Centuries of Irish history can be found on the 500 acres of Ballynatray, CoCork. Mary Leland meets the continental couple who have restored the mansion and grounds to their Georgian splendour
The hills above the Glendine river are hedged in foxgloves, with cascades of elderflower and woodbine breaking through the fringes of the fields. The Glendine is a tributary of the Blackwater, which hereabouts curves slowly towards the sea at Youghal. To the east, its broad sweep can be seen almost as far back as Cappoquin. To the south-west, the flood bears down through the wooded shores until its dense green tidal waters dissolve in the luminous basin of the sea.
The distant balustraded roof of Ballynatray on its promontory above the tide suggests that, surely, it must have been here that Raymond le Gros, following Strongbow into Ireland along the course of this river, discovered the benign confluence of streams, the rich, harvestable fields, and that glittering gateway to the south. The builder of Ballynatray must have thought so, for it was Grice Smith who erected the monument marking Raymond's tomb in the monastery on the nearby island - a building which predates both the house and Raymond himself.
For Raymond - and Grice Smith for that matter - were merely treading in the path of Molanfide, a saint of Lismore, who settled an anchorite community on the island in the river sometime during the 6th or 7th centuries. Originally known as Dairinis, the abbey is now named for its founder and is reached by a causeway built across the marshland by Smith. Its ruins are those of the 12th-century reformation buildings, and in the river reside the remains of the weir used to provide fish for the abbey dinners.
"Ballynatray," says owner Serge Boissevain, "goes beyond beauty. It is magic." The Glendine tumbles beside us as he shows newly exposed glades where herons, weighted as pterodactyls, soar noisily into the trees. Serge, of French Huguenot origins, admits that his surname stems from some enhancement of "Buy", now wrought emblematically into the iron entrance gates. And the discovery of hidden paths during the past four years, the opening of rides and the planting of more than 160,000 broadleaf trees, do suggest some affinity with forestry.
The open, upland swathes, which Henriette Boissevain calls "the gallops" and where she exercises her two Andalusian stallions, march with the deer park behind the house. But everywhere else, from the boathouse built above a tiny creek to the ancient abbey itself, Ballynatray is curtained in woods.
"About two-thirds of what we see is protected more by our ownership than by any laws," says Serge. Originally the nearly 500 acres purchased with the house included the island, its abbey, and the little church and adjacent castle of Temple Michael - all in ruin for centuries, although here the Boissevains have put in a small car-park and have restored the old sea wall and jetty. The road twists with the curves of the river and places which seem on the opposite shore are, in fact, only a few hundred yards away. Yet the Boissevains have been able to extend their demesne to some fields across the river as well as taking in a longer reach of the western bank.
They knew nothing of Ballynatray when, having exhausted the European potential for a country house in which they could settle, manage their business interests and indulge their love of boating (Serge) and horseback riding (Henriette), they came to Ireland and were seduced into just taking a look at the place.
"We were waiting to fall in love with somewhere," says Henriette. "I knew we had found it the moment we came in through those old gates. And I thought that the house was saying 'buy me!' I felt so at home here immediately. I can't explain it, but that has never changed."
Serge wasn't so sure. Yes, the landscape, the location and the river were superb, but the house, after their life in London, was a bit too grand; he would have preferred something more modest. Ballynatray is still far from grandiose - it never was a very big house anyway, being quite shallow despite its imposing garden front - but it does have a certain grandeur. The Boissevains have invested heavily in its expert refurbishment; the results were achieved by the architect Mervyn Cable working with F.P.D. Savill's of London.
They decided to do everything at once, because to do the house meant using the avenue. They couldn't delay planting the trees. The gates had to be installed if they were going to live on-site and the consequent traffic meant that the bridge by which the estate is reached from the Cork side had to be reconstructed. (They had tried to supervise from London, coming over twice a month, but their own devotion to detail required permanent attention.)
The stable yard, where a former owner, Roly Smyth, bred the horse which he once rode in the Grand National, still contains its loose-boxes and tack room; offices and staff quarters are included now. The old sandstone walls hold beds of herbaceous planting which link them to the sheltered kitchen garden in one direction and the house in the other, with borders, paths and beds around the high-rimmed curved pool worked to a plan designed by Daphne Shackleton.
Rooms had to be changed around - some several times - so that the dining-room could replace the billiards room in a more logical alignment with the kitchen (itself designed by Serge, who loves to cook). That meant that the ceiling cornice of billiards balls and sockets had to be moved, too. The hall, which runs the length of the house, has been refloored in creamy limestone. The main staircase beyond one of the great arched doors soars in its cantilevered spiral to the delicate stucco of its restored ceiling.
The upstairs corridor has been suppressed to provide bigger bedrooms, bathrooms and storage areas, with landings full of light from the sash windows Serge would like to have replaced ("sash is the worst window system ever designed by human hands!"), but would settle for them being repaired instead for the sake of their authenticity and charm.
They are not slaves to authenticity, though, and have installed saunas, a dumb waiter, discreet cupboards and closets to save on work. Admiring all that the Georgians and Victorians could achieve in terms of convenience and ingenuity, they have an inventive streak of their own. Serge designed the fire-baskets made, like all the metal-work in and around the house, by Charlie Trigg from Tallow, so that the bedrooms could have wood fires despite the inadequate chimney-flues. They feel they have achieved their objective of comfortable practicality with no loss of atmosphere or elegance.
Their architect worked in consultation with Waterford County Council, which was co- operative in its attitude to some of the major changes they wished to make. That was crucial to the Boissevains' decision to make Ballynatray their permanent home and was enabled by planning regulations which have since become more restrictive.
Thus, they have rebuilt the terrace to one side of the house, installed a flight of steps leading from the drawing-room to the lawns above the river, and have removed some of the later, heavily Victorian plaster work to reveal the Georgian original.
The house is dated from 1795, when Grice Smith (whose beautiful daughter, Penelope, caused an international furore by eloping with Charles Frederick Borbone, brother of King Ferdinand of the Two Sicilies in 1836) built over the foundations of an earlier house and even earlier castle.
Now the basement, with its swimming pool, sauna, bar, laundry, wine cellar, games room and what can only be called an engine room from which all the power systems, from water to electronic surveillance, are driven, retains that essence of vaulted antiquity.
The Boissevains were told when they began that they were crazy to embark on such a large project. But by then their purpose had become a passion. "We wanted to live here and enjoy everything as soon as we possibly could," says Henriette. She sits in the drawing-room with its mixture of contemporary sofas and medieval-style chairs, deep-cushioned window seats and wide, log-flaming fireplace. They talk about the salmon-weir which comes with the house (although they have agreed not to trap any fish for the sake of a five-year re- population programme) and about their decision to convert some of the estate buildings to guest apartments so that the house could be arranged to suit no-one but themselves.
"We're pretty exhausted, to tell the truth - but we've learned an awful lot," Henriette admits. "But the magic is still here; in the evenings when we put cushions out and take our drinks on the steps we spend hours just sitting there, watching the water, listening to the sounds from the woods, from the weir, to the whole cycle of natural life going on here for century after century.
"This is home. We don't have a sunset here, but we have everything else."