Present and Future Definitions of Conservation Success: the quest for authenticity
David Lambert, then Conservation Officer for the Garden History Society, gave this presentation to the National Trust Conference on “Garden Culture” in Bath, May 2001.
An organisation like the National Trust might want to apply the notion of “authenticity” to the practical decisions it has to make. But is “authenticity” really the best measure of “conservation success”? Lambert had become convinced that it was not, and that conservation success depended on far more than the pursuit of the “chimera or false goal” of authenticity.
The text of his presentation follows:
Dictionary definitions of "authenticity" and "authentic" prompt us to ask several questions. Firstly, why is "authenticity" bound up with an absolutist idea of history, that of a source of absolute truth waiting to be discovered and tapped? Secondly, why is it semantically tied to notions of authority; notions that one interpretation has hierarchical superiority over another? The history of conservation, teaches us that notions of what is correct have changed continuously since the days of Morris. Moreover, our understanding of the past is constantly evolving, metamorphosing, and is only partial. History is histories - plural, fragmentary, conflicting. And just as our knowledge is only ever partial, so our reconstructions are only ever approximations.
On a practical level, even if it were possible to arrive at a definitive and complete understanding of the past, how practicable would a return to it actually be? Proposals to go back "authentically" to a precise year might capture the attention of the media, but they are often neither desirable nor feasible, and almost certainly not the road to "conservation success".
This still leaves the gardener or manager with the question of what to do with this bed, this garden or this park. Despite these doubts about the quest for authenticity there is no question that there is a key role for historical research, sensitive analysis of what survives on the ground, and above all of the special and unique character of a place. But there is also a need for understanding of the present use and the present physical and economic context if what is done is to be viable and sustainable: conservation planning has to ask what is the aim of the project, and who exactly is it for? Historical knowledge offers a framework for decisions about management: but good successful management is about balancing it with the latter considerations. In this context, John Hubbard's new bedding at Waddesdon, or Kim Wilkie's new terraces at Heveningham, should be considered conservation successes - and have nothing to do with authenticity and everything to do with a sensitive response to the special qualities of the place.
There is a valuable place for occasional museum pieces, but we experience these places as living exhibits of the past. A walk around the Privy Garden at Hampton Court is a modern experience, looking at a facsimile from a 21st-century perspective.
Where the notion of authenticity may have some credibility is in garden buildings, in archaeological remains, and in the plants themselves, as opposed to plants as constituent parts of gardens. John James Stevenson spoke about restoration destroying "the authenticity of the building as a record of the past". Surviving elements of a garden may offer a glimpse of the strangeness of the past, but still we cannot ignore the fact that gardens as fabric - the authentic record of the past - cannot be pinned down permanently because change and replacement are inherent, and have been continuous and thus the "original" can only ever be understood incompletely.
Part of the problem is that garden conservation has borrowed much of its legitimacy from its better-established elders - buildings and archaeology. But gardens are fundamentally different not only because if the mutability and mortality of their constituent parts but because growth and change are actually fundamental to their natures and the pleasure of viewing them. Conservation planning in gardens comes down to the subtlest and most sensitive analysis of what was there and what is special now. In understanding the complexity of historical change and the need to accommodate continuing change, conservation planning for parks and gardens is arguably in advance of that for buildings and monuments.
Turning to conservation success, we have seen the Trust revising its approach to conservation: partly ad hoc, partly deliberate. The ad hoc part is the trend in recent building acquisitions towards a more catholic understanding of the breadth of what counts as historic interest. The deliberate part is the policy shift inaugurated by the 1995 conference "Linking People and Place", which focused attention on the audience for National Trust properties, their understanding, and the widening of intellectual and physical access through interpretation, volunteers, and other means.
There has not been an equivalent in gardens to the above building acquisitions in terms of broadening the definition of historic interest. And yet the potential is there. English Heritage broadened the range of garden typologies represented on the national Register of historic parks and gardens. The most complete rehabilitation has been accorded to public parks, which as recently as four or five years ago were barely recognised as heritage at all. We should hope that cemeteries, allotment sites, hospital and asylum grounds, seaside esplanades, vernacular gardens and the country parks of the 1970s will follow.
Far from debasing the coinage, as some would have it, such a widening of definitions of what is of historic interest broadens the support base for conservation. If we believe that conservation is a deep human interest rather than a minority academic interest, then success lies in making as many people as possible feel they have a stake in it.
