Narrator: We begin with Mind the Carriage by Robin Brooks, a writer of radio plays for BBC Radio 4 who lives in Suffolk. Jacques Rigaud: (Drawing a picture) Can you see what it is yet? I’ve got the new house, dead centre. Lovely columns, pediment, Palladian front, dome worthy of the Eternal City itself, very nice. I’m putting in the old house to the side, the right-hand side there. I’m making it smaller than the new house, which it isn’t, but that’s a little bit of artistic license on my part – Lord Burlington wants a drawing of his new house, not his old one, so keep the old one in the background… I’m putting in lots of people. A couple on the left, down at the front, under the trees. There’s some sort of assignation going on there. Leave it to you to guess what’s going on. What shall I do on the other side? Put in a cow… Hmm… To be honest I’m happier drawing buildings than cows. Sometimes my cows turn out like horses, sometimes like large dogs. Tell you what, I’m going to put myself in, standing under a tree, looking at the cow and wondering how to draw him properly. Now, I’m putting three chaps leaning on the gate looking at the new house, and one of them’s got his arm out, waving it at the house. You can hear what he’s saying just from the angle of that arm: “Oh, I say, chaps, look at this marvellous new house wot the Lord Burlington has built.” More people, just beyond them, also looking at the house. Can’t have too many people looking at the new house. What else? A bit of smoke, coming out of the chimney, to show that his Lordship is at home, toasting his noble muffins on the fire. What else…? I know! A carriage, going in through the front entrance. Look, these important people are coming to visit, isn’t our Lordship a popular man, by goodness he is. Got to make it look busy, people coming and going, troops of friends. One last thing, make it stand out. What…? Hmm… I’ve got it! The road! The road runs right past the front of the house. A main road! Right past the front of the house! What could be more exciting? What could be more up to date? I’ll put lots of traffic on it. Carriages, horses, carts, riders. When people see this, they’re going to think – “Golly, look at Lord Burlington’s house, right on the main road! I wish my house was on a main road!”

Narrator: Lord Burlington designed the villa we know as Chiswick House in about 1725. It’s one of the most important examples of Palladian architecture in the country, a style named after the work of 16th-century Italian architect Andreas Palladio. Palladio was inspired by the classical buildings of ancient Rome and he tried to recreate the formality and proportions of those buildings in his designs. The Palladian style was later adopted in England by the celebrated architect Inigo Jones – which explains why so many older English buildings look like Roman temples. Lord Burlington, also known as the ‘Architect Earl’, was inspired to design his own building in the Palladian tradition here at Chiswick. The House was intended as both an architectural exercise and a residence – although most of its owners never lived inside. During the 18th century, it was fashionable for the wealthy to build retirement and holiday retreats on the banks of the Thames. Today’s house is the lone survivor of these retreats: it originally served as an annexe to an early 17th century manor house, but this was later demolished. Like the House’s Classical style, the Gardens were also inspired by ancient Rome. Burlington wanted to create the sort of garden that would have been found there, as featured in classical mythology and literature: a mixture of greenery and water, groves and woods — all adorned with statues and highlighted by spectacular vistas. The waterfall you see descending a series of rock steps through three archways is known as the Cascade. It was one of the later additions to Burlington’s Garden, created in about 1738 and probably designed by his friend, the designer William Kent. A hydraulic system pumped water to the top of the falls. However, the system kept failing and the Cascade remained dry until more modern technology was installed. The Cascade flows into what appears to be a ‘river’. It was originally a stream but was widened by Burlington, first into a formal canal and then into a more naturalistic lake. The terrace walk behind the cascade was formed from the earth excavated to create the lake.

