Let's make an opera house

Martin Graham reveals the origins of Longborough Festival Opera

It is said that at tea parties as a boy George Christie sought directions from his hosts to their opera house and that Clarissa Eden felt the Suez Canal flowing through her drawing-room at the height of the 1956 crisis, thus displaying the oblivion to which those nearest a bizarre situation are subject.

Here in the North Cotswolds we have staged opera in our garden each summer since 1990 and in our opera house since 1996. The presence of a 10,000-square feet colonnaded Palladian building 100 metres from. our drawing-room is as normal to us as a coal bunker. While the impact of this annual Kulturfest has not affected the country in quite the same way as the Nasser/Eden stand-off, nor yet achieved the status of the early Glyndebourne, Longborough Festival Opera House has certainly had an impact on the local planning authority. Each day as we look at our new toy we become more convinced that it is a thing of beauty. To Longborough parish council (whose gaze cannot fall on it) the building is an abomination and must be destroyed. Gratifyingly, our view has been fulsomely endorsed from an unusual quarter. The Longborough Festival Opera House is to be included in the new guide to The Buildings of England.

It seemed perfectly simple initially. Why not create tiered seating in the garden by taking advantage of the natural rake of the bank, construct a stage at the bottom with makeshift cover, hire a travelling troupe of players, announce the event, sell the tickets and bingo! Well, not quite; for while most seasons produced a full house, we always made a loss.

Inspired nevertheless and in the manner of determined gamblers, we decided the answer was a proper opera house. We had a modern but derelict farm building at the edge of the garden. An architect friend remarked that its proportions lent themselves to the Palladian style so why not build a faqade with concrete blocks and paving slabs and render and paint the lot pink and white in the style of trompe l'oeil.

Here in the Cotswolds to think is to act. So up it duly went, the enthusiasm which accompanied its construction being matched only by the determination of Cotswold district council to tear it down.

The shell of the building, the foyer, cloakrooms and stage were completed only a few hours ahead of the opening of the first Longborough season. This coincided with the closure of Covent Garden and my first lucky break. A chance meeting led me to the main Royal Opera House contractors who were throwing out all the red plush seats. Immediately I hired two gigantic articulated trucks which arrived at Bow Street a few hours after the gala night in July 1997. Our workmen stripped out the seats through the night. Finally, the two trucks were loaded up with 800 red plush seats, and then driven back to the Cotswolds where the seats were stored in another barn.

Then, when on holiday, we heard that Cotswold district council intended to demolish our opera house. A local-journalist had picked up the information from the agenda for the next planning meeting. Apparently the council's enforcement officer had visited our property unannounced while we were away, taken notes and made sketches, concluded that a serious breach of planning regulations had occurred and translated this into a brief report recommending demolition.

The committee accepted the report completely. The demolition order was confirmed. One member announced that she hoped demolition could proceed forthwith so as to prevent another performance in 1998.

To my bedtime reading was now added General Development Orders and Statutory Instruments. Our experienced planning solicitor was a valuable ally and so battle was joined. By Christmas we had our New Year offensive in position. Several hundred letters from our patrons (including one from our nearest neighbours a quarter of a mile across the fields, suggesting the council `live and let live') coupled with articulate and persuasive legal argument plus enormous national publicity convinced Cotswold district council's officers what they had known in their hearts for some time; they had embarked on a futile quest.

In tandem with the legal argument we had to plan for our next season. For many The Ring might seem a mammoth task but compared to that of convincing 15 nonopera-going councillors of its merits it seemed a doddle. One council member openly stated: `Surely it would be preferable if the performances were held inside a tin barn', a sort of `consenting adults in private' policy.

We quickly appointed a director, conductor and engaged an orchestra (10,000 up front, please). Auditions were held, costume designers engaged. The workmen excavated the orchestra pit. A few magic formulae were dredged up. Seven cubic metres per patron, one square metre per orchestra player. Quickly, with the JCB at hand, we estimated our orchestra to comprise 50 musicians (maximum) and so a hole ten by five was dug on the spot.

An additional wing was hurled up to accommodate the singers. Then a green room and dressing-rooms (a fireplace is to be installed next year to accommodate a singer who likes a log blaze). Twenty supportive villagers offered bed and breakfast in return for tickets. My wife spent hours narrating Das Rheingold to our regular customers, experienced in Boheme and Cos, but not Wagner. A cook was engaged to feed the singers and orchestra. The director fell into the pit days before the opening night breaking his arm.

But nothing could stop us now, not even the authorities. We had full houses to play to, glorious weather, the critics came and lauded, the council officers sulked in their tents; the mighty Ring at Longborough had begun at last.

For information about the Longborough Festival season, which runs from 25 June to 17 July, telephone 01451-830292; fax 01451 830605.

Copyright Spectator Jun 26, 1999
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