“Just how old do you think I am? Are you thinking of putting me out to grass?” she muttered ungratefully as she surveyed the admittedly desolate looking field on the morning of her birthday.
Next to the meadow was a large car park owned by Northern Electric. After lengthy negotiations they agreed to sell it to us and they gave us permission to occupy it prior to the paperwork going through. On this basis we went ahead and created an entrance from the car park into the meadow and set a date for opening.
The pace of work in the gardens increased. We all did a lot of sweating that spring. Eventually, with only a week to go, our gardener, David, declared we were prepared for opening. We heaved a sigh of relief. All seemed plain sailing until three days before opening day disaster struck.
We had paid the money to Northern Electric for the car park but I received a message from them saying that they had withdrawn from the sale, were not going to sign the contract, were returning the money, and wanted us off the land. Our main entrance was now closed. We had advertised the opening and, with three days to go, we had no public access. My initial thought was to dig a path through the hedge at the bottom of the meadow to the road, but when I looked at the ten foot drop from field to pavement I realised that even if we worked night and day it was just not possible within the timescale. The other problem, which was equally pressing, was the car park itself. We had believed we had ownership for at least the past month and with the help of some university students had cleared and burnt swathes of hawthorn and weeds. The car park looked less bedraggled and we had been approached as to whether others could use it. We had already agreed and issued parking permits to seventy people who were going to drive their cars into a car park on the Monday morning. A car park we thought we owned. I sat and thought.
I rang Northern Electric again. They were adamant the property was no longer for sale. After much pleading they agreed to lease it to us. I think their guilt over the issue was reflected in the rent, a pound a month. Crisis averted. We were now set for our grand opening in April 1998. At least it felt grand to us even though we were only opening on Sunday afternoons and Friday and Saturday afternoons during the school holidays.
I remember the first day we opened, well. It poured down, I was absolutely drenched but had been coached very carefully by Maggie on how to greet the visitors if and when they arrived. There were fifty-three in total. We will always be grateful for the support of those brave souls. They seemed happy enough. From these very small beginnings our business grew. Over the following seasons we extended the opening hours from just Sunday afternoons to a visitor attraction that operates every day of the year.
A few weeks after we opened, our gardener, David, handed in his notice. We were then frantically advertising for a replacement. We struggled to get a new gardener. We had plenty of false starts. One of them did not stay long as she suffered from hay fever. Not as strange as you might think. The site is surrounded by birch woods, fields, and of course a wide range of flowers. Even with mild hay fever Crook Hall could get you sneezing your head off at certain times of the year. I had had hay fever as a child and it returned with a vengeance after I moved here. There is certainly plenty of pollen. In those early years the fields around us were used for growing hay with the harvesters out twice a year. It’s a shame they are no longer farmed nor used for grazing.
Finally we were fortunate to gain the services of a new gardener, Ian, who was leaving a factory job to forge a career in gardening. We were pleased to welcome him. Ian was a dynamic person. He attacked the gardens with great vigour. As he was completing one project he was already planning his next one.
Many of the visitors who came had not previously known that the Hall existed let alone that we were open to the public.
I remember saying to Maggie, “If I had a quid for every person who said they did not know we were here…”
She pointed out that we were getting two quid from every visitor, even from those who knew we existed. I said no more, just took their money. Maggie made sure each visitor enjoyed their visit and told their friends. Our business grew by word of mouth.
Once we opened, I discovered that there was an old mining village in County Durham called Crookhall. I had never been there but it seemed that every tenth party that arrived at Crook Hall had been to this village on a wild goose chase. By the time they arrived at our gates some of them were not happy, having spent an extra hour in their cars and a small percentage blamed me personally for their predicament. I used to hope they would cheer up after they had spent a few hours in the tranquillity of the Hall and Gardens. More often than not, they did.
Directions to Crook Hall are not straightforward despite it being in the middle of the city. Even with today’s sat navs people can get lost. People sometimes end up miles away. The record goes to a guy who came from London to buy some chairs from us. I had given him directions including the full postal address and post code. He must have decided to just type in the post code with no idea of the geography of England. He was due to arrive at 11am. At 3pm he rang and the conversation went as follows.
Lost driver: “I am here but I cannot see you.”
Me: “Can you see the river on your right?”
“What river?”
“The River Wear.”
“There is no river.”
“There is, it will be to your right.”
“No. There is no river.”
“You are at DH1 5SZ?”
“Yes CH1 5SZ.”
“No D, D for donkey,” I could not help myself.
“I am at CH1 5SZ,” he told me again.
“You are in Chester,” I informed him.
“Am I near?”
“It’s probably as far as you have already come. In fact returning to London might be quicker.”
“Oh shit, I will go home and try again next weekend.”
He arrived a week later to pick up what had now become fairly expensive chairs.