Narrator: The Shadow by Michelle Penn, a London-based poet and fiction writer. Shadow: (Tone: humorous jealousy) I am only her follower, her echo, barely noticeable. She flits and she flirts with the bird in her hand and she sings, she sings, tra-la-la-waltzing her way across a patch of grass, her stage, lit just for her by a gracious sun. I do my best, follow and keep up, but she’s more graceful, more subtle than I — a mere shadow. She has even dressed for the occasion, outdone me once again, her snappy white dress and hat match the house perfectly. They even match the clouds, those perfect painter’s puffs. Or no. Of course. They dressed to look like her. (Humorous, singing a little made-up song) How can the river and trees even compete when my little mistress takes to her feet? (Speaking again) Even her dog, what’s-his-name, even he can’t command attention the way she can. He simply barks his unbroken adulation, his anthem of love and she laughs, taps him playfully on the nose before joining a new duet with the birds. If she could, she’d take wing, her dress billowing, drawing her above the treetops and toward the clouds. I’d be clinging to her ankles, hoping not to fall. Low and silent as I am, I try to accept my place. I try to be generous in thought and spirit, more picturesque in my own private way. ‘Just act naturally,’ she whispers. ‘Please don’t worry so.’ (More thoughtfully) I am my mistress’s shadow. Only the trees and river don’t know, the big house doesn’t know that the little miss doesn’t exist. She’s no more solid that I. She is an artist’s whim, a flick of colour on canvas, a fine detail in a splendid scene. A happy phantom perhaps, but a phantom nonetheless. Even the prettiest landscape needs its shadows.

Narrator: Chiswick was a new and revolutionary kind of garden. At the beginning of the 18th century, it was fashionable to have formal gardens, which were laid out in carefully planned geometric shapes. Lord Burlington bucked that trend, with more natural-looking stretches of water and groves, opening out into sweeping lawns which created vistas, or picturesque views. These more informal gardens gave birth to the English landscape movement and were widely copied across England, including Stourhead in Wiltshire and Stowe in Buckinghamshire. Terraces like the one you’re now walking along weren’t particularly new in garden design, but Lord Burlington set a precedent by planting his with ‘… all manner of sweet shrubs, roses and honeysuckles.’ From this terrace, visitors had spectacular views across the meadows. At its height the garden estate would have been more extensive than today. Part of the land was leased to the London Horticultural Society (later the Royal Horticultural Society) for an experimental garden open to the public. Today, many landmarks in Chiswick are reminders of what was once there, such as a nearby cul-de-sac known as Horticultural Place. Many artists came to paint Chiswick, including Flemish artist Andreas Rysbrack who made a series of paintings that recorded the garden’s transformation from formal arrangement to largely informal and picturesque. It was the artist and designer William Kent who was instrumental in helping Lord Burlington realise his vision for his new garden.

Narrator: The Artist Admires His Handiwork, a.k.a. ‘It’s not Bill,’ by Under 18s competition winner Florence Read, aged 15. William Kent:  I really do wish that they’d all stop calling me Bill. My name’s William for God’s sake. I just wish that they’d leave me be, stop questioning my methods. Just because I may not be as qualified as the next horticultural wizard doesn’t mean that I lack enough talent to see this project through. It’s pretty simple really, doesn’t take much of a mind to do; bit of shrubbery here, a tree or two there, the odd topiary duck, simple. [Pause] Or not so simple. [Pause] Insanity runs in my family I think, I think it runs deep in all those who create, who inspire. When you’re sane you have to care, only the truly insane can be carefree, or free at all. I have thought a lot over the past few months, while working in the gardens. In nature, there is nothing of the city to distract you; you are utterly alone with yourself and your thoughts. [Pause] No, not at all. [Pause] It’s laughable, once I even contemplated giving it all up and leaving someone else to finish the garden. My garden. My creation. My child… almost. [Pause] After so much effort and time and hardship to let it all go, that would have been the true definition of madness. Luckily, I have the ability to expel these thoughts as quickly from my head as they enter it. And that was that, I had to finish. And now… and now I am finished. And it is a strange, humbling feeling. To sit in a part of the world that has come from me, from my head and my heart alone. I’ve created my own Garden of Eden, my home for Adam and Eve. In that case does that mean that I have become Adam? Or perhaps more fittingly have I in fact become God? I have created, after all, this land. I am the creator; I have the power to create, and to destroy in equal measure. This is what scares me I think; this is why I come back night after night, so unsure of my standing. This power, this control, over so much life. It frightens me, but more, more than that. It, it makes me sad, lonely even. Nothing can ever be as perfect as I can imagine it and that’s just it, the way I imagined it can only lead to disappointment, don’t you see? [Pause] Tell me if I’m boring you. I don’t wish to be a bore, I’ve had to endure my fair share of those at all these stuffy, grand parties. Those are the ones who call me Bill, always Bill never William. I was born William  wasn’t I? I don’t meet a man who introduces himself as Geoffrey and call him Edgar or Roger or anything. I don’t do that, I wouldn’t do that. Do you like the arch? Beautiful isn’t it? My favourite thing in the whole grounds. Funny how my favourite thing is also one of the only things that I didn’t create here. It’s a shame really, a lovely piece of stonework. I love to watch it in the moonlight; everything in the gardens sparkle. [Pause] And then you dance for me. I know that you try to humour me, so that I won’t dig up your burrows. It seems to have worked so far, hasn’t it? You keep me sane I think, at the end of the day. After hours of calculation and deliberation and conversation you just put my mind at rest. You remind me what this place is for. I would dance with you tonight but my feet are tired and my back is aching. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after that.

