At the end of my time at on the estate, I had fewer work facilities than when the Trust took over, six years previously.

On week one of employment with the Trust, a member of the health and safety team came to Tyntesfield and measured all the assembled staff for work clothing, boots, and PPE. That was the first and last time we ever saw him. Six years on we were still waiting, so if any one sees Ted, tell him my waist is now 34”.

As more staff arrived, there became a shortage of space to store things, such as chemical suits, Wellingtons and wet suits. All these items ended up piled high around an office that was designed for three people but six people actually shared. This office also doubled as the kitchen as well.

The office we had was not our first choice. We had an office that worked, but the management moved us out.  In total, we moved office four times. At one point we were only one move away from getting travellers rights.

All this was going on while the manager stared out of her nice office through the rose tinted windows, in the ivory tower section of Tyntesfield.

We had no workshop to speak of, nowhere to store tools, in fact we had bugger all. The National Trust health and safety officer condemned our working space time after time and despite strongly worded letters, the management would stall on rectifying things with pathetic excuses.

I could only use my workshop when it was not raining. This was because the water would come in and run over the power. Large chunks would routinely fall from the plaster ceiling and after the health and safety officer received so many near miss reports, she closed the workshop citing it was too dangerous to use.

Needing a space to do my job was essential, so off to the property manager I went.

When can we expect repairs?
We don’t have the money.
So where do I work out of?
Do you really need a workshop?
It’s a good place to make and repair things don’t you think?
Could you adapt to doing without?
You mean mobile maintenance?

- This is where I must inform you of the works vehicle I had. It was a Piaggio pick up, the same model that whizzes around Italy selling ice creams. Lucky me I the Noddy version with four wheels making it the deluxe model. This is the only van that needs a confine spaces working permit to drive and would travel to the moon on a pint of derv. It had the carrying capacity of a thong on a eunuch -

Yes that’s it mobile working!
No it’s not practicable and anyway, I always had a workshop so I want mine back.

A short time later I was summoned to the office. We have found you a workshop the manager proclaimed. It’s the shed in the old head gardeners private house garden. To say I was stunned was an under statement, but off I went to play the part of the proactive team member.

The shed in question was a brick built lean to that was designed to house two spades, one rake, a bag of compost and a small bag of clothes pegs.

On my return to the office, I told my self I would not under any circumstances raise my voice in objection to this preposterous proposal. I didn’t need to as I could not get a word in edgeways to the garbage that was being spouted to me. I said enough, we will see what the unions have to say.

As I couldn’t use my workshop / stores, I asked my manager where I could store all my tools and plant equipment. You will just have to use your initiative I was told. This I did. I waited for the management to leave the estate for another one of their soirées and promptly filled the office meeting room with my tools.

It seemed a shame to block the whole room off, so my cement mixer and stand went into the property manager’s office. I thought it fitted in quite well as I tastefully placed it in a position that enhanced the office to give the whole room a new look. Feeling the place could do with some positive energies also, I made especially sure the cement mixer balanced the energies according to Feng Shui.

The following day I was summoned to the office.

What the hell is that doing in my office?
Not much it’s not plugged in
I want that mixer out
Where should I put it?
I don’t care, it can’t stay here
But it’s a great conversation piece

It was at this point she lost her temper and so I wheeled the mixer into the meeting room next door.

Then there followed a bit of an argument.

Clear this room, it’s for meetings
Where shall I put it?
I don’t care, find somewhere.
No you tell me where. I can’t find anywhere and we have been asking for permanent storage for five years now

As she couldn’t answer the question, the tools stayed there for some time.
Health and safety was always an issue at Tyntesfield. The management would preach it and yet introduce dangerous working practises. This brings me on to my next story.

A certain manager that resided on the estate was eligible for call outs should there be an emergency at the main house.

As he only lived a ten minute walk from the house, the management decided it only right he should use the big 4×4 when on duty to drive there.

The only problem was he had never in his life taken a driving lesson. He had no provisional license and was a lone driver. All he had was a book of instructions on the operational procedures of cars.

The first time I saw him driving was negotiating the car around visitors in the reception area. I stood with baited breath as he managed to reverse out of a sticky situation with a sort of hopping motion.

Other staffs were actually appalled that this practice was going on and yet I was the only one to voice concerns.

This is what happened when I raised the issue with the property manager.