Many of our visitors asked if we provided refreshments so we opened a small café. We were habitual coffee shop visitors and we knew what we liked. But being a bit of a grump, I also knew what I detested; weak coffee or tea, thick mugs or cups, watery hot chocolate. Whether we chose coffee, tea or chocolate there had to be generous amounts and it had to be piping hot. Ginger cake or home-made scones were a must. We had a few china tea sets of no great value. Tea always tastes better when drunk from real china cups and they were cheap to acquire in those days before the current vintage craze. We had set to work before we opened, asking a friend to make the scones and another friend to make the jams. We sourced all the other ingredients on the basis of what we felt would be served in a café we would like to visit. One thing we did know was that few tourist attractions we had ever been to had a good café. We were keen to be one of the exceptions and never wanted our visitors to feel obliged to use a mediocre café with high prices.
Another focus of our attention on our visits elsewhere was the service. We wanted to offer five-star service as well as value for money. We did not want service where people were trained to speak the same words over and over again in a formulaic manner. We felt this could be perceived as insincere. We therefore tried to recruit people who were naturally people-pleasers and enjoyed looking after others. In this way our team would be genuine, natural and above all friendly.
Our backgrounds were in education and training. The hospitality industry was new to us. However, we knew the principles of instruction and felt we knew what was required in terms of customer service. We also had teenage children so we assumed we had the necessary experience to manage the young staff who took temporary jobs with us when on holiday from school or university. We were wrong. The phrase ‘herding cats’ comes to mind. Our staff were keen, or rather the ones who stayed for more than one shift were. Some failed my first test at the interview. This was simple. Could they ma
tch my pace as we walked up the slope towards the house? I walked briskly and I knew that if they could not keep up with me or were short of breath at the top then they were not for us. It takes enormous energy and stamina to work in a café and you have to be fit. The next test was the door test. We have a very narrow doorway between the utility room and kitchen and I observed how easily and quickly individuals could carry a loaded tray between these two rooms. Our staff needed to be fast and efficient.
Then of course there was the work ethic itself. Once the youngster started, this was put to the test. Some found it hard to turn up on time. One very posh student, having been late three times over the first three days, described himself as ‘a bit of a sloth’ when it came to getting anywhere on time. He was charming but the charm did not wash with us. He did not last. Another student, a Cambridge undergraduate, took her books to her post at the entrance gate and greeted every visitor as if they were an irritating interruption to her studies. Again, her time with us was short lived.
One girl, a friend of the family, worked on the entrance gate on a particularly warm weekend. We had very few visitors so I walked down to see how she was getting on only to see she had stripped down to her bikini and was lying on the grass soaking up the sunshine. I was aghast. She felt she was making the most use of a very quiet day.
In the kitchen the assumptions we made led to some interesting conversations. I had assumed that all youngsters could make tea and coffee. How wrong I was. I saw an elderly couple pouring what looked like slightly discoloured water from a very large china tea pot. I immediately asked our very pleasant waitress back in the kitchen what she had done. Evidently she had picked the largest teapot because she liked it best, a teapot which was big enough for six people, and she had placed one tea bag in and filled it to the brim with boiling water. The next day I saw a couple sitting at a table with a cafetiere of coffee, again almost transparent. I asked them whether everything was ok. They said yes everything is lovely but the coffee could be a little bit stronger. I took the jug away thinking it would be our very pleasant waitress again. No it wasn’t her but another member of the team. This girl had put one teaspoon of ground coffee in the pot as this is how she made instant coffee at home. I was explaining how to make a cafetiere of coffee when, over her shoulder, I saw the third member of the kitchen staff washing up. Well that was what he was meant to be doing but his approach was incredible. There was washing up foam everywhere. It covered his arms and was spilling over the bowl onto the floor. Oblivious to the mess he was holding each piece of crockery gently and lovingly with a cloth. At least I thought it was a cloth but I could not be sure as it looked like a handful of bubbles. Either way with such focussed attention on each item we would be here until midnight washing the dishes from just three tables. I nearly screamed. Later that day I saw one of the staff hoovering and she remarked that the vacuum cleaner was very quiet and was not picking up very well. I pointed out that it had not been plugged in. That was it. My blood pressure could take no more. We decided that we needed to train these youngsters properly and employ a more experienced person to lead the team. Moreover, we now knew we could assume no experience or even common sense when dealing with young staff. The only way was up.
* * *
My dad pessimistically said that when people had been to Crook Hall once there would be no reason for them to return as they had seen the place. We had other ideas. We wanted people to be desperate to return and bring their friends and family with them. We wanted them to return because they had so enjoyed their experience. We wanted them to see the Hall and Gardens at different times of the year. We wanted all our visitors to be our fans and to shout about us and of course our scones.
* * *
During this period I was still running my management consultancy business. I was bowled over one day on a course I was running. I was having lunch with the delegates and one of them started describing a fantastic place he had taken his family to over Easter. It was Crook Hall and he described it in just the way I had hoped it would be experienced. He talked of all of his family enjoying it for different reasons even though they were of varying ages: The children enjoyed exploring the site. The adults enjoyed the beauty of the place and its natural peaceful atmosphere. They all loved the scones. After his lengthy recommendation I let him know it was my home. I was absolutely delighted.