NARRATOR:  Burlington added the Obelisk to the garden in 1732. Built into its base is a classical sculpture of a man and a woman, probably carved to record a marriage. It had been given to the young Burlington in 1712 and he had it inserted into the base of the obelisk in 1728. The sculpture was replaced with a copy in 2006, and the original is now on display in Chiswick House. Lord Burlington was just 10 years old when he inherited his title from his father. His inheritance included a house here at Chiswick, vast estates in Yorkshire and Ireland, and a fine town mansion in Piccadilly — today the home of the Royal Academy of Arts. In 1719, on a tour of Italy, he met William Kent, where Kent was training as a painter. By 18th century standards, they were an unlikely match: a formal and reserved aristocrat and a warm, witty and irreverent Yorkshireman. But they formed a close lifelong friendship. In fact, when Kent died in 1748, he was buried in Lord Burlington’s family vault. Kent became one of the most influential designers of the 1730s and 1740s with the support of Lord Burlington. The art historian and writer Horace Walpole said that ‘Lord Burlington became England’s ‘Apollo of the arts’ and Kent ‘his proper priest.’ However, the two men never laid out an overall plan for Chiswick. Instead, the garden changed in stages that spanned more than 20 years. One celebrated feature of the garden was the Ionic temple, which you should see ahead. It was modelled on similar circular temples in ancient Rome and Lord Burlington designed it himself. While it wasn’t unusual for 18th century aristocratic men to be involved with architecture, Burlington was extremely unusual, going on to design substantial buildings, like the dormitory at Westminster School and the Assembly Rooms at York. His wife, Lady Burlington, was also a talented artist. William Kent taught her to paint and draw — and she might have contributed ideas for both the house and garden.

NARRATOR:  Former Poet Laureate Andrew Motion reads his poem, ‘The Ionic Temple, Chiswick.’ SIR ANDREW MOTION:  Once upon a time it was the thimble a seamstress might wear to work for the big Classical gods. For us it more nearly resembles the domed nose of a cruise missile easing upwards from its silo. But enough of that. When we step inside it fits so snugly I might as well have discovered a way of living in your head as you now live in mine. The skylight in the centre overhead is a fontanel yet to close. We can stare straight back at the sun.