I was not aware manager x had a driving licence?
He hasn’t but he’s allowed to use the 4×4 to get around the estate in the course of his duty
Pray tell me, what plonker decided to let a novice driver loose on the estate surrounded with visitors?
He is only allowed to drive around when the visitors go home.
What about people living on the estate?
What about them?
Well wouldn’t they be at risk?

I also brought up the fact that the tenants themselves have visitors and even when we are closed, the public still let themselves into the estate for their own private wander round. It was not unusual to have lots of children running around from a variety of these sources.

All my concerns were of no concern to her. She informed me that the area manager had instigated this idea as a health and safety move to ensure the safety of manager X as he tended his business.

My parting shot was – so you decided to put the lives of many at risk for the sake of one person!

I phoned health and safety at head office and was told the same as another concerned member of staff. I have a copy of the Email that a certain manager called shifty sent to the health and safety at head quarters.

It reads -  forgive me for asking, but as a hypothetical situation, can a member of staff drive a National Trust vehicle with no driving licence?

The answer was definitely no as they would not be covered by the insurance.

I bet shifty is now wondering, where the hell did he get hold of that Email?

A couple of days later, I was summoned to appear before the property manager. She was not best pleased. You have really done it this time! The area manager is fuming at what’s happening. Health and safety have been on to him and manager x can no longer drive.

Good said I, common sense has prevailed.

It was then threats started to be issued about my position and how very precarious it was. Oh dear said I, put that in writing. She never did, but I made my objections to her out bust very clear.

What I never asked for was the copy of the risk assessment that must have been done by the higher management prior to implementing the practice of the novice driver. Had I done so, then I might have rubbed people up the wrong way.

One of the perks of working on Tyntesfield Estate was the cottage that originally came with the job. In the days of Lord Wraxall, living on the estate was a joy and a privilege When the National Trust took over all, that changed.

To begin with, it seemed there was a slow and methodical cleansing of the properties. Tenants were lied to, basic repairs never got done, rents would rise steeply and more and more restrictions put up on them. Slowly but surly they all left. This included a sitting tenant that had retired after working on the estate  and a family that had generations living there before them.

But this is my story and this is what happened to me as a tenant, while working for the Trust.

Initially, we had the planned visits by a Trust specialist to look around my cottage to record what was what. This included bat surveys, building surveys etc… As long as I was given notice I didn’t mind, but after a while, impromptu visitors turned up which the Trust had neglected to inform me about. Waking up to find a stranger looking at me through my windows didn’t suit me, so I insisted I was told when to expect visitors. This was only common courtesy after all.

As time went on, more and more visitors would take to wandering around my garden. They would be surveying this and that without telling me. Eventually, I got to the point where I demanded written notification of visits.

Your attitude will make it very difficult I was told. Bugger my attitude, no notice, no visitors. Way past common courtesy, I wanted some notification as was my tenant’s rights.

Did this make a blind bit of difference? No. Time after time, even on my days off, we would have a knock at the door asking to check for this and that. Don’t worry your office knows, said one chap, well I didn’t so bugger off. Attitude was on the rise again I fear.

We put up with the little inconveniences, such as coming home in the dark to find someone had glossed the front door, left no signs and I had removed the run marks with a sleeve.

After living for years in a house with rising damp and leaking roof the Trust brought in the professionals.

To say there was a lack of health and safety with some professionals was an understatement. I sent a picture to the National Trust  health and safety officer showing a lad stood on my chimney, without scaffolding, wrestling a long flue liner into the flue and asked her if she could better that for an idiot? She couldn’t (could you Gail?)

By now my work place was becoming more and more challenging. Workshops falling down, having to put up with idiots, it started to take its toll on my health.

One day I came home to find another contractor walking around my garden. Enough was enough. I complained to the Trust surveyor that instructed him to invite himself in.

The reply I received was it may be an inconvenience but these things happen.  My reply was -  as I have small children living with me. I need to know who is who and when they will be coming. I can’t have random strangers walking in an out of my garden when it suited them, looking in through my windows, leaving gates open allowing fast toddlers to get out and run into the path of the never ending stream of cars coming in and out of the car park.  I’m sure there are many parents out there whose lives and children’s lives have been affected by random strangers coming in and out of their houses and hotel rooms who would agree this was a potential safety issue.
From that point on it got worse. I came home one lunch break to find a surprise scaffold had been put up with a platform at first floor window height. The window that had been left open that morning which would have required a cherry picking burglar to access now was an open invitation to anyone at all, even with arthritic joints and a hip replacement. Very previously the Trust had brought in contractors to make the ground floor windows secure with extra locks, so to find a ready made access for burglars was a joke. Once again I complained and received another donkey serenade.

