Amongst fallen gentlefolk

This morning we were visited by a waistcoated Englishman whose aunt once owned the £22.5m property we're currently squatting. He came back in the evening with his sister and mother and, naturally, I was the one who showed them round, putting on my poshest voice and being toadying and sycophantic, a grateful serf pathetically thrilled to be amongst the upper classes. Respecting their discretion I didn't ask their name and it wasn't offered, but theirs was the last family to ever live here.

His mother's memories were the sharpest, since she had been here before as an adult. As we toured the mews she told me what function each room once had, before its later conversion to offices. The room in which we now all sleep had been the master bedroom. She was intrigued to see unknown places such as the air raid shelter, often remarking "We were never shown that room."

Their aunt had lived permanently in the mews, while the main house was occupied by another branch of the family who spent most of their time on their estate in Scotland. So when she used to visit with her husband and children, they'd be allowed to explore the main house, but wouldn't stay there.

I asked if there'd been servants. "Oh, there will have been a few" they said, explaining that the staff of the house would have helped in the mews too. They weren't sure why their family had sold the property, some twenty years ago, but said it had gone for what was then an enormous sum, though nothing like what it went for last year. Though the mews was at some point subsequently used as offices, the house has been empty ever since their family left.

The three of them were entirely friendly and kind, remarking "You must be having a lot of fun!" I apologized profusely for any mess, but they overlooked everything. If they were sad it was not at our presence but at the building's dry rot and general disrepair. They remarked that one downside of freehold as opposed to leasehold is that since owners own buildings outright they can let them fall into ruin.

I showed them the room we've turned into a library, which has a mezzanine bed above the door. "We used to fight over who got to sleep there!" they said. I told them we still did. "You don't have many books. Would you like us to bring you some?" they asked. Yes, very much.

I told them I felt they had more right to the property than its actual owners, than any investment fund who'd bought it to sit empty and be resold as profit, since their family had actually lived here and it was part of their memories and heritage.

I find myself peculiarly attracted to tales of lost estates, squandered fortunes and struggling though well-born poor relations. I love Jonathan Gathorne-Hardy's "Half an Arch", described as "one of the best books ever written about fallen gentlefolk":

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-en...dy-753511.html

When we went into the main house they told me that the marble fireplaces missing from several rooms had probably been stolen by professional thieves at some point over the last ten years, since they had been taken out cleanly. There was a stone fountain gone from the courtyard, too. The owners whose neglect had made it so easy for the thieves to strip these historic features were doubtless recompensed by an insurance company for their unfortunate loss.

The family were delighted to hear of the adaptation of Picture of Dorian Gray which was still being filmed on the first floor as I showed them round. They had memories of the room with Chinese wallpaper and were pleased to see it again after twenty years.

When they left, they took my number so they could find out how we get on when the building's owners take us back to court. They wished us luck and wondered "Is there any chance you might get to keep it?"