NARRATOR:  After Lord Burlington died in 1753, Chiswick House was inherited by his daughter, Charlotte, who married the 4th Duke of Devonshire. The Devonshires were one of the richest and most powerful families in England. Under their ownership, which lasted for 140 years, Chiswick continued to change, with innovative designs that reflected cutting-edge trends. In 1788, the 5th Duke expanded the house, adding two wings that contained kitchens and living accommodation and Chiswick became a proper country mansion. The sombre Duke, who preferred dogs to people, and his wife, Georgiana, made the house a centre of political society, where they threw lavish parties. Georgiana was a fashion icon, famous for her enormous ostrich feather headdresses, her towering hair-dos, and her manner of speaking, the ‘Devonshire House Drawl’. She was equally infamous for her addictions, extramarital affairs and gambling debts. However, she loved Chiswick, calling it her ‘earthly paradise,’ her refuge. At the end of the 19th century, the house became another sort of refuge: it was let to the Tuke brothers, who opened a private asylum for wealthy individuals with mental illnesses.

NARRATOR: ‘A Place of Healing’ by Adults competition winner Jo Thomas. Constance: Another beautiful day Lydia, and in such perfect surroundings. Lydia:  Dearest Constance, I could not agree more. When Edmund told me the rest home was in Chiswick, I was most distressed at the thought of leaving London for the country, but I am now beginning to wonder how we shall ever get used to the noise of Belgravia again! Constance:  I completely agree with you my dearest. And how kind of our husbands to arrange for this period of recuperation for us. Although, if I were to be completely honest, I am a little surprised I have not been recalled to Ebury Street by now. I was of the impression that our period of rest was for two weeks. Correct me if I am wrong Lydia, but I believe we have both been here for something closer to three months? Lydia: Dearest, that is indeed the case. And I feel sure we are now well recuperated. Which is more than one can say for some of our fellow guests. There is a clever word for people who covet the possessions of others, I cannot remember it just at this moment, but I am certain it applies to the Dowager Countess. Last night in her room, in addition to my new Mr Forster novel, the nurses found twelve soup spoons, one 18 silver tea tray, three walking canes and Dr Tuke’s pipe. I know that at fifty she is well advanced in years, but surely there are more suitable places for such women to be secured? Constance:  And now it is my turn to agree with you, Lydia. Let us hope that the situation improves. Lydia:  I do hope that we hear from our good friend Mrs Fawcett soon. I am confused about her silence. Indeed I am surprised that none of our friends from The National Union have contacted us. Edmund assured me he would pass on our new temporary address, so we might continue our important work from the peace and quiet of Chiswick. Constance:  Indeed, the timing of our visit to this charming place is most unfortunate. I feel sure that given just a little more time we could have persuaded Mr Asquith to be sympathetic to our cause. I believe we made great progress at the House of Commons’ tea party. Mrs Fawcett was delighted we were able to talk to the Prime Minister directly, a much more civilised approach than that taken by dear Mrs Pankhurst and her associates. Lydia:  I do believe that Edmund, and your beloved Henry, were surprised by the fortitude of our discussions with Mr Asquith! I saw them in deep discussion afterwards. Perhaps they will now be more vocal in their support for our activities. Constance: Alas, from this distant place, cut of from our sisters in the National Union and without our usual means of support, I fear we are of little value. Lydia:  Let us not be downhearted Constance. I see the gardener and stable boy ahead. Let us ask them if the Royal Mail has been delivered to day – I am sure good news awaits!

NARRATOR: The Tuke brothers ran their mental asylum here at Chiswick for more than 35 years. Rather than prescribing drugs, they listened and talked to their patients and were celebrated for their enlightened attitudes. Dr Thomas Seymour Tuke’s obituary described how his personal tact with patients led to them looking upon him as a trusted friend more than a doctor. Most of the patients came from the upper middle class, gentry and aristocracy. Their days were mainly spent in the gardens, walking arm in arm with nurses. They also went on escorted outings to the theatre and played cricket on a pitch here at Chiswick that the Tukes laid out in the 1890s. Cricket played a therapeutic role of sorts for patients. The doctors were keen cricketers themselves- Dr Charles Tuke played for Middlesex- and they encouraged patients to play and brought in outside teams for some healthy competition. One case note for a ‘Mr M’, who played cricket daily, reports that he ‘made a good score of 49 not out against the police’. Cricket is a sporting tradition that continues at Chiswick to this day.