The work on the roof started and we ducked and dived going in and out of the house as lumps of mortar and tile came crashing down. So to get away from the mayhem I took a day’s holiday and took off to the beach with my very small grandchildren.

On returning in the evening carrying the tired children to the house, I came upon a scaffold right across the only entrance to the house. The contractors had completely blocked the only door way. Having made sure all my windows were securely shut on the top floor I couldn’t even break into my own home.

The time was 1800hrs and the light was fading fast as I phoned the property manager.
To say I was a little livid was an understatement. I demanded she get the monkeys that put it up to come back and remove it.

Property manager: It’s too late they would have finished work.
Me: How the hell am I supposed to get in my house?
Property manager: Don’t shout at me, I will call the surveyor (Who lived 50 miles away!)

After a long time she phoned back and said she had left a message for him. So, after reminding her that the surveyor always switches his phone off, what is her next course of action?

Property manager: I can’t see what else I can do you will have to wait till the morning,
Me: So you expect me to stand here all night with two babies while you do nothing but go home?

It was at this point my attitude was questioned again. My reply to this, well I can’t really write what I said, but it was to do with casting aspersions on sex and ancestors.

After managing to acquire a scaffold spanner, some moving of tubing and two screaming thirsty babies, we got in.

The following day the roofers retuned and I was ready to greet them. Don’t look at us they said. Continuing they told me – we were held up and went home before the scaffolders came and that’s where I’m going again because the scaffold should have been around the other side of the house. We can’t do any work until they move it around the other side of the building where it should have been put.

Life living at Tyntesfield got worse. Tenants with large dogs moved into a house on the estate. The first encounter I had with these dogs was when they took to snarling and barking at the visitors at the reception. I informed the property manager who said Oh dear, dogs are you sure, Yes said I, a big nasty one from Home Farm.

The dog soon took to coming into my garden and waiting for me in the dark. Time after time I was startled by a huge rabid Cujo barking at me. This went on and on and on. My complaints to the manager was answered with – I have sent them a letter, but they don’t seem to take any notice.  My voice was raised, not for the first time with – are you or are you not the property manager? Yes? Then bloody act like one and sort this problem out. The return braying of, attitude, aggressive, etc etc etc droned on and on like a bad Eurovision song entry from Eastern Europe, even as I slammed the door behind me.

The problem of impromptu visitors by day and mad dogs at night never ceased, so once again to the manager office I went.

I complained about two surveyors turning up out of the blue but she was not really listening with gaze fixed to the computer. 

Property manager: They attacked you?
Me: No
Property Manager: Were they barking again?
Me:  No they were speaking polish
Property manager: The dogs talk polish?
Me: No the surveyors do
Property manager: What surveyors
Me: Your surveyors
Property manager: Our surveyor speaks Polish?
Me: Yes, especially the ones from Poland

Who said the art of conversation was dead.

By now I dreaded going home, paranoid that the dog was waiting around every corner. Just when my guard was finally down and attacked again off to the office I would go,

Has it bitten you yet she would ask. No not yet I would tell her. Then its doing no real harm, apart from scaring you. It was then I pointed out we have hundreds of sheep in the field near by ready to give birth.  Are they annoying you as well she asked? No but the dogs might annoy them don’t you think?

One night at about 10 pm I used my cottage’s outside toilet and that’s when the dog struck me and finally pushed me over the top. As it stood there barking at me and I heard one of my grandchildren wake up crying at the racket,  I grabbed the wood axe and chased it like a mad man with the sounds of a banshee. For the first time it was the dog that looked terrified as it took flight with me in hot pursuit swinging the axe for all I was worth. I crashed through the garden, over the fence, through the woods. It was my turn to be the scary one now, what would make the situation even more ideal would be for a couple of surveyors to turn up with or without a group of scaffolders.

Fortunately for the dog it got away, but this was the turning point. The next day I informed the manager if it tried to attack me in my garden again I will shoot it. Though not serious, totally, I had to make a point. At this she said – You can’t it’s not your dog. Yes I can said I and I will return its goolies to the owner through their letter box. I made a mental note to leave other parts on the manager’s desk. Now those who know me know I am an animal lover and wouldn’t hurt a fly but between a barking property manager and rabid dog I had finally lost the plot.

