Hornby Castle

Many, many years ago, maybe even before my eldest was born, I was walking around some country house or other with my mother-in-law. She was - and is - an extraordinary character: warm and loving, yet entirely uncompromising in her view of the world and interpretation of history.

Occasionally she referred to me as "The socialist" and perhaps in those far off, slightly less experienced days, I was, although I'm not entirely sure that, at that time, I was completely clear on what a socialist was.

Anyway, back to the country house: we were walking through these fabulous gardens, where some landscape gardener of yore had either had the terrain manipulated to his design or had made inspired use of the spave available to him. A long, wide stone staircase descended for perhaps a hundred yards down to a hedgebound lawn with a wide, circular pond at its centre.

My mother-in-law speculated that whilst it was all very well to wish that everybody was equal and that there was no unfairness in the distribution of wealth, we would never have wonderful buildings and gardens like the ones we were enjoying that afternoon.

I've thought about that a lot over the years and I was reminded of it as I drove back from the Co-op on Friday, passing Hornby Castle on the way. The fact of the matter is that it's not true and, even if it was, it wouldn't justify it. Who needs decades, centuries of oppression, just so we have somewhere nice to go in order to fill a Sunday afternoon?