Eavesdropping on hidden past lives

The clutter usually removed from sight for interiors shots is centre stage in photographs of Irish country houses, inspiring questions about the people who lived, loved and died in them, writes EILEEN BATTERSBY

EVEN DEEPER THAN nostalgia is the sense of sadness that lingers in a forgotten space. We come to pay homage at the homes of long-dead writers and gaze respectfully at the pens carefully placed on a desk never again to be disturbed, or study a composer’s piano now silent although the music remains. A photograph of a grand drawing room may inspire thoughts about the lady who once presided over gatherings there on a winter’s evening, but genuine emotion is reserved for the images of more private, neglected corners. That oyster-coloured dressing gown frozen in time, photographed more than two decades ago, hanging on the back of an upstairs room in Lissadell House: who wore it? What happened to her? We presume it was a she, but about her we know nothing.

A hare peers back at the viewer, its powerful legs coiled, ready to spring into its familiar loping stride. But the hare died long ago, and now its preserved body is displayed in a glass case beside rich timber banisters. An ancient perambulator, a rather grand one, complete with fringed sun shade, its once glossy navy finish dulled, is parked in a storeroom along with various chairs and a jumble of curtains. Mantelpieces are dominated by the regulation clocks, but far more interesting and telling are the postcards and invitations displayed upon them. We are our stories, but we are also the things we leave behind us, our domestic and personal debris, clues to our lives and to those who preceded us.

Attics hold the answers. Guest rooms invariably produce a scent bottle, a hair clip, the lone shoe – never a pair – but the dark, intimidating attics are the treasure houses. Along with the mouldy, deflated suitcases that travelled the world, and the battle-scared cricket bats fought over by schoolboys long dead, are the tennis rackets and their broken strings scattered on dusty floorboards alongside hat boxes that may well contain elaborate headwear but more probably store yellowing love letters chronicling affairs that went disastrously wrong.

Four pairs of riding boots, wooden trees keeping them in shape for owners who will never wear them again, are lined up against the peeling wallpaper of a storeroom. Where are the paintings that were once contained within the empty frames stacked in the corner of what, judging by the floral wallpaper, was once a bedroom? Attics are more exciting, dark, low-ceilinged. The most innocent visitor immediately feels furtive and guilty of disturbing the ghosts. They invariably appear as if recently looted until you notice the layers of dust, the intact spider’s web, the strong smell of mouse. And the newspapers, the brittle yellow news pages dating from a time when Russia still answered to a tsar.

Among the many fascinating and evocative images captured by Patrick Prendergast's discerning eye in his new book, Ancestral Interiors, is the camera room at Birr Castle in which Mary, the third countess of Rosse, a pioneering photographer, once worked. Rows of glass bottles and jars line the walls. The energy of her imagination endures. The photograph reveals more about her than a portrait would have. It is a wonderful testament to a member of a family that has contributed so much to Ireland.

Prendergast’s project began elsewhere, at Castle Coole, in Co Fermanagh, because a fire warden ordered the house’s attics to be cleared. There a close-up of a tangle of rich brocades and fabrics creates a narrative of faded luxury. One of the most beautiful studies is that of a landing with a simple wooden bannister. The steps are painted black; a red carpet runs up them. The bare walls are draped in layers of rugs recruited as hangings. It is a scene ideal for intrigue and unsuitable romance.

Pictures convey far more than words, and in this book of eloquent photographs much is left unsaid. In an inspired juxtaposition of a haughty barnacle goose and a classical bust, both glower in opposing directions. In a low-ceilinged attic room at Castle Coole, shelves sag under the weight of books; a rocking horse is visible among the sheets coverings, old board games and boxes of papers. A small birdcage stands empty.

In the gloom of a shadowy basement are two glass globes that may have once protected a mounted bird or a dried floral display. A wire garden urn stands sentry in the foreground.

Who once played the concert harp stored in a small bedroom? In a working pantry space the plaster peels and four china bowls are stacked on a draining board under a clock that will forever read 6.15pm. A once-grand bedroom, graced by muted daylight, illuminates a lavishly brocaded four-poster bed sagging under the weight of picture frames and the three mattresses stacked upon it. The room is a riot of objects. Who once slept here? Time passes, lives evolve, objects are accumulated. But who collected the ebony elephant, the sitting pig and the snarling china polar bear that were photographed on a decorated marble mantlepiece at Salterbridge, in Cappoquin?

In what could be a farm manager’s office at Hamwood, in Dunboyne, caps, boots and fishing gear are scattered about, while a dog bed is visible under a small table. Down the hall, boaters, hats and riding helmets are available for use on a wooden chest.

Nature seems to have invaded a dramatically blue-lit ravaged room at Temple House, in Sligo, in which the fireplace appears to have collapsed on itself.

A portrait of a young girl surveys the scene. Where is she now? Did she ever hold the fan left there on a shelf? Were the hopes preserved alive in her expectant, dreamy expression ever fulfilled? Perhaps it is better that we don’t know the answers.

Ancestral Interiors: Photographs of the Irish Country House, by Patrick Prendergast, with an introduction by William Laffan, is published by the Irish Architectural Archive. An exhibiton of the photographs is at the archive's centre, at 45 Merrion Square, Dublin, until November 9