The owner’s of the dogs were amazing people. On day one they dismantled the great crested newt and their habitats in their garden (illegal). To be doubly sure they were  wiped out they strimmed the area flat, even after being told to keep well away from such a sensitive area.

The additional stress of the dogs went on for six more months. Even after they had gone I would still wake in the night as the distant echo of barking faded from my nightmares.

By now, Tyntesfield had defiantly lost its magic for me.

Now, as you know, under its previous owner, nothing was ever thrown away but recycled or sat in a pile waiting to be used. It was these piles of materials that I used regularly to maintain the estate properties.

This all changed with the conservation big wig that I have called Ms Hectare, who put a personal preservation order on the whole area,making it of special archiological interest which no one was to touch.

This left me rather snookered as we had no money to buy new materials. Now I had to acquire bits and pieces to repair the estate and try to keep it maintained.

It was just recently while the contractors were re-roofing that a lot of roof tiles in the don’t touch area had to be moved. Now some of these had sat there for many years. Some of the tiles were very rare indeed. When the skips turned up I took an interest in what was going on. I was shaken by the amount of historic tiles being thrown away.

I  immediately contacted the manager overseeing this operation and was informed that they should only be moving them.  At this I replied,  I think they need supervising.

The following day the skip was starting to fill up with more historic tiles in very good condition, so again I contacted the office. Oh dear not again was the reply.

A few nights later I was amazed to find local people around the skip pulling out perfect tiles, some of them very rare and expensive. Just come back to get some more to finish me garden edging said one. Bloody shame to waste all these pan tiles said another filling a wheel barrow.

Now a kill joy I try not to be, but I had to point out that they shouldn’t have been in the skip in the first place and they shouldn’t be removing them.  A well know volunteer then pulled up in his car to claim his share as he had a roof to repair at home. I was disgusted at what was being thrown away, so with my hands in the air I went home,

This débâcle went on for some time. The contractors would throw them in the skip and the locals and volunteers would take them out. Theft or not who was I to judge?
The good thing about the tiles ending up in village was that stories started to emerge about where and when they had got to the estate  in the first place. Evidently, a large consignment came in from Belgian in the sixties to replace tiles on certain buildings.

The  tile incident happened around the same time Woolworths were closing all their stores. At the time, I made up my mind what the title of this story was to be called.

As for Tyntesfield’s head of collection, I expect she was busy watching for blind badgers on the driveways, waiting to throw another blockade across the roads.
Rumours have it she was approached by the PSNI to help with the controversial Drumcree orange parades

Over the years there has been wide spread destruction of valuable assets on the estate. This includes several large wooden garages in mint condition that was deemed an ideal project for youth offenders to smash to pieces. I managed to sell the last one that was destined for the fire and gave the money to the Trust. All I did was put an advert in the Trade It and the phone never stopped ringing.

Another good idea by the Trust  was to hold bonfire projects. This was where groups would come onto the estate and gather materials for an end of year bonfire. All those that participated would come back for the occasion.

Some bright spark decided that all the timber that was stored at stable yard would make a good clear out for the fire project.

The first I knew of it was when I discovered it all on the pile in the middle of a field awaiting burning. By now I had had enough of the bollocks that went on, so I left it where it was – getting soaking – and every time I required some timber for a repair project I went to the merchants.

It was not long after, I was questioned about the amount of money I was spending on materials. It’s quite simple I said. You decided to burn all my wood, so I have to buy more. Why would I want to burn your wood says the manager. You tell me says I. You’re in charge of the project plans and day to day running of the estate aren’t you?

At this point my attitude was once again questioned so after the long drawn out lecture, I decided to bow my head, agree to look at my attitude etc etc etc…

On reaching the office door, I turned and asked for a purchase order for materials. What do you need this time was the question? Timber I said with an innocent tone, Oh and fire lighters please.

The main topic was introducing a new audience through the doors of National Trust, especially properties that people wouldn’t even think of visiting. Any ideals was the question put out to the congregation?

Yes said I, watching our manager from the corner of my eye, as she suddenly found her seat was not as comfortable as first thought.

Being some one that never minced words, and having an audience of hundreds  suddenly look around in my direction, I launched into my question.

Why don’t we give a reduction in entrance fees to those on income support, making it possible for all to visit and give all a chance to experience what we have to offer.