This does not imply that the Trust should instantly rush out and acquire such sites, but the Trust should be aware that this potential exists, should recognise the benefits of realising even a fraction of it, and begin to explore ways of doing so.
This could - and would need to - take on many different forms from simply taking over and running a place in a paternalistic way. Take the wonderful Westbourne Road allotments in Birmingham were where the lease is up for renewal and there is great concern for the future. Could the Trust help here? It would be a case of partnership - sharing the burden and the credit - bringing in expertise but actually working with and empowering a local community. Another case would be Stoke Park on the urban fringe of Bristol; in serious decay and beset by difficulties but presenting the opportunity of a new way to manage a historic site, not isolated from its surroundings and community but integrated with them. Another would be the Thames Landscape Strategy, in which the Trust is joining in a project that extends beyond the boundaries of its property at Ham House.
So here is a new measure of success. Initiating a process rather than judging a final product; working in partnership rather than in isolation; looking beyond the Trust's property boundaries; empowering communities and working to a broad, shared agenda rather than a narrow one. A potentially major shift in emphasis could be coming, towards local and other perspectives of value - recognising what is "cherished" rather than only what in a top-down view is considered important - embodied now in English Heritage's landmark document, Power of Place. The scope for the Trust to work in areas in which it has not worked for a long time, with and for people it has not connected with for a long time, and on the lines absolutely of its founding parents, is enormous.
For the Trust's three founders and for Octavia Hill in particular, environmental conservation was fundamentally bound up with social justice. And it is worth noting that the principal interest of that triumvirate was in open space rather than buildings: an early proposal from Hill for the name of the organisation to achieve her great vision was "The Commons and Gardens Trust, for accepting, holding and purchasing
open spaces for the
people in
town and country
[my emphases]".
There are two important lessons to be learnt from looking back at the early days of the Trust: first, that the Trust should do more in urban areas and for urban green space and second, that more could be done to connect beautiful places and the pursuit of social justice.
The Heritage Lottery Fund is already addressing this connection. In line with Directions from the Secretary of State, Chris Smith, awards have to be tested against their contribution to government policy aims, specifically, by covering the complete range of heritage activities and sites; by achieving geographical equality; reducing social and economic deprivation; addressing the need to promote physical and intellectual access and the needs of children and young people; and furthering the objectives of sustainability.
Some have characterised the wrench towards this social or political perspective as a betrayal of our primary aims and functions, but it is not a betrayal so much as a wholesome reminder of our roots, and far from being a threat to those functions, it is a wonderful opportunity to broaden our constituency and to make what we are doing really progressive.
So where do historic gardens, National Trust or otherwise, fit into this progressive agenda? The answer is that they are fundamental. Their cultural threshold is lower so they engage a wider range of people; they are dynamic processes rather than a static product; and they are of interest to the great community of
gardeners.
Heligan, for example, has attracted its critics but has been phenomenally popular with visitors. Let us focus on two aspects of its success. First, in what it set out to conserve. Tim Smit's guiding principle was the magic of his first discovery of the abandoned and overgrown paradise. Of course, the management required to preserve an atmosphere - the romantic mystery of the past - rather than present a clear exposition of it - is highly labour-intensive. Preserving the overgrown is not an easy option. It is an approach that is far from applicable everywhere - but there is a lesson to be learnt about the basic question it poses, namely what exactly are we trying to conserve, and how management can extend beyond the narrow pursuit of the authentic.
The second lesson from Heligan is about who we are conserving it for, and this comes down to presentation. The most successful part of the project has been the restoration of the walled gardens to working kitchen gardens, in which staff lead the tours and talk about the mechanics of Victorian horticulture. The gardens as seen by the working gardener is an alternative but equally valid interpretation strategy to the traditional perspective of the family or the great designers. There is a huge potential in gardens for this more inclusive approach to presentation as well as management.
A third useful lesson is the economic benefit which the project has brought to a formerly-depressed neighbourhood.
In conclusion, the definition of conservation success needs to spread far beyond the question of historical authenticity, and beyond the nitty-gritty of what flowers or trees go where. It is about people, about widening the audience for these places, and widening the establishment's understanding of what actually is heritage; and the founding principles of the Trust remain an unsurpassable guide to achieving success.
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