case and – hey presto! – a hidden door in the basement.
Of all the changes at Trent Park, this is the biggest: from an aristo bolthole to a curious experiment in espionage. After Sassoon’s death in 1939, the building was confiscated by the government and used as a military prison for high-ranking German diplomats. Here, in this beautiful place, the prisoners were given time and space to go through the war in comfort, push back and break free. But every inch of the house was shaken, even the rose bushes in the garden, all conversations were recorded, and listened to mainly by German-speaking Jewish refugees. The prisoners were released, so they lost their secrets, and all the words were recorded and recorded.
The audience has great wisdom, too. Information was passed on to the Enigma breaching team at Bletchley. General Ludwig Crüwell allowed a high-ranking German football officer to sneak in, and his allies jumped on a V2 rocket. Someone criticized the German aircraft’s communication system, and the British rejected it as well.
The basement is faithfully recreated here: a mannequin sits in its place, headphones, a stationary pen. The captain’s bed is well made, the steward’s basement is stocked with tea, herbs, wine and German books. The smell of dampness, the woolen and woolen blankets and itchy, dry sheets. This was a place of denial, treachery, a place where Germans would be lured into a false sense of security and taken for all they had.
It wasn’t all good. The audience overheard discussions of German atrocities, but the authorities did nothing with what they knew. They didn’t even give intelligence to the Nuremberg trials in the 1950s, worried that their secret technology would be exposed.
For better or for worse, everything has been lovingly recreated here, filled with well-illustrated information and timeless decor, although it’s a shame there aren’t any more original paintings in the house instead of copies.
The museum focuses on the building’s role in the war, mainly because it is interesting, and sets it apart from every other National Trust building in the country (although it is still one of them). But it is the historical differences that are built on the building’s foundation – painted by its paint and paper – that make it unique. In its transition from Georgian to Victorian mock-Georgian to wartime and post-war neglect, the house becomes a reflection of England’s changing economy and interests, how wealth has spread and flowed, the impact of immigration on shaping the country, and how war can destroy everything. That’s what’s so amazing about places like this, it’s not just mansions, or the follies of the resurrected rich, it’s about history, and Trent Park has certainly seen its share of that.