It took a while for this radical idea to sink in. The spokesperson at the time indicated to one of the team – the heritage manager – to answer the question. So jumping up in the fashion of a spiritualist that has just connected with the 240v mains, she launched into a corporate prepared speech of the National Trust gives excellent value for money while she was obviously thinking of an answer. The answer finally came in the form of “You are from Tyntesfield aren’t you, that property is spear heading revolutionary ideals that will be rolled out across the Trust. Take it up at the property.”

I didn’t have to take it up at the property as on return, I was summoned to appear for my out burst of participation. That sort of behaviour is not acceptable I was told. I had brought undue attention to myself.

Why? I asked for presenting a question that was relevant to the subject?

Let me make it plain for you, I was told. You heard Ms Heritage tell you how wonderful we are and how much we have to offer. But it doesn’t get the poor through the doors though does it? I responded.

If they want to come they can buy a family membership which will give them access to Tyntesfield all through year was the retort.

I pushed my case – A lot of money for someone on Income Support. Would cost them about four weeks of groceries don’t you think? And as for the bus fare, well if they lived in Hartcliffe for example, that’s a two bus journey to get here, plus the children. Not cheap at all.

At this her mood changed and said “Look! we are talking about people that smoke and drink and would rather go to Alton Towers, subject closed.”
This could have only come from someone that has never struggled in her life. A middle class upbringing, looking at the world through rose coloured glasses that filters out the unfortunate part of society.

Further evidence to the discrimination of visitors followed in an email I still have  regarding the concerns of a volunteer that was on a Sunday duty in the house in the early days.

The Email was from the house manager that reported on two men acting suspiciously during their visit.  They had followed the route through the house and then decided to return to a room that they had already seen. Who were these people thinking they can look twice? Didn’t they know Tyntesfield was a one look place only?

What really got up my nose was the description passed out about the pair: both scruffy in appearance and spoke with Irish accents.  At the time there was travelling families in the area. Could it be that some of them were interested in our heritage? As for walking the wrong way around, assuming they are not displaying independent thought, not all in society has the gift to be able to read or write and scruffy appearance? This statement says it all regarding the type of visitor expected.

At a staff meeting Ms Hectare  once proclaimed she had met a walker that looked suspicious. This was simply because of his clothes. After a description was given, I informed all present that it was a local who has been walking that route for years. Then why doesn’t he wear the appropriate clothes of a rambler was the response, another slight on the lower classes.

All this was going on while the upper management was using Tyntesfield house as an exclusive hotel. One such occasion was even put up on the website in the form of a blog showing the house manager’s guests lounging around with food and drink on the collection of furniture, that was strictly off limits to all. in fact, when moving these items, gloves had to be worn to protect the fabrics.

On day one of the National Trust take over, we even saw on TV Tim Knox, a very senior manager and collections specialist in the Trust, allowing his dog to run around the house leaping onto the furniture. This didn’t inspire much confidence in the so called experts.

After working for the Trust, I found there is defiantly a prejudice against those in reduced circumstances. The National Trust is only open to those that can afford it, or as most land lords would politely say – Sorry No Housing Benefit, smokers or DHSS.

PS. Please bear in mind that to make your visit enjoyable to all, and avoid a flurry of concerned emails circulating around the region – dress code applies.
 
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It came to my attention that we had a baby badger walking up and down the verge of the driveway. Apart from being blind, there seemed to be little wrong with it. As we had no warden at the time (see other stories ) I contacted the badger people and asked for some advice. I was told to leave it alone unless something looks wrong with it. So this I did.

For days we would watch it walk up and down the drive way on the verges. Some had some concerns about the busy road, but why should we interfere with nature if it’s doing all right by itself. My motto is, if it’s still working don’t mend it.

After about ten days of watching it off and on, and watching the gardeners cut the grass around it (see photo ) as I was leaving the estate one evening I came across a blockade of cars parked across the road.  On looking at why they were parked there, I soon realised the management had noticed the badger  happily wandering about his business on the verges.

Being in a hurray to sort out a walling course I was leading in the morning – in my own time – and voluntary for another National Trust property, I bypassed the cars by driving on the grass. This is where I encountered one of the biggest know all managers frantically waving her arms for me to stop.

We shall call her Ms Greengrass, who preceded to rant and rave about me breaking the blockade and putting a badger’s life in jeopardy. This was a final straw for me to have a pen pushing know-it-all tell me that she had just discovered this badger in danger and I could have killed it.