* * *
Our philosophy was to welcome and treat visitors as guests in our home. Maggie made it clear there were to be no ‘do nots’ at Crook Hall. It was our home, our garden. We were not going to have labels on plants, no waste bins, no ‘keep off’ signs and no negative signage such as ‘no smoking’, ’no photographs’, ’no walking on the grass’ or ‘do not touch’. We had been to those places which were littered with such signs and we did not like them. Our chairs were to be sat upon, our books to be read, our garden to be enjoyed and our lawns to be walked upon.
4
PROMOTING THE BUSINESS
The initial excitement of opening the Hall was infectious. Everyone was so positive about our plans. We had great support from the local Tourist Information Centre which was to continue until their inexplicable closure many years later.
Maggie was in her element, promoting us to anyone who would listen. She invited journalists from near and far to visit and write about us. The Durham Advertiser and all the other local papers helped us and we gained great coverage in some of the national magazines including Country Life. She appeared on TV, starring in a Granada Production called The Uninvited Guest. This was a slot on prime time TV. She shared the thirty minutes with the owner of Chillingham Castle. The programme was all about living in a haunted house.
I managed a little less, thirty seconds on BBC Gardener’s World. As time went on our marketing and promotion became a well-oiled machine with regular TV coverage of our exploits. I took part in local radio programmes including several gardening features and a local Desert Island Disc programme.
My first media interview was memorable. A journalist came from one of the local radio stations and said he wanted to tape the interview as we walked around the garden. He was recording every word and every ‘uh’ and ‘uhm’ as he quizzed me on horticulture. The poor chap was clearly disappointed with my responses. I could describe the colours of the flowers but after that my knowledge was woefully sparse. When he finished he discovered that the recorder had not worked and apologetically asked if we could do the interview again. I was delighted, indeed the thought that it might not work at all kept me going. I was no longer certain as to why I had agreed to take part in something which was frankly downright embarrassing.
While the journalist struggled to get his recorder working I took the opportunity to swot up on the names of the plants he had asked me about. The recorder was repaired and we were off again. Second time round was a bit better as I answered his questions. I actually knew most of the answers. Thank goodness for technology which breaks down.
A few weeks later a colleague who worked in my business said she had heard me on the radio. She told me she had a radio alarm and was woken at 6.30am by my voice. She said she woke in a panic wondering what the hell I was doing in her bedroom.
As a result of this foray into the world of radio I was invited to take part in a gardening programme with another radio station but I drew the line when they suggested I could have a weekly slot. That would have been a step too far. We also became a setting for the mainstream TV programme Ten Years Younger. This was a programme where a waitress from a local catering company was searching for eternal youth and was being helped to shave ten years off her appearance. Our role was to eat a meal, served by her, at the start of the programme and another one at the end. It was a role made for me. In my short film career I did not speak a word. My plate was constantly replenished. It was wonderful. I made the role my own.
I also managed to arrange an in depth interview with John McCarthy on Radio 4’s Sa
turday Live.
We thoroughly enjoyed all this activity and were happy in the knowledge that it was helping to encourage people to come along and visit us and experience the magic of Crook Hall for themselves.
One of our more recent marketing coups was an invitation to go for a walk with Clare Balding. She presented a very popular Radio 4 programme called Ramblings. The idea was that we would take Clare on one of our favourite walks and our conversation would be recorded as we strolled along. We had decided to showcase Durham City by walking along the riverside. In anticipation of the day we wandered along our chosen trail. We were shocked at the amount of rubbish littering the river banks and feared that a dreadful picture would be painted of the World Heritage site. Maggie was straight on the telephone to the council asking for it to be cleared up and explaining why this was important to the city. They responded immediately and organised a clear up.
The day came. Clare was absolutely charming. She and the producer got to work straightaway. No coffee and chat, we were straight into it.
Walking around the city being interviewed by a celebrity was a strange experience. Unfortunately we had picked a big horse racing day and the bookies were in full swing. Clare had spent many years as a horse racing commentator. Individuals, many of whom were more than a little inebriated, were sitting on benches along the riverside looking at and then destroying or discarding their failed betting slips. Many thought their luck had changed when they spied us. There were drunken shouts and bellows of “Clare”, some insisting on having photographs taken with her. Clare was very patient but this led to much irritation from the rest of us, as we had to have retake after retake. Nearly every drunk wanted to speak to her. The producer jokingly suggested that we had discovered Clare’s core fan base. It was an interesting, albeit quite shocking, insight into the life of a famous person. By the time we got back to Crook Hall Clare was like the pied piper with a bedraggled group of fans trailing along behind her. She finally stopped, offered them all a final photograph and then encouraged them to disperse. Despite the interruptions we enjoyed our rambling and I hope Clare did too. The broadcast led to many new visitors coming to Crook Hall and no doubt Durham. It was a great success.
Blood, Sweat and Scones Page 4