First off, I don’t think she liked me laughing at the situation, and as I explained that all was in hand, there was no need to over react, and to leave it alone.

This was probably her first encounter with wildlife, apart from watching sparrows out of the office window. But, milk the situation she was. This was going to be one of her finest hours.

On the way out, I mentioned to a neighbour that maybe his young son would like to see the badger, just keep the dog on a lead and don’t get to near. So with a wave I left him to walk the 100 yards up the drive way.

The following day I was called to HQ by the Fuhrer. I was accused of disobeying a direct command by a senior manager and putting the life of a badger at risk. I had done this by calling in men with dogs, and the last thing, driving on the grass.

To the first accusation I claimed I thought I was witnessing another member of staff having some sort of breakdown due to the way she was waving her hands. To The badger, I told her the story of events and claimed is was a bunch of stupid women with nothing better to do apart from listen the ravings of a lunatic

”And why were you driving on the road way when there was staff there?” I was asked. When I said I didn’t want to hit the badger she didn’t exactly  fall around laughing.

Then she snapped. Apparently I had no right to invite people onto the estate to which I pointed out how difficult this would be for people to get to my house.

At this she blurted: ”Not those visitors, the other visitors, the ones that shouldn’t be here.” But, if I’ve invited them aren’t they my visitors? I puzzled. No it’s not those visitors I’m talking about? She spluttered. Then what visitors are you referring to? I queried. “The ones that aren’t visitors that you invited”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if I could Google her planet, in the way we could Google Earth but I thought better of it and decided to keep that remark in reserve for another time.

The badger went on to dig a set in the controversial place that the car park was to go, poetic justice if you ask me, even the wildlife was on our side. And it used to crap near the offices. Perfect

Andy Mayled the National Trust general manager claims the new image will be a statement of how serious we are. Why? were you only fooling around before?

 I would have thought the hard pressed wardens / rangers would have had enough to do with out spending all day talking to visitors, asking questions such as what would you like to do? Well if the visitors are walking in the countryside, I should imagine they are already know what they would like to do and are doing it. Wouldn’t it be more prudent to let volunteers engage with the public and letting the staff get on with the impossible job of managing the land?

As for the new look,  I’d be dammed if I would want my work force looking like the pay back team from an offenders unit. I think the money for these changes would be better spent on silly things like tools and materials, but that’s me old fashioned.

These sort of initiatives are surly drummed up by under worked management that have nothing better to do during the day apart from drinking the allocated allowance for tea and cake. It’s just as well they never took inspiration from Joseph and his amazing coat, the whole National Trust countryside team could have ended up with the appearance of a wandering band of Mendip mummers cross dressed as tinker bells.

Should this new initiative take off, which we are guessing it will considering the new Wild Child competition just launched by the Trust will allow a winning child to spend the day with a ‘National Trust Ranger’,  have already spotted a potential problem in the location of Northern Ireland.

Now call me Mr Negative considering this news broke in time for July 12, I think it very possible that an employee of the Trust wearing bright orange, living in a republican sector, may bring unwanted attention to themselves. I suppose they could always put on a bowler hat and a request for a conflict and resolution course might be a good move.

Before I go I would ask: Was the staff on the ground consulted about the changes? How many agreed to it just to stay in the promotion race>?  And how many were registered colour blind? Was there an additional proposal to name the Somerset warden’s base Ibrox Park?

This story I have dedicate to all those hard working staff that are facing redundancy, or have been made redundant. How comforted they must feel knowing the money the National Trust saved on their posts is being well invested.

PS some of you other wardens may find this amusing, but bear in mind, you are only one Email away from being tangoed yourselves.

True, we are running a little late on our posting for this, but it takes time responding to all the many emails and enquiries the website receives daily.

We would like to wish him a happy retirement and, a warm reception should he wish to park his car at our HQ whilst jetting off around the world. Rest assured the bunting will be out alongside the bollards should he wish to use a private parking space in the area to cut down on those expensive parking fees at the airport. Only, don’t confuse them with men working in inspection chambers.

This is not as it sounds – lots of boxes with incentives to improve yourself. These reviews are designed to show up any weakness you may have. This could be only being able to do the work of ten people when with a little planning and discipline you could improve that figure to twenty. O perhaps your own failure to reach customer targets through the property without the use of fire arms. As for your attempted suicide – must improve attitude. Well this is the story of my first ever PDR and my fight against bureaucracy gone mad.

My first encounter with masses of paperwork to fill in didn’t go too well as I actually hate too much of it. I had this silly idea that I was there to work and not to dream.
I was part of a small team retained by the Trust after Lord Wraxall died, so I was used to getting on with what I was paid to do.  I know some of you out there will probably share my belief in real life and those with the rose colour glasses will probably be shaking their heads in disbelief.

My first face to face meeting was such a memorable one that I have to share it with you. It started well and then fell to pieces as the manager in question showed signs of not just looking like a fool but complimenting the look with the speech of a fool.

Towards the end of the meeting, a piece of paper had been put on the table and a line drawn across the middle. In one half was several dots, but on the other side there were only three. It was then explained to me that this was a field with a hedge dissecting the middle.

On one side was several sheep, all part of a go a head team, pushing forwards, being leaders.

On the other side was the sheep that chose to remain in the pasture they had always been in.

Could these three dots have represented the two gardeners and myself who had previously worked for Lord Wraxall I wondered.?  Are we are being left behind? And why did the sheep on the other side of the line all have clipboards? All this was conveyed as though it was put to a child in infant school. Not only was this condescending approach insulting but the perfect opportunity to have a little fun back.

Evidently, I was in the side of the no go sheep, but I was apparently looking over the hedge to see what was going on. I was told that I had the potential to become a go ahead sheep, possibly leading my own flock. I just needed to come over the hedge to join the in crowd. It was at this point I started a question and answer time.

Q – How high is this hedge
A – Let’s say you have just laid it
Q – Then I won’t get over it’s too high
A – Lets imagine you have left a gap in it
Q – All my hedges are stock proof, would be a bit pointless don’t you think?

It was at this point that I could sense her first signs of despair, so to keep things going I pointed at the hedge and said it could have a gate in there. Her face broke into a smile and said “yes a gate”, her enthusiasm rising at my participation.#

Q  – Is this gate on line with a public foot path
A  – Is it relevant came the reply with concern
Q – It could be, may even need a style to get over
A – OK,  it has style and the gate is open.
Q – Bit careless don’t you think? Leaving a gate open with all those sheep

It was at this point the meeting was terminated. Bugger! Just as I started to enjoy myself.

As the time went on I started to do things the Trust way – this was to sit on my arse for hours behind a computer. It was while I was busy reading some of the dribble that head office sent out, that I became aware of someone out there in the National Trust who actually knew what they were actually talking about! Could there be a little light of wisdom in a swivel chair at HQ? And just how long before it was snuffed out?

The email was in relation to skill sharing within the Trust. The idea was a person with a good skill could be sent to other properties to use their skills where it was needed, and also pass on their knowledge. This would be beneficial to all, especially the property that needed the work done but never had the money to carry it out. There must be hundreds of staff confined to properties without the opportunity to work to their full potential. What a good ideal eh? After all, we are one team.

On a closing note it was pointed out that managers would always be reluctant to let staff work at another property as the person was paid from their budget. I bet that person in head office that sent that email has left now. Probably the common sense was a bit too sensible and radical.

As a walling mason and a hedge layer, I had often worked at other properties teaching. I heard of the opportunity to take professional exams for walling along with an instructors course to follow. This would be at very little cost and subsidised by EU money. Arranged on a National Trust property that needed lots of walls rebuilt, it seemed an opportunity too good to miss.

I approached my Manager with the information – that the course is one day a week for 15 weeks, followed by an instructor’s course by the Dry Stone Walling Association after passing exams. As I had never asked for any development training it should have been a foregone conclusion to a normal person. After all, there was always money being spent left right and centre on staff to go away to do obscure things.

After approaching my manager, I was asked, why should I release you to work on other National Trust properties at Tyntesfield’s expense? I was then fed copious amount of crap in the way of excuses.

After listening to a donkey serenade of managerial clap trap, I argued, we are one Trust, the Trust will benefit, I will benefit and you will benefit having a fully qualified instructor with recognised qualifications.

At this she replied I can’t see the Trust spending £275.00 on the training and there is no need for a walling instructor at Tyntesfield. My parting shots were short sighted, bloody minded and as for the Tyntesfield vision, lets hope we don’t get the second coming of Christ here, he’d be back on a cross on day one.

I have a copy of the sarcastic letter I sent in the following day, telling her to forget my request as I wouldn’t want to put the Trust out of pocket, also stating I would pay my own way, at my expense.

It was a battle to get the time off even as holiday, but I managed and went on to achieve all of it on my own.

As a now qualified Stone Walling instructor I find myself teaching at National Trust properties on weekends through the Dry Stone Walling Association. I’m also getting paid very well for it – something I made sure leaked back to my manager at Tyntesfield, after all they could have had me at minimal cost.

Then came the day my manager asked me to teach walling at Tyntesfield. This was what I had been waiting for. I refused. I was told very officiously that if I was requested to teach I would have to do it. At this I smiled politely and said, what there is a need for a walling instructor after all? I was informed by a arrogant short sighted little person to the contrary, they must have been talking rubbish, don’t you think?

I continued to teach at other Trust properties as part of my job. But as for Tyntesfield there was no need, they didn’t need an instructor did they?

Despite earlier announcements by Defra that the Badger Vaccine Deployment Project (BVDP) was to be restricted to an area near Stroud in Gloucestershire only,  Defra informed us that work was being carried out at Tyntesfield to test the animals after trial inoculation had taken place on the grounds.

DEFRA informed us that over a period of time, there had been baited nuts put out at Tyntesfield prior to the arrival of the men in white coats this week. It took some time to realise she was referring to the badger inoculations and not the people coming to take staff away after reactions to the way they are treated.

The letter I sent to the property manager asked if she was aware of the proposal to get rid of the two staff members? If not, what action would be taken to rectify this underhanded tactic?

As usual, I didn’t receive a reply on paper but was summoned to her office for a verbal one. It was there I listened to her drone on about how she had no plans to get rid of the staff in question and her managers should not have been discussing it in public. It was then I asked “if she had no knowledge of the subject, and as their superior, why were they discussing it at all?” Could this be a an initiative drive ?

The reply to a very difficult question was always countered with an attack on my attitude with references to being a “team player” and the all time favourite – “in future, don’t write to me, come and see me.” This I refused to do as the written word remains. I expect all my correspondence to the National Trust from the time has now gone, but I still have my copies.

In recent years, there was the sad tale of a National Trust gardener that committed suicide after receiving some sort of secret treatment. It’s not the open bullying that staff have to contend with, it’s the underhanded slow poisonous methods that finally get the desired effect. This usually starts with a poor Personal Development Review (PDR) featuring key words such as ‘argumentative’, ‘not a team player’ and ‘attitude’.

I was once told to make myself “indispensable”, so I asked for a copy of the indispensable profile - this never fails to take the wind out of someone that’s talking crap.

“You know what I mean,” was the reply. “No I don’t,” says I. “No one is indispensable or if they are can I job shadow them?”

 The all time favourite on my feedback reports was ‘must improve attitude’. This was in response for demanding basic health and safety facilities as echoed by the National Trust health and safety officers.

I asked what method would be used to measure my attitude? What charts are available etc… The look of disbelief said it all. She then blurted out – “that’s what I mean, your attitude.” “OK” said I.  “But how do you measure it?”

I will admit my outlook to the way things were run at Tyntesfield did clash and it could be deemed as attitude.

My arguments against making water run up hill were attitude.

My arguments against wasting thousands of pounds of public money on filters in houses that were not needed were attitude.

And of course, the car park and visitors centre to be built in the wrong place… all attitudes.

My attitude was measured by the Trust on how much I was prepared to go along with hair brained schemes that only served to throw money away. Let me emphasize on this – your money, the public’s money. Money from hard working people’s taxes and the poor old pensioners that donated the ten pounds to save the estate for the nation.

If my attitude against waste was wrong then yes, I stand guilty.
 
In the latter years, I refused to do the paperwork for the PDR at all. “You must do it,” I was told, “Or you wont get a pay rise.” My reply was, “send me the paperwork. When it comes perforated, then I can put it to good use.” Very difficult to knock someone that doesn’t participate and why put a noose around your neck?

Tyntesfield still retains the all time record for sickness and staff turnover -  including volunteers. Just recently I met a volunteer that finished working there due to the stress and despair of the place. She loved her job, but the black cloud that hung over the place finally got to her. As did so many others. As I stated before it’s the one place you could have a job interview and a leaving party on the same day.

Here’s a little thought for you. Why didn’t someone think of piling all the boxes of exit interview papers around the outside of Tyntesfield house, that way they could have saved £5 million pounds on scaffolding?

Bullying as I’m sure it goes on in all walks of life, but it could never happen again at Tyntesfield could it?